One - River
“Hello, boys, my name is River West, and I’m your new band manager. Congratulations,” I say, cocking my head.
My heart pounds against my ribs. Pain encases my chest, tightening like rubber bands and constricting my air. Every ounce of oxygen stalls in my lungs until I blow out a calming breath, forcing myself to stay in the present—with them—the boys who broke my heart five years ago.
Who knew staring into the eyes of the four exes who screwed you over five years ago after they ran away would be so fucking nerve-wracking. I should despise them. Hate their fucking existence. I should want to see their careers spiral down a dark hole and hit rock bottom as I laugh maniacally at their demise.
Instead, with as much confidence as I can muster, I utter the fourteen words that will forever change our lives and throw us down a wicked path of devastating revelations and wreckage we may not come back from.
Varying degrees of emotions cross their pale faces, sending victorious goosebumps down my spine. Their utter fear empowers me to sweep my gaze around the room.
Callum blinks rapidly like a flickering mirage stands confidently in front of him. And he has yet to believe I’m actually here in person.
My eyes move with ease to Rad, who stares at me with those big, brown puppy dog eyes I used to get lost in for hours and hours on end. Quickly, though, he turns away to study the conference table, avoiding any more eye contact.
Kieran’s face twitches in disbelief, and his jaw pops open. A reddish tint takes over his flesh, starting on his neck, and slowly seeps color onto his cheeks. Sooner rather than later, I see an outburst in our future.
And Asher. My breath catches in my chest, stopping me cold. Never in my life did I think I’d see the day Asher Montgomery would freeze in place with horror lining his face.
An array of feelings slams through me. Fear. Sadness. Utter betrayal. Wide, unblinking eyes look up at me in horror, and disbelief pulls their muscles rigid in their chairs. One by one, the realization of what’s happening slams into their chests, and they’re nothing but frozen men with gazes glued to me—the star of the damn show.
Something deep inside me bubbles with excitement, yet the fear and utter devastation they left behind reside there, too. Reminding me of what happened when I ran to their doorstep with pregnancy tests in my back pocket, begging to see them. I vividly remember Gloria, Kieran’s sadistic mother, answering the door and throwing me a life-changing grenade of knowledge. Kieran, Rad, Callum, and Asher were gone—vanished into thin air without a goodbye or explanation. The most devastating part of it all was the way they left without a word, leaving our child and me in the dust with nothing more than a restraining order forbidding me from speaking with them.
And they knew. They acknowledged the existence of Lyric by having Gloria toss me a check, advising me to ‘get rid of it’ and stating they didn’t want her. They denied my daughter having fathers. Sure, she knows them by name and calls them daddy by choice, but she’ll never have the chance to know them in person unless they step up to the plate. But that’s only if I let them. They can hurt me all they want, but I’ll be fucked if I let them hurt her, too.
Somewhere in my mind, a little voice begs for revenge against the men who callously threw us away like yesterday’s stale bread. Like we had meant nothing to them—like I wasn’t someone important to them. Like I hadn’t had an instrumental impact on their ability to even enter the Battle of the Bands competition—let alone win it.
Oh, how the tables have turned in my favor. No longer am I the scared girl with a baby in her belly and vengeance on her mind. I’m a woman, a mother, and I’ll fucking get what I’m owed. Professionally, of course. I can’t simply destroy these men without consequence. This job, my daughter, and this entire record company are my life force that kept me going when I thought my world had fallen apart. I wouldn’t have made it this far without the loving support of my brothers, Seger and Zepp, and their family. They’ve taken me in and given me everything I’ve ever dreamed of and accepted me as one of their own.
These men are at the root of it all, and karma is quite the bitch when she wants to take back what is owed. Whispered Words will 100 percent get everything that’s coming to them—all in due time, of course. Whether by me or by the universe—Karma is on her way to lay claim.
“How about we get started?” I hum, letting the shocked silence embrace me in a warm hug and revel in their awkward expressions.
