Chapter 2
Two
STONE
“Hold for three, two, one,” Anya says in her soothing Pilates teacher voice. “Release.”
“Fucking hell, Anya.” My muscles tremble as I relax into the reformer. “Did they teach torture techniques in Pilates school, or was this something you learned as a child?”
“Don’t be a little bitch.” A water bottle lands on my stomach. “Make sure you stay hydrated. You’ve come a long way, but touring is going to be hard.”
“Don’t I know it.”
I blot the sweat beading my brow as I stare up at the ceiling of my Brooklyn brownstone’s gym.
Two years ago I wouldn’t have thought I’d still be living at this point.
Years of partying, drugs, booze, sex, over and over, night after night, left me spinning out of control.
You would have thought falling off stage and breaking my back would have set me onto the path of sobriety.
It didn’t.
In fact, it made everything so much worse. I was never addicted to the cocaine or the weed, but the second those opiates hit my bloodstream I was hooked. Pills and booze are what ran me into the ground.
Literally.
I fell off Xander’s deck and broke my leg in three places. Needless to say the label was pissed. Darren, our manager, was pissed. But the lowest moment was when Xander and Tobias walked into my hospital room and gave me an ultimatum. Either get clean, or fuck off. They’d be Blue Sunday without me.
The problem with that for me is I’m nothing without Blue Sunday. Xan and I started the band a month into our time at Juilliard. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I wasn’t making music.
Just thinking about how close I came to losing everything makes my eyes sting.
I toss the towel over my eyes as I listen to Anya zip up her duffel bag and leave with a quiet goodbye.
As silence settles over the house, I pull myself up into a sitting position, ignoring the pinch in my back. I look into the mirror across from me.
I’m in the best shape of my life. Aside from random achy days or minor dull pains from my surgeries, I feel incredible. I run at least two miles a day, preferably outside, but hopping on a treadmill works just as well. Then I rotate Pilates and weights three days a week.
After wiping down the reformer, I shut off all the lights in the gym and take the stairs up to the kitchen.
I pull a prepared meal out of the refrigerator and scan the directions from the chef.
Luckily, it’s a pasta dish that I can just toss in the microwave.
I don’t have it in me to do more than that tonight.
Our appearance on television this morning was our first live performance since before I went to rehab.
The desire to pop a few pills or down a fifth of whiskey hit hard as I was sitting in the green room.
Nervous energy surged off me in waves. It was bad enough that Jade, our publicist, had to sit down beside me and set her hand on my knee to stop its anxious bouncing.
Then I watched that smug son of a bitch Mark O’Malley pick apart that sweet girl. I immediately recognized the hollowness in her eyes. That deep sadness that radiated from them was a beacon to me. Jade nearly fell over when I stood and tore from the green room to barge into the studio.
Honestly, I wasn’t in control of myself in that moment. I was just…pulled to her. She would have been fine without me, that much was evident as she narrowed those blue-flecked gray eyes in O’Malley’s direction.
Her book grabs my attention from where it sits on the island beside my phone. I reach over and pick it up, scanning the synopsis. The praise in the blurbs from other authors makes it sound even more enticing. One even calls it a master class in tension riddled enemies-to-lovers romance.
I flip it over to look at the cover. It’s definitely not something I’d usually pick up.
The cover illustration is of two men in pilot uniforms. One is tall and blonde, a stern look on his face as he looks down at the other man, who smirks up at him from under floppy dark hair.
An airport jetway leads to a commercial plane in the background.
Well, fuck me. I’m intrigued.
Once I get settled down with dinner, I pull the book over and crack it open.
Her signature sits on the title page. She even drew an arrow pointing through it, a nod to her last name, if I had to guess.
Smart move, branding wise. But she’ll get sick of it eventually when she’s signed thousands of books.
She was so startled when I launched myself over the back of the couch.
I wouldn’t mind seeing her gorgeous eyes flare with surprise like that again.
While I wasn’t thinking when I blurted out the suggestion of her going on tour with us, I also don’t think I’d mind seeing her again.
For now though, I’ll settle with reading her words.
It doesn’t take long to get sucked into her book.
The tension between the main characters is apparent right from the very beginning.
Before I know it, it’s been hours, and I’m finishing the book.
I didn’t even move from the stool I was sitting on at the island.
Which, from the way my back aches, were clearly chosen for style and not comfort.
