“You weren’t a tiny bit off,” he cuts in. “You were way off, so fucking off that it isn’t even funny. Nothing about that was working. Seriously, you sounded like the cleaner when she’s singing with her headphones on.”
What the hell? Okay, just exactly what the hell has crawled up in his ass and died today?
I open my mouth to speak, but he beats me to it.
Thankfully, his voice is a little less acidic. “Your usual kick-ass vocal just isn’t here today, Lyla. The tone that makes your voice so distinctive, so unique, seems to have disappeared. I’m wondering, what the hell? So, tell me now, is there anything I need to know before we carry on?”
He’s giving me an expectant look.
“Um…anything you need to know, as in?”
“As in, I don’t know, and that’s why I’m asking you.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re on edge.”
“I’m not on edge.”
Okay, I might be on edge.
I took a phone call from my Aunt Steph right before I stepped into the studio, and it’s knocked me sideways. She called to let me know that Dex signed with a new band. And that band is based in LA. He moved here a few days ago.
To say I feel on edge is putting it mildly.
Dex being in New York and me here in LA was working just fine for me. Thousands of miles apart with no chance I could run into him helped keep the gut-wrenching, heart-shredding pain I’ve felt since I caught him with Chad at bay.
But now knowing that Dex is here in LA has brought that all back in full force.
I’m glad Aunt Steph told me. I mean, if I ran into him, unprepared, that would be a killer. But I just wish he wasn’t here.
I held it together while Aunt Steph told me. She doesn’t know the reason behind Dex and I not speaking.
Dex hasn’t told her, and I can’t bring myself to do it. She respects our wishes and doesn’t push, but I know it hurts her that Dex and I don’t communicate anymore, which is not for his lack of trying.
I know she thinks if she knew what the problem was, then she could fix us. But she can’t.
There is no fixing things between Dex and me. It was broken the moment he started screwing my boyfriend.
I feel the familiar burn in my chest. Bringing a hand up, I rub at the burn.
“You are on edge, Lyla,” Zane says, unconvinced. “If it’s personal and you don’t want to share, fine. I get it. But we’re on precious studio time right now, so you need to leave your personal life at the door before you step in here.” He points to the exit. “And you find a way to channel those pent-up emotions into the song, and you sing it as good as I know you’re capable of.”
He’s right. Business and personal should never mix.
I’m tougher than this.
Sure, I have a Texas-sized lump in my throat, and I’m aching with the pins and needles of pain, knowing Dex is so close-by.
But I’m strong. I don’t even cry anymore. Haven’t for ten months.
I think my tear ducts dried up when I cried a river over Dex and Chad.
I lock my gaze with Zane, and with determination in my voice, I say, “You’re right. I’ll get it perfect on the next run.”
He stares at me for a long moment and then something softens in his gaze. “Do you need to take a quick break before we continue?”
His kindness throws me off my strength kilter for a second.
I lift my chin and suck it up. “No, I’m good now.”
“Okay.” He claps his hands together. “Let’s get this track down!” Zane moves away from the microphone and pats Gray, our sound engineer, on the shoulder.
I give a quick look to Cale, Sonny, and Van, who are sitting in the studio with Zane. They put on the music for the track we laid down yesterday. For this song, Zane wanted the music and vocals recorded separately—hence, why I’m in here, singing, on my own.
Cale is our bass player, and I’ve known him forever. Cale, Dex, and I grew up together. The three of us put Vintage together. Cale is my best friend, the only guy I trust, and I know he has my back because he’s proven it to me on more than one occasion.
Sonny is our drummer. He joined the band when we first started. We put up fliers for auditions, and he was the only one who turned up. Thankfully for us, he rocked. He’s a demon on the drums. I’ve never heard anything like him.
Van hasn’t been with us long. He joined on as lead guitar when Dex left—well, when I say left…
“Dex stays. I go.” I stiffen my back with my eyes lifted but not on Dex.