“What-what are you doing here?” Asher utters through his shocked expression, gripping his chair so hard, I swear he’d choke it if it were breathing. “Why are you here?” he mumbles again, shaking his head.
I’m the ghost of your fucked up past coming back to haunt you —is what I desperately want to say, but I bite my tongue. I’m a goddamn professional. I won’t let Whispered Words screw up my career. Besides, Zepp and Seger are watching my every move from behind the damn glass.
“So nice of you to ask, Mr. Montgomery,” I say as politely as I can and add, “I’m working.” Shrugging, I set the thick folder my brothers gave me on the conference table and spread their paperwork out for further examination.
Clearing my throat, I drag myself out of my thoughts and focus on the plans before me.
On the outside, I’m completely unaffected by their presence with the right kind of professional smile and squared shoulders. But on the inside, that’s a completely different story. I can act as tough as the next person. But a tornado unleashes my emotions, sending mixed signals throughout my trembling body.
“Working?” Kieran asks in a deep voice. “There’s no way,” he says in a cold tone, tinged with disbelief. “You can’t work here! What the fuck?” he growls, narrowing his eyes at me with suspicion.
“There is a way,” I retort with no emotion, thumbing through a few more pages, finally finding the numbers I should have been able to study yesterday. You know if my stupid brothers hadn’t sprung this on me ten minutes ago. Right, that reminds me. Murder is definitely still on the table. I wonder how my sister-in-law, Kaycee, will take the news when her twin husbands disappear off the face of the planet.
“Relax,” Rad says in a bored tone, forcing himself to stare at the phone clutched in his white-knuckled grip.
“You fucking relax, dickhead,” Kieran snaps. “This can’t be possible.”
“Believe it or not, but I’m standing right here,” I say, still staring at the messy, down-turned numbers lining the page with a crease forming in my brow.
Fuck. This is worse than I thought.
When my brothers, Zepp and Seger, hired me, I never imagined it would lead to this. I completed my college education, garnered a degree in music business, and set out to make waves within the company with my ideas. The Fixer. I’m the person West Records turns to when a band is on their last leg and needs intervention before they’re expelled from their contracts and kicked out on their asses. We give them a chance at redemption to show us they can still perform and bring in money again. Or else, they’re out.
Over the past three years, since I took on this position, I’ve seen countless bands. Some work hard and regain their contracts, going out to make a new name for themselves. Others, well, they snort coke out of groupies’ assholes and ruin their careers. Looking at you, Break. Idiots.
This time, though, it’s them—Whispered Words. The four men I tried my hardest to forget, which is hard when one of their mini-mes calls me mom. My heart jumps, pounding against my ribs in a rhythmic drumbeat. Lyric. My daughter. His child. My eyes glide across Kieran’s twisted-up face, reddened by boiling anger that’s simmering beneath the surface of his skin. His mismatched eyes, so similar to the little girl who holds my entire heart now, burn into me with hate so visceral a shiver runs down my spine.
Letting out a low whistle, I shake my head with disappointment. How could a band at the top of their game for years suddenly fall so fast and hard?
“Your numbers,” I say, scrunching my nose.
“What numbers?” Asher asks cautiously, losing his breath when my gaze slams into his watery, hazel eyes filled to the brim with worry and concern.
“I’m so glad you asked,” I reply in a professional tone, sliding the paper in front of his face. His brows furrow when his eyes gaze over the page. “It’s your performance numbers. The amount you’re bringing in through ticket sales, online sales, and everything in between. It’s the numbers we evaluate every year to see if our investment is still paying off. And by the looks of it, Whispered Words is on their last leg,” I say, pacing back and forth at the head of the table. What they can’t see are my hands clasped firmly behind my back, trying to keep the shaking away from their eyes.
“Last-last leg?” Callum breathes, finally speaking up after staying silent for so long. The room falls away when his eyes finally connect with mine. A dark bruise rests beneath his eye, blackening his skin. Quickly, his eyes dart to the table once again, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip and losing himself in the pattern of the table.
