I heard everything.

When I say everything, I mean it. The panting, the screaming, the steam roiling her skin while she let out the muffled cry through the door. Same breathless little chirp she let out when we fucked five years ago, rutting like animals in heat past dawn.

I knew I'd gotten her hot and bothered slamming my hand against her ass, but I didn't know it went beyond that until I knocked, nobody answered, and I pressed my ear to the door.

Fuck, she came so hard.

Coming like she's wanted for God only knows how long. Coming like she needs it. Coming just for me.

Couldn't even stop herself from screaming my name through the hissing shower. It doesn't take much effort to hear everything in these tiny dressing rooms with their shoebox bathrooms. It's a lot harder stopping my cock when it tries punching a hole through my trousers, more alive than it's been since this morning, when I watched her whimper and writhe while I spanked her sweet ass.

My palm tingles. I feel her there still, waiting for the stinging kiss from my fingers.

Sure, I knew part of me wanted her. Didn't realize how big that part was before I had her under me, under my control, making music I'd long forgotten with her pleasure.

A knock at my door brings me out of my lust crazed stupor. I throw on my bombardier jacket, a second skin I've had to shed too often lately for the film, and walk over.

“Hayds, you're right on time,” I say, moving aside for my brother and his wife. I haven't seen them since the big wedding reception about a week ago. “Enjoy seeing a side of fame that doesn't involve building skyscrapers?”

He motions to Penny. “Give the lady an autograph already without getting too full of yourself.”

Smiling, I take the large rectangular photo of the crew she shoves toward me, complete with one of his five hundred dollar gold trimmed pens. “Please, Luke, for my collection today,” she says.

“Anything for my niece's mama.” I hold the pen's cap between my teeth while I sign.

“Oh, why didn't you tell us how huge this is for you?” Her bright green eyes are awestruck, beaming. “Can't believe we ran into the Pierce Rogan! He's a genius. Everything he does blows up big. Hayden said you were working on a movie, but he never said blockbuster!”

“Don't jinx it, now,” I say, re-capping the pen and pushing it back into her hands with my autograph.

“You kidding, love? If Luke's head gets any bigger, he won't be able to fly all over hell anymore. There's only so much room in the cockpit, and his ego already takes up a lot of space.”

She laughs, tugging on his fingers. They share a glance that makes me just a little bit envious – I'm not going to lie – and then she whispers in his ear before turning back to me. “Mind if we catch up later? I'm trying to chase down Mr. Harkness to get a signature for me and mom.”

“Anytime, Penny. Try the little balcony out back, behind storage. The man loves his cigars. I've seen him there plenty catching a smoke before his scenes.”

I smile. He gets in a few good brotherly jabs now and then, but the middle child has nothing on Grant. “At least I can take to the skies whenever I want, Hayds. How's it going with the sale on dad's old place?”

He frowns. “I like real estate a whole lot more when I'm signing off on something commercial. It's a lot of work dealing with the crews cleaning the place up, especially when they're sprucing up a fifty million dollar estate. We've got ourselves a buyer, though. If he doesn't jump ship at the last minute, it'll be out of our hands by the end of the month.”

“Good. Didn't mind showing up to your reception there, but fuck if that place doesn't still make my skin crawl,” I say, straightening my jacket. I sit next to the tiny cabinet where I've stashed a couple bottles of whiskey, motioning. “Drink to celebrate?”

“You know I normally don't. But since this is technically a day off...”

My brother shares my smile as I pull out two glasses, a little ice, and splash gold scotch over the rocks. We clink glasses, then see who can knock back their shot faster.

I win. No contest when I've done a whole lot more of it than he has lately.

“I'll miss the old place,” he says, settling into a chair next to me while I refill his glass. “I know you had a tougher time there than me, but it'll always be part of us, Luke. You can't deny it.”

“I can, and I will. I'll bury those fucked up memories as deep as I need to if it means getting on with my life. I don't remember what it was like before mom died, or before dad's demons took him to hell. What I remember, history or not, doesn't do shit for me, bro.”

