The Girl's Got Secrets

  I marched toward the stage.

  Her eyes lit up with hope when she saw me approaching. But I didn’t smile back or give her anything to hang that hope on. I turned my gaze away and focused on the karaoke station. After I called up the song I wanted, I hopped on the stage, and tugged the microphone from her startled fingers.

  She blinked at me, frowning slightly even as a smile lingered on her face. She thought I was going to sing something about forgiving her. But instead, Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood” came on. And I sang it directly at her.

  Her mouth came open as shock flooded her features.

  About the fourth time I told her we had problems and couldn’t solve them, she puffed up her chest with an annoyed scowl and hurried off the stage. I watched, thinking that was that, but she only paused at the karaoke machine and picked something else from the list.

  I didn’t want to be, but I was curious what she’d chosen.

  So when Elton John’s “Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word,” broke over Taylor’s voice and Remy stole the microphone right back from me to sing the lyrics, I shook my head. Stubborn-ass woman just didn’t know when to give up, did she?

  So I chased her lyrics with “Better Things to Do” by Terri Clark.

  For some reason, I expected more angry determination from her. I was kind of getting into the game, relishing the back and forth and impatient to hear what she’d come up with next.

  But sadness crept into her gaze as she watched me sing and listened to the bitter phrases come from my mouth. Shoulders falling with defeat, she nodded her understanding and hurried off the stage. As about twenty women cheered, Remy fled. She bumped into Jodi after a few steps, then grabbed her friend’s arm and hurried from the club.

  Strangely disappointed even though I didn’t want to forgive her, I shook my head and stepped away from the microphone, no longer in the mood to sing. Then I hopped off stage and stormed through swarms of people until I found myself back in the storage room, pacing until the door opened, and Pick slipped inside.

  I ground my teeth and shook my head, in no way willing to talk about this. “Shouldn’t you be home with Eva and the kids?”

  “Nope.” He leaned his hip against a nearby keg. “Tinker Bell wanted to be traditional so she kicked me out. Said I wasn’t allowed to see her again until the wedding.” He shrugged. “It seemed like a bad time to bug Mason and Reese and beg a night on their couch, so I’d planned on renting a motel room... unless you want to take your big brother in for a couple hours.”

  I shrugged. “Sure. My couch isn’t anything to write home about, but...whatever.”

  “Thank you.” Pick nodded and watched me pace and repeatedly run my hands through my hair before murmuring, “So...Remy.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I snapped, glaring at him.

  He only grinned. “She pulled off a pretty good disguise. I had no idea she was really a woman. And wow, she looks...really different as a woman. There’s no reason for you to feel like an idiot and think you should’ve figured it out sooner. No one else caught on either.”

  “I didn’t say I felt like an idiot,” I muttered.

  But Pick lifted his eyebrows so I sighed, relenting. “Fine. I feel like a fucking idiot. But I’m also pissed. She lied to me, fucking betrayed me for weeks. It’s like she made a joke of everything I ever told her. I thought I was actually making a friend, and she was just playing dress-up so she could be in a goddamn band.” I couldn’t even go into the deception she’d played as Elisa because....I just couldn’t.

  Pick opened his mouth, but I was sure he was going to say something in her defense, so I kept ranting, “And now...now she thinks she can just stroll in here, wiggle her hips and sing a few songs, and I’ll, what, just forget what she did to me? Fuck no. I’m not getting back together with her. I don’t even know her.”

  Smiling slightly, Pick said, “But don’t you?”

  I started to tell him, no, I didn’t. Except I just couldn’t. Maybe I had learned a couple things about her. I’m sure the female version of her was just as competitive as Sticks had been. She was definitely musically talented, had good taste in songs, liked to tease and get people’s goat about as much as I did. Hell, she might just be the perfect person...if she hadn’t hurt me so bad.

  “I assume she gave you a reason for doing what she did,” Pick spoke up, making me blink because I’d forgotten he was there.

  I sniffed and glanced away. “She gave me something.”