Fuck, but that was a good book.
I can’t remember the last time I read a book in one go, cover to cover. Maybe middle school? A low chuckle leaves my lips because I didn’t even know I was still capable of that.
My phone vibrates against the marble with a call from our manager as I’m cleaning up dinner.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Good, I got you. Xan and Tobias are on the call, too. I have news.”
“Okay,” I drag the word out because I feel like everything is pretty settled with the upcoming tour. I’m not sure what type of news he could have. My stomach drops, expecting bad news as there’s been a flurry of stories popping up online about my addiction and whether I’m actually sober.
“Stone’s little stunt with the author this morning gave me an idea.”
Oh fuck.
“Okay,” Xan draws out the word exactly as I did.
“As you three know, with news of the tour and release of your first album in several years, there’s been a renewed interest in Stone’s sobriety. Mainly, bad press recirculating about him.”
“Fuck them all,” Tobias says. “He’s in the best shape of his life and couldn’t be better.”
Gratitude swells in my chest. I don’t deserve my bandmates. They’ve put up with so much from me, and they still never fail to have my back.
“I don’t disagree, but even Jade is having a hard time turning the conversation back to where we want: the music.
So we came up with a plan. I reached out to Miss Archer’s agent and publisher.
They love the idea of combining her book tour with ours.
She’ll even go on the bus with us. They’ll organize signings for her in each of the cities we play in. ”
“How’s that supposed to help?”
“It’ll give everyone something else to focus on aside from your sobriety. Especially if you were to relapse.”
“I’m not going to relapse.”
“Screw you,” Xan growls.
“He’s fine,” Tobias adds as we all speak at once.
“Calm down, boys. I’m just pointing out that it's naive to think the environment of a rock tour won’t be more enticing than Stone hiding away in one of his homes like a hermit. Between the women and the parties...” he trails off.
“And Jade is on board with this?” I ask, trying to diffuse the anger seeping through the line from my bandmates. “What about Hazel herself?”
“She’s not my concern. It’s agreed upon by her people, and that’s all that matters.”
No one speaks for a moment. I don’t like the idea of using her as a form of smoke and mirrors for my addiction issues. The way he said it was agreed upon by her people doesn’t sit right with me either. But if Jade thinks it’s a good idea, then it might have merit.
“It’s up to you, Stone,” Xan says.
Darren clears his throat. “It’s actually not up to any of you. The decision has been made.”
I set my phone down after the call ends and stare down at it as the news from the call sinks in. The screen lights up with another call, but it’s not from Xan or Toby. It’s Darren again.
“What?” I say instead of a greeting.
“It’s just you and me on this call.” Street sounds filter down the line from him. “I have an idea of how we can make sure the story stays off your addiction and sobriety.”
I run a hand through my hair, tugging on the longer, dark strands as I exhale heavily. If I don’t listen to him now, he’ll just show up here bright and early tomorrow morning. I want to spend the last few days alone before being crammed on a bus with other people for months.
“Okay.”
“I think you should take the author out on dates. It’ll help her, it’ll help you. People will eat that shit up.”
“No. I’m not getting into a fake PR relationship.”
“No, no, no,” he says quickly. “Not a full out relationship, just go out and about with her. Let the paps get a few good shots occasionally. Just enough intrigue to make people wonder.”
“I’m not going to drag another person into the line of fire just to make my life easier.”
“It’s not just about you.” He pauses while a car door slams and the street noise fades. “Think about everything you’ve dragged the guys into with you. They deserve a break.”
I grunt into the line, unable to argue with that statement.
“Listen, just think about it. Don’t give me an answer tonight. We’ll talk later.”
He ends the call without even waiting for my response. Which is fine, I don’t have anything else to say. What could I even say? I do owe the guys this. A tour with no bad press, the heaviness of my addiction not painting the world around me in shades of black and gray.
The back of the book faces upward, Hazel’s photo on the back smiling shyly up at me.
Her somber eyes are hidden behind a pair of funky glasses while she sits on the steps of the New York Library.
She's wearing black tights under a little gray plaid miniskirt with a plum-colored sweater on.
Her long, dark hair falls in soft curls over her shoulder.
She’s pretty. At least having her on the bus will give us something nice to look at instead of spending hours staring at the same two faces for hours at a time. And Jade will have some feminine energy to surround herself with. Maybe it won’t be that bad having the new girl tag along.