“Fine,” he says grudgingly, tipping his glass to his mouth. “Speaking of the past, we ran into someone familiar on the set. You remember Robin Plomb, right?”

“Of course. I kind of have to see her every day, considering her role as my kinky secretary while I'm playing Miles Black.”

“Kinky secretary...Christ.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “I'm not sure how you're pulling this thing off with a straight face.”

“That's why you got the brains for development, I got all the talent, and Grant got...well, whatever the hell he's got. It's called acting. I take it seriously. Believe me, I'm not oblivious to the jokes on the late night comedy shows and the bullshit in the tabloids – same ones who tore you a new asshole not so long ago over Penny and the fake baby mama drama. This isn't porn, Hayds. It's a service to millions of women around the world I'm grateful to get wet. If it makes my star fly a little higher in the end, everybody walks away happy.”

He smirks for a second, but then it disappears. “Fair enough. You respect what I do, and I'll return the favor. Seriously, though, why the hell didn't you say anything about Robin?”

Because if I told you our history, Hayds, you'd lose your shit, I think. You'd either throttle me with your bare hands for covering up the truth about our old man, or you'd punch me square in the nose for my stupidity, leaving her behind.

Hayden and Grant have both done well for themselves with serious careers raking in tons of money. Hayds, however, is looking like the most serious one of my older brothers period because he's settling down. The family man he's becoming doesn't need more baggage.

“I forgot,” I say simply, downing more whiskey. “There's a lot on my plate lately. Hell, you were barely home much in the years she was with us. Didn't think you'd care what some employee of dad's has been up to since she rolled out the family gate.”

“Care? It's a small fucking world! Don't you think it's an insane coincidence you're getting naked on the screen with a girl who used to work for us? I mean, what are the odds?”

“It's crazy,” I concede, trying to figure out the bewildered look on his face. “But I'm not sure what you're getting at.”

I mean it, and I want it to stop. He can't start digging into corners better left forgotten.

The past can't be changed. Won't do him any good knowing dad was a boozing, lying piece of shit who might've done something unforgivable to Robin's mom. I'm not completely convinced by his confession years ago.

“You put her up to this, didn't you?” he says, laying a brotherly hand on my shoulder. “Shit, Luke. I used to hear her singing, or practicing her lines in those plays years ago whenever I'd come home and sit by the gardens.”

“Yeah? And so?”

He smiles, exhaling slowly. “So, I think you've done something amazing for this girl, pulling on your connections to get her in, and you don't want the credit. Whatever, I'll let you play modest. Just know that you're less of an asshole than I thought, and I'm happy about it. There were times when I thought you'd never figure yourself out. Thought you'd either take off with a biker gang, or wind up in the same place as mom, flying where you shouldn't on the wrong night because you've got nowhere to call home.”

I stare him dead in the eyes. “You're the one who used to cage fight with the fucking Grizzlies,” I growl, not sure I like the direction this is going.

He still sees me as a kid, one who'd take off with an outlaw motorcycle club or some shit, instead of just playing with them like Mr. Older and Wiser did.

“Guilty,” he says, straightening in his seat. “I'm not here to patronize, and I know you don't need my approval. Still, I just wanted to say, besides the movie role...it's things like what you did for Robin that makes me proud we're family.”

“You can't be proud unless I kiss ass and do public charity?”

“No. Fuck, this is coming out wrong,” he says, eyeballing his whiskey and slamming it on the table. “I'll be honest. Grant and I watched dad self-destruct after the plane crash. We worried he'd left us something genetic, something that'd rub off in the worst ways. We got over it when we found our careers, but for you, our little brother...we were scared, Luke. But today, when I'm sitting here, I'm goddamned glad you're proof we were wrong. We had no reason to be. You've got more sense and a bigger heart than dad at his best ever had.”

“Thanks. That's big of you, Hayden.” Using his real name for once instead of the pejorative makes him smile. Inside, I'm annoyed, but only one response makes sense: shut up. I'll let my older brother think I'm becoming a little more like his perfect ass if it means keeping the truth about Robbi and what happened with dad under wraps.