I can’t bring myself to look directly at him. If I do, I’m afraid my resolve will slip. The loss of him in my life will break through, and I will crumble.
Dex is the sun, and I can’t look directly into his burning gaze.
Cale gets up from his seat and walks over to me. He stands beside me and takes hold of my hand. I have to bite back the tears I can feel burning up my throat. A few seconds later, Sonny takes stance beside me, dropping his arm around my shoulder.
Dex gets to his feet. “Take care of her, boys. And Ly…”
I know his eyes are on me. I can feel his gaze burning a hole in me.
“I know this stands for shit, and I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am.”
I hear his voice break, and I bite my lip.
“Love you, Ly. Always have, always will. And I’ll always be your big brother—whether you want me or not.”
I haven’t seen Dex since.
Cale catches my eye, and he mouths, You okay?
Fine, I mouth back before giving him my best smile.
His eyes narrow on me. He’s unconvinced. I look away.
Cale knows me better than anyone, and he knows when I’m not okay. I’m just not looking forward to telling him that Dex is here in LA. He won’t take it well.
I’m just glad that we’re getting out of here in a week to go on tour.
Gray’s voice comes into my ear this time. “When you’re ready, Lyla, we’ll start.”
I readjust my headphones, take a deep breath, and shake out my hands. “I’m ready.”
I step up to the mic, my lips hovering over the warm cushion. Shutting my eyes, I do what Zane said. I draw up all my emotions, the ones that are bothering the crap out of me today, and I channel them into my song.
Singing is the only thing that makes sense to me. It’s my safe place. Nothing and no one can hurt me when I’m in that moment, singing the heart out of a song.
The music I’m all too familiar with comes into my ears, the delicious sound vibrating through my body, taking over my mind.
Parting my dry lips, I lick them and then ease out the first line of the song. I sing until my voice is climbing, hitting its high, and then I belt out the words until I’m wrung dry on the very last line.
Song done, I open my eyes.
Zane can’t have any complaints with that. It was flawless.
I pull the headphones off and step around the mic, expecting to see a full booth, but the only person I find in there is Gray.
Where is everyone?
I press the intercom button. “Where is everyone?”
Gray leans into the mic. “Conference room. Zane said you’re to go there the second you’re done.”
My stomach tanks.
Did he hate it? Jesus, I hate the nerves that come with trying to please studio executives.
“Did he say why?”
“Nope. He took a call and sounded all pissed off. Then, he told the guys to go with him to the conference room, and you were to follow straight after you finished.”
Feeling confused, I say, “Okay.”
“You did great by the way,” Gray says. “Perfect. I can lay the track with that, no problem. Come back later, and I’ll have it layered, so you can have a listen.”
“Thanks, Gray. Catch you later.” I let myself out of the sound booth before crossing the studio and going out the door.
I walk the short distan
ce down the hall to the conference room. Three heads lift when I open the door. The look on their faces isn’t great, so I’m guessing whatever it is, they already know.
Zane is standing by the window. His face is devoid of emotion, like always, and his arms are folded across his chest.
His tense stance has me instantly worried.
“Everything okay?” I try to keep the nerves out of my voice. I pull out the chair next to Sonny and take a seat.
“Dina broke her leg this morning while skiing.” Zane straightens up and strides toward the table where we’re all seated. “I mean, seriously, who the fuck skis nowadays?” he mutters as he yanks a chair out and sits down.
I would actually laugh at his comment if the bottom hadn’t just fallen out of my world.
Dina is our manager. She was going to come on tour with us.
I have dreamed about this tour happening ever since I picked up my first guitar.
I know TMS Records policy—no tour manager, no tour.
They don’t let their acts go out with support, which makes total sense.
A new band on the road with no support is not a good idea with the amount of sharks in this industry.
I swallow down the house-sized brick in my throat. Dumb question, but I have to ask, “So, Dina won’t be coming on tour with us?”
