Lost For You: Rockstar Romance (Sixth Street Bands Book 4) Page 3

  “The drink?” the girl said, tipping her chin to my coffee. “I think it’s mine.”

  “Shit … sorry.” I tightened my grip reflexively when her fingers curled around the cup. “Have we met?”

  Her smile evaporated. “I don’t think so.”

  She was probably right. Because if we’d met, I’d remember.

  Still holding firm to her cup, I brushed aside the déjà vu. “That’s a shame.”

  An irritated sigh. “Can I have my drink please?”

  The scowl was kind of adorable, though I don’t think cute was what she was going for. Still, I was up for the challenge, so I offered her my free hand and said, “I’m Chase.”

  “Good for you.”

  Astounded by her ability to remain straight faced, I let go of her cup. “You know … It’s always nice to meet someone from out of town. Around here when someone gives you their name, it’s customary to return the favor.”

  I had no doubt the girl was pure Texas. The drawl was a dead giveaway, along with the crimson staining her cheeks when she realized she’d forgotten her manners.

  Tucking a strand of rich, brown hair behind her ear, she tried for a smile, but only managed the faintest curve of her lips. “Sorry. I’m just really tired. Jet lag.”

  Hoisting her backpack on her shoulder, she made to leave.

  “You still didn’t tell me your name.” Holding up a hand when she narrowed her gaze, I pulled a card from my back pocket. “Okay, how about this … you can tell me tonight when we meet for drinks.”

  Curiosity sparked in her eyes as she read the card. “Where’s Nite Owl?”

  I leaned against the counter, smiling. “Just down the road a piece. Are you familiar with Sixth?”

  She choked on her sip of coffee, but quickly recovered. “Yeah, I’m pretty familiar.”

  She was familiar all right. Hauntingly. Maybe we could figure it out after the drinks. Naked.

  I inched a little closer. “So, what time do you want to meet?”

  As she pondered, I zeroed in on the name scrawled in black Sharpie on the waffled sleeve encasing her drink.

  Taryn …

  Blinking, I searched her face for a long moment. “You’re Taryn Ayers.”

  When she flinched, I realized it sounded like an accusation. Still, I waited to see if she’d correct me. But all I got was a forced smile. It was the saddest thing, those beautiful lips bending against their will.

  Before I could respond, Taryn turned on her heel and headed for the door.

  It should’ve ended there. Because it wasn’t about me. It was about my brother. Cameron already had to overcome being Tyler Noble’s son. But even my father never burned the bridges that I did in the industry. There was no unfulfilled six-figure contract with Tyler’s name attached to it. And Tyler didn’t overdose backstage at a concert venue.

  But I wasn’t thinking about Cameron when I followed Taryn out of the coffee shop. And my brother was the last thing on my mind when I caught up with her at the light on Congress.

  “Taryn.”

  I wasn’t aware that I’d said her name out loud until she swung her stormy blue eyes in my direction. And for a moment I thought fate would intervene and save me from myself. One word. That’s all it would take. And I’d go.

  But then she smiled, and the clouds receded from her gaze. “Yes?”

  That wasn’t the word I was looking for. “Yes” held all kinds of possibilities. None of them good.

  Adrenaline coursed through me and I felt it. That rush I got when I crossed the line. Any line.

  “So … are we on for drinks at seven?”

  Chapter 3

  Taryn

  I glanced down at the card still clutched in my hand. Chase Noble. I wanted to get the guy’s name right when I told him to go to hell. Of course, smiling would probably take some of the bite out of the nasty retort. And I was smiling.

  Why was I smiling?

  Pressing my lips into a firm line, I jabbed the button for the crosswalk. “I don’t think so, Chase.”

  He took his place at my side as I waited for traffic to clear. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

  I slanted my gaze to his. “Excuse me?”

  He shrugged. “You think too much.”

  A response coiled around my tongue, but my phone vibrated in my hand, distracting me. I scanned the dozen new messages cluttering my screen. And if I wasn’t in the middle of downtown, I’d swear I lost reception. Because I didn’t remember hearing my phone go off once. Ever since I’d walked into the coffee shop, my thoughts had been occupied with other things. Like the guy next to me.

