Delaney
My gasp was loud in the quiet room. Is that how Shane thought of himself—as a murderer? No wonder there was such a strong connection between us. Needing to know more, I prodded. “Tell me about the accident.”
Shane sighed, his breathing labored. “One afternoon, we got a call to play in a bar that was pretty well known for discovering new talent, or at least we thought so. It was an hour away and we’d only been asked because another band had canceled due to a storm moving in. I begged Caleb’s parents to let us borrow their car so we could drive up for the gig.”
Shane’s voice turned hard. “Of course, it didn’t occur to me that no one would actually show up to hear us play in the middle of a blizzard. It wasn’t snowing when we left, but by the time we got there it was coming down hard. There were only two people in the audience that night, and one of them was the owner of the bar. But we played well, and he booked us for another gig the next month.”
“Feeling like studs, we’d asked the bartender for beer. Knowing we were underage, he laughed us off. But whether he slipped us a few under the table, or one of the guys took them while he wasn’t looking, we had four cans by the time we pulled out of the parking lot.” Regrets rolled from Shane’s big shoulders, making the air in the room feel heavy and cloying. “The other guys drank theirs while I was driving. I didn’t touch mine. I swear. Was planning to save it, kind of like how businesses frame their first dollar, you know.”
I reached out a hand and set it flat on Shane’s chest, so I could feel the reassuring thud of his heartbeat. He covered my hand with his own for a moment, then pulled it up to his mouth to press a kiss against my palm.
“It feels almost like a bad dream now. I was driving pretty slow, and visibility was shit. We were just a few miles from home, my beer untouched in my cup holder. The guys were razzing me, wanting it.” As the story unfurled, Shane’s voice changed, growing increasingly quiet and thin with strain. “I went to smack whoever’s hand was reaching from the backseat—I only took my eyes off the road for a second. But it was enough. I skidded on black ice, and we plowed into a tree. It wasn’t even a big tree, but the impact was smack in the middle of the passenger door, where Caleb was sitting.”
“So fucking stupid.” Shane wiped at his eyes, fingers coming away wet. “His parents had given him a red hat for Christmas. His blood was the same color as the hat, so at first I didn’t understand how badly he was hurt. Caleb just looked like he was sleeping.” He shuddered, recalling the scene. “But he wouldn’t wake up.”
Shifting closer to thread my legs through his, I slid my hand from Shane’s chest to his back, wrapping him up in a tangle of limbs and heat, waiting patiently for him to start talking again, even if it was in a faraway tone that was so filled with pain it hurt to listen. Seconds went by, then minutes. Shane gathered me even closer, the swoosh of his heartbeat beneath my ear merging with the pulse of the ocean. A shaky breath rattled from his lungs. “I got off without a scratch, if you can believe it. The guys in the back had a few minor injuries—a broken ankle, stitches.” Shane coughed, his voice still thick with sorrow. “But Caleb was gone before the ambulance arrived.”
My stomach churned at the similarities to my life. Sorrow and sadness radiated from him, throbbing between us. Shane’s grief felt so familiar to me. I knew it as intimately as he did. It was like the tide. It might recede, but it always came back. Constant. Relentless.
“I passed the Breathalyzer, but there were whispers in town, and a bad energy that went beyond mourning. They blamed me for his death, kept pointing out the beer cans found in the car, saying the Breathalyzer was broken or incorrectly administered. Building a case to send me to jail. The cops, the Branfords, the whole town. Or at least that’s how it felt to me. I didn’t even stick around for the funeral—was told I wouldn’t be welcome. I didn’t blame them. I was the driver. The accident was my fault. Caleb’s death was my fault. So I grabbed my guitar and took off.”
His words, all of them, piled on top of my chest. I couldn’t get a deep breath. “That’s just too much for one person, let alone a sixteen-year-old kid, to deal with.” I rose on my elbow, my breasts pushing against Shane’s chest as I stared down into his eyes. “How did you survive it, Shane?” Tell me. Teach me. Because I’m still struggling.
His hand lifted to fit against my cheek, thumb sweeping across my lower lip. “Surviving is the easy part. All it takes is not dying, and that was just dumb luck.”
I shivered. “What’s the hard part?”
