Moment(s)

  And here I didn’t even ask him if he wanted to swim with us. He’s just coming along as security. Not a friend. My stomach drops to my knees, and I’m having a hard time looking him in the eyes. “Apologies.”

  “There’s been a leak,” he says, and scratches his ginger head.

  “How do you know?” I ask, ready to refute him so he doesn’t try to curb everything resembling fun.

  “Listen, I got a call. The front desk says their phones are ringing like crazy, asking if you two are here.”

  It doesn’t sound that bad to me, but Parker is the one I depend on to buck at restrictions—tell the team they’re overreacting. Do I have the balls to contest Doug after almost ignoring him more than a week?

  “It’s not much,” he says as Emilie walks up, her bare feet making no sound on the carpet. “But my gut tells me something isn’t right. I just have a feeling.”

  Emilie nods. Doug said the magic words. Superstitious Emilie is on board for any restrictions now. Doug is good.

  “So we shouldn’t go swimming?” Emilie crosses her arms over her bikini-clad chest. I try not to stare at the effect of her chest pushed together.

  “We can go,” Doug says, also looking away. “Just be mindful it’s only me and two newbie guards right now. Truly, I’m all you’ve got tonight.” Which means he’s not counting my assistant, Joe. I wouldn’t either. “Stay with me. Emilie, let me know your every move while we’re here if you don’t mind.”

  Aye, he knows how headstrong she is too. If you don’t mind. She’s the only one he’d ever say that to. He never cares if us lads mind.

  I pull the towels from around his neck and drape my arm over his shoulders. “Fair enough. You’ll swim with us, right?”

  ###

  My eyes flip open. Light streams from the cracked curtains. A new day. But I don’t know a second of peace. That blasted story—or possible story. With a groan I pull on some jogger bottoms and pad over to the little desk beside the mini-fridge. I’ve saved the worst gossip sites on my laptop. My search is short: Heartless Emilie Gold Cheats in Front of a Visibly Shaken Julian.

  I don’t have to read it. That headline is enough.

  My computer is still open a few hours later when I come out of the shower. And she’s sitting in front of it.

  My stomach turns to a ball of rubber bands. “I’m truly sorry.”

  She slams it shut. “We know the truth. Hurry up. I want to go.”

  I open it back up. “I’ve got to do some damage control.”

  She groans then goes to the window and pulls the curtains. “There’s people out there. Maybe staying at the hotel my mother works at wasn’t a great idea, but at least it’s free, so you’re not footing my bill once again.” She puts the curtains back and hops away.

  Footing her bill?

  “Be glad the tour bus broke down before you came along.” Hotels are awesome compared to the bus. “That thing was a mess.”

  “Not what I meant.” The sun reflects the entire room onto my screen; I see her standing behind me with her arms crossed over her chest. “Julian, we have thirty minutes to get to Granny’s house, and with our ‘entourage’ we’ll need every one of those minutes. If they start without us I’ll strangle you, and if Shane gets the wishbone you’re really dead meat.”

  She’s all about the wishes. Night and day, Emilie still makes one at 11:11.

  “Fine.” I shut the computer, but I pull out my mobile and get on Twitter:

  Bored of the rumours. Emilie was hugging cousin Shane and my “look” wasn’t feelings being hurt. It was me wishing the paps weren’t there.

  Walking down the hall, Emilie scowls and pulls her mobile out of her trousers pocket. After a glance at the screen, she rolls her eyes but says nothing. She pure doesn’t get it, does she?

  ###

  “Come back anytime.” Emilie’s grandmother’s blue-white hair is like cotton puffs on my cheeks when she gives me another squeeze. She reaches for Emilie and hugs us together.

  “Thank you very much,” I say and step down from the grandparents’ long stoop, which runs the entire length of their old fashioned house. And I mean it. The day was such a homey, American “football”-watching, eating-crazy-things, and love-showing-through-every-movement sort of day. I’ve had a proper good time and regret that we have to leave.

  But a crowd of fans is building at our hotel and Doug wants us to go ahead and tuck in before we have an even bigger audience. I guess we won’t stay at this hotel next time. Too obvious with her mum working there.