Zane drums his fingers on the table. “No. She ruptured her anterior cruciate ligament. She’ll be having surgery in the next few days.”
“And we can’t go on tour without a road manager,” Cale says, looking at me.
He knows the house rules as well as I do. This is as important to him as it is to me. Important to us all.
I swallow down. “Okay, so what’s going to happen then?” I try to keep my voice steady, but it wavers slightly.
Don’t postpone the tour. Please don’t postpone the tour.
“The tour will still happen. Jake is currently trying to find a replacement manager to go on tour with you.”
Jake Wethers, owner of TMS Records and lead singer of the biggest band in the world, The Mighty Storm.
With relief, I exhale the breath I was holding.
But I come up short again when Van asks, “Yeah, but will you be able to get someone on such short notice?”
Shit. I didn’t even think of that. We are supposed to leave on tour in a week.
One week to find a good tour manager. I don’t feel good about those chances. Most tour managers, especially the good ones, will already be booked up.
Zane’s eyes dart to Van, narrowing. “We’ll get someone.” His tone is harsh. He stands. “I’ll be in touch soon.” Then, he strides out of the room.
A Few Seconds Later—Studio, TMS Records, LA
“Shit! This is not fucking good,” Sonny says the second the door slams shut behind Zane.
“It’s gonna be fine. Don’t worry.” I pat Sonny’s hand, hoping that I sound more convinced than I feel.
“But how the hell is he gonna get a manager? Fucking impossible, if you ask me,” Sonny fires out.
“He’ll get us someone,” Cale says, sounding sure.
Sonny shakes his head. “I don’t know, man.”
“Cale and Ly are right.” Van stands. “He’ll get us another manager.”
Sonny throws him a confused look. “What? You’ve changed your tune. A few minutes ago, you were the one asking him the same goddamn question.”
Van shrugs. “Zane might be a jackoff, but he said he’ll get someone, and we have to trust him.”
Looking at Van and then Cale, I wish I could feel as sure as they do, but I don’t. I feel the same worry as Sonny. I’m just not vocalizing it. I’m doing what I do best, hiding my feelings and avoiding the problem.
“Screw waiting around to hear the news though. I’m gonna hit up some bars.” Van raps his knuckles on the table. “You guys coming?”
“I’m in.” Sonny gets to his feet. “Could do with a beer after that, and it’s been days since I had any pussy.”
“Days?” I lean forward. “What about the girl I made breakfast for this morning? You know, the one you hopped out on before she woke up.”
“Ah, yeah, I forgot about her.”
Does he actually have the memory of a goldfish?
“Sorry, Ly.” He gives me his best smile with his puppy dog eyes, looking contrite, as he runs a hand over his shaved head.
It’s hard to stay mad at Sonny.
And making breakfast for the guys’ hookups, especially Sonny’s, is not an unusual experience for me.
If Sonny brings someone back to the apartment, he has a tendency to duck out before they wake up. It’s his specialty. Then, I feel bad, and I end up cooking breakfast for the girl.
In many ways, my boys are too good-looking for their—and my—own good. But their looks do work awesome in alluring the female fans. The women just lap the guys up, and the guys let them.
Bunch of muts, but I love them like family.
Oh, Mut is my term for man slut.
Sonny is the worst. He’s just inch upon inch of muscular dark skin. He’s a total gym nut. Women don’t stand a chance. They love him, and he lets them. Repeatedly.
Cale is the stupid kind of beautiful—as in, it makes women go stupid over him. He’s not as much of a player as Sonny, but Cale gets around. Perks of the job, he calls it.
When I was younger many, many moons ago and Cale was just Dex’s best friend—before Cale became my best friend—I had a colossal crush on him. It was hard not to with his beautiful face and dark brown hair that fell into his chocolate brown eyes. And he has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known.
But my crush quickly passed, and we’ve been best friends ever since.
