Chapter 1
LUCCA
I stare at my phone, reading the text from my brother repeatedly in disbelief.
Rocco: We’re pregnant…again.
I’m overjoyed for him and Callie after years of battling cancer and complications from the treatment. They are the best parents, but I remember not so long ago, they said they were done having kids.
I feel behind the ball. They are on kid number three, while I haven’t even found someone who can stomach me and my creative mood swings for longer than a few months.
Not that my brother is easy. There is no person more intense than he can be, especially when he feels there is danger nearby. And his life is riddled with bad guys and life-threatening situations. I don’t know how my sister-in-law deals with the knowledge that he may not come home from work someday.
Everything about us is different—always has been, and I assume it always will be. I’m creative where he’s calculating. I was always carefree and silly where he was always plotting and planning. But even with our differences, we always got along and loved each other. That had more to do with our parents and the importance of family than the two of us having much of anything in common.
“Need anything else?”
Caleb asks as he wipes down the bar to my side. “It’s last call.”
“Nah, man. I’m good,”
I tell him, ticking my head toward the glass of whiskey I’ve been nursing for over an hour.
I grab my phone, sending a quick text to my brother because I have had no greater joy in my life than being an uncle to his children.
Me: Congrats, brother. I hope it’s twins.
He’s quick to reply, no doubt glaring at the phone, wishing he could crawl through the screen and choke me for even whispering those words.
Rocco: I don’t care if they’re triplets as long as they’re healthy.
His words cause me to jerk my head back and blink a few times in disbelief. “Wow,”
I whisper to myself in shock.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a more loving father than him. He dotes on his children as much as he does on Callie. My brother loves deep and hard, leaving no doubt about how he feels for those closest to him.
There is a sudden movement at my side as a leather bag is thrust on top of the bar. “Hit me with a double, Caleb. I’ve had a long night, and I have a feeling it’s about to get even longer.”
My heart picks up its pace at the sound of her voice. Madeline Hart. She could make the strongest man weak in the knees.
Madeline is well-known in the New York City bar scene as one of the premiere local singers who performs original compositions instead of covering other musicians’ songs. She not only has a killer voice, she is also stunning, with big green eyes, wavy red hair with hints of brown sprinkled throughout, long legs, the perfect lips, and just as beautiful as any popular musician out there today.
She has everything and yet…she hasn’t hit it big. I’ve asked her a few times if I could share her music with the industry people I know, but she’s always turned me down. She wants whatever happens to happen organically and not because she knows someone who knows someone.
But the thing she doesn’t seem to understand is almost everyone knows someone who knows someone. I wouldn’t have gotten my start if it weren’t for my brother. He made a few calls, cashed in a few favors, and things have never been the same for me.
I’m now one of the most sought-after songwriters in the pop music industry today, with a specialty in lyrics that could shred even the most black-hearted.
Madeline tosses her long red hair over her shoulder before she turns toward me. “Hey, Lucca.”
Her gaze dips to the notepad in front of me. “Writing your next smash hit?”
I give her a wry smile. “Something like that,” I mutter.
She taps her fingernails against the polished wood as she raises her other hand to her cheek, resting her face in her palm and her elbow on the bar. “Must be nice. I don’t know where you get your inspiration from, but I wish you’d send a little my way.”
She doesn’t know it, but she is my inspiration.
Her beauty.
Her voice.
Her smile.
The way the energy changes when she walks into a room.
“It doesn’t always come easy,”
I lie, hoping to make her feel better.
Madeline’s lips flatten. “You’re a bad liar, Lucca.”
I give her a smile, knowing I’ve been caught.
“How do you do it?”
she asks, reaching for her drink that Caleb set in front of her a few seconds ago.
“I honestly don’t know. Sometimes the melody isn’t as easy, but the words just come to me.”
Madeline lets out a loud sigh as her shoulders sag forward. “I’m jealous, Lucca, and that’s not an easy thing for me to admit. I’ve been struggling with the same song for a month now, and I’m about to give up.”
I stare at her profile, wishing I could console her in some way. For over a year, we’ve danced around each other, talking whenever we’re together at this bar, but she’s never thrown so many hints that she’d like my help. If I waste this opportunity now, I’ll be kicking myself forever.
“I can help,”
I tell her, knowing this is my shot and I may not get many more before someone else snaps up the red-haired beauty.
She turns her head, her eyebrows high and green eyes wide. “You’d do that?”
I want to tell her that I’d do anything for her, but I keep that to myself. “Of course.”
She’s quick to her feet, and before I know it, her arms are wrapped around my shoulders and her cheek is against my face. “You’re a lifesaver, Lucca Bruno. I could almost kiss you.”
She could almost kiss me.
Sigh.
I take a moment to enjoy the feel of her warmth against my skin and the way her hair smells like the sweetest vanilla I’ve ever inhaled.
She pulls her face away but stays tethered to me by her arms. “Are you sure? I can pay you, but I know you make more money on one song than I make in a decade.”
“Friends help friends.”
