Jaded Hearts Page 14

  Now that I'm over the shock of seeing Jamison's junk for the first time, I'm not sure if I should high five Dyllan or go bleach my eyes.

  I settle with taking a bite of my pizza instead. After all, I've worked up an appetite today.

  I pick up my phone at the same time I hear Jamison move, but I don't look away from the small screen. Instead, I open my email and scroll through the last few days.

  "I need a new phone," Jamison says with a huff from across the table, addressing anyone who cares to listen to him. Completely unfazed by the past fifteen minutes, he tosses his still wet and very fried phone on the table with a loud clatter before grabbing a slice of pizza.

  "Are you still naked?" I hoot, unable to keep a straight face any longer.

  Wes is next to him but quickly slides down on the bench, avoiding looking in his direction. Luke and Chance aren't even trying to keep their laughter to themselves. And Dyllan, the big fat liar, is still ignoring him in favor of her magazine.

  "Yeah. I'm hungry." Jamison gives me a look that screams his confusion; like it's weird that I would even question him.

  "Why exactly is it that you're naked again?" Luke wheezes through a laugh.

  "Fell into the pool. I didn't want to eat wet. So, here I am, naked."

  I toss my head back and laugh. "So you thought it would be better to eat naked and wet?"

  Jamison shrugs. God, Jamison logic. There really is nothing else like it.

  "How did you fall into the pool?" Wes asks incredulously, still not willing to look at him.

  Jamison stares at my brother, and his eyes narrow. "I didn't fall, asshole. I walked. It's not my fault that the pool was in the way."

  Wiping the tears from my eyes, I gasp through my hilarity, trying to catch my breath. "In the way? It's always been in the same spot. What the hell are you talking about?"

  Jamison looks offended that I would defend the pool and not him. "It was in the way, Wren, because I was trying to catch a motherfucking Pokemon, but the fucker poofed off even though I fed it those stupid berries and used my big balls! And then the little bastard tricked me into forgetting I was standing next to the pool with his little 'mon-man magic' until I was sucking in a lungful of chlorine."

  Silence.

  You could hear a pin drop, I'm sure.

  Not a single person makes a peep. Hell, I'm not even sure anyone is breathing. Even Dyllan is now looking at Jamison like he's lost his mind.

  "I was three Pikachu candies away from evolving that fucker, too!" he yells; as if that would make it sound a little less ludicrous.

  My jaw drops.

  "You're serious?" I gasp.

  His narrowed eyes snap in my direction. "I would never joke about a Pikachu, Wrenlee Davenport. How dare you." He grabs the whole box of pizza, stands from the table with his cock dangling in all our faces, and stomps out of the room.

  Silence ticks on until Chance clears his throat. "Did that just happen?"

  It takes us all about a second before we're all laughing so hard we have tears rolling down our faces.

  "Oh, my God. I swear you never know what's going to come out of that man's mouth," I wheeze through my laughter.

  "I need to look on Amazon and see if I can find some Pokemon stuff," Wes mumbles with a few chuckles.

  "Why on earth would you do that?" Dyllan questions him.

  "I told him the last time he wouldn't cover his shit up that I was tired of him waving his dick around. Clearly, he's upset over whatever the Pokemon did to him. You know Jamison; he won't forget how they wronged him. I bet when he gets a new phone that he'll boycott that stupid app just out of spite. I'm going to make sure and pay him back for shoving his dick in our faces by shoving those fuckers down his throat."

  "You're weird, big brother." At my voice, Wes turns to me and glares. "What?" I snap.

  "Don't think I've forgotten about you two," he replies, pointing his half-eaten slice back and forth between Chance and me.

  "Jesus, Wes. Not this again. Don't you think it's embarrassing enough for me to know ... well, what I know."

  "Embarrassing enough? For you?" he sputters.

  Dyllan snorts, magazine forgotten. "Girlfriend, you were so loud, it sounded like you had hooked yourself up to some housewide sound system. Even if we hadn't rushed in there to make sure you were okay and gotten an eyeful of you playing rodeo queen and bucking bull, your activities wouldn't have been missed."

