Chapter 9
“Catalina, I can handle this,” I interject, urging her to maintain her silence.
I know what she wants to say, but the truth is the last thing I want them to know. Mostly because I don’t need any kind of pity party on my behalf. This will only be a weakness they’ll try and take advantage of.
I know how these boys can get with their unwavering determination. These four individuals have a tight-knit brotherhood that thrives on the principle of relentless pursuit. I spent two years with them day in and day out, and when they set their sights on something, they get it.
That included me. Even after one year of denying their charms, they managed to inject their spears into my heart and pull me into their little crew. I was blind and stupidly in love with each one of them.
Regardless of whatever crap they’re claiming about not knowing about the media frenzy I was bombarded with a decade ago, they completely missed one crucial element that cancels everything.
They never cared enough to find me.
My disappearance probably threw everyone into a loop, and my elusive location deep within the Mojave desert was the perfect place to ensure I was left alone.
My kidnapper never found me.
The desert’s been my sanctuary for ten years and served its purpose of guarding me from the outside world.
But now these men need me for something, so they’ve gone that extra mile to find me.
That’s ten years too late.
Maybe I can forgive them for releasing that video to frame me and abruptly remove me from their band, but I will never trust them again. They can keep telling me their side of the story until they’re blue in the face but the only thing that keeps ringing circles in my head is that they never made any real effort to find me.
Sure, they threatened my friends, some of them even had restraining orders against some of them, but the undeniable truth is that they fucked off back to England.
They’re here now because they need me after all this time. That says a lot about how important I truly was to them back in the day.
The disposable girlfriend.
After ten years and seeing them here in the one place I thought I was safe from them, I’m not going to lie; it still hurts.
It hurts even more with the way they are playing me. And it”s working because I miss the music, the jamming, and the performance. It’s all I ever wanted since I was a little girl and their mention of it brings back that feeling. One I’ve tucked away for years, convincing me it wasn’t good for my mental health.
Except music is what frees my mind therapeutically.
Catalina knows me well enough to realize I’m contemplating this, and she is only stepping in to bring me back to the reality of the situation.
He’s still out there.
The memory still burns in my heart.
I need to remain in hiding, even if he’s long gone or lost interest in me.
I don’t want to know either way.
I purse my lips and squint at Catalina, a silent beg for her to stay quiet.
“What’s going on Eden?” Haze asks, and I know he suspects there’s more stuff that I haven’t revealed to them. His deep, throaty voice always gave me the chills in a good way.
Haze was always the epitome of allure, but now, as I see him here after all these years standing tall in my home, his entire silhouette commands my attention. His athletic physique is a perfect balance between strength and agility. He now wears his blonde hair in a short faux mohawk style, highlighting his bright blue eyes that always reminded me of the clearest summer skies.
Then there are those gorgeous cheekbones and perfectly sculpted jawlines that both he and his brother have. Seeing him and Callum all grown up, their similarities couldn’t be more alike.
Of course, Callum looks as if he lives and breathes the bad boy rocker lifestyle with his longish blonde hair and faded red balayage color at the ends, and the number of tattoos and ink on him are stunningly impressive. I’d love to unwrap him and discover what his ink looks like.
Dammit.
I did not just say that.
All four men are the banes of my existence, yet my inner guts crave them. I’m literally drawn to these men like a bad spell, and no one can reverse it.
Where the fuck do I start with Jagger?
Tall and handsome, too cliché?
Jagger’s chiseled jawline can almost cut glass, and those full, tempting, flirtatious lips possess their own magnetism, hinting at playfulness and passion. Wearing fitted denim jeans that hug his muscular thighs creates weird feelings that stir my core.
And those bright aquamarine jewels are eyeing me like a hawk from the moment I stepped inside my home. Those eyes have a dangerous glint that promises life will never be the same after having sex with him.
And I can guarantee that that statement rings true.
His body?
Fucking drool-worthy.
Jagger’s always had an athletically toned body, and as he runs a hand over his shaggy and always messy, light brown hair in thought as his eyes take me in, I get a damn good view of his rock hard torso as his black faded t-shirt raises up with his movement.
