The bouncer covering the back door at the Parish leaned against the wall, his heavy boot scuffing the paint. Chuckling as he looked down at his phone, he didn’t notice me until I was on him. Eyes wide, he fumbled to pocket the device.

“Keep that damn thing out of sight while you’re working,” I barked, as I marched past him. “I’m not paying you to watch videos.”

Ignoring his stammered apology, I kept on walking, the copy of the Statesman burning a hole in my back pocket.

Once inside my office, I tossed the rag onto my desk and dropped into the chair, glaring at the headline.

Beckett’s Side: Leveraged Guitarist Sets the Record Straight on Fame, Music, and Taryn.

Yanking open my bottom drawer, I found the bottle of Jack and poured a liberal amount into my coffee cup before spreading the paper out. I nearly choked on my first sip when I read Beckett’s opening quote.

“There’s been a lot of rumors going around about my personal life,” Brennin said. “False reports from people who know nothing about me. For the record, Taryn is the only woman in my life.”

Ignoring the rest of Beckett’s delusional ramblings, I scanned the rest of the print for anything resembling a response from Taryn.

Ayers has been tightlipped about the status of her relationship with Brennin. It has long been speculated that the two are secretly wed. Though a license was issued in Nevada in 2014, no marriage was ever recorded.

I chuckled dryly into my next gulp of bourbon.

Nothing about Taryn’s life was private. Her darkest secrets and deepest pain were out there for anyone with an Internet connection or the price of a newspaper. Something as monumental as a wedding couldn’t be covered up.

Like a stint in rehab? Having a rock star for a brother? An unfulfilled six-figure record contract?

The anxiety over my undisclosed past drifted away when I found the only quote ascribed to Taryn at the very end of the piece.

“When asked for a comment, Ayers simply stated: I love Beckett. Always.”

I should have been happy. Or at least relieved.

Every minute I spent with Taryn made it just a little easier to believe that we were something more than casual. But now I had proof that the feeling wasn’t mutual. So there was no reason to risk continuing our little fling.

Resolved, I downed the rest of my drink and then tossed the newspaper in the trash on my way out of the office.

Maria, my back of the house manager, rushed toward me as I made my way to the dressing room.

“You’ll never believe who’s coming tonight.”

Distracted, I checked my phone. “No clue.”

A flush colored her cheeks as she exclaimed, “Dylan Booth, Beckett Brennin, and Tori Grayson! Can you believe it? “

The world slowed to half speed along with my steps. “Party of three?” I asked, hopeful, because surely I couldn’t be that unlucky.

Glancing at her clipboard, she shook her head. “Four.”

I exhaled a slow breath, mostly to see if there was oxygen in my lungs.

“Make sure we have security in place.”

She jotted down a note, her grin still intact. “No worries. Logan asked me to have Zeke keep an eye out. His sister’s here tonight.”

Shit.

Against my better judgment, I blew past the dressing room and hit the main floor. The bartender shot me a smile when I slid a hip onto the stool.

“Shiner?” he asked, dropping a cocktail napkin in front of me.

“Jack, three fingers. Straight up.”

As I waited for my drink, my gaze traveled over the crowd to the VIP area, and I glimpsed Laurel and Calista at a small table.

“Anything else?” The bartender asked, pocketing the ten spot I left for a tip.

“Nope.”

Skirting the crowd, I emerged by the stage where Logan was sucking face with a girl in a pink wig. I nudged him as I passed. “Don’t you be making any plans for after the show. Calista’s not taking care of Laurel all night.”

Logan made eye contact long enough to acknowledge my comment while Pinkie continued to nibble his neck.

Rolling my eyes, I joined Cameron a few feet away.

“I thought you were cutting out early tonight?” he said, as he tuned his guitar.

“Changed my mind.”

When the house lights dimmed, the guys formed their usual huddle to go over the set list. And that’s when I saw the four figures climbing the stairs in the VIP area. Dylan Booth was in the lead, Tori Grayson a step behind. But all my attention was on Beckett’s hand, resting at the small of Taryn’s back as he ushered her to the table. I’d never wanted to break someone’s hand so badly in my life.

“Good crowd, huh?” the DJ mused when he ambled up.

Catching his arm as he pushed the curtain aside to make the announcement, I said, “I’ve got this one.”

In all the years I’d owned the Parish, I’d never taken the stage. Not to make an announcement. Or to play. It was a line I’d never crossed. Until I did.

Ignoring my brother’s look of surprise, I strolled across the weathered hardwood, chants from the crowd thundering in my ears as I stepped into the spotlight.

What the actual fuck are you doing?

The rage simmering under my skin answered the question as I shifted my focus to the VIP section. I couldn’t see anything beyond the colored lights, but they sure as shit could see me.

“How y’all doing tonight?” I roared into the mic. “I’m Chase Noble, the owner of the Parish. It gives me great pleasure to welcome to the stage, Sixth Street’s own … Caged!”

Beams of light swept over the audience in slow circles, and I caught sight of Taryn’s face. Surprise coated her features. I felt no measure of satisfaction, but I smiled nonetheless. That is, until I felt Cameron’s arm snake around my shoulder.

“No, you don’t.” Laughing, he tightened his grip as I tried to give him a playful shove.

“Hey guys!” he shouted, whipping the audience into a greater frenzy. “Give it up for the coolest bar owner in Texas and one helluva musician, my brother, Chase!”

Frozen in my spot as the light show began a second revolution, my stomach clattered to the floor when I saw Taryn stumbling down the steps of the VIP seating.

The magnitude of the clusterfuck snapped me out of my stupor, and my feet moved of their own accord. Fighting the crush of people in the pit, I spotted Taryn’s head bobbing in the sea of strangers.

She ducked into the small alcove with the pay phones that nobody used. When I followed her inside, the weight of a large body shoved me out of the way.

“Leave her alone,” Beckett spat. “She ain’t interested.”

“Mind your business, dude. She’s interested.”

I stopped short of telling the fucker how very interested Taryn was last night when she was under me.

Beckett wagged a finger in my face. “She is my business. Now, back off.”

Before I could wrap my hand around his throat, Taryn slipped between us. “Go back to the table,” she said to Beckett. “Before someone figures out who you are.”

Dropping a possessive hand on her hip, he sneered at me. “I ain’t leaving.”

Taryn slanted a gaze his way. “This isn’t a date, Beckett. Tori wanted you here. Not me. Now go watch the show.”

“You heard her,” I rumbled.

But more importantly, I heard her. Taryn wasn’t here with Beckett.

He hesitated for only a second before brushing a kiss to the top of Taryn’s head and stalking away. She didn’t notice, though. All her attention was on me, those stormy eyes filled with questions.

“You’re Cameron Knight’s brother?” she finally asked, her brows pinched tight in disbelief.

“Let’s talk someplace more private.”

I took her arm, but she shook off my grip. “Answer me!”

After a long moment, I let out a shuddering breath. “Yes.”

The same word that held such promise when we were standing on that street corner put an end to us.

“I thought we were friends,” she said, as the tears gathered.

Drawn to the first raindrop that fell onto her cheek, I took a step toward her. “We are. Of course we are.”

Friends at least …

Excuses danced on the tip of my tongue, but before I could offer even one, Taryn shook her head. “Friends don’t lie to each other.”

Residual anger coalesced with the alcohol that had yet to burn its way out of my system. “Guess Beckett didn’t get the memo.”

This time when I crossed the line, I didn’t feel the rush. Only regret when Taryn brushed past me and walked out of my life.