  "Would you shut up," I hiss, narrowing my eyes at her.

  "Call it like I see it." She holds her hands up in surrender and smiles.

  "We should probably look into getting some sound-canceling headphones for the bus," Luke tells my brother, making Wes gag on the bite he had just taken.

  "Oh, my God." I turn to look at Chance. "Kill me, please?" He doesn't even look embarrassed at all. He's just watching the four of us with some weird contentment on his face.

  "Yeah, that will never happen," he answers.

  "This is mortifying. We're never having sex again. Not until you figure out how to mute me. Even then, we might not even have sex unless it's from inside an impenetrable vault or something."

  Chance hardens his eyes. "That will definitely never happen either."

  "Chance," I hiss through my teeth. "They all saw us!"

  "Then they need to learn how to knock."

  "Wait a minute," Luke interrupts our argument. "Are you two together for real now or something? Or are you just fucking?"

  "Luke!" I shout, totally horrified.

  "What? Seriously, Wren, get over it. So you were having sex. It's nothing to be ashamed of. You've walked in on us more times than I can even count. Why is it different now?"

  I huff and cross my arms over my chest. Not having anything logical to answer him with aside from just because it was me and not them, I stick with my killer bitch glare instead.

  "Are you still going to be in charge of her security?" Luke continues his questioning, ignoring my attitude.

  "Of course, he is!"

  "No, I'm not."

  Chance and I speak at the same time, and I almost fall out of my seat in my rush to look at him.

  "What do you mean you're not? Are you leaving?" My words are rapid fire with a slight panic in my voice.

  Something flashes behind his eyes, but he takes his time answering my questions. He stands, swings one leg over the bench, and then settles back down. His hands tag my arms, and he slides me into the spot between his spread legs. His hands don't leave my biceps, making lazy sweeps of his thumbs against my skin while he searches my rattled stare.

  "Are we not unioning?" His husky whisper eases some of the worry that had invaded my body.

  "We did, yeah."

  "Did we not agree to give this a go?"

  I nod, woodenly. His lips twitch, and I feel myself starting to relax as that brain-dead buzz swirls around inside me.

  "We wouldn't have made it past deciding to take that gamble together if I hadn't been sure we were doing this right. I don't do things halfway, Wrenlee, but I also do my best never to set myself up for failure. Our attraction was strong as hell before I had said one word to you. I think you know why I had tried to hold back, but I knew then that if something ever happened between us, I wouldn't ever want anything to taint that. You might have just given me you wholly, but I gave you me the day I met you."

  I frown, pretty sure I get what he's trying to say, but I want to be clear. "What are you talking about?"

  "I called my boss. I told him to refund your brother his deposit, cancel the hours logged, and to take me off the books for this job and any others indefinitely. He understood why without any issues, and I ended that call by asking him to grant me a leave of absence until further notice."

  "You ... so you are leaving? Wha ... a refund?" I sputter, even more confused.

  "No, fuck no. I'm not going anywhere." He adjusts us, framing my face, and just like that, I feel like we're the only two people in the world. "I took a leave from the comp
any in order to stay here until we decide what comes next. As for the refund, I wouldn't feel right accepting money to keep you safe, not when I have a vested interest in your safety. Fuck, Wren, don't you get it? My happiness depends on you staying safe. Even when we had just met, I felt that way. But now, I know my mind was driving me to do what my heart hadn't realized yet. And when it did, I took care of things."

  Dyllan sighs, but I only have eyes for Chance.

  "When did you do this, Chance? I've been with you all day."

  I don't have any trouble understanding the look on his face now. He actually looks a little uncomfortable.

  "I can answer that," Wes butts in, drawing my notice.

  "I would rather hear it from Chance himself," I tell him with an arch to my brow before looking away and back to Chance.

  "A while ago," Chance evades.

  "Meaning?" I ask, not willing to let this go. Not when I have a feeling the answer holds a whole lot of importance.