“Letting go of the anger. Not spending every waking moment anesthetizing myself against everything. Living, really living.”
The air between us was electric. Somehow we’d moved beyond the accident. That’s the way grief worked. You could only wallow in it for so long before needing to laugh or dance or scream. “What else?” I asked, needing Shane to acknowledge this connection between us, too.
He did, his face pinched with tension. “This, what’s happening between us. Caring about you. Letting you in. I don’t want to, Delaney. When you go, I’m going to be lost. Again.”
I blinked against the turbulence raging in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, Shane.” At least, not tonight.
Shane’s brow twisted with doubt. “You sure? Now you know the truth, my truth. I’m not the guy you thought I was.”
I sucked in a quick breath, needing oxygen. Shane was trusting me with his secrets and I still couldn’t give him mine. “No. You’re not. You’re so much better.” He’d stopped a drunk driver before I’d gathered the nerve to call 911. He’d gone to see his brother, but I was still hiding from my father. Shane was brave and I wasn’t.
His hoarse cackle split the thick air. “Why?”
For a fleeting moment, I was tempted to tell him everything. My truth. My pain. My lies.
I opened my mouth, a confession at the tip of my tongue. Until I looked into Shane’s eyes and pushed it back down. It churned in my stomach, back where it belonged.
Unlike the last time I’d been tempted to tell Shane the truth, I wasn’t holding back because I didn’t trust him.
But this was Shane’s moment. He’d been brave enough to share his ugly truths with me. Unloading my own would only diminish the weight of his.
For a man who lived in the spotlight, Shane kept so much of himself shrouded in darkness. Tonight he’d lifted a candle—just for me.
I wanted to honor that.
Or maybe I was just scrounging for an excuse to linger in the darkness myself.
Because if he knew what I’d done, would he ever look at me the same way?
Sliding my palms along Shane’s strong jaw, I cupped his face in my hands, wishing I could erase the skepticism staring back at me. “Because you’re real. And tonight you’re honest.” I dropped a kiss on his pursed lips. A kiss he didn’t quite return. My heart skipped, and I leaned back. “Let’s live, Shane. Just us, just tonight. Come alive with me.”
The gold sparks in his eyes lit up. His hand curved around my skull, threading through my hair. “Anyone ever tell you you’re fucking irresistible?”
“No,” I groaned as Shane held me a breath away from his lips.
“Just me?”
My chest heaved at the solemn rasp of his voice. “Yes. Just you, Shane. Only you.”
A sensual smile tugged at his full lips, the sight more beautiful to me than even the sunrise. “That’s right,” Shane whispered. “My girl.”
Shane
Once the high of performing began to fade, it was tempting to keep it going with whatever inducements were on hand. Booze, pharmaceuticals, girls. They were all part of life on the road, and because of them, there were more than a few tours I barely remembered.
Sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll.
After I opened up to Delaney, the next few shows passed in a blur, and not because I was shit-faced the whole time. If I wasn’t at sound check, onstage, or sleeping, every minute was spent devouring Delaney. By the time I walked offstage and into her arms, I had no interest in anyone else, so I generally avoided the post-show parties that broke out after our performances, but tonight was Landon’s birthday.
Reluctantly, I unwound myself from Delaney’s arms, pulled away from her sweet, sweet lips. “Come on, gotta go toast the birthday boy.”
Catching sight of my face in the mirrored glass hanging above her head, I was startled by the expression on my face. Out of necessity, I’d perfected the kind of rock-star, pseudo-angry gaze I used during magazine shoots and the flattered but not necessarily interested look I used with fans. But at the moment I wore neither of those. I looked…happy.
I turned away, scrubbing a palm over my face. Must have been a trick of the light.
Still sweaty from the show, I took a quick shower before heading to the reception room with Delaney, where a post-show/birthday party was already in full swing.
As soon as we stepped into the room, I knew it was a mistake. The acrid notes of cocaine floated on air already heady with exhilaration and laughter. Girls wearing more lipstick than clothing were sucking back champagne, guys fisting bottles of beer or tumblers brimming with Jack Daniel’s finest. My favorite. Landon and the guys were easy to spot. They were in the middle of the room, surrounded by an eager, boisterous throng.
