Sweet Melody (Rock & Rodeo Romance #1) (20 page)

S
omeone who wants
to be killed knocks on my bedroom door. I turn over and pray that an anvil or something else equally as deadly drops on them.

My door opens and Bethany jumps on my bed. She wiggles and pushes on me.

“What the fuck are you doing? I’m tired,” I whine into my pillow.

“Get up. You promised to take me out for a huge breakfast on our next day off together.”

I groan and curl into a tight ball. “I will. On the next one.”

She drags the sheet off of me and slaps my ass. “Today’s our day off. Get up. Go pee. Put on some clothes. And take me to get some motherfucking bacon.”

Something about the way she says that last part reminds me of EJ. Which reminds me of the band. Which reminds me of Hunter. Whom I’m not talking to right now. And he’d know that if he would bother to try talking to me. A single text twice a day doesn’t count. And that last one ruined my night.

When I showed Shane, he had shrugged and said that Hunter was smart for letting me know himself. To ask for forgiveness instead of permission. After I hit his arm hard enough to hurt, he’d helped me put a Google alert on Hunter’s name. Every time something posted on the internet featuring my supposed boyfriend, I’d get a notification. I fell asleep after checking on at least fifty, or what seemed like a hundred.

Bee drives us to Citrus in her little Mini Cooper, giving me time to check out the latest in #HuntersHot. Who the hell created that hashtag? And did they give a shit that it’s not grammatically correct? Obviously the ho’s and bitches who keep RT’ing and sharing the pictures of my man showing off his buff upper body with that ridiculous shirt playing and singing only care about what the rest of him looks like.

“Put your phone away. No ruining the food.” She opens the door for me, and we’re seated pretty close to the table Hunter and I shared after our first night together. My fingers itch to take out my phone.

My first instinct to order pumpkin pancakes dies with the memory of him working things so I could have them that morning. So sweet and attentive. So convincing that he gave a shit about me. I order the seasonal soft crab eggs benedict with an extra order of bacon on the side. Bethany gets the croissant French toast with mangoes, scrambled eggs, grits, and bacon. I’ve long since stopped asking her where she can fit all the food.

“So give it to me straight,” she says, taking a sip of coffee. “On a scale of 1, being ‘I’ve already forgiven him,’ to 10, ‘the motherfucker’s balls are mine,’ exactly how pissed off are you?”

The second creamer spills all over my hand and the table. Damn the tiny container. And screw Hunter. “At which part? The fact that he promised me he’d get me there to see their first big concert and failed? Or that we would be in constant communication and failed?”

“Or the fact that he’s getting a shit ton of attention from the female species over social media?”

The fire in my cheeks bugs me. Yeah, I’m pissed that from everything I’m seeing, he’s being pushed out into the world as sexy and single. Sexy, yes. Single? I thought we’d covered that before he ever left. But I can’t get too mad at him for the label wanting to drum up publicity with the band through their good looks. It’s an easy and mostly free way for them to gain attention. Or notoriety. Pictures of Hunter with women wrapped around him with that stupid fucking hashtag flash in my mind. Especially the one who kisses him on the cheek.

“By the red in your cheeks and the flames in your eyes, I’m betting you’re ready to go there yourself and beat all those women off with a stick.”

I rub my forehead with my hand. “It’s not like I didn’t see it here. Or that I didn’t anticipate that it would happen.”

“Anticipating and knowing it’s out there are two different things.” Bee’s look of pity hurts me almost as much as Hunter’s pictures. “Has he called you this morning?”

Her question prompts me to retrieve my phone. “He sent me a text.” I hand it to her so she can read it.

“Label meeting in a couple of hours. Can’t call or video chat. Will talk to you tonight maybe. XO”

“Are you fucking kidding me? That’s all he sent?”

The waitress brings us our plates of food. We both reach for our pieces of bacon first. This morning, it doesn’t make everything better. It tastes like ash in my mouth.

“What the hell am I doing, Bee? I’ve never given a man control over me like this. And this man in particular is driving me insane.”