  Chance exhales, and his hold on my arms tightens slightly. Not uncomfortable. His hold more to reassure I'm not going anywhere than an actual effort to hold me in place.

  "The day we landed in LA and became not husband and wife."

  I gasp. His glances across the table briefly, the smallest movement, but I catch it and look over to see Wes nod. That would mean ... "You knew!" I scream, pointing my finger in Wes's face.

  He shrugs. "Of course, I knew."

  "Then what was all that shit this morning?"

  "Me making sure my little sister finally gets over the things that kept holding her back from happiness. All you needed was a little nudge."

  "You shouldn't have played me, Wes. I love you, but you could have accomplished the same thing without doing that."

  "I asked him not to mention it," Chance voices softly, and when I move my eyes to his face, his expression pleads with me to understand him. "Wren, it wouldn't have made a difference if you had known--not to me--but I asked him not to mention the refund. Hell, you were already doing everything possible to avoid me, but regardless, I'd been fighting a losing battle since day one. Even if nothing would have come to fruition with the connection we share, I wasn't leaving until I knew you were safe, or you had a properly trained team on you at all times. Since the label had made that impossible, it was moot. I intended to stay strong in denying this thing between us. Probably would have killed me to walk away, but I would have, and I think you understand why that is now after everything we've talked about. That being said, I don't regret it because of where we are now, but I didn't feel right at the time being paid for something that I knew I had to do. I couldn't even be away from you without feeling a physical pain right here in my chest." He slams his open hand against his chest, right over his heart. I almost melt on the spot.

  I think about our time together so far. Him telling me we couldn't do anything about our attraction, warning me to protect myself from him, and everything that had happened between us since. Now that I know the things he had held inside, allowing them to keep his distance from something we both clearly craved because of his fear that letting someone in meant they would be taken from him--I get it. That doesn't mean I wouldn't have liked to be in the know about him refusing to be paid to be here, but the Chance that he showed me--the one who no one else knows--doesn't need me to give him bullshit for doing what he felt was right.

  "No more secrets," I request softly.

  "Never," he agrees.

  Closing my eyes, I hold out the note, listening to the rhythm of the music in my headphones as it guides me to the end of the song we've been working on all day. We had just added Jamison's huge drum solo to the track earlier this afternoon, making it ready for me to lay down the vocals.

  "That's great, Wren. I knew you would rock this." My brother's voice cuts in to the last few beats of the song.

  "Do you need me to go over the chorus again? I wasn't sure if I wobbled over that middle hook either."

  I hear a click in my ears before he speaks again. "No, it was great. We'll do a playback later to be sure, though. Come on out for a second."

  Pulling off the headphones, I hook them on the mic stand in front of me and nab my bottle of water off the small stool next to where I'm standing. It acts as a table of sorts when I'm in the sound booth since I usually never come out of here without my throat letting me know how hard I work.

  I step out of the soundproof box built in the corner of our studio space. The guys' guitars and two of Jamison's kits are set up in the massive space. I glance through the large window that allows the people in the control room to look slightly down into our space. Usually, when we are working in the studio, we take turns putting everything down, and then Wes works his magic. Since we've always loved making our own shit, aside from what Brighthouse puts out, we've all learned how to do the technical end of mixing, recording, and putting together the final product. We have so many songs fully recorded that we could probably pull them all together and put out an album a month for the whole year.

  Which, now that we're leaving Brighthouse officially, might be an option.

  "What's up?" I ask, coming into the control room and moving to the couch where Chance is relaxing--the same spot he's been in since we started early this morning--completely transfixed on seeing the process of birthing a song. I settle on his lap with a kiss to his jaw.

  He smiles, and I feel the familiar buzz hit me. Luckily, I've gotten better over the last three days of being on the receiving end of it constantly. He still seems to reserve them for me and me alone, but since we haven't spent a second apart since our 'unioning,' I get them a lot. It's hard to believe that it's been two weeks since he walked into our hotel room back in New York. It feels like I've known him for so much longer.