She stares at me, blinking rapidly in disbelief at my words as she finally separates her body from mine. “I’m your friend?”
I’ve always thought of her as one. For a year, we’ve been together a few nights a week, chatting at the bar, and sharing our war stories from the music industry.
“Well, yeah.”
“I always knew you were a good egg, Lucca, but this favor is so huge, it leaves no more doubt.”
“And if I can’t help you?”
I ask, reaching for my drink because having Madeline so close has left me feeling out of sorts.
She playfully swipes at my shoulder. “You’re a musical genius. If you can’t help me, nobody can.”
That’s a tall order to live up to, even for me. While I’ve been successful and do know I have talent, I can’t always retool someone else’s work with the same clarity I can work on my own.
“Your songs are beautiful, Madeline.”
“Not good enough to hit it big, though,”
she says, but not in a sour voice. “At least not yet.”
Caleb slides the key to the building across the bar. “Once the last guy is out, so am I. You two know what to do.”
Six months ago, Caleb offered us the place after hours to practice without the interruption of others. Here, we don’t have to worry about waking anyone up in the late hours of the night with our songs. Although this is New York, neighbors only have so much patience, especially in buildings with thin walls.
“I’ll make sure things are buttoned up tight,”
I promise him.
Caleb gives me a nod before he smiles at Madeline and makes himself busy again, trying not to hover over the last customer who’s been nursing a beer for longer than anyone would think is humanly possible.
Madeline slides her stool over until I can almost feel her body heat against my arm. “Do you have a specific process?”
She peers down at my notepad, but all it holds is a bunch of illegible scribbles. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you.”
I push the notebook toward her. “Not really. I start a new page when the vibe of the lyrics shift.”
She turns one page, her eyes scanning the lines. “You must go through a lot of notebooks.”
I have more stacks of them than I care to admit. They are everywhere in my loft, and eventually, they became more of a part of the décor than they should. “I can’t seem to go digital. I’ve tried, but it kills my creativity. There’s something about paper and pen that I can’t shake.”
“Writing words by hand gives your mind time to process and move forward. Typing is too fast.”
“You haven’t seen me type.”
I laugh, almost embarrassed at how slow and awful I am at it. “I peck at the keys at an excruciatingly slow pace.”
“I amend my statement, then… You’re too busy trying to find the next letter instead of thinking about the next word.”
“Something like that,”
I tell her before taking another sip of my drink.
She reaches into her purse and pulls out a well-worn piece of paper. “Do you want to see what I have?”
I take the paper from her hand and gently unfold it because it looks like it’ll disintegrate in my hands if I’m too rough. I scan the page, reading over the words that are beautiful but slightly disjointed. “What’s the melody?”
“Do you want me to sing it for you?”
I’m envious of her ability to stand up in front of a crowded room and belt out a song. I’ve never been able to. It’s the one thing that’s kept me a songwriter instead of a performer. I’m a behind-the-scenes guy with my name as the writer of more than one hundred hit songs over the last decade.
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
She touches my bare arm with her soft, warm fingertips. “It’s no trouble. You’re the one helping me. I’d stand on my head if you thought it would help.”
“While the idea is entertaining, it wouldn’t help at all, which is a shame.”
She laughs, and the sound is more beautiful than any ballad I’ve ever heard. “You’re ridiculous sometimes, but it’s part of your charm.”
Is Madeline flirting with me? I want to believe she is, but I’ve never been the smartest person when it comes to romance.
I turn around on my stool as she heads toward the stage with her lyrics still in my hand.
I watch her intently as she adjusts the microphone, raising the stand higher to be closer to her lips.
She clears her throat, the sound echoing in the mostly empty bar. “Don’t judge me too harshly,”
she says, her eyes pinned on me.
“Never,”
I promise her.
A beat-up guitar is near the left side of the stage, and she grabs it, lifting the strap over her shoulder. Her fingers move over the strings, and when she’s satisfied with the tuning, she steps up to the microphone again.
I can’t take my eyes off her as she begins to sing. The sound coming out of her lips sends goose bumps scattering across my skin, and the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. There’s no one else in the music industry with a voice like hers.
I close my eyes, trying to concentrate on the words instead of her pretty face. The lyrics and melody flow beautifully throughout the first verse and chorus, but I can tell she falters with the second verse because her voice becomes quieter and less sure.
The song is slow and emotional, bringing the listener along on the journey of heartbreak after a long and deep love.
The words tug on my heartstrings, something that doesn’t happen easily because I’ve been told I’m not good at explaining and exploring my feelings, even though most of my songs are about love and heartbreak.
I open my eyes when the stool down the way slides against the tile floor. The man stumbles in my direction and pauses right in front of me. “Don’t be an idiot. That girl likes you,”
he mumbles before he shuffles toward the door.
I turn my gaze back toward Madeline as she sets the guitar back down on the stand. “Well,”
she says while she walks down the few steps from the old stage. “See what I mean? Got any ideas?”
Thanks to the guy, I have more ideas than I ever thought possible.