Delaney
My father’s prison was two hours from the New Jersey arena Nothing but Trouble was headlining tonight, and a world away from the luxurious hotel where I’d spent the night in Shane’s arms. It smelled like a hospital, with underlying notes that were much more pungent and sinister. A stern guard warned that I would be allowed to hug my father only twice, once at the beginning and once at the end of our visit. He shuffled into the room, looking so much smaller and more fragile than the man who had carried me high on his shoulders at every parade, and when my arms encircled his torso, I could feel the hardness of his ribs beneath the rough fabric of his prison-issued shirt.
“Daddy,” I cried, reverting back to a name I hadn’t used since I was a child.
“You promised me,” he said gruffly.
“I know. I’m sorry. But I can’t…I can’t forget about you. About why you’re in here and I’m out there.”
My father dipped his head, running both hands over his thinning hair, kneading at the muscles of his neck. His voice was thick with strain. “That’s the way it has to be, Delaney. You know that.”
That’s what he’d told me seconds after impact. Before we heard the sirens. Before we knew my mother was gone. When the police came, he told them he’d been behind the wheel.
A lie that had led to so many others, I was drowning beneath the weight of them all.
“You’re the reason for my transfer.” His eyes probed mine. “Upstate to here. Maximum to minimum.”
I nodded. “It’s the least I could do. You shouldn’t even be here at all.” Tears slid down my cheeks, words wavering.
“It’s better. Thank you,” he conceded. “But, Delaney, stop worrying about me.”
How can I? “Have you seen the news?”
“About you and the musician?”
That answered my question. “What they’re saying about me, it’s not true. I would never…you know, be with someone because he was paying me. I needed to come here today, to tell you that in person.”
He gave me a long, sober look. “How many weeks did you go without an allowance because you didn’t feel like cleaning your room?” A wisp of a smile curled his lip. “You’ve always been interested in numbers, but you’re the least motivated by money than anyone I’ve ever met.” He cleared his throat. “Are you happy?”
Happy? I recoiled. How could I be happy? But then I realized that after three years of brutal darkness, when even getting out of bed felt like a superhuman challenge, being with Shane made me happy. “I am. Sometimes.”
“Because of the singer?”
“Shane. Yes.”
“Good. You deserve to be happy, Delaney. Just make sure you follow your own dreams, too. Your mother wanted to be an artist, you know.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Really? She never said anything.”
He gave a rueful grimace. “School loans, a mortgage, a husband, a baby she adored. She thought spending time and money on herself was frivolous.” His words took on an urgency. “Get out of here, Delaney. Forget about me.”
I was shaking. “Forget about you?” I cried in a choked whisper. “You’re my father. I can’t. I can’t do it, Daddy.”
“You have to, Delaney. Let me do my time knowing you’re out there, living your life. Please.”
I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, memories from that awful night running through my mind like a film reel.
Three years ago I had been home from school, going out to dinner with my parents before meeting up with a few friends. The restaurant was near the train station, so my father walked there after work. I’d been running late, my nose in a book. By the time my mother and I arrived, my father had finished his usual martini. I offered to drive home, and my parents proceeded to share a bottle of wine with dinner.
We were at a light when I picked up my phone and began texting my friends that I would be there in half an hour. The next thing I knew, there was a screeching sound and the car was spinning.
Texting while driving was illegal, and even though my father knew he would probably be over the legal limit, he hauled me out of the car before anyone realized which one of us had been behind the wheel.
Before we saw my mother’s lifeless body, slumped in the backseat.
Shame flattened my words. “How can I live my life when it feels like I’ve stolen yours?” And Mom’s. I left that second thought unspoken though. It was too much.
His eyes, darker than mine, flashed. “Because if I have to see you in here, it would kill me, Delaney. Don’t do that to me.” My father’s voice was adamant, his thin frame bristling with anger.
So I gave in, nodding weakly. “Okay, Daddy.” Feeling like the worst daughter in the world.
He sucked in a breath and rose. On trembling legs, I stood, stepped into his embrace. Too soon, there was a buzz, a clang. He broke away, spine stiff.
Two sets of heavy footsteps dead-ended at the metal door, one guard to take my father back into the bowels of the prison and the other to lead me back to freedom.
Freedom I didn’t deserve.
