Stupid tears.
Ones that shouldn’t be wasted on long-dead dreams.
She got Reagan settled into the big bed in Pike’s room without waking her, curled up in sheets that smelled like him, and let the old, familiar grief drift away.
She’d gotten good at saying good-bye to that dreaming girl.
That girl had no place in her life anymore.
SEVENTEEN
Pike watched Braxton’s face change from intense and serious to a wide smile as the phone conversation went on. Pike and the guys had been rehearsing in the studio for a few hours, bouncing around a few new song ideas, but all had come to a halt when Harlan, their manager, had called.
The interruption was welcome. Pike had been having trouble concentrating all afternoon. Tonight was the night with Oakley, and he had no idea how to feel about it. Part of him couldn’t wait to get her out to The Ranch so he could finally touch her and not have to worry about who saw. But he couldn’t help being bothered by the line she’d drawn between them the other night. First, she’d turned down his offer to take her on a date. Then she’d shut him down when he’d tried to talk to her about pursuing her song writing. So it was okay for them to fuck but not to discuss real life stuff.
He should’ve been relieved. The woman wasn’t looking for more than a hot time in bed. That was how relationships usually worked for him. But hearing it from Oakley had stung. She’d said she didn’t want the rock-star treatment, but she’d lied. Maybe she didn’t want to have a flashy date, but she wanted the one-night stand. She wanted to treat this like some anonymous hookup after a show.
That sucked.
He’d been tempted to call her out on it. But he’d told her upfront that all he required was honesty and she’d given it to him. It was his problem if he didn’t like how the truth sounded. He needed to accept it. The only other option was to walk away. And screw that. He wasn’t that noble. No way was he turning down the opportunity to be with Oakley tonight. If what she wanted was a hot night in bed, he was more than game for it. She wanted an escape, a wild time—fine. She picked the right guy for it. He’d bring his A-game.
Pike peered toward the far side of the room, watching Brax’s lips move on the other side of the soundproof glass. He couldn’t decipher the words but based on Brax’s expression, it was positive news. Geoff set his guitar aside and waggled his brows at Pike. “Think Harlan landed us a spot on a tour?”
Pike got up from his drum throne, spinning one of his sticks in his fingers, nervous energy coursing through him. “Could be. There are a lot of summer tours being put together. Now would be the time.”
“Might snag a festival. The Manic Five just got a spot at Edge Fest.”
“That’d be good, but we need more than onetime gigs if we want to get any traction. Otherwise, we’re going to end up on another club tour when the next album drops.”
The thought of that made Pike’s head hurt. He loved performing, and club shows used to be fun—the energy, the intimacy of the crowd. But it was a grind, too, because in order to make any money, you had to book three times the number of shows you’d have on a big tour. He’d paid those dues and didn’t relish going that route again. Plus, he had bad memories from the club tours. The endless travel on the bus, the long nights of partying, the Groundhog Day life. He’d nearly killed himself on that first tour, trying every illegal substance he could get his hands on and drinking his way down from the highs. He’d come back a fucking disaster.
Foster had kicked Pike’s ass when he’d returned so strung out. Pike hadn’t jonesed for the drugs so much but he’d craved the constant companionship and partying. The mayhem. He spent the first few weeks back home, fighting off panic attacks anytime he was alone in the quiet and going out to clubs to get lost in the crowd. He didn’t realize then that he’d never learned how to be alone. He’d jumped from big family to living with Foster to touring. When Foster had found him one night, blitzed out on too many antianxiety meds and in danger of overdosing, Foster had dragged him back to his place. That’s when they’d become roommates again. Foster knew Pike had no family looking out for him and took on that role instead.
Of course, that meant Foster had turned into a complete pain in the ass for a while afterward—making Pike get up and go to the gym, setting him up with a therapist, forcing him to work on new songs. Looking back, he knew now that Foster had just put that dominant side of his to use—taking control when Pike was unmoored. But it’d been ten kinds of annoying at the time. He probably would’ve bailed if Foster hadn’t eventually introduced him to The Ranch. That’s when things had started to settle inside of him. There was a place to push the edge without having to party or get high every night. There was a place he could be himself.
