Jaded Hearts Read online

  "Yup?" she answers him, but her attention stays on me.

  "Did you just fire our manager?"

  The twinkle in her eyes sparks. "Well, yeah," she answers, looking back at him. "I think I did. Would you rather have me break up my marriage and lose my love child?"

  "Both of which aren't even a reality," Weston reminds her.

  "Po-tay-toes, po-tah-toes." She sighs dramatically.

  "Oh, nope ... not even the same thing there."

  "What is Brighthouse going to say about what just happened?" When I ask the question, I notice all of them look uneasy.

  "They own us through this tour, but even if they didn't, we would finish our commitments. When we signed on almost five years ago, our contract stated that we would provide Brighthouse with two albums. We did that and re-upped with them for three more when those first two albums were such a huge success. We didn't know what we know now about the business then. It had only been eighteen months after signing the first contract when we signed the current one." Wes looks at Luke before continuing. "We've been lucky. Most artists end up in the negatives once advances and everything else they take out of our cut from the profits is said and done, but we've never been like that. We don't need them, and most importantly, because of how well our albums have always sold, we don't owe them. They have nothing to hold over our head when we tell them we won't be re-signing with them. I guess we can thank you, bro-in-law, for making us realize what it was past time to do," Weston jokes, but I have a feeling that they are more concerned about losing their representation than they're letting on.

  "Why were they so eager to get you back in the studio if you don't even have a contract for further albums yet?"

  Wren makes a noise that sounds like some weird laugh turned snort, drawing my attention. "That, hubby, is because they know time is money and they assumed us re-signing was a done deal."

  "Okay." I rub the back of my neck, ignoring her new nickname for me. "Look, I know next to nothing about this industry, but can you really continue without being signed to a major label?"

  "Brighthouse wasn't a major label until they signed us. Could we continue to produce albums, sure ... but it would be a whole fucking lot easier if we had the backing of a label. They handled everything from studio time to tour details. Dix, someone we picked up because we knew we needed a manager when we signed, was with Brighthouse. He worked as our booking agent as well, so losing the label and him means we have a whole lot of nothing but ourselves and our music," Weston explains.

  "So what do we do now?" Jamison chimes in, sounding just as overwhelmed as I feel.

  "Now, we decide if we want to do this alone or start looking for new representation. We have the funds to do it ourselves, but that would mean our focus is taken from what we want to be doing, which is making music," Wes clarifies, not breaking eye contact with his sister. "The good news is we don't have to decide right now. We get two weeks before Vegas, so I say we spend that time enjoying the break we've needed for a long time. We pick things back up in Vegas, finish the last few weeks of shows, and then sit down and decide how we want our future to go. Wren and I will call Don and get him on the legal end of breaking our ties to Brighthouse. In the meantime, let's try to remember what it feels like to relax."

  "Don?" I ponder out loud.

  "Our lawyer," Wren responds with a wink.

  I nod and turn back around in my seat. There isn't much to see; traffic is already ridiculous here even in the early morning hours. The driver ignores us; his eyes focused on the road ahead of us. I take a few seconds to study my surroundings, making sure to test the air around me for any unease I might feel. Shockingly, even with the future of Loaded Replay very much unknown, all four members seem almost relieved.

  All I can do is follow their lead when it comes to their label--or I guess former label--and do what I'm here to do, which is to protect the woman beside me. The one who is doing one hell of a job at burrowing herself under my skin, whether I want her there or not.

  When the driver pulls off Sunset Boulevard, and we officially enter the Bird Streets area, I try to see things through the eyes of someone who has never been a part of our crazy little world. We pass a few of the famously named bird-themed streets on our way to our own, and I smile, thinking about how much fun I used to have just walking around and listing the street names. It's been so long since I did that, and I had forgotten how much I loved that downtime activity, no matter how bizarre it might have been.