* * *
By the time I arrived at the hotel, the clanking of heavy metal gates still echoing inside my ears, Shane had already left for the arena. Desperate to erase the smell of prison that had seeped into my pores, I took a scalding-hot shower, liberally applying every scented product in the bathroom to my skin and scalp. Earlier, I wasn’t sure I would make it to tonight’s Nothing but Trouble concert, but now every cell in my body was crying out for Shane.
Piper was back in L.A., and with no hair and makeup people to fuss over me, I reached for a formfitting tank dress that was made of silk jersey the same color as my skin and overlaid with a delicate pale-gray fabric. From afar, I would appear naked beneath bits of carefully placed lace. I straightened my hair, somehow managed to create a smoky eye without looking like a raccoon, then stepped into a pair of strappy high heels.
It didn’t take long to arrive at the concert venue, and the driver had obviously called ahead, because a roadie was waiting to escort me to Shane’s dressing room. My heels tapped along the concrete floor of the labyrinth of underground tunnels, an all-access badge swaying between my breasts.
Before meeting Shane, I had always tried to fade into the woodwork, but those days were over. Tonight I was not immune to the looks from people I passed in the hallway, desire from the men and jealousy from the women. Their stares only enhanced the buzzing in my veins, adding to the sense of unreality tinting the strange world I now inhabited.
The bodyguard stationed outside Shane’s dressing room opened the door and stepped aside. Shane’s eyes met mine before falling away to take in my dress, widening slightly in appreciation. “Everyone, clear out.”
There was the usual ribbing as Shane’s guests left the room. Before the door had even shut behind them, Shane closed the gap between us and took me in his arms. “How did it go today?”
“Fine.” I pressed my cheek against his shoulder. “My head is spinning. I need you to make me forget everything for a bit. Can you do that?”
Shane reached for my chin, tipping it upward with his thumb, fingertips sliding along the curve of my neck. On a sigh, my lips opened and I leaned into him, fitting my body against his, inviting his tongue to slide deeper into my mouth. He sucked on my bottom lip and I groaned, my need for him as strong and insistent as my own heartbeat. Craving friction of any kind, I twisted my waist to rub against Shane’s shirt, hating the layers that separated us.
I was a hot mess, skin prickling with desire and desperate to feel him inside of me. Shane’s hand slid along my cheekbone to cradle my skull, the other following the arch of my spine. Moving lower. Cupping my ass and pulling me in closer, the outline of his cock digging into my belly.
“Shane,” I whimpered.
Like it was an invitation, he pushed me up against the wall, reaching for the inside of my knee and pulling it over his hip. “That’s right, baby. The only name you need to know is mine. Gonna make you call it out all night long.” My dress hiked up, bunching at my waist as I clung to Shane’s shoulders. I was lost. So lost.
His kisses grew harder. Giving, taking, pushing, pulling. I kissed him back like my life depended on it. But I was greedy. I wanted more.
And Shane knew. He knew. He ran his palm along the side of my dress, to my naked thigh and lower still. I swung my other leg up, crossing my ankles behind his back. Shane’s fingertip ran along my thong, pressing the lace into my crease, finding my clit. “This what you want?”
“Yes,” I panted, arching my hips into his hand. Fuck, yes.
Pinning my body to the wall with his weight, Shane pulled back just enough to look at me. Eyes like a tumbler of brandy sitting beside a flickering candle. So many shades of brown and gold. “You miss me?”
I sucked in a quick breath, nails digging into his neck as I fought to form the only word I was capable of. “Yes.” It came out like a hiss.
Shane pressed harder, deeper, his lips curving into a smirk at my ragged groans. Pleasure spiked, swirling inside me, the pressure building. I closed my eyes, tightening my legs around his hips. A shudder rippled along my spine, leaving me breathless. Breathless but so completely alive. Heart pounding, limbs tingling, blood set to boil. Oh my God.
Shane brought me back to life. With his body and his words. With the way he looked at me, the way he talked to me. The way he fucked me.
I was spinning.
Falling.
Flying.
Floating in a place lit by fireworks and shooting stars.
Shane held me tighter as shudders racked though me.
Kissed me gently as I came back down to earth.
As if on cue, there was a sharp rap at the door and Lynne poked her head into the room, recoiling like a scared turtle when she caught sight of us. “You’re on in two, Shane. Everyone else is already on their way.”
With a savage breath Shane broke our kiss, his hands gripping my shoulders as he pulled away. “In a minute,” he growled.