  The light turned green, and I took a step, only to have Chase tug me back to his side. “Careful.”

  My response sailed away on a breeze when a bike whizzed by, crunching the leaves where I’d been standing.

  Heat rose in my cheeks. “He was going the wrong way,” I grumbled, watching the cyclist’s spandex-encased backside weaving through traffic.

  Chase had yet to let go of my arm so I gently tugged it free. “Well, thanks,” I said, and after glancing both ways, I ventured onto the busy street only to have Chase fall into step beside me.

  I gave him the side eye. “What are you doing?”

  He shrugged. “Waiting the appropriate amount of time to ask you out again.”

  Biting down a smile, I asked, “And what’s the appropriate amount of time?”

  When we were safe on the sidewalk, he faced me. “I guess around five minutes if I hold true to form.”

  This time I couldn’t hold back a laugh, but to my horror, it came out more like a snort. Shaking my head, I fished my keys from my pocket. “Well, this is me.”

  Chase took out his phone and glimpsed the screen. “I’ve still got one minute.”

  Amused, I leaned a hip against the trunk of my car. “I can save you the trouble and say no right now.”

  Breaching the small gap that separated us, he swept a lock of hair out of my face. “But you’re not going to say no, are you?”

  Recalling the way the light seeped from his eyes at the coffee shop when he found out who I was, my stomach tumbled. Whatever gave him pause, he’d merely overlooked it for the moment.

  There was no smile, no humor, just sincerity when Chase said softly, “It’s just a drink, Taryn.”

  A refusal formed on my lips. Because there was no good reason to say yes. But that’s exactly what I said. I had to forcibly keep my hand from covering my mouth to hide my surprise.

  Chase smiled like he knew it all along. “Great. I’ll see you at seven.”

  Scampering for the safety of my car, I cursed my shaking hands and pounding heart. Adjusting the rearview mirror, I watched as Chase headed in the opposite direction, wondering why in the hell I’d just agreed to have drinks with a stranger. As soon as he was out of view, I realized that my phone was vibrating against my palm.

  One look at the screen and my good mood evaporated. Ash Devonshire.

  I considered sending the call straight to voicemail, but in a moment of white-hot anger, I swiped my finger over his name.

  “What do you want, Ash? Haven’t you caused enough trouble?”

  A long sigh. “Taryn, if you’d just let me explain.”

  Shifting my focus to the crumpled copy of the Austin Statesman on the passenger seat, I hissed, “Explain? You were supposed to write a memorial series. A tribute.”

  “I agreed to write a series on the Damaged legacy,” Ash replied calmly. “Like it or not, Beckett is a part of that.”

  “Did Maddy Silva join the group when I wasn’t looking? Because most of this article is related to her. You fucking interviewed her.” Sagging against the seat, my heart squeezed with the betrayal. “And you brought me into it. Why?”

  “You’re part of it, Taryn,” he said quietly with zero conviction. “The legacy. Your relationship with Beckett.”

  “Don’t play dumb, Ash. You’re not some out-of-the-loop paparazzo.”

&nb
sp; Ash cut his teeth writing freelance articles for the underground newspapers covering the Sixth Street Music beat. After Damaged hit the scene, I gave him all the exclusives. Ash made a nice chunk of change selling articles to Time, Newsweek, and Rolling Stone. But Ash’s real break came after the accident. I gave him the first interview. The hardest interview of my life.

  Ash received an award for that piece and landed a cushy job as the Arts and Entertainment editor for the Austin Statesman.

  “Listen to me,” Ash growled, exasperated. “There are some things you don’t know. If we could just talk.”

  “What things?”

  I heard a door slam, and then the hum of the newsroom in the background. “Just meet me. We can’t do this over the phone.”

  His plea touched a chord. A place inside that I reserved for a select few. Years of history, and I knew if we met in person, I’d soften to Ash’s plight.

  “I don’t want to see you,” I said, resolute. “It’s not just about me. What about Tori? You know there’s a media ban when it comes to talking about a Damaged reunion. And what did you do? You devoted three paragraphs to that shit! She’s not going to get a moments peace now.”

