Shane
Two days after my meeting with the Branfords, and their ensuing statement to the press, the prosecutor announced he was dropping all charges against me for lack of evidence. It also helped that Gavin had sent the crime scene photographs to an expert. Blown up to ten times their original size, it was possible to see that one of the four cans scattered on the floor mats was unopened. A fact the accompanying report had made no mention of.
I would never forget about Caleb, or go a day without missing him. He was up there somewhere, watching over me. And I wanted to make him proud.
Caleb wouldn’t want me to live without really living.
Nothing but Trouble was going back on the road. With all the press coverage surrounding the TMZ story, the NBC interview, my arrest and then release, our tour was extended by two months to accommodate the dates we’d had to cancel. More dates were added, too.
But those were just details. What was really different…and strange, very strange, was not having secrets anymore. The press knew everything. Everything.
They had dug up every last detail of my childhood. Things I thought I’d kept hidden were being recounted by people I barely remembered. My father’s drunken fits. The abuse my mother had suffered at his hands. The accident. My given name. That I didn’t get behind a microphone until after Caleb’s death. My battles with addiction.
It seemed all those secrets I’d been ashamed of had never been secrets at all.
Some of the press coverage wasn’t true, though. Dozens of women I’d never even met were popping up in the press, claiming I had paid them for “a girlfriend experience.”
My fans didn’t seem to care about any of it. If anything, the added attention spawned a new level of interest. I had to disable notifications on my iPhone because it wouldn’t stop lighting up with tweets, messages, and Google Alerts, finally throwing the damn thing out because some hacker figured out how to track my moves and was posting my location online.
Nothing but Trouble’s sales had gone through the roof. I was deluged with offers to write a book, star in a movie about my life, film a reality series or docudrama while on tour. I couldn’t turn on a radio without hearing my songs, browse the Internet without seeing my face, or open a magazine without seeing my name. The more of me there was, the more my fans wanted.
Landon and the guys teased me about it, but they made no complaints about the increased royalties.
Travis was completely in his element and loving every minute. Fielding offers left and right and, mostly, staying out of my hair.
Gavin came to as many shows as he could, and we spoke or texted often.
I was grateful for my freedom. And for Delaney.
Everything else was just background noise.
Except for one thing. Delaney’s father was still in jail. She was putting on a brave face, but I knew it was killing her. And even though my legal squabbles had nothing to with her father, whenever I put myself in her shoes, guilt curved around my rib cage and squeezed tight.
I reached for my new phone and called my brother, our rekindled relationship another good thing to come out of my relationship with Delaney. “Hey.”
“Let me guess. You’re calling to remind me to take my vitamins?”
When we were kids, Gavin would steal bottles of Flintstones chewables and made sure I took one every morning. “Did you?”
“Of course. You?”
“I will, right after you give me an update on Fraser’s case.”
He grunted, obviously preferring a more concrete answer. “I wish I could say that the wheels of justice are moving slowly, but that’s not all.”
I braced myself for a long, boring explanation I would only understand about half of. “Tell me.”
“It’s almost like he wanted to go to jail.”
“What do you mean? No one wants to go to jail.”
“Exactly. But I can’t explain it any more clearly. I’ve met with him. Twice. He doesn’t want this appeal. Is adamantly against it. Doesn’t want me talking to Delaney, reviewing the evidence against him, or petitioning the court. I’m at loose ends.”
A frown pinched at my forehead. “I don’t get it.”
“Me neither. But I have to tell you, I don’t think it’s because he’s guilty.”
“Then why?”
“I think he’s hiding something. Or protecting someone. I just don’t know what, or who. But I’m going to find out.”
My mind flashed to Delaney and the way she’d looked beneath me just this morning. Sweet and beautiful. Trusting. “Thanks, Gavin. Delaney’s been by my side through everything lately, and I know it’s been hard for her to think about her own father behind bars.”
“That girl of yours is a keeper, Shane.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Delaney
All Nothing but Trouble concerts were exciting, but tonight, the first show since Shane’s arrest, was completely insane. Pulling up to the venue, walking through the crowded underground tunnels, navigating the riotous scene backstage—we might as well have been climbing a mountain as a storm rolled in, darkening the sky above our heads. All around us, barely harnessed energy crackled through the air, just waiting to explode. Shane and the guys breathed it in, letting it fill their lugs, quicken their steps, shine through their bright eyes and potent smiles.
Shane stayed quiet though, saving his voice even as he squeezed my hand, keeping me close. Landon tapped out a frenzied drumbeat on his thigh, his bare chest exposed by yet another unbuttoned shirt. Jett’s and Dax’s fingers were restless, running up and down the fret board of instruments they weren’t holding yet.
For the past few weeks, I’d been terrified that my greatest fear would be realized. That Shane would wind up behind bars. Just like my father. Seeing Shane now, completely in his element, without the prosecutor’s noose hanging over his head, felt like a gift.
Even so, my heart squeezed. I had promised my father I’d stay quiet, but I just didn’t know if I could do it anymore.
