Melody of Truth (Love of a Rockstar Book 3) Page 8

It dawned on me right then how deep my feelings went when it came to her. They dove past lust straight into a zone that should have been off limits if my heart knew what was good for it.

  Why couldn’t I have fallen for a woman who was available? Who I stood a chance with? Because she would have paled in comparison to Melody, that was why.

  As I snuck a glance at her profile, the curved line of her nose reminded me of an upside down G minor cord. Her voice was like soulful jazz, husky and smooth, while her laughter fell on the side of classic rock, smooth and rolling.

  She was the embodiment of everything that was great in music. I couldn’t lose her.

  Peering into the glass, Melody murmured, “He’s a really good man.”

  “So is my dry cleaner,” I said snarkily.

  “You don’t get it.”

  “Then explain it to me.”

  “Marco and I met at a salsa club when I was visiting Spain. We become fast friends and even though I was attracted to him, nothing happened romance-wise between us. He had a girlfriend, though I use that term loosely. They fought and broke up more times than they were actually together. Anyway, after I returned to the United States, he had a little boy named Hendrix.” Melody smiled with affection for him. “He has a mop of brown hair and caramel-colored eyes like his father, a total lady killer.” The light dimmed from her eyes as she reached the climax of the story. “Marco reached out to me and let me know he was attending a summer program at Columbia University two months ago. I won’t dive into details but we got together and soon after, his ex-wife called to let him know Hendrix had contracted C diff.

  My medical terminology limited, I asked, “What is that?”

  “It’s an infection of the colon. It’s curable, but it is also relentless. Almost twenty percent of patients get it again, which is what happened to Hendrix. His only hope is a world-renowned health practice that deals with cases like his in upstate New York. The problem is Marco and his ex-wife don’t have the funds or health insurance to send him.”

  The picture became clear. “You’re marrying Marco so he can get on your insurance?”

  “It’s one of the reasons, yes. His son deserves to live a healthy life and if I can grant him that, I will.”

  “At the expense of your own happiness.”

  Twisting her hands in her lap, she frowned. “Marco is a good man.”

  “I know, you said that already.”

  Unable to save her mother, Melody had gone on a quest of redemption, traveling to the farthest reaches of the world and shining a light on important social issues. Her savior complex had gone too far this time.

  “You can’t…”

  She cut me off with a shake of her head. “Stop. I can do whatever I want and I’m choosing to marry Marco, so you must understand why we can’t be friends.”

  “No.” I scooted a tad to the right, out of punching range and the reach of her seething glare. “You’re a fool to think I’ll give you up before I have to.”

  “We are dancing with fire. What happened last night can't happen again."

  “Nothing happened. We fell asleep.”

  “Holding hands.”

  “Unless holding hands has a different connotation in Spain, I think you’re overreacting.”

  Word to the wise: don’t tell a woman she is overreacting unless you truly want to witness fireworks.

  “You’re such a selfish asshole!” she screamed, jumping to her feet. “This is my potential marriage on the line and I’m asking you to honor that! Why is that so difficult for you?!”

  “Do you really want to know the answer?”

  The wind got knocked from her sails as took an unsteady step backward at the unspoken words hidden in my question. “You said you wanted to be friends.”

  “Because I couldn’t have you any other way.”

  Her body sagged against the doorframe, defeated. “I need to be alone.”

  As I walked out of the back area of the bus, my bandmates’ curious gazes followed me to the booth, where I sat down and pulled out my earbuds to watch drumming videos.

  “HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN HOW TO use a spoon?”

  The utensil spun in a circle on the table. It came to a dizzying stop, and I nudged it with my fingers, sending it spinning again.“I’m not in the mood for your smart-ass remarks.”

  Matthew lowered himself into the seat across from mine. “What’s up?”

  The last time we had spoken about Melody, he had encouraged me to stay away from her to avoid drama. I didn’t want to prove him right by spilling the shit storm my love life had become.