  The 'elite' area of the Bird Streets neighborhoods was the first place our realtor took us when we decided we wanted to make LA our forever home. We had been living in a tiny piece-of-shit apartment when we first came to town, but a year after our second album blew up, we knew it was time for something more permanent. Even if we were rarely home to enjoy it.

  "You all live together, right?" Chance muses; his head turned while he takes in the landscape around us.

  "Yeah. We have for the past eight years, ever since we left home and hit the road. We're probably one big contradiction to the rule that says you shouldn't work and live with your family without killing them," I quip.

  "I've done the roommate thing, and it wasn't a hardship." My eyes widen, momentarily taken aback that he's actually speaking, let alone telling me something about himself.

  He looks over when my silence ticks on. "What?"

  "That's the most personal thing you've told me since you showed up in New York last week."

  He shrugs, turning to look back out his window.

  I turn, seeing the driveway that I know leads to the home of one of the most famous actresses around. "Why did you stop doing the roommate thing?" I feel stupid, but with an opening like that, I figure I might as well see if I can find out more about this man.

  "He got married and moved into a house with his wife."

  "Oh." I rack my brain to think of another way to keep this conversation going, but his body language isn't exactly screaming that he's open to continuing.

  "You guys still good friends?"

  "I served with him overseas, lived with him back home for a few years, and I still talk to him on the phone more often than should be normal for two dudes."

  I can sense the smile in his words, betraying his annoyance.

  "You should see if he and his wife want to come out to one of our shows before the tour ends." I sound needy. Like a teenage girl trying to get her first crush to talk to her. I should shut up. I really should. But fuck ... he's actually talking.

  "I doubt that's going to happen. Cohen and Dani have two small boys, so getting time to fly across the country isn't the easiest. Plus, I think filming picked back up for Dani."

  "Filming?" I probe.

  He turns and looks at me with a sigh. "She works at a salon in town, and they film a reality show there."

  My eyes widen. "Holy shit! The Dani from Sway's All the Way?" He jerks his head back when I all but scream my excitement at him. "I watch every episode of that show. I remember a few seasons back when they made a huge fuss about her relationship and pregnancy. Wait a minute. You're best friend is him?" I gasp, reaching out to grab his arm and shake it rapidly.

  "Shit, you've done it now," my brother mumbles from his seat in the back.

  "Oh, my God! I love them. I had really hoped that their story wasn't just something made up for viewers. It isn't, right?"

  He shakes his head.

  "You have no idea how cool this is! Dyllan is going to shit herself. We usually watch the show together, and it's going to be so much better knowing that they're really in a relationship."

  "Do you want to ease up on my arm?"

  It takes me a second to register his meaning, but when I look at my hands and see them still shaking his arm, I feel my cheeks heat in embarrassment. "Sorry about that. I got a little excited."

  "That was a little excited?"

  I give him a heated look, but it only lasts for a second when I see him looking at me with a smile. It isn't as big as it w
as last night on the plane, but those white teeth are peeking out, and just like the first time I saw him smile, I resort to brain-dead status.

  "You look fucking weird, Wren," Jamison exclaims, his hand reaching over from the back to poke at my shoulder.

  Chance's smile cranks up a few notches, his eyes crinkling at the sides. It makes me wonder if he actually smiles often when he's around his friends. Or maybe he used to smile a lot.

  "Is she drooling?" Luke butts in; he sounds like he shifted in his seat to get closer.

  "Stop doing that," I hiss at Chance.

  "I'm not doing anything."

  "It's just not right for you to have that much power," I inform him.

  "What is she talking about?" Jamison questions.

  "Still not doing anything," Chance tells me, ignoring Jami.

  "Yoo-hoo," Jamison yells, his hand coming into view as he waves it in front of my face.

  Blinking a few times, I twist my neck to look at Jamison with a scowl. "What?"

  "Phew." He sighs, falling back against his seat. "For a second there, I thought we had lost you. I figured you wouldn't want everyone to know what your O face looks like. You looked like you were about to eat Chance here for breakfast."

