2. Tanner
Chapter 2
Tanner
My stomach is in knots after reading the reviews on our latest album. It’s almost two in the morning, and none of us can sleep. Things are not going well, and the pouring rain lashing against the floor-to-ceiling windows doesn’t help my crappy mood.
“What’s up with this weather?” I grumble. “It’s been raining for three days straight.”
Theo looks up at me from where he’s sprawled on the sofa. “That’s global warming for you. Our planet is our most precious resource, and we’re slowly destroying it.”
“Fuck, that’s deep!” Noah snorts.
Theo never takes anything seriously, which makes his words all the more surprising. He and Noah could be brothers, with their rich skin tone and dark eyes and hair, although Theo wears his long and messy whereas Noah’s is short and neatly styled.
We’re all around 6’3, but I’m the odd one out with my blond hair and blue eyes, inherited from an absent mother. I have no idea if I resemble my father.
“Think I’m gonna become a missionary once our journey on the fame train is over,” Theo says thoughtfully.
Noah bursts out laughing. “Theo Jameson? A missionary? Give me a fucking break!”
“Judging by these reviews,” I shake my phone at them, “our journey could be over sooner than we planned.”
Noah’s smile drops away. “No te preocupes,” he says, reverting to his native tongue. “Todo estará bien.”
“I am worried. And how do you know everything’s gonna be okay? We need to take this seriously, or we won’t be able to pay for this place,” I say, spreading my arms wide to indicate the luxurious split-level condo overlooking the Hudson River.
“Maybe we should downsize,” Theo suggests. “I mean, do we really need six bedrooms, eight bathrooms, an indoor pool, and a Jacuzzi?”
“Fuck, yeah! I love the Jacuzzi,” Noah pipes up.
I sure as hell don’t need all the trappings. Like Theo and Noah, I grew up dirt poor in a group foster home with a social worker who should never have been allowed anywhere near kids. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven when we hit the big time, and the money started rolling in, but all the luxuries in the world can’t fill the void of loneliness inside me. Sure, I have Theo and Noah, who are like my brothers, but it still feels like something is missing. Like someone is missing.
“How are you getting along with the new music?” I ask Noah.
He grimaces. “I’m working on it.”
“What’s the hold-up?”
“It’s just not flowing,” he replies with a shrug.
Theo holds up his phone. “One of the newspapers is saying we’re washed up.”
Fucking great!
“Welcome to the music industry, where you’re only as good as your last hit,” Noah says with uncharacteristic cynicism.
“We need a new lyricist,” I announce.
“We can’t fire our lyricist again. He’s the third one in three years,” Theo points out.
“Exactly!” I state. “Which means they don’t get us, don’t get our sound or what we’re about. The only one who did is the person who wrote ‘Better Than Me.’”
“Won us a Grammy, and we have no fucking idea who it is,” Theo says with a grimace. “No one ever came forward to claim royalties.”
“We need to put out a call to action, see if we can find out who it is. Maybe call our first publicist, see if she can track them down,” Noah suggests.
“Do you know how many wack jobs that would bring out of the woodwork?” I scoff.
“What have we got to lose?’ Noah asks. ‘We might just find a new lyricist who understands what we want, someone who’ll get our creative juices flowing again.”
“Yeah, and we might end up with a bunny boiler who just wants to ride the Triple Threat cock train,” I reply cynically.
“Won’t be the first time we’ve shared a woman,” Theo grins.
“Speak for yourselves,” Noah glares.
“You’ve had ample opportunity. Not our fault you’re saving yourself for the real deal,” Theo replies, although I know he secretly admires Noah’s principles.
Theo and I didn’t have that option, thanks to the social worker who decided she wanted to jump our bones when we were fourteen. A roof over our heads in exchange for sex, or she’d tell the authorities we tried to force her. Maybe we should’ve known better, but we’d already been tossed around several foster homes by that point, a couple of kids discarded by their biological parents and left at the mercy of a system that had already failed them numerous times.
I rub a hand over my face, my stubble scratching my palm. I could use a shave. “Fine, put out an advert, and we’ll?—"
A commotion at the front door cuts me off. The three of us look at each other before heading for the foyer. I throw open the door to find two of the building’s security guys wrestling with someone. I get a glimpse of dark blue eyes and golden blonde hair as the woman struggles against them.
“I’m sorry for the intrusion, Mr. Lang,” one of the security guys says. “She followed another resident in and was in the elevator before we knew it.”
Jesus! So much for the high level of protection around here!
“Take your fucking hands off me! I’m not some crazy psycho stalker!’ she hisses, wriggling futilely. “I just want to talk to them for five minutes! I have important information for them!”
“Yeah, yeah, you and the rest of the female population,” the security guy says in a bored tone. “Come on, sweet cheeks, time to go home before we call the cops.”
As the security guy goes to grab her, he stumbles and loses his footing. His arm flails out as he tries to regain his balance, and he smacks the woman straight in the face. She lets out a yelp as her head snaps back and her hands fly to her face. I move quickly, catching her before she tumbles forward through the door and eats the floor.
“What the fuck, Brent?” I growl at the security guy.
“I’m sorry!’ he says, looking horrified. “I slipped, I swear. I didn’t mean?—”
“Thanks, Brent. We’ll handle it from here,” I cut across him.
We can’t exactly toss the woman out since she was just assaulted by one of our security men. Accident or not, I don’t want the lawsuit.
Brent glowers at me. “Mr. Lang?—"
“Like he said, we’ll handle it,” Theo says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“Are you okay?” I ask belatedly.
She looks at me with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, and my chest tightens. It makes me want to massage the area over my heart. Weird.
“I’m fine,” she mumbles, cupping a hand over her cheek.
“Looks like you got your five minutes,” I say with a wry smile, leading her through to the living area.
I guide her to the sofa, and she sinks down on the edge, her body tense. Theo plops down next to her as Noah reappears with some ice wrapped in a towel which he hands to her.
“So, what’s so important that you’d risk getting your ass thrown in jail?” I ask bluntly.
She presses the ice-filled towel to her already swollen cheek, wincing slightly. She licks her plump lips nervously. “You, uh, you owe me money.”
My eyes narrow on her, and disappointment settles in my gut. Seems she’s just like every other woman. “I see. And why is that?”
She blows out a shaky breath. “I’m the one who wrote ‘Better Than Me.’”