  “Nothing, just a lack of sleep is all.” To switch the spotlight off me, I aimed it at him. “You have been tenser than a rubber band lately. What’s up with you?”

  He rubbed his hand over his face and sighed. “I’m going to sound like a pussy, but I miss Camilla.”

  “You’re a better version of yourself when she is around.”

  “Right?! The demons quiet in her presence.”

  Matthew didn’t talk about what exactly the demons were, never had. Five years of friendship and I couldn’t fill in a quiz about his likes and dislikes. It used to bug me the hell out of me, but now I accepted it for what it was.

  “You can buy her a plane ticket,” I said.

  “She is too busy with her upcoming play and her clients.”

  “Two or three days isn’t a lot to ask.”

  “Nah, I won’t throw a kink in her schedule because of my inability to cope without her.”

  What was up with people denying their happiness for the sake of others? My mom, the poster child for selflessness, used to buy her favorite ice cream and hide it behind a pile of frozen meals. During afternoon naptime, she would spoon two scoops into a paisley printed bowl. A quiet home without children running amok and double chocolate chunk ice cream equaled bliss to her. She taught me how important it was to put your wellbeing first sometimes.

  “Woman find vulnerability sexy,” I stated. Matthew pinned me with a look like are you kidding me? I held my palms out in front of me. “I’m just saying you could give it a try.”

  “I’m all right.”

  “You were vulnerable when you admitted you missed Camilla. I could have called you a countless barrage of names.”

  “You’re my best friend. I don’t give a shit if you think I’m weak because if you do, I can punch you in the face and prove I’m not.”

  Matthew’s fingers flexed into a fist. Between him, Melody, and me, we had half of a crime fighting team.

  “Ruining this nose would be considered a crime,” I cracked.

  “It’s a little crooked. A smacking wallop could straighten it.”

  My eyes widened in horror as I cupped my best feature outside my nether regions. “Don’t you dare.”

  The smile that was uniquely Matthew’s—sinister with a hint of goodness—stretched his cheeks widely. “Now who’s the pussy?”

  “I’m not a pussy, I’m just a vain son of a bitch.”

  Chuckling, he dug into the cooler stocked with the local beer the venue had provided and underhanded one to me. I caught it and popped the top. With five minutes before sound check, this would be the only alcoholic beverage I would indulge in until after the show. I had learned as a young musician that drumming drunk equaled a whole lot of confidence and a sloppy performance.

  With my feet propped on the table, I tipped my chair back. “Are you enjoying the business end of music?”

  “I hate it. Luke should have warned me what an impossible nightmare managing is. The stress…” Matthew slowly shook his head. “We’re going to have to hire someone, anyone once the tour is done. I can’t be the lead singer and deal with concert promoters blowing up my phone.”

  “Missing Camilla and being stressed makes for a grumpy musician.”

  “Does it ever.”

  I picked at the label on my beer, scattering torn paper onto the table.

  Matthew nodded his chin toward me. “Is the world
ending? Mr. OCD is causing a mess instead of cleaning one up.”

  “Ha, ha.” I swept the scraps into my palm and dumped them into the trash. As I sat back down, he leveled me with a knowing stare. “What? I told you nothing is wrong,” I said.

  “Dude, we have been on the road together six months out of the year for the last five years. You can’t bullshit me, and on top of that, I heard you and Melody having it out earlier.”

  I forgot privacy didn’t exist on the bus. “How much of it did you catch?”

  “Bits and pieces.”

  Matthew was lying; he had caught the entire sordid conversation, and I was sure Ash and Noah had too. My worry piqued at the repercussions of having our dirty laundry aired. “You aren’t going to fire her, are you?”

  “Why the hell would I?”

  “You said you didn’t want any distractions to fuck up my concentration, which is why I’m guessing you sent that groupie to the bus.”

  He grinned. “And?”

  “We had a good time, but once the high faded, I was back to where I started.”

  “I’m sorry man. I’ve been in the same situation.”