Three chicks were hanging off Landon, their stance possessive and imperious, winners of the groupie gauntlet claiming their prize. I snagged a flute for Delaney and a beer bottle for me, fighting Jack’s pull. Maybe I could have handled a few sips, but I knew it would make turning down a line of coke that much harder. One would lead to another, and half a dozen after that. Eventually some oxy to even things out.
Knowing all three were within reach, I felt a tingle at the back of my neck. My throat was dry, my palms itching. “To the ugliest fucker to ever get behind a set of drums,” I said, clinking my beer with an array of bottles and glasses. “For your birthday I’m getting you a bigger set, to hide that mug from our fans before they stop coming to our shows.”
Landon’s head tilted back, laughter booming out of him. “I’ll show you a bigger set, jackass.” An eager blonde hooked her fingers around the band of his jeans, Landon doing nothing to stop her.
I pulled Delaney against me, knowing the only set she’d lay eyes on tonight was mine. “Yeah, yeah. You do that. I’m sure no one here would take a dick pic or anything.”
Flashing his trademark wink, Landon tilted the neck of his beer bottle at me. “Don’t you worry there, brother. I’ll send one to your girl personally. Make sure she’s not missing out on anything.”
If I didn’t love him, I would have ripped the jugular out of his neck. “You do that, Landy, and I’ll make sure you choke on it.” We had shared girls in the past, and he’d made his interest in Delaney perfectly clear.
I didn’t blame Landon for his interest, but Delaney was off-limits.
My eyes slid back to her, watching as her lips closed around the delicate glass and she took a small sip. “Let’s get out of here,” I growled.
Delaney was all mine.
* * *
A car was waiting for us, not far from a small horde of fans clustered behind a few ropes. I heard their screams of “I love you, Shane! You rock my world, Shane!” through the walls as we walked along the underground tunnels leading to the exit. Disgust curled my lip. These girls, screaming things they thought I wanted to hear, pledging an emotion that should mean something, they didn’t know me. They listened to my songs without hearing them, looked at me without actually seeing me.
They swallowed every single lie I fed them.
And it was all part of the show. The facade I’d erected in place of a life. Trading my sneer for a smile, I ambled over to the ropes, signing autographs, taking selfies, giving just enough of myself to make them think I might love them back.
By the time I got into the car with Delaney, she was staring dubiously through the window at the squealing pack of girls we were leaving behind. “I’m beginning to understand why you hire your girlfriends.”
I still had that strange post-show energy buzzing inside my veins, and my hands crept up Delaney’s skirt. I needed to work it off. “Oh yeah?” I pulled her into my lap, settling her legs on either side of mine, reaching around to cup her perfectly sculpted ass.
“We’ve been on tour for a few weeks, and so far the only women I’ve seen are the groupies, who look at you as if you’re their next meal or fans whose heads practically explode if you look their way.” She sucked in a breath, wide-eyed and guileless. “I had no idea.”
My heart lurched. When Delaney looked at me, she really saw me. Me and my crazy, fucked-up life. “Now you’ve got a front-row seat.”
Delaney traced my lips with her fingertips. “Yeah. I do.”
Her touch sent a shudder rippling through me. I edged aside the strip of lace in my way, dragged my fingers through her wet center. “I’ve been missing this all day.” It was the truth. Sound check had run long, and then I’d called Travis to tell him about the shift in my relationship with Delaney. Even though Delaney and I had agreed to a contract in name only, I wasn’t sure I wanted even that.
Maybe she still needed to believe that a set of rules defined our interaction, but I didn’t. Not anymore. I wanted Travis to tear up our contract. Wanted to know that the hold I had on her was body, mind, and soul. That it ran too deep to be contained by a sheet of paper.
He’d kept me on the phone for an hour. Are you out of your fucking mind? What do you really know about Delaney? You sure she’s not playing you?
Travis was more than just my attorney. He’d gotten me out of jail, gotten me sober, believed in me when he shouldn’t have. I could understand his frustration, and I let him vent it. His biggest concern, that I would fall back into abusing drugs and alcohol, was a moot point. I was entirely confident that Delaney had my best interest at heart. Beyond that, I wasn’t willing to let anything dull the buzz I got just from being around her. In the end, he promised to shred the employment contract Delaney had signed, although of course she would still be paid the money she was promised.