And Van has the gorgeous brooding rock star down pat. Women flock to him like birds to bread. He’s less vocal about it, but he’s racked up more notches on his bedpost than Sonny. I know because I’ve made all the women breakfast. Van reminds me a lot of Jake Wethers—all tattooed, dark hair, striking blue eyes. I’m just hoping that Van has the same magic touch in the music world as Jake does.
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re completely sorry.” I give Sonny an unconvinced look.
“Ly, you know I’m sorry.” He grins, flashing me his perfect pearly whites. “Cross my heart.”
“Do you even have one?” I joke.
This is how it goes with Sonny and me. We banter around the same stuff.
“Wounded.” He slaps a hand to his chest. “I’ll show you what a big heart I have when I get up at the butt crack of dawn tomorrow and make my awesome pancakes for you.”
Sonny does make the most amazing pancakes.
I rest my chin on my hand. “So, does that mean you won’t be bringing tonight’s hookup back to our apartment?”
He flashes me a grin. “Well, I can’t make any promises, except I do promise to make those pancakes for you, whether the hookup is there or not.”
I shake my head, laughing.
“So, you two coming or not?” Van asks Cale and me, already halfway out the door.
“Sure.” I lift my butt from my seat.
Cale points a finger at me and says, “Stay put.”
I pause midair, my brow raised at him. “Um…what?”
“We need to talk,” is all he says. Then, he looks at Van, who seems amused at our exchange. “Text me where you are, and we’ll meet you there.”
The minute the door closes behind Sonny and Van, I’m on Cale. “Um, what the hell was that?”
“That was me knowing something is up with my best friend. You were fine before we left for the studio. Then, you took a call, and your mood went to shit. Who called, Ly? Was it him? I know he still calls you all the time—”
How does he know that? I haven’t told Cale that he calls me every day because I know it would piss him off.
“Hang on.” I lift a hand, stopping him. “He doesn’t call every day. And even when he does, I don’t answer.”
“Don’t bullshit me. He calls y
ou every goddamn day. I know because you have that depressing ringtone set for him.”
Justin Timberlake’s “Cry Me a River” is his ringtone because, well, I want him to cry me a river.
“I know you, Ly. You’re bound to cave soon and answer his calls…because you still care about him.”
My eyes snap to his. “I don’t care about him, not anymore. I’m not that stupid, blind weak girl I used to be.”
He moves two chairs closer, so he’s sitting in front of me. He takes my hands. “You were never stupid, blind, or weak. You’re one of the strongest people I know, but you have a good heart, a kind heart. I know what he meant to you.”
I grit my teeth. “It wasn’t him who called.”
“Who was it then?”
I pull my hands free and cross my arms over my chest. “Does privacy count for nothing these days?”
I’m being a bitch, and Cale is the last person I should be a bitch to, but all my pent-up anger from before is desperate to spill out.
“Not when it takes the smile off your face that I’ve spent the last ten months trying to get back on there.”
That stings. I look away from him. “If you must know, it was Aunt Steph. She was calling to tell me that…Dex has joined a new band. He’s in LA. Moved here a few days back.”
I hear Cale’s sharp intake of breath.
“He’s here? In LA?”
“Yep.” Meeting his eyes, I nod.
His jaw is working angrily. I hate that he’s angry because of this, angry for me.
It’s my turn to take hold of his hand. Squeezing, I say, “Cale, I’m fine.”
“Yeah, sure you are.” He pulls his hand from mine as he leans back in his chair. His face all red with anger, he yells, “Motherfucker! He knows you’re here, Ly. He knows, and he should’ve stayed the hell away, like I warned him to.”
“It’s not a big deal.” It is so a big deal. “And we’re going on tour in a week.” Hopefully. “I probably won’t even see him between now and then.”
“He’d better stay away. I swear to God, if he comes near you, I’ll kick his ass, like I should’ve done the moment he broke your heart.”