And since then, he’d managed to quell that need for chaos. The fact that he now lived alone—and enjoyed it—was testament to that. So even though he wanted nothing more than to see his band reach the next level, he dreaded life on tour. Yes, he missed performing. It was his first love. But he liked coming home every night to his own place and to Monty. He liked working with emerging artists at the studio. Hell, he was even enjoying the charity project. If they landed a tour, he’d have to drop all of that for months or even a year, depending on how big of a tour it was.
But he wanted the band to succeed. He wanted arenas. He wanted his mother and that fucker Red to see he was more than a piece of trash to be discarded. He wanted to build that mansion on the hill and then not invite them to dinner. The desire was ugly, but he couldn’t help that it was there. That fire had gotten him this far, and it still hadn’t gone out.
So he’d do whatever it took. He just prayed that Darkfall got an opening spot on a bigger tour instead of the club circuit. Fewer shows, more people, more exposure. Maximum impact.
Braxton tucked his phone into his pocket and headed back into the studio space. He was grinning wide.
“So?” Geoff asked.
“We got a spot at Voodoo Fest in New Orleans in October. Early time slot, but lots of big names on the same ticket.”
Pike tucked his hands in his back pockets and smiled. “Sweet.”
“And,” Brax said in his wait-there’s-more voice, “we’re one of three opening bands being considered for Wanderlust’s summer tour.”
“Wanderlust?” Geoff asked, impressed. “Shit, they’re blowing up right now. That could be huge.”
Pike’s smile went wider. “Well, hot damn. That fucker Lex Logan might pull through. Guess lead singers aren’t as unreliable as I thought.”
Braxton looked over at him, ignoring the dig. “You have something to do with this?”
Pike shrugged. “I called Lex a few months ago. Even though his band’s a big deal now, Lex hasn’t forgotten that we all started in the same place, played some of the same shows. He likes our stuff and knows we hit a rough patch that was out of our control. I didn’t want any pity, but I wanted to let him know that if they were ever looking to fill a slot to look us up.”
“Fucking A,” Geoff said, standing and stretching his neck. “It’d be perfect. Their music is sick. And can you imagine the prime level of ass they must get backstage at their shows?”
Pike sniffed. “Glad to see it’s all about the music for you, man.”
Braxton rocked forward on his toes, looking almost giddy. “Harlan said there are two other bands they’re looking at, so it’s not a done deal. But he’s going to send them a few videos of our recent performances so they can see for sure that my voice is back.”
“Awesome. We’ve been killing it lately. They watch those videos, we’ve got this,” Geoff said.
Pike smirked. “You don’t even know who the other two bands are.”
He shrugged and pushed his shaggy dark hair behind his ears. “Doesn’t matter. We’re fucking Darkfall!”
Pike laughed and bumped fists with the other two guys. “Damn straight.”
Brax checked the time on his phone. “Hey, we should go out and celebrat
e. A girl I met the other night is having a big birthday bash at a club downtown. She said the whole band was invited. She’s a model, so I bet her friends will be hot, too.”
“Sweet. I’m in,” Geoff said without missing a beat.
Pike frowned. Geoff was a few months out of rehab, and as much as Pike didn’t want to be that guy, he also didn’t want another setback for Geoff or the band. “Dude, that doesn’t sound like a great idea.”
Geoff snorted. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’m not going to fuck things up this time. I’ve become friends with club soda and lime. I’m going for the girls not the booze.”
Braxton clapped Geoff on the shoulder. “Yeah, and if I catch you with a drink, I’m punching you square in the nuts and dragging you to your sponsor. None of us are going to screw this up. Not when we’re this close again.”
“Noted.” Geoff looked to Pike. “So, you game?”
“Nope.” Pike twirled his drumstick between his fingers. “I’ve got plans.”
“With your dog?” Braxton asked.