  The sky has changed to different shades of reds and pinks by the time we reach Hotel Charis. I eye the lovely streaks in the horizon while climbing from the car.

  “Julian, look over here,” a male voice calls. I try not to scowl at the interruption.

  I’m just reaching back into the car for Emilie’s hand when I hear it—the first round of antagonizing: “Julian, you’re going to forgive that cheater?”

  No matter that I’ve said it over and over—we are only friends, therefore cheating would be impossible.

  I hear a gasp from inside the car.

  “Emilie, they just want a reaction, don’t they?” I whisper into the dark compartment. “These types will say anything to either make you cry or tick you off. Just dingy them.”

  She clutches my hand and climbs out. After staring at them a minute, she drops my hand and zips her thick green jacket even though it’s definitely not that cold.

  “Emilie, why are you sleeping around?” a reporter shouts.

  She turns toward the voice. With her eyes as blank as I’ve ever seen them, she zips her jacket the rest of the way, covering her nose and mouth, but not before I spot her trembling chin.

  My stomach clenches. I have to fight harder than ever to keep from reacting. Blank face, blank face.

  I grip her hand tighter, and Doug ushers us away from the small crowd that we’d been mistaken about—definitely not fans.

  When we’re steps away from the hotel’s side entrance, another insult volleys forth, “Emilie, do you enjoy hurting Julian?”

  Heat washes all over me, my heartbeat pounds in my temple. Who do these people think they are!

  I keep my face pointed straight ahead until we’re safely inside the passageway. I chance a glance at her face. She’s looking up at the ceiling, blinking her eyes rapidly.

  My insides twist into knots. “Aw, please don’t listen—”

  She clears her throat. “No, I’m fine.”

  I hurry us along to the next turn, totally out of sight of the paps. Once there, I wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her close. She rests her head on my chest and we stumble along.

  “I love you to bits,” I whisper and kiss her glossy brown hair. “All right?”

  She nods. “You always say exactly what’s on your mind.”

  “Aye, I do to you.” I put my mouth to her ear. “I wonder what would happen if you did the same.”

  “I’m not perfect, Julian,” Emilie says once in my room. She leans against the wall and looks up at me with tears in her eyes. “I don’t know how to do that—say it all out loud.”

  If she doesn’t tell me what’s hurting her, I might purely crack into a million pieces. I can tell she has plenty going on in that bonnie little head. She’s the master of mixed signals, hot then cold and hot again. And her eyes are never clear. Which would be fine if…sometimes it’s sadness that clouds them.

  “You could just whisper.” I take her hand and lead her to the bed. Wrapping her in my arms, I give her a squeeze. “Come on.”

  My shoulder is wet where her head is resting. I rub her back.

  “I’m not a cheater,” Emilie whispers. “But it’s what Mark said that night.”

  “Oh, God.” Stupid, paps!

  “Mark was a basketball player, but he had to sit out practice because of his grades. A couple of weeks, I think. We started arguing all the time. The night that…Well, we went to a college bar that didn’t card. But
I wasn’t drinking, I swear.”

  “It’s all right.” I hold her tighter. “I believe you.”

  “He was, though. A lot. And when this boy kept talking to me, I could see Mark wasn’t laughing anymore. Coming out of the bathroom, the guy was right there. I bitched him out, but I could tell he was still determined. When he promised to scram if I gave him my number, I gave him a fake one. Mark saw the whole thing in a mirror behind the bar, except he thought I gave my real number, and he started calling me a cheater. A slut. He was so mean…so mean.”

  “He was wrong.”

  “No. He gets the last word.” She shakes her head and whispers, “You don’t understand. He’s gone, so he gets the last word.”

  “Emilie. No.”

  “Yes, everything that happened…the guilt killed me.”

  I stroke her hair. “Tell me what happened.”

  “He was too fast. I couldn’t stop him from getting in his car. He was fast and drunk, and must’ve driven off a cliff or something. They couldn’t find his car. Still haven’t. And it’s all because of me.”

