Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
GAbrIEL
M y phone buzzed on the counter, the vibrations a steady beat that thrummed in my veins. I’d ignored it, just like I had been doing for the past seven and a half months. The phone continued to buzz across the counter, before finally falling off the edge, the curved casing around it keeping it from shattering. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind if it chipped away into a thousand pieces. That meant I wouldn’t have to deal with the constant ringing.
I could have turned it off. Could have hidden it somewhere so I would never have to see it again. But after I had turned off my phone and tossed it somewhere in the cabin for two days and ignored calls from my family, my brothers had kicked my ass.
And while I had ignored Ridge, Wyatt, and Brooks’ growls and worried looks, I couldn’t ignore Ava and Aurora.
My two sisters-in-law had just stared at me, sad and disappointed looks on their faces, and so I had showered for the first time in a week and turned on my damn phone. But I only answered family.
I ignored the band, ignored my manager, ignored everyone else who tried to get through.
I was out of it. Out of the lifestyle, out of the grind. There was no music left in me. There was nothing.
I picked up a guitar every now and then, but only to see if I could. I hadn’t tossed the damn thing, and I still remembered the feel of it. But that was it.
For the first month, I hadn’t left my cabin. I had ignored family dinners, ignored the patient glances, the yelling, the shouting. I ignored my cousins lifting me out of my cabin and tossing me in a watering tank outside so they could hose me down. I ignored everything. Frozen inside. It was better not to feel. It was better just to let the Texas heat and San Antonio humidity leach into my skin. I ignored the countless mosquito bites because, of course, San Antonio had every single mosquito in the fucking world right now. I ignored the hot wind on my face, the giant storms that would pop in every once in a while with their thunder and lightning and harsh winds.
I ignored everything.
That is until my niece showed up one month into my self-forced captivity.
The Wilder Retreat and Winery had become my home—or at least my temporary seclusion. It lay on a piece of land that my cousins had bought when they had each gotten out of the military. For some reason the six Wilder brothers on the other side of the family tree had decided to join the military right outside of high school. They all succeeded in what they did, although I knew that they hadn’t come back whole. But when they had gotten out, with only Eli reaching his twenty years to get full retirement benefits, they had come together as a unit.
They had lived all over the world for years and had wanted to be a family again. Only their sister, my cousin Eliza, lived outside of the resort. In fact, she lived up in Colorado with her family. But she came down often—even to see my sorry ass.
When my brothers had hit their own versions of rock bottom, they had decided to come and work with my cousins. Now everybody had bought into the resort and winery, and everybody had a job. A place. They hosted parties, weddings, and events. There was an actual winery and vineyard with vines on the other side of the property.
Wyatt had ended up building a bar and distillery right on the property, so they made vodka, too. Actual Wilder Vodka to go with Wilder Wines. Everyone knew their place and thrived in it. There was a spa, two high-end restaurants, as well as the resort restaurant. And my sisters and cousins-in-law had all pitched in.
And I had just wanted to hide. Brooks had dragged me here because I had nowhere else to go. And he had thought it would help. But it didn’t. Nothing helped.
There were countless guests on the property, since the main focus was the inn. And since two of my cousins had decided to marry celebrities, there was an entire security team on the grounds, with my brother Ridge running half of it.
I had known Lark for years. And even written a song with her and won a Grammy. And she had ended up marrying East, the grumpiest of my cousins—although, according to my niece, I was trying to take that spot.
Because Faith, Wyatt’s daughter, had shown up at my cabin, her little fists on her slight hips, and had just glared at me.
She looked so much like her mother at that moment; it felt like a little Ava standing there, judging.
“Uncle Gabe.”
I had blinked up at her, wondering what the hell I was supposed to say. I’d never been good with kids and I wasn’t about to emotionally scar children. I hadn’t sunk that far, had I? “You should go see your mom.”
“No, Uncle Gabe, I’m here to see you .”
I didn’t know when she had started calling me Uncle Gabe. Most people called me Gabriel because that’s what I went by. They only called me Gabe when they were getting a point across—like she was doing, apparently. And technically, I was her step uncle. But I wasn’t going to tell her that.
“Seriously, Faith, thank you for checking on me. I’m fine.”
“You stink, and you’re not supposed to stink. Mom makes me shower every day, sometimes twice, if I play in mud.”
“I’ll shower when you leave,” I had lied.
“I don’t believe you.” She scrunched her little face and that dark part of my soul lit up just a little bit. I immediately doused it.
“I don’t need you to believe me.” I had growled at the eight-year-old in front of me. And then I’d paused, wondering if she was nine yet. Had I missed a birthday? Probably. Well, damn. I hadn’t been sure if I had missed it while on tour, or now. But hell, I had probably missed all the birthdays. Many of my cousins had kids, although Faith was the eldest of them all.
I hadn’t even known if some of my cousins were having more kids at this point. I hadn’t been paying attention, I hadn’t been looking.
So a month into my forced jailing, Faith had glared at me, and then her eyes had gone glassy.
“Don’t use tears. Tears aren’t fair.”