I unwound my legs, standing shakily on my own feet. “You have to go.” My words were flat.
Shane pressed his palm against my neck, his thumb and fingers squeezing just enough to make my head pound. “You’re not coming?” he asked.
“I am.” I hesitated, tugging my dress down. “I will. I just—”
Shane kissed me again and took a step back. “Take all the time you need.” And then he was gone, leaving only the searing imprint of his touch on my skin.
Shane
Two days after Delaney met with her father, she and I sat down for an interview to be aired, teaser by teaser, all of next week, culminating in an hour-long, primetime special. Travis was a firm believer in “no publicity is bad publicity,” and even though I didn’t really agree with him, I knew that the sooner I addressed the scandal head-on, the sooner it would be in my rearview mirror.
By eight, the hotel suite was a mess of people, lights, and wires. Piper had taken Delaney into one of the bedrooms to get her “camera ready.” As far as I was concerned, Delaney was perfect as is, her face bare, hair a dark river of untamed waves. I loved that her lips were still puffy from my kisses, the delicate skin of her neck sporting a pinkened bite mark. She looked like what she was, a gorgeous girl who had been well and thoroughly fucked. For hours. By me.
Except now I was in the other bedroom, too many people touching me, talking to me. Travis and a headphone-wearing, clipboard-clutching production assistant were the loudest. Over the past few weeks Delaney had proved to me that she understood me. I’d laid out all of my demons and secrets, and she had faced them head-on, daring me to use them as an excuse to run away. Escape. And then my already fucked-up life had thrown another curveball. That stupid, goddamn contract.
The first night Delaney came to my beach house, I’d kissed her, wanting to do more. Until she’d said something I’d been trying to disprove ever since. Don’t make me your whore. Well, now the whole world thought that’s exactly what she was. My whore.
She wasn’t.
Delaney Fraser was my everything.
Possessiveness pounded through my veins, along with a boiling rage. Definitely not the right mind-set to take into an interview. I should be aloof, impersonal. But how could I? They were talking about my girl. They were hurting my girl. And I wanted to fucking kill them.
This was probably how Delaney felt after she’d pulled up the story on her phone. And we used it. Funneled all that rage into a blistering sexual marathon that left us completely spent. That was what I needed now. I needed to fuck. Not give a fucking interview.
The PA finally left, getting nothing from me but a series of grunts and hostile stares. He was wiry and anxious, and I wanted to rip him limb from limb.
“Listen,” Travis was saying, “I know you’re pissed. I get it. This bullshit happened on my watch, and I’m pissed, too. But we have a chance to come out on top of this, Shane. You need to step up. Not just for you, but for Nothing but Trouble. The guys are depending on you. Delaney’s depending on you.”
Finally, the mountain of words he’d been piling on me started to make sense. I sucked in a deep breath, uncurled my hands from the arms of my chair, and offered a stiff nod.
“Good. This isn’t some slimy reporter from In Touch Weekly. This is NBC. This is Mike Lewis. This is their A-team. Guaranteed they’ve done their homework. Both you and Delaney have skeletons in your closets. And we have to assume they’ve found most, if not all, of them.”
My eyes blazed. “What are you trying to say?”
“Shane, this is no puff piece. And that’s not a bad thing. Let everything come out at once, not in dribs and drabs. A little from People here, another piece from TMZ, something else uploaded to Radar Online. That’s not going to do us any good. We need a major network to shine a spotlight so bright, there won’t be any shadows left.”
I couldn’t even imagine a life with no shadows. The second I walked off the stage, I dove for my shadow like a mole into a dark tunnel. God knew, it was big enough. “You think they know—” I couldn’t even say it.
“About the accidents? Delaney’s, definitely. And yours, probably. We legally changed your name to Shane Hawthorne, but there’s still a paper trail if you dig deep enough.”
“Fuck.” Sean Sutter died the same night Caleb had. And today he would rise from the grave and be broadcast into every home in America. I’d been just a sixteen-year-old kid when I left. By the time Shane Hawthorne strutted across the stage at the VMA’s for the first time, I was in my twenties, a shiny new product of the big-name studio putting out my albums. I’d grown another few inches, added fifty pounds of muscle to my gawky teenage frame. The only one who’d recognized me had been Gavin, and I’d been too wasted know.
Now I was nearing thirty, with everything to lose.
And if I lost Delaney, nothing else would matter.