  “But it—” Wait, could he be one of the victims? “When did this happen?”

  “You haven’t figured that part out yet?” She heaves a sob.

  Her cries do something to my chest. Stinging, burning. “What?”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” She digs her face into my neck, and I feel more hot tears. “It happened a few days before you saw me last year.”

  Aye. The wish. That does sting a mite. I wrote a song about her while she was wishing another bloke would turn up.

  Oh, bug off. Not everything can be about me. Och, at least one mystery is solved. And maybe another too. “What if—the murders started right about that time. If he was a victim, then you’re not responsible even a fraction.”

  “I’ve thought about that.” She sniffs and then trembles. “But even if that’s the case, I still let him drive away. Driving over a cliff or driving up to a murderer, I let him.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. What can I say to get this weight off her shoulders? “You couldn’t catch him.”

  “I could have called the police, but I didn’t want him to be in trouble.” She pushes against my chest and leans back. “If I’d done the right thing, Mark would have been arrested. He’d have a bad driving record, but he’d be alive.”

  She exhales a shuddering breath and breaks my heart with the tears in her eyes.

  “There was no way to know that would happen.” I wipe the back of my hand down her slick cheek. “You’re not the criminal here, you know.”

  “I am.” Her lips shake. “And that’s why I’m not good enough for you.”

  “Emilie….” Part of my heart shears off and dismounts.

  “No, Julian. You’re so good. The sweetest, most respectful of the band. You always try to make sure everyone around you is happy, and that’s my favorite thing about you. You’re the most talented musician and songwriter that I know.” She looks away and makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “And the cutest.”

  Och! It’s the most she’s ever said about what she thinks of me.

  Her dark blue eyes meet mine again, and she whispers, “But you’ve had me on a pedestal for an entire year. The song you wrote was for a perfect girl. Can’t you see with everything I’ve done…or didn’t do? I’m h-horribly flawed. I’m not that perfect girl.”

  Realizing there’s nothing I can say right now, and realizing the storm is over, I keep my mouth shut and just hold her while she cries. And I try my best not to be elated when she falls asleep in my lap an hour later.

  This girl doesn’t realize it yet but she is perfect for me. Her ability to think deeply, feel deeply. Every one of her emotions shining with the tilt of her chin, the shadow of her eyes—she’s for me and me only because I can see exactly how genuine she is. To someone else it may look like she’s full of mixed signals, and I guess they are mixed. But I can translate almost every one of them.

  It’s hard for any of us lads to get to know someone as well as I know Emilie now. Every day we’re surrounded by people only interested in how much money we can make them or how famous we can make them. Everyone’s looking for a boost, has an agenda. Hers is only to be kind to us, love us. It does something to me to see her being so good to the lads. And we all love her back. Aye, Parker would probably kill me if I ever hurt her.

  I’ll stop dropping the hints, stop the pushing. I know now that patience is what’ll win this girl, and I will make her mine.

  Lying there, I’m once again happy about the mess I made when I first met her. The pictures. The fans. I just wish they’d never called her a slut, but without that she wouldn’t be here. I’m the only one that’s been allowed a girlfriend on tour—Parker has asked before and was turned down. I was a bit relieved when management said no to that. She was maddening. I’ve never met Kasen’s girlfriend, Niki. They keep their relationship very private; the only ones knowing are the two of them, her parents and sister and brothers, and management. That’s how come she’s still safely at her own home. Though she’s legal, Kasen’s never asked if she could go anywhere with us…privacy would be gone.

  Unlike Emilie who is basically forced to tour with us. Does she still feel that way? Forced?

  Shite!

  The urge to have a chat with my best mate is overwhelming. I ease my arm from under Emilie’s cheek. Making sure I have a key card, I step out then slide to the floor just outside the door. I close my eyes and wait for Doug to come out of his room. That bloke has the ears of a dog—misses nothing. But he never comes. Odd.

  With a shrug, I pull up Kasen’s number and give him a ring.

  “Hey, man. How’s it goin’?” he says by way of greeting, and I can’t help smiling at his skater-boy cadence. A massive wave of tension lifts.