  “The story is out there!” he roared. “You’re signing talent like a madwoman! I can’t just avoid the topic. With the five-year anniversary of the accident coming up, everyone’s speculating about a Damaged reunion.”

  A lump formed in my throat, hard and unyielding. “Don’t you think a reunion might be a little difficult with Rhenn and Paige pushing up daisies at Oakwood Cemetery?”

  Paige—the string that bound us. She loved Ash, far more than anyone ever knew. Their longstanding affair was another reason he had my trust and unfettered access to the bands I managed.

  Ash sucked in a harsh breath. “Christ, Taryn. That was low.”

  Any small amount of guilt I felt for causing the obvious pain evaporated when my focus shifted to Maddy Silva’s quote next to Ash’s byline.

  I found my soul mate.

  Reflexively, my thumb skated over the infinity tattoo on my ring finger. “Lower than giving Beckett’s new girlfriend three fucking pages of prime real estate in the Statesman?”

  Ash cursed under his breath. “You don’t know everything. You think you do, but you don’t. There are still two more pieces in the series.”

  More? My stomach pitched at the thought of two more weeks of this.

  “I don’t suppose either of those stories includes an interview with Dylan—you know, the lead singer of the band? Have you forgotten about him? When he finds out you threw Tori out there, he’s going to tune you up.”

  “No, he won’t,” Ash said wearily. “You’ll feel differently once you see how it ends.”

  Resting my head against the side window, I gazed at the clouds gathering in the west. Storms always came in from the west, rolling through the small Texas towns bordering the hill country with their two-lane, undivided roads. Dangerous roads. Lightning struck in the distance, so faint it was merely a flash, lost in the gray morning sky.

  “I already know how it ends,” I said thickly.

  Rhenn and Paige were gone. Tori was broken. I hadn’t seen Miles in months. As for Beckett and me? Our love was the last casualty of the accident. Maybe it was only fitting that Ash cataloged our public demise.

  Straightening in my seat, I let out a staggered breath. “Fine, Ash. You win. When and where? And don’t even think about coming to Twin Souls.”

  A tension headache throbbed at the base of my skull when I thought of how Tori would handle this. The reunion show meant everything to her. To us.

  Paper rustled in the background, and I rolled my eyes. Ash was the only person I knew who still used a Day Planner.

  “Uh … how about four thirty at the Driscoll?”

  I was about to reply with a standard yes when I thought of Chase and our date. “Make it four.”

  Ending the call before Ash could reply, I slid my car into drive and then headed west toward Twin Souls. And the storm.

  Chapter 4

  Chase

  I skimmed the lyrics for the song I’d just composed. Not a song—a ballad. Written about a woman I’d spent less than ten minutes with. And not just any woman. Taryn Ayers.

  Out of the corner of my eye, my laptop called to me. Reluctantly, I answered, hauling the device onto my lap. I stared at the Google search box with Taryn’s name, and in a moment of weakness, I hit enter.

  A neat row of Taryn’s pictures populated the screen. Foregoing the gallery, I opened her wiki page. Easing back against the cushions, I scrolled through the article, astonished at her accomplishments.

  When I got to the bottom of the page, my fingers hovered over the touch pad.

  “Damaged Accident and Aftermath.”

  Blowing past the photos of the wreckage from the crash, I went straight to the aftermath.

  Clicking the first link, a photo of Taryn and Beckett Brennin on the roof of Breckenridge hospital with the Care Flight helicopter in the background appeared. It was like peering in on the worst day of someone’s life, frame by frame. Brennin looked shocked. But Taryn? The way her legs were bent slightly and oddly angled, just a little off, it was apparent she wasn’t standing of her own volition.

  How the fuck did someone have the insensitivity to take these pictures?

  Disgusted, I moved onto the next photo. Taryn in a black dress at the double funeral service at St. Mary’s Cathedral. Kneeling at the altar with her small hand flat on Paige’s white casket, she gazed upward, tears streaming down her face. She looked like a shattered angel.