Bethany stops chewing and swallows. “Do not even think about breaking up with him. You’re both experiencing new things. Now is not the time to end things. You need to talk to each other, preferably face to face. Then, if the asshat keeps treating you like shit, you dump the bastard and move on. But you definitely don’t just shut down. You know, I’m really proud of you, Mel.” Her voice breaks.

I hold up a piece of bacon in front of her mouth to stop the quivering. She snatches it in her teeth, but tears still pool in her eyes. But I’m not staying with Hunter in order to make my best friend happy that I’ve taken a big step in overcoming my issues.

My phone rings in my hand, making me jump. I smile as I read the name of the caller.

“Hi, Mrs. Wilder.”

“Eugenia, dear. How are you?”

“I’m fine,” I lie through my teeth.

She chuckles on the line. “Listen, do you have time to stop by today?”

My stomach clenches. The woman’s a sweetheart, but I don’t know why she would want to see me.

“Is something wrong with the band? Is Hunter okay?”

My worry catches Bethany’s attention. She frowns and mouths her concern at me.

“The band’s fine. Just wanted to talk with you.” Her voice drips of honey. She’s holding back.

My curiosity raises its ugly head. “Well, today is my day off.” Bee kicks me under the table. I rub my shin as I add, “I’m out with my best friend eating breakfast.”

“This late in the day?”

“We work at the club that the boys played at. The R&R? So we work late hours. This is our breakfast time.”

Ms. Eugenia chuckles. “Well, all right. You bring your friend along, and I’ll serve you some sweet tea and some fresh peach cobbler.”

I mouth the word cobbler to Bethany who squeals and takes another bite of her French toast. Where does she fit it all?

“Okay, Ms. Eugenia. See you in a bit.”

O
n the drive over
, I’ve told Bethany all about EJ’s grandmother and what went down that night. She parks in front of the Wilder house, and bounces up the walkway before I join her. Ms. Eugenia opens the door and invites us in from the heat. She gives me a warm hug, and Bee hugs her almost as soon as I’m released.

“Well, nice to meet you, young lady.”

“Call me Bethany. Or Bee. I’ll answer to both for you.” Guess I’m not the only lost little girl who enjoys the idea of gaining a grandmother this late in life.

“I saw you that night of the concert, didn’t I? Pretty short skirt you were wearing.”

Bethany blushes scarlet. Ms. Eugenia and I hold our faces until we can’t contain ourselves. We both laugh.

“Don’t pay any attention to Nana…I mean, Ms. Eugenia, Bee. She’s screwing with you. She’s no quiet, shy grandma.”

The lady takes me by the arm and drags me into the living room. “Now don’t blow my cover. If everyone knows I’m sassy, then they won’t treat me the same. And you can go ahead and call me Nana.”

“I’m not family, Ms. Eugenia. Heard Hunter call you that so many times, it sticks.”

We sit down together. A glass pitcher of tea and three glasses sit on a tray on the coffee table. Bethany offers to pour. We sit back in our seats, and I wait for whatever Nana has up her sleeves.

“So my grandson called me this morning. Told me that there might be trouble brewing for you.”

My glass hangs in the air. What the hell has EJ told her? And what does he know about things?

“Um, I’m not sure what EJ’s referring to. Things are fine.”

Bethany bumps my leg with hers. I paste a smile on my face, not sure discussing things with Nana’s a good idea.

“As my grandson likes to say, my ass. He says there’s a problem with pictures that might be bothering you. But I haven’t taken the energy to look on my computer. So you’re gonna have to show me.”

My butt doesn’t move off the couch. Not going to show the grandma of one of Hunter’s best friends and bandmate the pictures that have been tearing me apart. Pictures of half-dressed women and girls, young looking girls, pressing up against him.

“Oh, for shit’s sake.” Bethany goes over to Nana and shows her using her phone. Nana holds Bethany’s hand to adjust the distance so she can see.

“Well, now I’d call that a bit of a problem. Or those. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, those cannot be real. Nothing that perky and round exists in nature. She looks like someone stuck a bicycle pump in her ass and blew them up.”

Bethany snickers as she shows the different pictures. Probably new ones as well.