  “Any advice you can give?”

  Matthew swallowed the last remnants of his beer, pinning me with a look that ran a shiver down my back. “Be prepared to fight until you have given your last breath. Love—true love—doesn’t come easy.”

  “A little dramatic, don’t you think?”

  “Love is dramatic.”

  “Touché.”

  After a beat, he asked, “Is it true Melody is really marrying Marco so he can get a green card?”

  My bandmates were worse than a group of gossiping old ladies. “It is, but it’s also because he needs her health insurance to help his sick son get treatment in upstate New York.”

  “Why isn’t anything simple?”

  “Beats me.”

  Since the night before, I had been searching for a solution to Melody’s predicament. In the early morning hours, it hit me—a benefit concert. We could donate some of our funds from the ticket sales of our last show to Marco’s son’s treatment. I was going to wait until the whole band was together to run it by them, but in the end Matthew had the deciding vote.

  Looking at him from the corner of my eye, I approached the subject carefully. “I was thinking we could hold a benefit show. ”

  “It’s a generous idea, but our funds are tight right now.”

  “How ‘bout I crunch some numbers and see if it’s even a possibility?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  AN ELECTRIC ENERGY PULSED IN the air around me as the crowd eagerly awaited the band. I had jostled my way to the very front, otherwise known as the mosh pit—a stray elbow to the eye was worth it for the footage I wanted to capture.

  The woman next to me let out a low-pitched scream, which created a domino effect. Looking up, I saw Matthew, Ash, Noah, and—last but not least—Sean filing in.

  Overhearing a heated debate about which member was the most fuckable, I refrained from putting in my two cents, though to me there was no contest—Sean won by a landslide.

  A ripped t-shirt showed hints of his muscular abdomen and his perfectly tousled white blond hair looked like it had been kissed with ocean water. He caught me staring and a slow grin spread across Sean’s face. I quickly raised my camera and pretended to film the venue as butterflies flapped wildly in my stomach.

  “How are you New Orleans?!” Matthew yelled into the microphone.

  The audience surged forward. I aimed the lens upward and captured his magnetic presence.

  Over the roar, he said, “We have a couple songs we are going to play for you tonight, some old and some new. Now let’s dance!”

  The fast-paced tempo of the drums launched the band into their first song of the night, one about chasing your dreams. What amazed me about them was that they never put on the same performance twice and seemed to have an inner intuition for what the audience wanted.

  That night, they stepped up their game. It was sweaty, mesmerizing, and downright insane.

  Matthew ended the concert by jumping into the crowd, still gripping his mic. The footage of his body surfing the crowd on a sea of hands would be my opening shot.

  I pressed the stop button, the record light blinked off, and I returned backstage to dismantle my camera.

  Sneakers entered my line of sight. “Excuse me miss?”

  I looked up at the hulking bodyguard, his three-hundred-pound figure blocking the entrance to the hallway and the light. “Yes?”

  “There is someone outside who claims she knows you.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Annie Ludlow.”

  Annie the menace, my best friend from high school? I hadn’t hung out with her in almost five years. We occasionally chatted on the phone and caught up, promising to not let another year go by before we did it again, but almost a year and a half had passed since I’d heard her thick Boston accent.

  “You can let her in,” I said.

  “I’m afraid I shouldn’t. She is a tad…”

  “Loud?”

  “Extremely.”

  Annie didn’t have a volume switch on her voice and hushing her didn’t do any good. She simply laughed as if I were being ridiculous. I hitched the leather strap onto my shoulder as the bodyguard led me to the blaring red exit sign. He pushed open the door and stepped aside.

  Annie’s caramel-colored locks curled into soft ringlets and hit her square jaw—the same haircut she’d sported since she was sixteen. A flowy peasant blouse tucked into her high-waisted jeans, elongating Annie’s figure, as did the chunky boots she wore. Besides her boho fashion sense, she hadn’t changed a bit.