Words literally seize forming in my mind, staring at those abs. I need to look away before he notices my gawking at him, except my sight lands on another toxically beautiful man.
I’m going to hell.
Asher was always so damn good-looking, but ten years have made him into a man, one that gets my insides swirling and my panties wet with desire. Gone is that innocent-looking boyish charm, not that he had any as a lover, but it’s been replaced by six feet, four inches of dark honey skin with a body that’s so dangerously sexy I’m afraid I might burn if I reach out to touch him.
And I don’t know what he’s done to Storm, but that dog doesn’t usually like strangers, and he already sensed my wariness as soon as we stepped inside my home, and I had to guide him to Catalina to keep his distance from the men.
There’s a reason why I adopted this German shepherd who became not only my protector but also my best friend: he’s sharp and wary of unfamiliar people. Even in his old age, he’ll guard and keep watch over me, so whatever Asher’s done to relax my dog is something short of incredible.
But Asher’s always been the enigma of the group, the quiet and contemplative one. Over the years, I’ve painted him as the master manipulator who skillfully poses as an empathetic and compassionate individual to exploit the vulnerabilities of unsuspecting victims. On the surface, he appears warm-hearted, understanding, and genuinely concerned about the well-being of others.
Maybe it’s an over-exaggeration, but I’d rather picture him in this villainous way and be angry than suffer a broken heart. Asher was the first one in the group I fell in love with. So, if I had to pick one who nearly destroyed me, it was probably all of them, but he just took my psyche to the next level of unrelenting emotional pain.
It’s still hard to wrap my head around the fact that all four men are standing in front of me asking me something that never in my wildest and most vengeful dreams I could have imagined.
And now that they’ve said what they wanted to say and I’ve heard their explanation for which, as much as I want to believe them, I can’t.
The old Eden Rivers, the one that would have done anything for stardom, would believe them and dust whatever issues she had in the past under the carpet.
But returning to music isn’t even about them anymore. I will never feel safe if I go back; performing will always make me vulnerable, and I don’t know how I could ever find that spark again, knowing that he is still out there, waiting in the shadows to do all the unspeakable things he already did to me.
I can’t go back there. He stripped me of my human rights. There was a time when I wanted to delete myself.
What’s going on Eden?
Haze’s question rings a million answers in my mind. He and his brother always leaned towards that arrogant asshole attitude, but with me, they were always deliciously naughty and only had to whisper their sweet nothings into my ear while performing on stage, making me wet on the spot.
But now, I feel the distance between us. Whatever connection we once shared is long gone, and as much as they try to convince me we have it, I can’t find a trace of that unique link we had.
There’s a mix of hope and uncertainty on their faces as I watch them exchange glances, silent conversations passing between them.
“I want you to leave,” I say firmly. “Catalina is one step from calling 911.”
“Eden,” Jagger says, but his words die on his lips.
“You’re wrong about me,” I look at Haze. “I love music, but I’ll never share it with anyone again.”
“What is it that scares you, Eddie?” Asher asks, a look of concern washing over his face. “Why can’t you ever go back to Los Angeles?”
It’s been ten years. I doubt he’s out there anymore, but the fear lingers on.
I won’t tell them. They don’t deserve the truth. Instead, I stand there with my mouth drawn into a firm line and remain silent, insistent on my decision as tension hangs in the air.
“Let it go, Asher, this is bullshit,” Callum finally says. “We’re kicking a dead horse here.”
My glare is so intense Jagger steps between us again to prevent another possible showdown between me and the arrogant asshole.
“Listen, Eden, we’ll leave like you asked,” he announces. “But we’ve got this second chance to reclaim our place in the music world, and even if it doesn’t work, we’ll still be doing what we love. You’ve always been that link in the band. It’s the reason why Oliver fired us. We couldn’t continue without you. But if your decision is final, at least we’ve said our peace to you and had our closure, and we can move on from this. There’s no pressure on you. We’ve got to put a sample track together for Oliver if you want to try out this one time and see how it feels working with us again. In the end, we”ll understand if you still want to walk away after that. It’s up to you; the door will be open. You know where to find us, luv.”
He takes a final look at me before turning towards the door. I gaze at the other three, who nod in agreement and follow him out.