  “But you don’t believe the reason she gave?”

  “I don’t know.” I set my hands on my hips and gazed up at the ceiling, torn.

  I kind of did believe her reasons for why she’d started this entire charade because honestly, why else would she have dressed up as a guy? It couldn’t have been to get close to me after learning she was Incubus shirt girl, since she would’ve had a lot more luck getting anything from me if she’d stayed female. But still, after a while of getting to know me, why hadn’t she figured out I didn’t care if she was a girl in the band; I would’ve fought Gally and Heath to keep her on board?

  Even that lack of her faith in me hurt.

  A few feet away, Pick murmured, “If you love someone enough, you find you can forgive them for just about anything, because living without them is more miserable than any grudge you could hold.”

  I glanced at him, but that was apparently all the sage advice he had to offer. Pushing away from the keg, he patted me on the shoulder and departed the stockroom to let me stew in peace.

  Fucker, I wanted to call after him. How dare he even bring the word love into this? I didn’t love Remy. I didn’t even know her. But even as I told myself that, my brain called up all the times we’d laughed and bickered over Call of Duty.

  The night we’d shared corn nuts and written a song together.

  The time she’d picked me up after my bike problems and how she worried about my dad, and how she’d driven me to Mason’s when I hadn’t been in the right frame of mind.

  Making love to her two glorious nights in a row.

  I did know her. And I’d liked her.

  Plus I missed her.

  When I returned behind the bar to actually work, I was no longer pissed, but I still wasn’t sure what I was. Pick had planted a seed in my head and the damn thing was growing.

  Could I forgive her?

  Could I go back to being just her friend as I’d been with Sticks?

  Could I be her lover again? My body stirred at that idea, but I quickly pushed those thoughts aside, because I wasn’t sure of my answers. The biggest conundrum was...

  Could I live without her?

  When a couple approached the counter to order drinks, I didn’t pay much attention to them. They murmured lovey-dovey shit to each other in Spanish, making me curl my lip with irritation, reminding me how Remy had used Spanish to keep me from figuring out how familiar her voice was as Elisa.

  But then the guy said something like, “Eres mi nena, mi chica. Te amo,” and I paused, squinting at him.

  Te amo?

  Remy had said that to me...a lot, as Elisa. But she’d—as Sticks—told me it meant good job, while the guy who was gazing at his lady love didn’t seem to be telling her she’d done a good job. Before I knew what I was doing, I moved back to them.

  “Excuse me.” When they both looked up, I shook my head. “Did you just say te amo to her?”

  The man scowled. “What?”

  “What does te amo mean?”

  He stared at me as if I was insane for even asking while the woman giggled and cuddled against his side, wrapping her arms around his one arm. “It means I love you,” she said.

  The breath felt knocked from my lungs as I stumbled a step back, gaping at her.

  I hadn’t been expecting her to say that. It just...my mind was too blown to form a proper thought.

  Nodding in thanks, I spun away, and I think maybe I fixed their drinks for them, but I don’t really recall doing it.


  The rest of that night kind of passed in a blur. I couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything except the fact that te amo meant I love you.

  On Sunday afternoon, I stood beside Pick and watched him marry the love of his life in the back reception room of the Forbidden Nightclub. I guess he’d first met her in this building, just as I’d learned he was my brother here, and I’d first seen Remy on stage here.

  Life felt as if it had truly begun the day I’d stepped foot inside this place. I’d laughed a lot here, made lifelong friends, formed a family of sorts, and yet...at the moment, it was the last place I wanted to be.

  As soon as we walked out of this room and down the hall into the main part of the bar where the reception would take place, I knew I’d see her. I was sure she was already here, setting up the sound system, making sure everything was ready to go. She was dependable like that, or at least the Sticks version of her had been.

  And what do you know, as soon as the I do’s were over and the wedding party moved from the ceremony to the after-party, there she was in a dark dress that hugged her curves as she brushed her hair out of her face while she bent over the soundboard.