Pike tossed the stick at him. “Fuck you. And no, I’ve got a date.”
Braxton knocked the stick away before it hit him. “That brunette I saw you with backstage the other night?”
“Yeah. She’s meeting me here in a little while.”
“Nice. Well, let’s keep working out that bridge then. You should look as badass as possible when she walks in.”
“Good idea. You need all the help you can get,” Geoff agreed solemnly. “I heard that actress you took home a while back shut you down, that you couldn’t close the deal. There were tweets. Lots of tweets.”
Pike gave a derisive sniff and shoved past the two of them to get to his drum kit. “Fuck you both.”
“You might have to. Might be your only options left.”
“Just get back to work, jerkoffs.”
Braxton grabbed his bass and blew a kiss Pike’s way. “And a one, two …”
Oakley sat behind the control board in the studio, unnoticed for the last few minutes, as she watched the guys of Darkfall jam. The music was coming through the speakers, filling the small space and wrapping around her. She hadn’t heard the song before but liked it already. It was slower than most of their other tracks, with a heavy, thudding beat, and the steady bass was working to soothe her jumbled nerves.
She’d been looking forward to tonight since the moment Pike had suggested it, but now that she was here with an overnight bag packed in the car, she wondered if she was out of her depth. Pike looked like a beast behind his drums, arms rippling, eyes closed, drumsticks twirling. He emanated this raw sexuality that both turned her on and intimidated the hell out of her. How was she going to match up with that?
She’d been with exactly two guys in her life. The first—Reagan’s dad—had been a fucked-up situation from the start. He’d been Pop Luck’s manager and twelve years older than her. At sixteen, she’d thought she must be special for an older, sophisticated guy like Liam to take an interest in her. She’d never considered how wrong it’d been for him to be putting moves on a minor.
And convincing her into his bed had been like a series of well-calculated chess moves—him playing on her insecurity and inexperience and teaching her “what guys liked.” He’d been handsome and charismatic, so she’d fallen into the trap easily. He started her slow, like he was just helping out the poor sheltered girl from Oklahoma get used to her new life in California. Then the compliments and attention had started, and she’d fallen under the spell. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. I can show you how to kiss. I can take care of you better than guys your age ever could. Until finally, they’d fallen into a physical relationship and he’d told her he loved her.
It still made her stomach turn to think of it. She’d bought it all. He’d been wildly jealous and had kept male fans away from her. He’d made her promise not to tell her brother because Devon would break them up. She’d seen it as protective. He’d dictated where she went, what she wore, how she acted. She’d thought he was keeping her safe. And in a way, she’d liked that he seemed to care that much. There’d been some comfort in that role.
Then she got pregnant. And the real Liam had shown his face. She wasn’t his one and only. It wasn’t love. She was disposable. And replaceable.
Her other encounter had been the guy she’d tried to date when Reagan was younger. The sex hadn’t been anything extraordinary, but he had seemed to enjoy himself, and it’d been nice enough for her—well, until he’d dumped her over her night job.
But she had a feeling with Pike, she was entering a whole different arena. The phone sex alone had been way hotter with him than any in-person encounters she’d ever had. Plus, he belonged to a sex resort for God’s sake. What did that even mean?
She put her hand to her forehead. Hell, she was having freaking stage fright over sex. This was ridiculous. It’s not like sex was some mystical process. Pike was a guy. She talked to guys every night on the phone and handled herself just fine. What turned them on was pretty easy to decipher.
The music stopped and she looked up. Pike was smiling her way through the window. “Looks like it’s quitting time, boys.”
She shook her head then searched for the button on the panel that would let her talk to them. The control board was different from the ones she’d seen back when she was in the business, and there were way more computer screens going.
“The orange button,” Pike said.
She found it and pressed. “Don’t quit on account of me. I’m fine listening.”
But the guys were getting up from their spots anyway and putting their instruments away. Pike came through the doorway first, sauntering in like sex appeal personified in his heather gray V-neck T-shirt and black jeans. He grabbed her around the waist and gave her a quick kiss. “Hey, mama. Glad to see you didn’t chicken out.”