“It comes with the territory. I can’t be mad about it.” My words speak rationally, but my heart denies them all.

“Bullshit.” Nana gets up from her chair and makes her way over to the couch. She sits down next to me and takes my hand. “Darling girl, if there’s one thing in this world that is a universal truth, it is this. Men are stupid.”

I choke on a laugh. “What?”

“They are. They make stupid decisions all the time. Say stupid things. Do stupid things. They’re idiots. If it weren’t for us women saving their asses, they’d all be extinct.”

“Ms. Eugenia—”

“Nana,” she insists.

I sigh. “Nana, I knew who Hunter was. I knew where he was going. I walked into things with my eyes wide open. So what right do I have to be mad at him?”

She pats my hand. “Honey, if you two had been together for years and had a solid foundation to your relationship, then I’d say you might be right. But you’re still in the early phases. The shine’s barely off the two of you. So he should have known better. Should have reassured you more.”

And how does she know that he hasn’t? EJ has a huge mouth.

“Your grandson’s sticking his nose pretty far into someone else’s business. Is that a habit of his?”

She shakes her head and takes a sip of tea. “Actually, no. He keeps me up to date, but never gossips. This time, he told me things to try and help. He’s worried, bless him. That boy loves your man. Would do just about anything for him. Including pissing him off by interfering. He says he knows Hunter’s been avoiding you. Thinking that he can’t be good for you all stressed out because he wants you to see him as strong.”

I slump back on the couch, weariness hitting me. Knowing I’m not the only one who knows things helps a little, but it doesn’t fix the overall problem. It becomes clear what needs to be done.

“I think I understand.” The condensation on my glass drips down my fingers. “Things are too hard with me trying to hang on to them. I’m interfering with what he needs to do for the band. They don’t need Hunter distracted by me.”

Bethany groans and rolls her eyes. “That is so not what she’s saying. Why do you always go straight to Doom and Gloom?”

Nana takes the glass from me and sets it down on the table. She holds both my hands in hers and turns me to face her dead on. “Listen, kid. Stop trying to be the martyr. If you don’t love him and if you don’t want to be together because he’s not the man for you, then sure you should end things. But, if my instincts are correct and he’s the right one for you, then you’re gonna have to get off your ass and fight for what’s yours. You think love is easy? It’s the hardest thing you’ll ever deal with. Gives you the highest highs and plunges you to the lowest of lows.”

She has no clue about my issues with my past and how far I’ve already come because of Hunter. But she’s right. I’d assumed that the hardest thing to do would be to say the words and to mean them. But that was just the first step.

“Take this for what it’s worth. EJ says they’ve been pressured every day to deliver more and more. Of course, Hunter being who he is shoulders most of the burden. There’s some representative from the label who’s been pushing them hard and dealing them some tough truths and disappointments. They really haven’t had much time to do anything more than eat, sleep, and play music. And EJ mentioned that sometimes Hunter skips the first two.”

My man’s been busy and burdened. He doesn’t want to share that with me because he wants to present a happy front, probably afraid I’ll break things off.

Nana stands up. “I say we go eat some peach cobbler while it’s still warm and discuss how you might go about supporting your man and getting him through this hard time all the while reminding him where he keeps his heart and who it belongs to.”

When we leave her place with the rest of the cobbler wrapped up for us, my thoughts lean more toward sympathy for Hunter than animosity. I have some ideas of how to try to reach out to him, but it’s his choice as to whether or not he leans on me for strength or lets me go.

F
ifty-two
. I’ve typed fifty-two different messages to send to Mel. And all fifty-two times, I’ve erased the words. What in the hell can I say that’s going to make up for the shitstorm of attention I’m getting on the internet? Or maybe I should send flowers. Like every other fuckwit who has screwed up. And maybe I have nothing to apologize for. It’s not like I pursued the girls. Fucking Aislynn and her Pussy Posse. But damn, did they do the trick.

Tailgate Down’s Facebook page has quadrupled in fan Likes since the Showcase. No, the general population hasn’t seen what we do on stage live, but enough online presence can make anyone famous it seems. We’ve all been told to create our own social media pages so we can tweet, twat, pin, and post individually to keep fans involved. What the hell has our life become?