  She threw her hands in the air, her turquoise bracelets clinking around her wrist. “Melody!”

  “Annie!”

  I crossed the parking lot and met her in the middle. Due to a weird aversion to hugs, she squeezed my lower arm. “I’m so happy to see you.”

  “You too.”

  Her eyes creased with worry. “Sorry to show up unannounced. Your sister bragged on Facebook about your film project with Matthew Lee and I saw on their website that their tour stop here in New Orleans matched the dates of my trip."

  “No worries. How long are you in town for?”

  “Just tonight. You?”

  “Two days.”

  “Can you grab a drink or a bite to eat? I would love to hear about the latest happenings in the glamorous life of Melody Carmichael.”

  Glancing at the tank top I’d worn to bed the night before, I snorted. “Please, ice-cold beer and pizza is as glamorous as it gets on tour, and you know how I despise beer.”

  “Then I’ll buy you a proper southern meal. Biscuits, gravy—”

  She had me at gravy and I looped my arm through hers. “Where to?”

  THE SMELL OF BBQ WAFTED out from the large smoker situated around the back of the tiny yellow structure. We decided on a smoked collard greens, baked beans, and biscuits smothered in gravy. I’d have to be rolled out of there once the meal was done.

  Annie studied the dessert specials. “They have banana cream pie.”

  “Are you trying to completely destroy our arteries?”

  “Come on. We used to eat worse than this on a Saturday night.”

  I smiled fondly at the pot-fueled binge sessions Annie was referring to. Her stoner brother used to sell us a joint, which we would have to make last for the entire month. Looking back, there was no way the one hit we’d each take was enough to get us high.

  Power of suggestion, huh?

  “I’m afraid my metabolism isn’t the same.” I patted my stomach. “A donut adds five pounds to my hips.”

  “You’re skinny as a beanstalk.”

  “I forgot how generous you are with compliments. You should stand next to me whenever I look in the mirror.

  Annie’s wheezing laughter drew stares from the neighboring table. I ignored them and joined in. The bundle of str
ess at the base of my neck melted. I hadn’t realized how badly I missed quality girl time.

  She dabbed at her eyes with the tip of a napkin. “I should become your walking ego. Who needs educators? “

  Annie taught second grade at a Montessori elementary school in Portland, Maine. A natural with children, she was the cool teacher you appreciated for sparking your interest in education.

  “Your minions would miss you too much,” I said. “Besides, the pay is crap.”

  A funny expression crossed her face. Crumpling the napkin, she spoke. “I was fired.” Several seconds of silence passed as she composed herself. “Dating in the workplace is frowned upon. We thought we were careful, but we underestimated the power of cellphones. A student caught us sharing a candlelit smooch at Mario’s Italian restaurant. “

  Last I’d checked, Annie was dating a lawyer named Bill—or maybe it was Brad? They had seemed serious and she’d mentioned moving into his loft.

  Placing my hand on top of hers, a sympathetic smile tilted my lips. “You will be bounce back on your feet.”

  “I formed attachments with those snot-nosed kids. They were the highlight of my week.”

  “Can you continue seeing them outside school?”

  Annie shook her head, dejected. “No. Their parents have blacklisted me as a slut.”

  “Jesus.” I breathed. “Who did you sleep with?”

  “John Andrews, the director.”

  “Is he married or something?”

  “Nope, the mothers are just jealous because I nabbed him first.” Irritation coated her words. “It’s not my fault they are stuck with their fat boring husbands while I get to go home to John, who embodies the deadly combination of smarts and hotness.”

  “You’re still together then?”

  The fire inside her died to a low flame as stars twinkled in her eyes. “Jobless without a penny to our name, our love hasn’t died.”

  “They fired him too?”

  “Unfortunately, but it’s their loss. He is the best director they can hope to find on the east coast or in the United States. Andrew is dedicated to his job like very few are these days. Low pay equals low morale.”

  I hummed a low murmur of sympathy. “Our pay scale in the United States is completely out of whack.”