  "I just took a call from Don," Wes tells the room, drawing my attention from dreamy Chance thoughts.

  Shifting my weight in Chance's lap so that I can lean back and rest my body against his strong hold, I briefly glance at Jamison as he messes around on his new phone before I look at where Wes is sitting at the control panel, and Luke lounges in the chair next to him. "And?"

  "At the end of the tour, we will officially be done with Brighthouse Records. We still have the rest of the promotional obligations as outlined in our contract for each album. That will be no issue since all that's left is radio interviews at this point, and we can do those while we're on the road. Basically, we're lucky that Don is so good at his job because he said they tried to pitch a fit, but he shot that shit down real quick. We only signed for five albums, and they got them without sucking us into a hole of debt. They didn't count on us selling so well, hoping to fall back on that normally occurred debt to saddle us into more albums to pay them back. Old trick of the recording industry that we're fucking lucky we escaped."

  I feel a weight I didn't realize I had been holding on my shoulders ease up. You can almost feel the relief dissipate in the air. "So what now?"

  Wes rubs the back of his neck. "That depends on us now. We can choose to sign with another label, making sure we are happy with them and what they offer us this time."

  "Or run the risk that they sell a bunch of lies hidden in a contract so thick it would take years to understand how many loopholes they have in there," Jamison adds, not looking up from his phone.

  "I heard that EWP was accepting new artists," Luke puts in.

  "Is that the label that Shaft put together when they left theirs?" I question the boys. Everyone knows the story of how Evil Wiener Productions got its start. I'll admit I was skeptical about such a large band leaving a major label, but you can't argue with their success.

  "What if we follow their lead?" I muse out loud.

  "You want to jump into the independent pool?" Wes asks with a look of shock. I'm surprised we didn't think about this earlier.

  I shrug. "Why not? Those guys are a huge inspiration. I've always looked up to them on the music end, but after they had branched out on their own, they proved that an artist d
idn't need a major label to succeed anymore. We don't have to put up with their shit, no one is taking a huge cut of our profits anymore, and most importantly, we are in charge of where we want our music to go. We answer only to ourselves."

  Silence greets me when I finish talking. Even Jamison has stopped whatever was so fascinating on his phone to look at me with wide eyes.

  "You know we could do it. The whole reason we learned how to run our own studio is to be in control of the music we produced outside of Brighthouse. Hell, we can put together an album better than some of the best engineers and producers out there can, but if we want to bring someone in to do it for us, we know enough people who freelance in the industry to make it happen. Either way, it's on our terms. Dyllan's been looking for a reason to leave her job and start on her own; we could hire her as our exclusive stylist but also take advantage of her degree in art to design our covers, tour merch, etcetera. We have the bones for the beginning of our own team, and you know it."

  "What about the rest of it, Wren?" Wes asks, leaning forward in his seat to give me his undivided attention. I can tell he's already on board, even if he doesn't realize it fully yet.

  "We keep Tabby on as our agent since she wasn't affiliated with Brighthouse and, to be honest, probably hates them as much, if not more, than we do. She has a PR team in place with her agency, so we have her make that connection. We'll need to hire a booking agent and a few other key players, but we can figure those out later. And"--I smile, hooking my thumb over my shoulder to point at Chance-- "we already know someone we can hire to handle security of our caliber both while we're here and while we're on the road for appearances or tours."

  "We need to hire a lot more than that," Luke adds. "But you're right; we do know how to handle building our own team. We have the capital for it too. I can't believe I'm saying this, but the idea is a good one."

  "I'm in," Jamison grunts, shifting in his seat. "Can I get a secretary?" he adds, almost as an afterthought.

  "What the hell do you need a secretary for? To hand you fresh sticks when you let the ones you have go flying in the back of Wren's head again?" Wes jokes.

  "No. And that only happened twice anyway. For roleplay, fucker. Do you even watch any of the links I sent you?" Jamison leans forward in his seat and waves his phone in the air between him and Wes.