Haze is last and turns to me as he reaches the door.
“What happened to you was a terrible thing. It destroyed you, but it didn’t leave us unscathed either. We’ve all suffered to some degree. Getting the five of us to work together isn’t about reigniting some old spark between us but showing the world how our passion for music outweighs everything that holds us down. I hope one day you’ll find that perseverance to fight the inner demon that stops you from being the musician you were always meant to be. Goodbye for now, Eden.”
Remaining stoic in my stance, I watch him shut the door. Through the large glass front window, I observe them pile into the dusty black SUV and drive off, leaving a large dirt cloud in their wake. My inner dream of playing music again is within that cloud.
“At least you can make peace with yourself,” Catalina says behind me.
I swirl around and bat my eyes at her, confused.
“Oh, come on, darling. As if I don’t know that you felt some guilt for fleeing like you did.”
“I didn’t,” Catalina smirks, knowing I’m lying.
“I don’t blame you, Eden; with those boys’ good looks and the way they acted like dogs in heat around you, you fell for their charms, and when you fled in fear for your life, you somehow wished you had the chance to explain your leaving to them.”
“I couldn’t trust them.”
“Exactly, and that’s why today is such an important chapter in your life. You no longer have to feel that tinge of guilt. Those arrogant pigs think they can come around sniffing, and you’ll run back. They want your talent, Eden. Because they alone were just a product of their time, Oliver Jones knew they were just momentum, and he brought you in to revive them. You were always the true talent of Sonic Revolution.”
She pushes a stray strand of hair from my face.
“I’ve always been so proud of you, darling. But the world doesn’t deserve you.”
Remaining silent and observant, I watch Catalina step away, knowing there’s some truth to what she says. The world doesn’t deserve my music, but the boys were immensely talented in their own right and relentless in pursuing fresh and new directions for our songs.
Sonic Revolution was already heading towards becoming one of the best-selling boy bands of all time. Oliver”s reason for moving me from the Vixens to the Sonics was a business strategy, but I could never deny the strength, dynamic, and skills the boys brought to their music and performances.
I walk over to my favorite worn leather armchair and pick up my guitar. My fingers caress the strings as my mind goes back to when I first taught myself to play. I was so eager to learn. I had spent eons of hours watching free instructional videos and learning to play and read music. Slowly, my lyrics had sound, and my eagerness to find my place within the music world surpassed anything I ever wanted.
It was more than wanting to have a family, parents to love me, or even a permanent home. In fact, when I found out they were auditioning for Tone Wars in Brooklyn fifteen years ago, I cut school early and stood in line for six hours with everyone else to get that thirty-second spot with the judges.
I sit down on the armchair and notice my journals are gone.
“Catalina?”
I hear her bustling inside, and she comes in, holding a mug of herbal tea and leaves it for me on the table next to my music sheets.
“Where are my journals?”
“I took them away. I caught Haze Evans flipping through them, probably looking for new material to steal.”
I huff a laugh, “Haze has enough talent. He doesn’t need to steal my stuff.”
“He’s been working as an online trainer for the last eight years. He’s probably out of touch.”
Unfortunately, Catalina hasn’t got a clue about how it works. Music comes from the soul; it isn’t like riding a bike.
“How do you know what he’s been doing?” I gaze at her with a mixture of curiosity and mild amusement.
”I was hoping that the curse I cast on all four boys, ensuring they never return to music, had taken effect.” She asserts, her expression unwaveringly serious.
“That was a bit harsh.”
Catalina is a practicing witch, although her skills only extend to herbal remedies, crystal rocks, tarot cards, pagan beliefs, and maybe her solitary nature. I also wouldn’t put it past her that she possesses a little bit of an evil eye. Casting a spell is probably a touch too fictional paranormal for the real world, but I’ve never challenged her on her beliefs.
Over the years, she’s shown that she’s loyal and trustworthy, so all the other weird stuff about her flies past me without second thoughts. She knows most of everything that happened to me and recognizes the importance of fleeing LA for my life. Although I did keep a big chunk of my trauma to myself as the memories started to filter into my mind, it was all chaotic, and I had to piece it together.
A horrifying ordeal I never want to relive or remember.