His phone pings. He reaches into his pocket, pulls it out, and sighs. “Looks like Penny found Harkness. I'd better go make sure she's all right. Just between you and me, I hate letting her out of my sight while she's living for two.”

“Congrats, again. Can't wait to meet my niece in the next few months.”

He thanks me one more time, and heads for the door. I open it for him, but he stops, reaches into his jacket pocket, and pulls out something else. “Almost forgot. While we were cleaning out the house, we found a bunch of old security tapes.”

“Tapes? I thought the systems were wired to show the feed to security, without recording?”

“Nah. Dad was a lot more paranoid than anybody thought. There's footage, Luke, boxes upon boxes going back about ten years.”

“Christ. No wonder he knew to chew me out every time I snuck out of my room in high school.”

“There's at least a couple boxes from your wing of the house. Don't know what to do with the damned things. The cleaning crew found this gem sitting on top of the crates. I thought you'd want to destroy it yourself.”

Dread fills my gut. His eyes say it all. There's either something very private or very fucking embarrassing on the small black tape in my hand.

“Thanks, I guess,” I tell him, preparing to close the door.

“You're welcome. That's what we do in this family. Look out for each other.”

He's gone. I tuck the ghost on tape in my pocket, wondering if I have an old camcorder and a cable laying around so I can find out what the hell had his eyes shining like he's seen too much.

* * *

Later, on the way home, I swing by a media conversion place that tells me how to connect the old camera I've rented to the TV. I know I'll probably smash the tape after I see what's on it. Still, there's a part of me that's curious, and I can't resist the urge to look back through time.

It takes a second for the screen to lose its green intro color. Then it's there, my younger self sitting at a desk in the library with mom's letters. I must've pulled them out of their box and brought them on a rare journey outside my room. I watch myself turning over her letters from the old box, the one that's now stashed in my storage vault in LA.

Fuck, there's sound. My ears prickle. My younger self hums the last of my edgy ballads before I left that phase of my life behind. I close my eyes, remembering the bitter, hopeful words.

If you ever loved me, bleed.

Just don't bleed like her.

Leave me a smoking crater before you leave for good.

As long as you open your heart.

As long as you love.

Then bleed.

Amazing how shitty lyrics stay with you for years. It's the last summer I lived with dad, shortly before the heaven I had with Robbi became hell.

When I hear the knock at the door on the screen, I open my eyes. “Come in!” My younger self says.

It's her. Dressed in black and grey, the modest clothing she wears on her evening shift.

My younger self stands, moving out from behind the desk to greet her. Robbi walks straight into my arms, a smile on her face, wiped away a second later when I take her lips. We kiss like I hadn't had her lips every damn day I wasn't on a cargo plane. I kissed her harder every time in the long, teasing build up to the lone night we had together.

The kiss hasn't broken when I grab the remote. I punch the off button, having seen enough, even though it's basically over with my young self taking her arm, leading her outside. Probably into the gardens, where we used to walk together, talking about our dreams.

Enough. I don't wait for the screen to turn black before I walk to the balcony door, tear it open, and step outside for fresh air.

She's getting to me, and I know it. No, not just her, but the past itself.

Everything I tried to ignore, torch, and smolder. That's the thing about love. It's a vicious, indestructible parasite. It sinks its hooks in, crawls into your skin, and only lies dormant until the slightest breeze of memory wakes its thirst for blood.

Did I say breeze? Fuck, more like a hurricane.

Every day I'm plodding through new scenes with her hits me in the face, storms into my blood, reminds me I can make all the lofty, secret promises I want, but it's useless.

She was right the night we sat down weeks ago over wine. We can't go on like this.

After seeing the tape, watching the happy ghosts moving on the screen, I have to take action. As soon as I've refreshed my lungs with cool Chicago air, I go inside, tear a page from my notebook, and find a pen.

I haven't put this much thought into writing anything since those crap ass pity songs in my youth. These words will move her.

If they can't win her back, then they're damned sure going to make her cry.