  “Buzzin’,” I say with a smile. He’s spending Thanksgiving with Niki. She lives about thirty minutes away in Rockville, Maryland.

  “If things are buzzin’, then why are you on the phone with me this late instead of by Emilie’s side?”

  A chuckle flies from my throat, and I feel stupid for overanalyzing things once again. “It’s nothing truly. I’m good. Actually, I’m excellent.”

  “I know. Julian, I need to go.” Something about his voice alerts me—high and a little strained.

  “All right there, Kasen?” I ask.

  “See ya tomorrow,” he says and rings off.

  Odd, isn’t it?

  ###

  The next morning, Emilie’s outlook seems much brighter. She flashes me shy smiles through breakfast, and later when we leave the hotel too.

  There’s another group waiting for us, but at the last moment I shove my ear buds at Emilie with Kiss blasting through. She grins as she walks by my side and mouths a few of the words. I keep the image of her beautiful face in my mind as the camera flashes threaten to blind me. We do the same at the airport, though thankfully the fans outnumber the paps. And the paps here are the good ones too. No insults to get a reaction—none of them even make strange noises to get us to look.

  I pull the buds from her ears so she can hear what the fans are saying. “We love you Emilie and Julian,” they chant while clumsily curling their hands in the shape of hearts.

  Aye. Flawed, yet perfect.

  Chapter 9

  In the next few of days, Emilie starts writing intently and keeps at it while we go to Wyoming. She surprises me with a little party after the Cheyenne show.

  “Happy St. Andrew’s day!”

  I fight to hide my smile. Aye, she’s done the research to make sure I don’t miss a Scots holiday, but does she know any of the myths behind it? Emilie has made it clear she wants nothing to do with marriage or “finding a husband.”

  “The dancing and singing part I’m fine with,” she says. “But if you want me to kick a bed or play with candle wax to find my mythological husband…just no.” She grins up at me. “Don’t look so surprised. No secrets with the five of us
.”

  Truly, I was wondering who gave her the hint about that very Scottish holiday. It had to be one of the lads from across the pond. “Luke?”

  “Nope. Kasen.”

  Aye. I forgot about making him come home with me during one of the rare times we had off for the bank holiday.

  The door behind her flies open, and in walks a camera crew.

  She winces. “I hope you don’t mind. They wanted to….”

  “No,” I say with a shrug. We’re all pretty used to the being videoed constantly. “It’s fine.”

  After that, we’re in Ohio and Kansas then back to LA to record a few more tracks. Each trip is always a blur, but like in Cheyenne, the locations are sprinkled with sweet moments spent with Emilie.

  She stands in front of me now, having landed in LA just this morning, with a huge grin on her face and a notebook clutched to her chest. Threading her fingers through mine, she leads me out of my room, away from the lads who are trying to film a new prank video. Once in the passageway, she twists the book around, raising it below her dancing eyes.

  I read what I quickly figure out is lyrics. “This is magic.” Catchy yet deep. So much feeling in every single word. “Wow, Emilie. Now this is a proper song.”

  She bounces up and down. “Really?”

  “You shouldn’t be so surprised,” I say and tuck her brown hair behind her ear. “You’re pure dead brilliant.”

  And I want to ask who. This is about a person she cares about…. Shut up, it could be about her sister.

  Her smile relaxes and she rests a hand on my chest.

  “Julian,” she whispers. Her gaze leaves mine and drops to my mouth. With trembling fingers she touches my lips, and I can’t wait a second longer.

  Yes, I can. Don’t be a prat.

  The notebook slides from her other hand and she raises up on her tip toes, her lips almost even with mine now.

  I’m absolutely drunk as I inhale her warm breath. Yet somehow I still hold back. This has to be all her.

  My insides spindle around each other when her lips slant over mine, and she kisses me with incredible sweetness. Keeping a grip on the bottom of Emilie’s t-shirt is the only thing that stops me from pulling her full-on against me. I want to toss her to a bed and chase the sweetness away, but that would be bad. Really, really bad. My head feels like it might implode but I stay under control. Just barely.