“Thought about it,” she said, breathless at his nearness and open affection.
He smiled. “But you didn’t. That’s all that counts.”
He let her go when the other guys strolled in, and he made introductions. Geoff and Braxton shook her hand, and though they were subtle about it, they both clearly gave her a once-over. She fought the insecurity that tried to well up at their perusal. She doubted she looked anything like the type Pike and these guys usually hooked up with. But she wasn’t going to feel bad about not being twenty-three and stick thin. This was who she was. If Pike wasn’t into it, he wouldn’t have asked her here tonight.
Pike nodded at her. “Oakley came to the festival to see us play.”
“Y’all were great,” she said. “I couldn’t get the songs out of my head for days.”
“Yeah, and if I remember right, you thought Geoff was ridiculously hot on stage,” Pike offered, mischief in his eyes.
Her neck went hot when Geoff grinned wide, but she wasn’t going to let Pike get the last word. “I did say that. You free tonight, Geoff?”
Braxton let out a bark of a laugh and Geoff winked. “Totally. Let’s get out of here, sweetheart.”
Pike’s mouth flattened, and he put a hand on Geoff’s chest when he tried to step toward Oakley. Pike sent her a look. “Well played, Ms. Easton.”
She smirked.
“On that note,” Braxton said. “We’re out of here. I don’t want your girl to realize she’s getting stuck with the ugliest member of the band.”
Oakley laughed. Truth was, all three of them were pretty damn gorgeous—the other two dark and scruffy to Pike’s platinum—Braxton lean and long and Geoff broad-shouldered and built. But neither of them drew her eye like the blond, tattooed drummer who was currently giving her a you’re-all-mine look.
The guys exchanged their good-byes and headed out, leaving Pike and Oakley facing off in the control room. He gave her skirt-and-flowy-blouse combo a slow, rolling once-over. She crossed her arms, feeling self-conscious.
He reached out and unfurled her arms. “Please, don’t hinder the view. I’ve never seen you with
a low-cut top. I may need a minute here to ogle. Christ.”
She laughed. “This old thing? That I just bought yesterday.”
“That shirt is a gift. I thought the guys’ eyes were going to roll out of their heads when they saw you.”
“I just thought it was the shock of seeing real boobs,” she teased.
He narrowed his eyes and stepped into a space. “Mmm, they are a rarity these days.” He lifted his hand and brushed the back of it oh-so-gently over the curve of her breast, bringing her nipple to an instant point. “I might have to dedicate part of tonight reacquainting myself with such a luxury.”
Shivers traced over her skin from where he’d touched her. “I won’t oppose this plan.”
He wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her against his body. The hard heat of him made her tongue press to the roof of her mouth. She’d told him early on that she’d gone numb to sex. And she had been. But Lord, her libido was making up for lost time now. She couldn’t even pretend to be unaffected. “So, ready to get going?”
He brushed his mouth over hers—a tease. “Yes. After you pay the price of admission.”
She let her hands slide along his waist, the warmth of his skin bleeding through the thin material of his shirt. “And what might that be?”
He touched his forehead to hers. “You’re going to sing for me.”
“What? No, Pike,” she said, stepping out of his embrace.
He cocked his head toward the studio. “Come on, mama. No one’s here to listen but me. I want to hear you.”
She shook her head, her stomach tightening. “I don’t sing those songs. They’re too … personal.”
The songs she’d written after her years in Pop Luck were hers, her private thoughts and scars. Singing them was like standing naked in front of someone. And though she was willing to physically bare herself in front of Pike, she wasn’t ready to do it emotionally.
“Songs aren’t worth shit unless they’re personal. And if we’re going to go to The Ranch, I need to know you trust me.” He closed the space she’d put between them and took her face in his hands. “Play for me, Oakley. I’ll even back you up with drums so you don’t have to feel like I’m watching. I want to hear you.”