  "I was not about to O face anyone," I sputter.

  "You so were," Luke confirms, siding with Jamison.

  "Can we not talk about this?" Wes complains.

  "Yes, we can not talk about this. Great idea, Wes. Oh look, there's our street." I turn toward my window so fast that I almost crack my forehead against the tinted window. I thrust my hand out, pointing at the road sign to announce our turn on Swallow Drive.

  "You live on a street called Swallow Drive?" I can hear the teasing in Chance's question, and I swear that's the only reason I open my mouth and further embarrass myself.

  "Yup. It called to me when we were house hunting. You know, because I love to swallow."

  That stupid, brain-killing smile is back; only this time, a deep and manly laugh accompanies it. And let me tell you--if his smile was enough to kill my ability to think, the sound of his laughter is enough to turn that dead brain into a pile of mush.

  Holy. Shit.

  Two minutes later, the driver parks in front of our house, and I rush out and around the SUV in seconds. My goal had been to get inside and lock myself in my room, but Chance hooks me with a hand to my elbow, stopping my movement.

  "Let me check the house," he demands.

  My brow furrows. "Seriously? Is that necessary?"

  His eyes are still smiling when his very serious tone answers me. "When it comes to keeping you safe, yeah. I'm finding I like you, Wren. Let me do my job so I can keep on liking you."

  "You like me?"

  His hand comes up, and one long finger brushes the skin between my eyes, all the way down to the tip of my nose, before disappearing from my line of sight with a soft tap. Then he turns, and I watch him walk up to the huge black door. With quick and efficient movements that betray the fact he's never once set foot on our property, he unlocks and disarms the keypad, and before I can blink, he's inside.

  "What happened back there between you two?" Weston quietly questions, stepping in front of me and blocking my view of our house, giving a lift of his chin in the direction of the SUV.

  I let out a dramatic rush of air. "Oh, big brother." I sigh. "That man has no idea what he does to me."

  Weston's quiet for a beat while he ponders what I mean. "And that is?" he continues his questioning, albeit hesitantly now. It's almost as if he doesn't really want to know, but being the protective big brother that is he, he feels like he has to ask.

  "Makes me deliriously stupid with need."

  "I knew this would happen!" Jamison yells, his fist going up in the air before pointing at Wes. "You owe me five hundred bucks, fucker."

  "Shit," Wes hisses, his eyes looking from me, to Jamison, to the house, and then back at me. "Shit!"

  "Let me get this straight," Dyllan slurs. With her wine glass pointing at me, I wonder if she's about to slosh some of the delicious red we've been drinking for the last two hours all over my brand-new white loungers. "The man who you've known for a week is your not husband is now the featured story with every entertainment show, tabloid, and Internet celebrity blogger for getting you not pregnant with your not firstborn. You may or may not be renewing your nonexistent vows when you show up in Vegas. Oh, you also fired your manager this morning and told your label to fuck off at the same time ... all of this in one day?"

  I take a heavy sip, enjoying the way the wine's flavors burst over my taste buds. "That about sums it up. Wait, you forgot the fact that I almost dry humped him in front of four strangers on the flight. And that his kisses could make a dead person orgasm. Annnnd that his smile alone is probably all it would take for me."

  Dyllan gasps, lifting her body off the lounger and placing her wine glass down on the table between us. "Shut up. His smile alone?"

  I nod, completely serious. "You have no idea, Dyll. There aren't enough adjectives in the world that would help me describe to you what that man looks like when he lets one free or what it does to me. Totally should be classified as a deadly weapon, I'm sure of it."

  "Oh, wow." She falls back and looks over the pool in front of us while her eyes focus on the brightly lit lights of LA shining up at us from my lanai. "Wow," she breathes dreamily again.

  "How am I supposed to play the part of the in-love girlfriend--" I stop when I'm cut off by a hand waving in front of my face sloppily.

  "Wife." Dyllan giggles into her wine glass, her eyes bright with mirth.