  When someone paused next to me and slugged me companionably on the back, I glanced over, shocked to find Ten staring at Remy too. He heaved in a great sigh. “Yeah, I’d probably cave and forgive that too,” he said before glancing at me and arching an eyebrow, “just like you’re going to forgive me for being an ass the other night. Right?”

  I shook my head and laughed a little over his form of apology. Besides, the brightness of his black eye helped me get over it a lot. “Nothing to forgive, man,” I told him. “Like you said, we’re even now.”

  His shoulders eased, but then he nodded. “Fuck yeah. As long as you stop flirting with Caroline just to annoy me.”

  “Oh, hell, no. What would be the fun in that?” When I caught sight of his wife nearby, watching us, I motioned her forward so I could sling an arm around her waist and cuddle her into my side. “Hey there, beautiful. Why don’t you give the best man a little sugar?”

  With a grin, Caroline pressed her lips to my jaw and hugged me closer before Ten growled and pulled her away. “Okay. Enough, asshole.” Then he pointed at me and scowled. “That’s it, you’re on my shit list again.”

  I laughed, glad we were really back to being friends. Then I turned and caught sight of Remy next to the stage, watching me interact with Caroline and Ten. My grin died and lungs expanded tight against my ribcage. But then someone nudged her arm, taking her attention away from me, and I had to scowl at the big guy standing at the sound system with her.

  Who the fuck was he?

  I wasn’t jealous. Fuck no. But I might’ve curled my hands into fists as he shifted closer to her. Too close.

  As Remy answered him, her hands moving with a flourish, I found myself wandering toward them, unable to stay away.

  She didn’t see me approach—her back was still to me as she rattled off shit in Spanish to the guy. But he caught sight of me, and his glancing at me over her shoulder made her turn to look as well.

  She yelped when our gazes met. Pressing her hand against her heart, she lurched backward and right into the chest of the big guy, who clasped her arm to steady her. When my gaze went to his hand on her, she breathed out my name. “Asher! Uh, what’re you doing over here? I was supposed to stay away from you.”

  I looked into her wide, worried brown eyes. When I didn’t say anything but shifted my attention to the guy with his hand still on her arm, she cleared her throat and stepped away from him so she could introduce him.

  “This, uh, this is my cousin Tomás. Big T. He’s agreed to be my assistant tonight. You might remember him. He played the guitar at Castañeda’s when you were there and I sang...” She didn’t bother to finish the explanation, as if she feared the reminder would pique my temper.

  I nodded to Tomás, refusing to believe it was relief ballooning in my chest as my tensed muscles relaxed. “How’s it going?”

  He sent me a head bob in return. “¿Qué pasa?”

  Forgetting him, I turned back to Remy. “What’s wrong?”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Wrong? Why do you think anything’s wrong?” She darted her cousin a quick glance before she turned back to me. Then she sniffed as if my question were completely ridiculous. “We’re fine. Go back to your friends and have fun.” She even nudged my arm to get me to move along. “I’m sure they hate me enough already without me hogging any of your time away from them.”

  I resisted her nudging. “What makes you think they hate you?”

  “Well...” Her brow knit with confusion. “You hate me, so wouldn’t they hate me too, in loyalty to you? Besides, I also lied to them about who I really was. It seems only logical.”

  I opened my mouth to tell her I didn’t hate her. But then stopped myself. Was I supposed to hate her after telling her I never wanted anything to do with her again, after publically rejecting her the way I had last night?

  An uncomfortable feeling slithered up my spine. Uncertainty and guilt mixed with longing. As much as I wanted to hold on to my anger and hurt, I really couldn’t outright hate her. Had I been too hasty to completely turn her away? Damn it, I didn’t like this sensation of wanting to be closer to her and yet not trusting anything I wanted.

  So I settled with telling her, “They don’t hate you. If anything, they’re rooting for you and think I should forgive you already.”

  “Really?” Her face lit with excitement as she brought her hands to her chest and glanced across the bar. “Aww...I love your friends. You know, you should listen to them. They have your best interest at heart.”