Maybe I didn’t know everything about Delaney Fraser, but I knew enough. Enough to take a chance on her. On us.
I was ready to let go of the edge and dive deep.
Bliss descended on Delaney as she broke apart in my arms, gripping my shoulders and groaning my name. And in that moment, I knew with one hundred percent certainty, only one thing mattered. Us.
Delaney
The phone rang before five. The one on the nightstand, not either of our cell phones.
Shane pulled the covers over our heads, then wrapped his arms around me more tightly. “It’ll stop,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
But it didn’t. Four rings, seven rings, ten. The air around my head was vibrating, not from the phone, but from Shane’s wrath. Finally, he bolted upright so violently, I expected him to grab the phone and hurl it across the room. I’d learned that touring was filled with early mornings, and this was one of the few we were able to sleep in. “Someone better be dead,” he growled.
Tension coiled around his muscles, flexing and contracting as he held the phone to his ear. I waited, each passing second making it less likely we’d be going back to sleep anytime soon.
After he hung up, Shane sank back into the mattress as if a heavy mantle had been dropped onto his shoulders. I rested a steadying hand on his thigh. “What is it?”
He huffed, indignant. “That was Travis.”
I didn’t pick up on the warning in his tone. “Let’s not talk about Travis right now,” I whispered, sliding my palm up his chest, the last of my sleepy fog swept away by the ripple of muscles beneath the surface of Shane’s skin.
Catching my hand, Shane pressed it over his heart. “No, don’t.” Horror radiated from his expression as he turned to me, his pulse racing against my palm. “We have to talk.”
I blinked, brows knitting over the bridge of my nose. Talk? Since when did Shane, or any red-blooded male, turn down sex to talk? Fear spiraled through me, sending tingles down my limbs.
“Delaney.” He drew my name out, so sorrowful. An apology.
My stomach knotted, turning over on itself. I lifted wide, questioning eyes to Shane, tears already starting to gather. “What happened?” Vulnerability bled from my words. I could hear it, hated it. Hated waiting to be told bad news, as if I hadn’t heard enough of it in my lifetime. Like I would somehow collapse under the weight of whatever Shane was holding back from me. I can take it, whatever it is. Just tell me, damn it.
“Fuck. I’m so sorry.” Blazing eyes swept over my face, fierce shards of remorse scraping my skin.
“What happened?” I repeated, feeling the kind of adrenaline rush I got from a Red Bull. But this wasn’t caffeine, just a double dose of anxiety. “Tell me, Shane.” What happened? I wanted to shake the answer out of him.
“Travis was…” The Adam’s apple in Shane’s throat bobbed as he swallowed heavily. “He was reviewing your contract last night, and he thinks someone from his cleaning crew picked it up and sold it.” His jaw clenched, biting out the last two words. “It’s out.”
The blood drained from my head. “What do you mean, it’s out? Where did it go?”
Shane stared down at my face, looking at me as if these were our last few seconds together. Dread pricked the base of my skull, skittering down my spine. I grabbed my phone from my purse, pulling up the Internet browser. There, on the front page of my news feed, was the blaring headline GIRLFRIEND FOR HIRE: SHANE HAWTHORNE PAYS TO PLAY.
A small shriek flew out of my mouth, too fast for my hand to hold it back. I pressed my fingers against my lips anyway, as if I could contain the panic spiraling inside my stomach like a tornado, swallowing me within its angry funnel.
I was breathing, my heart pounding. Very much alive.
Reading my obituary.
The whole reason I’d signed that damn contract was to make a new life for myself. Go back to school, become someone my parents would be proud of.
Lately I’d been thinking about changing my major from economics to prelaw. Since my father refused to hire an attorney on his own behalf, maybe I could help his case. Eventually, a law degree would allow me to help others, too.
Where did it go? Shane didn’t have to answer my question, because I already knew the answer.
Viral. This filthy, grossly exaggerated story that added prostitution to my résumé had gone viral.
How many law firms welcomed former prostitutes into their ranks? No need for a pesky trial. I’d been convicted by a tabloid that would probably show up on the first page in any Google search of my name. Had my future career been cut short before it even began?
A wave of loathing crashed into me. So many lies, I couldn’t escape them.
My father would see it. Read it.
Would he believe it, too?