“I don’t want to cry.” She had stomped her tiny foot. “I’m not going to cry, but I need you to be okay. Because I love you. And I don’t like to see you hurt.”
I had swallowed hard and stared at pocket-sized Faith, knowing I wasn’t going to hurt her heart. “Fine, I’ll shower.”
“And you’ll work.”
Ice had stabbed into me, a blade slicing my chest open wide.
“I can’t, Faith. I can’t.”
“You can work with Daddy. Or with Uncle East. But you can’t stay here. If I have to do homework, so do you.”
My lips had twitched at that, but I had shaken my head. “You should go, Faith. I’m not good company.”
“I know you’re not good company. And you don’t need to be. You’re allowed to be in a bad mood. But you’re not allowed to stink. Because stinky people are gross. And I don’t love gross people.”
I’d stared at the tears staining my niece’s cheeks and felt as if I was in the crash all over again. I was allowed to hurt myself. I was allowed to hide away from the world. But I was not allowed to hurt Faith. At least I could get that one thing through the drunken haze.
“Okay. For you, Faith. Okay.”
She hadn’t thrown her arms around me, hadn’t hugged me. In fact, the look of disgust on her face had been very much evident, but she had plodded away, chin held high, before Brooks had walked in, my cousin East at his side, and they had just shaken their heads.
I had held up my hands and forced myself into the shower.
That had begun my new life—working with my family. In the six or so months I’d been here, I’d played a few songs to myself, but mostly worked with my hands for them.
I twisted the pliers in my hand, considering how long I’d been hiding from the world at the Wilder Retreat. I was hiding from the world at the Wilder Retreat, and I was fine with that. More celebrity traumas and scandals had hit the news since then, and I wasn’t top billing anymore. Yes, every once in a while, a news article would wonder where the mysterious Gabriel Wilder had gone, and if the band would ever come back. But I didn’t care. I did my best to drown it all out.
“You’re coming to dinner tonight,” East said pointblank, interrupting my thought, as he handed over his spare toolbox.
He had given it to me, called it mine, but I wouldn’t. That meant it would have to be mine, and I didn’t want that.
I just wanted everything to stop hurting.
My best friend was dead. He wouldn’t laugh again, wouldn’t roll his eyes at me when I said something stupid. He wouldn’t sit knee to knee with me as we both tried to come up with a lyric to fit the tone. I wouldn’t have to tell him to stop jacking off in the corner because all he kept doing was playing a beat on his knees with his fingers.
I wouldn’t wake up to the sound of him tapping his sticks against the top of his bunk while on the tour bus.
I wouldn’t watch him smile at a group of women and witness their knees giving out, and all of them falling in love with him, if only for the evening.
I wouldn’t have to hide my feelings for his sister like I always had.
I wouldn’t watch my best friend give a thousand dollars to the roadies who helped us get out of a bind when the fans made their way in the back and we needed a distraction. I wouldn’t stand beside him in a soup kitchen as both of us wore disguises so that we didn’t look like ourselves. I wouldn’t be able to hear him breaking down and complaining about his father or missing his mom. I wouldn’t hear the stories of him growing up and all his siblings and friends from back home.
And I wouldn’t be able to say I was sorry for breaking the code and doing the one thing I had promised I would never do—be with his sister.
I had forcibly not thought of Briar in these past months. Because thinking of Briar would make me think of my last conversation with my best friend.
I had given in to temptation and lost everything.
I didn’t want to blame her, but sometimes it was easier than blaming myself. And that just made me even more of an asshole than I already was.
“Come on, we have to go work on the back pump. It was making a noise, according to Eli.”
I shook my head and pushed myself completely out of my reverie, knowing that everybody was worried about me and I had to play along.
I nodded tightly but didn’t say anything, instead following my cousin to his truck and hopping in. We put our tools behind us and made our way to the other side of the property. East was the so-called handyman of the whole company. He was so much more than that, considering he made sure that the place that housed countless employees and family members ran well. I wanted to think that I was closer to this cousin than I was to the others, mostly because he hadn’t let me ignore the world, and he was married to someone I knew outside of our family.
But his wife, Lark, wasn’t here, as she was on tour. East went with her often, but they also had times when they would be apart for his own job. He didn’t need to work, but he did anyway because he was family and needed something of his own.
And out of everyone, East and Lark never asked how I was doing, or what I was going to do next. They just let me be, as much as I could be. We got to work, and I noticed the callouses on my hands changing. They were no longer just from the guitar, the strings’ evidence that had worn their way onto my flesh.
Instead, I had scratches and cuts and little nicks from working with my hands. I had always been so careful with them. Making sure that I took care of them, and my voice, since they were my tools. And yet, I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t drink tea or do my vocal reps. I didn’t take care of my hands the way I needed to. But it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going back.
It was funny, even thinking about my voice. There were so many documentaries these days about my childhood heroes and favorite artists of back in the day trying to find the voices that they lost over time. And watching them struggle to find their place in the world, to find that connection to who they were when they were doing the thing that they loved most, had terrified me. So I had done everything that I could to make sure that I took care of myself.
We worked in silence, sweat pouring down my back. I knew that East would be able to smell the liquor seeping from my pores, but he didn’t say anything. He just let me be.