Sighing and taking another sip of coffee, I type in another potential text.
“I’m an idiot. Please don’t leave me. Just stay there a couple states away and put your trust in me, something that I earned about a minute ago, that I’m staying faithful to you. Our bargain still stands. You don’t have to kiss anyone else. I love you.”

With a groan, I delete every word. The last one disappears from my screen when EJ walks into the kitchen. “What up, Hot Hunter? Enjoying your day off after the Showcase? Or are you in a bit of a pickle right now that could have totally been avoided.”

My middle finger flips him off on instinct. “It’s all Aislynn’s fault. She started it with the clothes and the fucking hashtags.”

He takes a long drink from his favorite mug and settles next to me on the couch. “Yeah, we have to think up other hashtags that don’t focus solely on you. Something like #BJ4EJ, and have girls hang all over me in pictures. Tweet that, motherfuckers.”

Social media’s the opiate of today’s masses. We can’t ignore or avoid it. But I’d rather use it as a force for good than a source of evil. Regret rolls through me from clicking on #HuntersHot and seeing all the posts and pictures. To those who don’t know me, they’ll think I’m the cocky lead singer. To my girl, who knows what she thinks?

“Have you called her yet?” EJ blows on his coffee.

My head shakes as I stare at the phone.

“I think I should give you fair warning. I might have called Nana this morning.” Two puppy dog innocent eyes look up at me.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” I growl.

His same old smartass demeanor slips back onto his face. “To save you from yourself.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why are you involving yourself in my shit?” EJ’s so close to me knocking the shit out of him. He always dances next to the line, but never crosses it with me. Right now, he could look over his shoulder at it.

“Because I like her. I like the two of you together. And I think she’s good for you, man. I don’t know why you’re icing her out of your life, but even I’m not so stupid as to know how dumb that is. It’s a sure path to losing her. Unless that’s what you want to do. And if that’s the case, then I need to ask you something.”

My teeth clench, but I try for calm and collected. “What?”

“Can I have a go with her? Because she is one of the smartest, most talented, smart mouthed, beautiful women I’ve ever met. And if you’re done with her, then maybe she’d be willing to give me a shot.”

My eyes close. I count to ten. When that doesn’t work, I use a breathing technique to calm my nerves. When that doesn’t work, my fists curl into balls.

“You’d better step away, EJ. I’m not kidding.”

He sets his coffee down on the table. “You want to hit me, then go for it. At least you’d be fighting for something. But after you take me on, you better roll up your sleeves and fight for your girl. Because I doubt she’s gonna wait around for the scraps you’re throwing her.”

My tightened fists let go. Leaning forward, I put my head in my hands. “Shit. Aw fuck, man. Damn, I’m fucking things up, aren’t I?”

EJ lays his hand on my back. “I’m not exactly the right person to give you relationship advice. But I am your friend. And I’m telling you…you’re better when the two of you are a team. Figure out how to achieve that, and you won’t feel like dog shit.”

I groan and rub my face. “Why’d you tell Nana?”

“So she could talk to Mel. Figured it might take two Wilders to knock some sense into both of you. Call it a preemptive strike to keep things from falling apart.”

The voices of the others float down the hall as they walk in our direction. Hart and Mac discuss our performance, and Levi follows behind as quiet as ever. EJ stands up and offers his hand to help me. We both head into the kitchen.

Of all the people in the world to give a shit about my love life, the last person I expected to give me a wake-up call would be the man standing next to me drinking coffee from a mug with “UNT” printed on it.

“
Y
ou better not have a list of
women I have to kiss, Cowboy.”

Her text still sends a flood of relief through me every time I read it. Maybe because we’ve earned some days off or maybe because of my self-awareness of being an asshat, but with that one text, she’s given me the strength to swallow my pride and stop being an asshat. Damn, it feels fucking awesome to be back to normal. At least, our current level of normal.

For the past two mornings, I call her so we can wake up together. After she curses me out for not letting her get more sleep, I take advantage of her semi-sleepy disposition, adding to our collective number of orgasms. When my girl gets verbal, she gets creative.