  “Jesus …”

  Unable to stomach another photo of Taryn with vacant eyes and pale skin, I skipped to the article that delved into the inquiry of the accident. The National Transportation and Safety Board found Xtreme Modifications solely at fault. But in the court of public opinion, Taryn was hung out to dry.

  I did another quick search but didn’t find one statement from Taryn defending herself.

  “Hey, bro,” Cameron said as he entered the room. “What are you doing here?”

  I blinked at him. “Uh …”

  He flopped down next to me and leaned in to catch a peek at my screen.

  “Porn?” He smirked.

  Rolling my eyes, I slammed the lid. “I prefer my women three dimensional. And I am working. I had a crew here all day cleaning out Laurel’s new digs.”

  He pulled a face. “You’re really going to let her live here?”

  “You make it sound like she’s going to be sleeping in my bed. She’s living upstairs.”

  Hopping to my feet to shake off the images of Taryn with vacant eyes and pale skin, I headed to the fridge. Pushing aside the six-pack of beer, I opted for water. At twenty-nine, with eleven years clean, I knew my kink. Drugs. Any and all. Still, when I first got out of rehab, I didn’t drink for years, and even now I didn’t drink often.

  Since I wasn’t sure of what weapons Laurel used to fight the big monsters, I’d need to lock up the alcohol for the time being. Keep it out of her reach.

  “What are you doing here so early?” I asked, holding out a can of Dr. Pepper for my brother.

  Confusion lined his brow. “It’s three o’clock. Band practice?”

  Shit … I’d wasted hours writing the song and obsessing about Taryn. I was good at obsessing. Not that it hurt me any. I’d made it through Stanford in three years instead of four, and then I built the Phoenix Group from nothing to a thriving enterprise in seven.

  Still, it unnerved me, the way I couldn’t stop thinking about Taryn.

  I reclaimed my seat. “Guess I lost track of time. Where’s the rest of the crew?”

  “Christian’s running late. And Sean had to pick up Willow from speech class or something. He’ll be here any minute.” Cameron took a drink as he peered at his phone. “I saw Logan unloading all the shit he bought for Laurel.”

  When I saw the concern darkening my brother’s hazel eyes, I sat forward. “Wha
t kind of stuff?”

  He glanced at my wall of electronics. “The kind that are easily pawned. Xbox. Flat screen. Stuff like that.”

  Cameron had seen me at my worst, when I was willing to sell the coat off my back, or his, for a fix.

  I took a sip of water to wash away the sour taste of guilt. “Keep your views to yourself until there’s something to worry about,” I warned. “I’ve already talked to Logan. Don’t get between him and Laurel. I’ll handle it.”

  Cameron pressed his lips into a firm line when Logan exited the freight elevator, wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s fucking boiling out there.” Looking between Cam and me, he narrowed his eyes. “What?”

  “Nothing,” I replied. “Where’s Laurel?”

  “Upstairs trying to figure out her new TV.”

  I scowled when Logan plopped onto the white sofa with his dusty jeans and dirty hands. Unfazed, he snatched my water bottle from the table and downed half the contents before offering it back to me with a smug smile.

  “Dude, I have no idea where that mouth has been.”

  Grinning wider, he waggled his brows. “Well … if you really want to know … there was this Betty I met last night at the—”

  “Spare me,” I grumbled, my focus on the notepad of unfinished lyrics. “I meant to ask, are y’all making any headway getting your audition with Twin Souls?”

  Totally self-serving dick move, and I was all about it. Which was a little concerning since blatant manipulation was something I’d left behind a long time ago.

  Logan’s face fell. “Hell no. You remember when I told you about that memorial concert, the one that Twin Souls is planning for the fifth anniversary of the … um … thing?” When I nodded, he continued, “Well Sean read an article in the paper yesterday, and it’s definitely on. I guess Taryn is focusing all her energy on that.”

  A prickle of awareness danced over my skin. “Taryn? I thought you were trying to get a meeting with Tori.”

  Cameron snorted a laugh. “Seems Tori doesn’t handle the talent. Logan over here has been working the wrong partner.”