By the time we were done, the sun was still high in the air since the sun set so late these days, but with a grunt, my cousin glared at me, and I knew that was him asking me if I was going to go to the family dinner I was forced to go to tonight. I grunted back and went to shower.
I never showed up with dirty hair or grime on me anymore. Mostly because Faith would just stare at me with that little disappointed face, and a part of me that I ignored broke just a little bit more.
I couldn’t disappoint my niece. But I could disappoint anyone, everyone else. It was what I was good at.
Pulling myself from the reverie, I showered quickly, ignoring my phone buzzing on the table once again. My manager and agent had shown up a couple of times, but they’d left soon after, not knowing how to help. I had just dived deeper into the bottle and my own self-pity. It was easier to do that.
I filled my cup with booze, not caring what bottle I grabbed, slid the lid on, and made my way over to the main building where we were having family dinner. Unless we went off property, to one of my cousin’s places that they had bought, or in one case that Brooks had helped build, we ate at the inn in one of the meeting rooms. It was the only place that fit all of us. There were ten of us Wilders currently here, and most of them had spouses and kids. I knew Lark wasn’t there, so that was one fewer, and I wasn’t sure if Eliza and her brood were in town. I hadn’t seen them, but that meant nothing these days. I didn’t really like seeing Eliza, because that meant I would have to deal with her husband, who just glared at me. And, well, I knew he was a good guy, but he also didn’t take any of my shit. So I didn’t like him.
I slid into the chaos, finding myself a corner to drink in, and stared at the family that wouldn’t let me go.
If I was smart, I would go anywhere else. I could hide at countless places around the world. My so-called talent had made me millions.
So I didn’t need to sit here with my family and ignore their pointed looks. Or be forced to work side by side with East and Brooks. If I didn’t, they would pull me out of the cabin and force me anyway.
I could be on my own. But then they’d find me. My family. The band. Paparazzi. They always found me.
So did the ghosts that I ignored.
Brooks gave me a weird look as I stared past him into the ghost that I knew wasn’t there. But Mal just leaned against the doorway, hands in his pockets.
My best friend just shook his head at me, and as I blinked, he disappeared.
I knew he wasn’t there. I didn’t believe in ghosts. Didn’t believe that my best friend was seriously staring at me. Because if there was an afterlife, he had way more shit to do than look at me. At least that’s what I told myself.
A plate slid in front of me, and I looked up to see Ridge staring there, a glare on his face.
“Eat up, you’re getting way too thin,” he whispered so no one else could hear.
Ghost Mal was gone, so I nodded and pulled up my fork.
“Okay,” I whispered, my voice scratchy from disuse.
He shook his head at me, and I didn’t know if it was disappointment or something different. Couldn’t tell anymore.
Instead, I ate and tried to listen to what they were saying as they talked about upcoming events and family things. But I couldn’t pay attention to any of it. Faith didn’t look at me, and I didn’t know if that was progress, or if I was sliding downhill into the abyss once again. I ate knowing that I’d probably keep losing weight, and stayed for another ten minutes after I finished. That way, they knew I was present and wasn’t dying.
No, because best friends did that. I was the one that had to stay behind.
As the conversation moved to Lark’s tour, chills spread out over my body, and I stood up quickly, pushing my chair back.
“Thanks for dinner,” I grumbled, my voice aching, and everyone froze for an instant, conversation ceasing. But they didn’t say anything. They had all said everything that they could for the past few months. But there was nothing left.
Instead, I took my plate to the counter where the other dishes stood and left without another word.
Nobody followed me.
So that might be progress.
A light drizzle began to sprinkle along the packed earth as I made my way to my cabin, and I didn’t mind it. It was fucking hot outside still, even with the sun setting, so I would take the rain.
I just wanted to go home and have another drink. Maybe drown myself in it so I wouldn’t have to remember those disappointed looks.
There was a car in front of my cabin that I didn’t recognize, and I stiffened, wondering who the fuck that could be. Nobody was allowed near my cabin. No cars, no staff. Every once in a while someone would come in and blitz the damn thing, but nobody was allowed here at night.
Anger coursed through me as I stomped forward.
If it was a reporter, I was going to beat the shit out of them. They weren’t supposed to be here. Because last time a reporter had made it on the grounds, they had scared the shit out of my cousin’s kids as they were looking for Bethany Cole, the Oscar winner who happened to be my cousin-in-law.
I wasn’t about to let that happen again.
“You’re trespassing,” I growled, my voice hollow, and far different than it had used to be.
When the car door opened and someone struggled to get out, I nearly tripped over my feet, recognizing that hair.
That gorgeous copper hair.
Though it was dark out, she’d parked under the light pole so I could see every angle of her face. Every emotion crossing those eyes. Every curve of her body that I knew firsthand.
And then I looked down at the swollen mass of her belly, and froze.
She stood there, eyes narrowed, and didn’t say a thing. And when she put her hand over her belly and glared at me…my throat went dry and I tried to do the math, but I was never good at math.
“Gabriel. You really should have answered your phone.”
And with that, my eyes rolled in the back of my head, and there was nothing.