Performing well at the Lyric Ridge’s Showcase has earned us three whole days to ourselves. More time to make up and reconnect with Mel. More time to shake off the load from the pressure. Just more fucking time.

With Mel back in my life as an active participant, things feel more balanced. The extra time to sleep and hang out with the guys without somebody from Lyric Ridge breathing down our necks helps. Mac and I brainstorm lyrics. The more Mel and I talk, the more words and phrases fill my head until they have to be written down.

“It’s about time,” Mac says to me from his perch at the piano.

“For what?” My pen scratches out a couple more words.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Nothing. Give me the lines again.”

The tenuous formation of a song stretches and pushes, taking shape. I write lines, pulling from my experiences and emotions. Mac picks up the melody I hum to him from the one haunting my waking and sleeping mind. The words come faster after talking with Mel, and there’s no point denying my true muse.

EJ, tired of playing video games, comes into the room and picks up his guitar. It takes two rounds of the completed verses until he picks it up. Adding him into the mix allows the song to round out, go into spaces we haven’t imagined yet. Levi joins us and adds a bass line that shores up what we’ve got. Mac plugs in a USB mic and does a rough cut once Hart settles on his beats. We play for fun, for the music. For us.

The song’s incomplete, but it holds more life in it than anything we’ve written for the label. Yet a major part of me doesn’t want to share it with them.

“No point in asking who the lyrics are talking about.” EJ tries out another guitar run, and winks at me.

“That felt fucking awesome. Like we’re us again, man.” Hart stands up from behind his kit.

“More authentic than that three-chord bullshit they’ve been shoving down our throats,” Levi adds.

We busy ourselves taking care of our instruments, putting them away for the moment. The tension from the time we’ve arrived to the Showcase has masked our true frustrations. If we all sense trouble after such a short break, then how big are our problems?

I sigh. “We can’t just quit.”

“Why can’t we?” asks Hart.

“There’s this thing called a contract. We all signed it.” Mac leans against the piano. “If we don’t give them what they ask for, we’re in breach of it.”

“But they can’t ask for our souls, can they? There’s gotta be a way to compromise. So that we stay, you know, us.” EJ holds onto his favorite guitar like a security blanket.

“How many more shows will we have to fight simply to play what we want to play?” I ask. “You heard Aislynn. Until we make it big, we don’t have much of a choice. And how will we get big if we don’t follow the label’s ‘advice’ so they’ll pimp us out?”

“Pimp. Now there’s an appropriate word.” Hart plays a rim shot. “Spread your legs, guys, because we’re gonna give it to the masses.”

We laugh until the reality of the analogy hits us. Are we whores who do what the pimp of a label says so that they give us just enough?

“Fucking hell. I don’t want to fight every single time we go on stage. And what’s with her pushing you as the face of us? I thought when we got signed, it was as a group. Now it’s the Hunter Ford and Tailgate Down shitstorm all over again.” EJ busies himself with putting away his guitar.

Fuck this shit. Not again. “You think I started all that?” The anger in my voice swells. “That I picked out that shitty shirt all on my own? Or that I’m the one who took the first few pictures? Yeah, of course, I’ve always been a douchebag to all of you. Thank you
so
much for being my back up band for the concert.”

Old wounds never heal. They scab over.

“No one’s accusing you, Hunt. But it’s clear what image they’re pushing out there. Whether you started it or not, it’s the way things are. How’re you going to stop it?” Mac stands up from his piano. “We’ve got the rest of the weekend until the meeting at the office on Monday. We have until then to figure out how we, collectively, are going to address our issues. We’re all in or we’re all out. Breach or not, I won’t let this come between us.”

The peacemaker speaks and puts us all in our places. For almost a month, we’ve jumped through hoop after hoop, each one a little further away than where we intended to go. Accept one concession, then it’s not hard to give in to another tiny one. We’ve all been stepping on eggshells around each other without knowing it. The last straw comes from us fighting over something as stupid as what we wear or who’s getting the attention, let alone messing with our motherfucking music. Fuck. That. Shit.

We walk out of the room, united in one thought: Things have got to change or end.