I settle into the armchair, cradling the guitar in my arms as I strum a few chords absentmindedly. A surge of inspiration rushes through me. A cascade of lyrics floods my mind, and it is as if the universe had chosen this solitary moment to gift me with a melody.
“In the shadows of despair, where dreams had faded away, A life once abandoned, in the silence it lay. But deep within the ashes, a spark refused to die, A whisper of redemption, beneath the moonlit sky…”
Hastily, I reach for a pencil under the stack of sheets, grabbing a blank one. The words flow from my pencil with a sense of urgency, a lyrical dance of emotions that had been lingering beneath the surface.
These words paint a vivid picture of my current emotions. A mixture of heartache and resilience, capturing a fragment of my soul that had always refused to perish.
I turn my attention back to my guitar, my fingers delicately dancing over the strings, searching for the perfect chords to complement the emotions encapsulated in my lyrics.
As I close my eyes, I feel the room filling with my instrument”s rich, resonant tones, the melody gradually taking shape like a sculptor shaping clay into a masterpiece.
I play and replay, experimenting with the rhythm and tempo until the music feels like an extension of my very being. As the final chords resonate, I open my eyes and sit back with a sense of fulfillment washing over me, and a decision is made.
Catalina stands before me, and I smile at her. She leaves my journals on the table next to my mug of tea.
“That sounds beautiful,” she says.
“The lyrics inspired me,” I pick up the sheet I wrote on earlier and pass it to her.
She takes it, and I watch her read it, but her face quickly drops to a frown, realizing my intentions.
“Surely, you’re not considering it!”
“Everyone deserves a second chance.”
“They do not,” she mutters.
“I was referring to myself,” I say sharply. “Catalina, I was born to make music. Sitting here for the rest of my life, creating music for no one to hear is a waste.”
“I’m not no one. I listen to your music.”
I huff a laugh, “And I appreciate that, but you’re also paid to hang around here.”
“You think I’m here because of the money?”
“You’re here because you want to be, and I appreciate you stuck around when you didn’t have to. But look at it logically. If this goes well, maybe I can go off and create a solo album on the side. This time, I’ll be more vigilant and have a goal.”
“And what about the stalker, Eden?”
She knows about the death threats and is aware that I couldn’t run to the police. She also knows about my kidnapping and the ordeal I suffered for days. She doesn’t know the details, but I think she’s guessed the brutality I was forced to suffer.
“It was ten years ago. Maybe he’s moved on. Maybe he’s dead. But I can’t keep hiding because this isn’t want I want to do forever.”
“If they didn’t turn up here, you wouldn’t be thinking this.”
I shake my head from side to side, disapproving of her last remark.
“That’s not nice. Are you suggesting I’m soft-minded? I’m not that 14-year-old anymore.”
“I’m saying that you got mixed up with these boys and can’t see clearly. I told you they were bad news back then, and I tell you again now. And it bothers me when you don”t listen. I’ve seen life, Eden. It’s a vicious world out there.”
“I’m aware of it. I’ve been to hell, in case you forgot.”
I want to end this discussion.
Catalina has always held a dislike towards them from the start, saying she got bad vibes or juice from them.
Sensing the end of this discussion, she steps back. A trickle of regret is etched on her face, knowing I’ve endured a far greater evil experience than anyone can imagine.
“Drink your tea before it gets cold,” she says coldly and turns away. “I’ll prepare your bath for you. I imagine the road trip was dusty in the truck.”
I lean my guitar against the armchair and reach out toward the mug. It’s still pretty warm, so I blow over it before siping.
“It was fine. Thanks, I’ll probably finish my tea first.”
I take a few more sips and listen to the water run inside as I focus on the vast and rugged expanse of arid beauty before me. The landscape, painted in earthy tones, unfolds like a canvas under the relentless embrace of the sun. The sky above is a brilliant expanse of blue, remaining unblemished by clouds, with the sun reigning supreme as it bathes the desert in an intense, golden glow.
My eyelids feel heavy. Perhaps the long drive into town got the better of me. Paired with the visit of the boys from my disturbing past, it was probably more overwhelming than I thought.
Maybe I’ll take a quick nap after my bath.