  I couldn’t help it, I cracked a smile. But then I faltered. Damn it. I didn’t want to be charmed by her. Remy had betrayed me in one of the most embarrassing, demeaning ways possible. Curling my grin into a snarl, I said, “Stop changing the subject. What’s really wrong?”

  She scowled back and made a sound of frustration. “Seriously, how could you tell anything was wrong?”

  Because I’d seen Sticks distressed before, and Remy was showing similar behavior now. “What’s wrong?” I repeated.

  Her shoulders deflated as she scowled at me and reluctantly admitted, “I can’t get the sound system to turn on.”

  My brows furrowed. “Have you tried the main power switch?”

  I usually kept it on because it had a sleep mode, and I didn’t recall turning it off last night after karaoke, but I didn’t remember much from last night, and with my forgetfulness...anything was possible.

  As I reached for the switch, Remy scowled. “Oh, gee. Why didn’t I think of that idea? Yes, I flipped the damn power switch!”

  I grinned because her response was so typical Sticks. It made me miss my friend. But my grin fell when the system didn’t respond to my command.

  “And the plug-in,” I started, only to stop when Remy sent me a glare. “Of course you checked to make sure it was plugged in,” I answered for her, checking the cord anyway. “Maybe the connection came loose at the other end or something.”

  I had a feeling she’d already checked the connections at the other end as well because she sighed and folded her arms over her chest as she watched me grasp the plugged-in end and follow the cord to—shit.

  The cord came off in my hand, the rest of it...not there.

  “Holy fuck,” Remy murmured in surprise, leaping forward to see the neatly cut wire I held. “Okay, that I did not see.” I looked up into her shocked eyes as she shook her head as if apologizing for missing it. Then she gasped. “Omigod, you don’t think I did this, do you?”

  “What?” I shook my head, not expecting that conclusion at all. “No.”

  Her shoulders fell with relief. “Good, because I totally didn’t.” Then a thought struck her because her forehead crinkled as she studied the cut cord. “You know, this is just like the fuel line to your motorcycle, cut neatly in two.” Eyebrows lifting, letting me know she had another consp
iracy theory brewing in her head, she pointed. “Someone is clearly out to mess with you. I still think it’s your dad.”

  I sighed. Yes, she was definitely Sticks in there, paranoid about my old man and everything. “How is this out to get me?” I lifted the cord. “This was done clearly against Pick.”

  Oh, shit. Pick. He needed music at his reception, or he was going to flip out because his vision of dancing with Eva to “Baby Love” wouldn’t happen. We needed music. Fast.

  “But Pick is your brother.” Remy seemed determined to argue with me. “And he’s like...” She waved out a hand. “Close to you now. The worst way to hurt you would be for someone to go after the ones you loved, right? And Pick is about the only person you really love, isn’t he?”

  The question made me pause. I did love Pick, didn’t I? And I’d loved Mozart, who was now gone, and I was more certain now than ever that I hadn’t left his cage open. But were those really the only two people I loved? My gaze traveled to Remy’s concerned brown eyes, and I couldn’t answer.

  “Not that it really matters who cut the damn cord right now,” her cousin spoke up, making me blink back to reality, “Because we have other problems, like how’re we going to get this party started? Is there another kind of speaker around here? I can run home and get my guitar if I need to.”

  I glanced at him, my mind racing. He, Remy, and I might just be able to pull out a quick band, but then Remy snapped her fingers. “The karaoke machine,” she said. “It’s got a small speaker on it. That’ll work.”

  Shaking my head, I blurted out a laugh. “What? You’re just going to sing karaoke all night? This reception could go on for hours.” She’d wear herself out.

  She shrugged, already turning away to open a nearby closet and roll out the karaoke machine. “If I have to,” she answered as she plugged it in. Then she straightened and brushed her hair out of her face. “Besides, Big T can fill in when I need a break. His voice isn’t half bad.”