I couldn’t forget about my father and leave him to rot. I had pushed Shane to face his problems head-on—why couldn’t I do the same?
Roadies hefted equipment, deftly navigating a sea of twisting cords littering the ground without incident, setting them down according to a map they seemed to hold in their minds. Yelling to be heard above the opening act, they cursed at one another with an easy camaraderie that belied their coarse language.
Shane led me to a back corner, somewhat removed from the chaos. “You okay?” Worry radiated from his eyes as he hunched over me, his shoulders shielding me from view.
As much as his fans had rallied around him, they hated me with equal vigor. They called me a gold digger, a whore, a slut. #DumpHerPickMe was trending, and T-shirts with my face and that hashtag were worn by every other girl in the venue. I wasn’t sure I disagreed with them. Shane had conquered all his demons. He didn’t have any more secrets, and even Caleb’s parents had absolved him of blame.
Meanwhile, I hadn’t been honest with Shane about my role in the accident that had ripped my life to shreds. Hadn’t let him see the darkness that was slowly eclipsing all the light I’d been so determined to shine his way. And my father was still sitting in jail. So, what the hell was I doing here? Was this my future, standing in the wings, watching Shane onstage, owning his talent, owning his truth? I didn’t need a stage, didn’t want the glare of the lights on me. But I needed something of my own. Needed to be someone besides Shane Hawthorne’s girlfriend or Colin Fraser’s daughter.
But I shoved all that as deep as I could, hopefully deep enough that Shane couldn’t see it. I would deal with it…later. “I’m great. Happy to see you back where you belong.”
His eyes softened, tenderness shining from each amber iris. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”
I shook my head, palms pressing on his chest. I’d never get tired of touching this man. “That’s not true.”
“It is. You told me to talk to the Branfords, to stop hiding behind mouthpieces I pay to do my talking for me. Because of you I reached out to Gavin. I have my brother back.” Shane’s arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. “I owe you everything, Delaney.”
Owe? I didn’t want him to owe me a damn thing. I wanted him to love me. I ran my hands up Shane’s shirt, entwining them around his strong neck. “You don’t, really.”
“I do, baby.” He breathed into my hair, kissing the top of my head and tracing the curve of my spine with his thumbs. My skin thrilled at his touch, every nerve ending feverish with desire. “And I want you by my side, always.”
My brain was lagging behind, not quite as willing to go along with the lust burning through me. Questions piled on top of questions. Why? Is that all you want from me? Another set of adoring eyes? What about love? If I love you enough, will you ever love me back?
But this wasn’t the time or the place. We were surrounded by people and noise and chaos. Just as I was figuring out what to say, there was a shout from Landon. “Dude, you can play with your toy later. We’re on!”
Toy. With my head turned in his shoulder, Shane didn’t see me flinch. And when he leaned in closer, his lips tickling my earlobe, to say, “Can’t wait to play later,” he probably thought I shivered with anticipation. But no. It was unease that vibrated along my spine. I didn’t want to be Shane’s “toy.” Or his “whore” or any of the other smears that had been tossed my way. As he ran onstage, my stomach twisted into knots.
Loving him.
Hating myself.
Because my parents, both of them, had raised me to be more than a man’s accessory. Even if that man was Shane Hawthorne.
I wanted to do something with my life, something useful.
Shane’s jail cell epiphany had given him a focus, channeling his efforts into building his career so he could use his name and money to help those without the gift of his talent.
Academia was calling to me. My life was calling. There was so much I wanted to learn, and I craved the validation that came with earning a degree. It was a stepping-stone to figuring out what I truly wanted to do with my life. And I wanted to find a way to forgive myself. Wanted to finally help my father. I just hoped Shane would choose to be a part of all of it.
But first I had to figure out a way to come clean. Not just to Shane, but to the people who had put my father in jail for a crime he didn’t commit. Because otherwise, my secret was a bomb that would undoubtedly go off at the most inopportune time, destroying everything I was building with Shane. I needed to control the inevitable explosion.
And to do it, I would have to distance myself from Shane. Protect him from the backlash.
Maybe then he could forgive my deceit.
More than fifty thousand screaming fans were packed into MetLife Stadium tonight. And every one of them would probably say they were in love with Shane Hawthorne. As he came into view, there was a roar that nearly lifted me off my feet.
And Shane, he looked…happy. Beyond happy. Exultant.
This was where he belonged. Center stage, belting out lyrics that resonated with everyone listening, adored by thousands. He needed their love, their recognition. Without it, he wouldn’t be Shane Hawthorne.
Did he need me? Did he love me? Right now, at this moment, I had my doubts.
I owe you.
Those words scraped at my soul, leaving a stinging, jagged gash in their wake. I crossed my arms around my waist, holding myself tight. I wanted to remember this moment always. The sheer beauty that was Shane, using his God-given talent to electrify an entire arena, and loving every minute.
I wanted to remember the hurt, too, because this might be the last time I had the chance. I could never truly be a part of this life, not if this was all there was.