  "Whatever, Dyll. Just tell me how to make this work without going insane in the process. I want that man more than I've wanted anything in a long damn time, if ever. I don't even remember wanting to be discovered this badly!"

  Her face gets serious, despite the fact that I know she's probably as drunk as I am. The soft light coming from the pool area is making her look almost crazy. "Where is the rule that says you can't enjoy him while this whole thing is going on?"

  "He's here to be my security guard, not my live-in sex toy."

  "I just don't see why you can't have the best of both worlds. There are times that he doesn't need to keep a constant guard on you. Like when you're alone here, on the bus, or in a hotel. Who says you can't both get something out of this. Lord knows you should be able to now that the media is going nuts speculating and not likely to stop anytime soon."

  Her words ping around in my head, and try as I might, I can't stop them from taking root in my mind. "That would make things ... complicated."

  She tosses her head back, her short blond hair dancing around her. "Wrenny, I think it's safe to say that it's already complicated. The whole world right now thinks you're expecting his love child and that you're either secretly married or will be soon. It doesn't get much more complicated than that. Plus, you guys can think of it as studying for your roles as love-struck newlyweds. I always did say that you could tell with one glance which couples know what it feels like to stick their naughty bits together. You can just tell when a couple has that knowledge of each other."

  "I highly doubt that you can tell that just by looking at two people."

  "It's true, I'm telling you. Watch." She gets up from her seat and grabs my hand, pulling me up and out of the back lanai area and through the open glass panels that lead into our living room area.

  We move through the house, walking by the kitchen and down a short narrow hallway that leads to the stairs to the bottom floor. I almost trip trying to keep up with her pulling against my arm. When we hit the bottom level, she looks down the long hallway that leads to the five bedrooms down here briefly before turning her attention toward the other hallway--shorter than the other--that leads to the movie theater and our in-house recording studio when the sounds of the guys messing with their instruments echoes around us.

  She doesn't drop my arm, pulling me farther until we stumble into the room. I see Luke and my brot
her sitting in front of each other, their fingers rapidly strumming their guitars for a second before they stop and discuss something. Wes makes a note on the paper next to them before they repeat the process. Since the sound in the control room is muted, we can't hear what they're saying, but I smile at the image of them writing new material.

  "Watch this," Dyllan commands and presses the button that will fill the room with our voices. "Hey guys," she says into the mic. Both of them look up and roll their eyes but give us a wave. "Carry on," she jokes with a smile.

  "What was that?" I question her odd behavior.

  "That is me proving a point. How did they look at us?"

  I feel my face contort. "Like they always do. Annoyed with how much they love us."

  "Exactly. Like great friends and brothers would look at another woman."

  "Uh, okay?" I input, not knowing what else to say. Maybe she's more drunk than I realized.

  "Follow me." She claps her hands and bounces slightly on her feet.

  With a roll of my eyes, I follow her back the way we just came; only this time, she walks down the opposite hallway and stops in front of Jamison's doorway. Not liking where I think this is going, I stand aside and wait for her to do whatever she is going to do.

  Her hand comes up, looking over her shoulder at me before knocking.

  "Yo!"

  At Jamison's bellow, she turns the knob and opens the door wide, giving me a clear view of the man himself as he sits on the edge of his bed with his game controller in his hand. He doesn't move his eyes from the TV in front of him. My lips twitch when I see the faint red stain on his lips--left over from the LipSense color he couldn't scrub off. I could have made it a little easier and given him some of my remover, but seriously, where is the fun in that?

  "Hey, Jamison," Dyllan calls into his room, talking a little louder than normal to be heard over the noise of machine guns and war sounds.

  Jamison blinks then ever so slowly turns his head and looks right through me before his gaze settles on Dyllan. I watch as recognition sparks--his pupils dilate and his breathing speeds up ever so slightly. If I hadn't been watching for something, I never would have noticed anything different in his demeanor, but fuck me, there is no way that could be mistaken.