My mother had wanted to be an artist but had never pursued her dreams. Had she secretly resented my father for it? Had he felt guilty for letting her give up her passion?
Resentment. Guilt. Such ugly emotions. If I didn’t take action now, they were bound to come between me and Shane eventually.
I breathed deep, tasting the acrid smoke of the pyrotechnic effects on my tongue like dregs at the bottom of a coffee cup. I wanted to memorize everything—the flash of lights illuminating pockets of the crowd, the dancing, screaming fans that looked like algae churning in rough seas. The way the pulse of the music reverberated through the soles of my shoes. And always—Shane.
Tonight I was wearing open-toed silver stilettos and a shimmery, pale shift that barely reached midthigh. It was dressier than I normally wore, but Piper had insisted that tonight’s victory concert was special and I should look the part. Her phrase resonated with me now, because that’s just how I felt. Like I was playing a part.
I’d known exactly what I was getting into when I’d signed on to be Shane’s girlfriend. Well…maybe not exactly. I didn’t know I would fall so deeply in love with him, or that not knowing if he felt the same was like a malignant cancer stalking its way through my bones. I wasn’t acting anymore. This was real to me. I wasn’t an actress. I was a lovesick fool.
I loved Shane, absolutely. But I couldn’t be his fool.
What did he feel for me? Gratitude? Lust? Was that all?
Happiness and misery were like twin tides, pulling at me from opposite directions.
Shane came running offstage after his set, stopping just short of pulling me against his sweaty chest. “If I hug you now I’ll ruin your dress,” he said, frowning.
“I don’t care.” I leaned forward, every pore straining for contact with him.
His hands curled around my shoulders, keeping me at a distance. “No, baby. Not tonight.”
Confusion twisted my brows. “Why not?”
A roadie appeared at Shane’s side, holding a towel and a fresh shirt. Shane took off his sweat-soaked tee and rubbed himself off as I watched, traitorous heat throbbing between my thighs. He caught the naked want in my expression, grinning lewdly. “Trust me.” Putting on his fresh shirt, Shane gulped from a bottle of water, glancing around to see if the guys were ready to get back on.
Landon met his eyes. “You sure you’re up for this?”
A grin streaked across Shane’s face. “Just get your drumsticks ready, Landy.”
“Don’t you worry. I’m pulling them out of my ass just for you, Shaney-baby,” Landon teased. There was a jagged edge to their banter tonight.
Shane turned to face me as Landon strutted back onstage, performing a drum solo before Jett and Dax took their places, each of them reveling in their individual performances before coming together as a group for Shane’s entrance. “You’re going to stay right here. Don’t move, okay?”
I would have laughed, but there was a seriousness to his instruction that quelled the impulse. “I’ll be right here. I promise.”
He gave a tight smile, squeezing my shoulders. And then he was off, the crowd welcoming him like the second coming of Christ.
This time he launched into a song I’d never heard before. And I knew instantly it had been written after our night on the beach together. The night I’d been convinced he was dead and had run to him out of fear. Fear that had morphed into something much different the second my hand touched his skin.
That night that had ended with me alone in the bedroom he’d assigned me, a Band-Aid on my foot and a certainty somewhere deep inside my gut that it wouldn’t be the last time I’d be hurting because of Shane.
Until tonight, I’d lulled myself into believing that if I loved Shane enough he would love me back.
He wanted me, sure.
Thought he needed me.
Thought he owed me.
But did he love me?
The song ended, and I wiped at the tears streaming down my face with the back of my hand, knowing I was probably ruining the makeup that had been so expertly applied less than two hours ago. Not caring.
Could that four-letter word be strong enough to withstand the bombshell I was about to drop?
Shane turned his back to the crowd, looking at me as he lifted the microphone to his lips. “And now I want to introduce you to the person who’s responsible for me being here tonight. We started off in a very unconventional way, as I’m sure you all know.” Most of the crowd was with him, laughing on cue, although there were a few “dump her pick me” shouts scattered among them.
“I started my career after the death of my best friend, Caleb Branford. He’s the one who should be with us tonight, holding this microphone.” There were no more shouts. Fifty thousand people were silent, mesmerized by Shane’s remarks. “But he can’t be here. Someone else is, though. Someone who taught me to face the truth head-on. To stop hiding behind lies, hiding behind people lying for me.”
The enormous LED screen behind the stage came to life, with a new hashtag in bold, bright letters. #SayYesToShane.
The crowd began chanting it. “Say yes to Shane. Say yes to Shane. Say yes to Shane.” It rippled through the arena like a hurricane gathering speed. I sucked in a quick breath, my lungs scorched from the overheated air.
Landon started a low, almost ominous beat on his drums, and Shane looked at me again. “Come out here, Delaney.”
There were catcalls and whistles and applause. And a few boos.
My heart plummeted. I knew what was about to happen. What was happening. Everyone in the audience did, too.
My eyes were as round as saucers, but my feet wouldn’t move. Until they did.
In the wrong direction.