My heart hammers in my chest, nearly knocking me back into the past. Callum. Sweet, lovable, caring Callum has marks on his flesh. But from what? Who could have caused him so much damage? And what the hell has changed? It’s only been a few years. The last thing I could ever do was picture Callum putting his fists into the air and fighting with someone.
How much has each of them changed?
“I think you’re lying,” Kieran says, jumping to his feet and readying himself for a fight. “This is a fucking joke. There’s no way some Central girl could be working here. Let alone be our new band manager. This is bullshit!” Kieran explodes, slamming a hand down onto the wooden table. Everyone flinches away from his outburst, watching his contorted face twist with hate.
Ouch. Is that really what he thinks about me? A painful pang spears through my heart. My eyes barely recognize the boy who held my hands under the stars and told me I’d be okay. Who is this man standing before me? Has this ruined him? And why the fuck does Kieran hate me so much?
“Well, you should know that you’re here because West Records has placed your contract on probation.” I raise a brow when Rad’s face crumples, and his dark eyes glare down at the table, refusing to meet mine.
Tension laces every inch of his muscles, locking him in place, which gives me a chance to give him a once-over. Ashton Radcliffe may look the same as he did back in Central City with his dark and curly mullet and his lanky physique, but there are crucial differences shining through, hardening his closed-off exterior.
“This isn’t a joke. Believe me; I wouldn’t be here if it was some big ruse. You’re stuck with me. Like it or not.” I shrug again, taking a huge breath to relieve myself of the hurt brewing beneath the surface.
Anger vibrates through the entire room, setting my teeth on edge. Never in my life have I been met with such hostility, but I guess there’s a first time for everything. But what the hell do they have to be so hostile for? They left me. They left her. Not the other way around. I’m the one who should hate their guts. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I fucking do. But my professional duty binds me to their cause.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Probation? We haven’t done anything wrong. This is bullshit,” Kieran growls, slamming his fist into the table again. His hulking body heaves with every breath he takes, and those mismatched eyes glare at me head-on, ready to take me down.
“Well, that’s why we’re having this meeting, Mr. Knight,” I say, tilting my head. “We’re here to discuss your future.”
Kieran’s fiery eyes slam into my gaze, hardening the longer he stares, filling to the brim with hate and unsaid wrath ready to unleash on me. My breath leaves me, and my head spins until I collect myself and my heart off the floor.
His stare is a stark reminder of the little girl just a floor above us, patiently waiting for her Aunt Kaycee to collect her for a sleepover. It’s the reminder that he left her. They left her knowingly, refusing to listen to me. They gave up their responsibility with the flick of their wrist and signatures across restraining orders.
Fuck them.
“We have no future here with you. I’ll speak to my agent about this. There’s no way in fucking hell I’m working with you,” Kieran barks, twisting on his heels and stomping away.
Oh, cue the dramatics from the biggest dickhead around. Of course, he’d stomp and throw a fit at the sight of me. Idiot. Deep breaths, River. You have to reel them back in. Kieran always did have a flare for the dramatics, but this is pushing it too far. He’s running away like the big fucking coward he is instead of facing me. Sounds way too familiar for my liking. I’d rather him go back to the boy who strummed his guitar on the hill behind our apartment complex, singing songs he envisioned during school. Instead of that man, the one I fell in love with twice, I’m left with the angry shell walking away from me.
“Fucking Kieran,” Asher growls, climbing to his feet with determination. “You can’t fucking walk away. Not because it’s her.” His eyes follow Kieran’s slow, angry retreat, almost afraid to take his eyes off him.
My eyes narrow at the emphasis on the word her. Again. If they say it one more time like I’m not standing in front of them, I’ll lose my shit. Seriously, though. Who, me? Little ole River West? The girl you dumped so fast after witnessing Van Drake, my stupid ex, forcefully kiss me without permission in my kitchen as I nursed my grief alone. Alone! They left me at my own mother’s funeral without so much as a “sorry for your loss, Riv.” Anger simmers beneath the surface of my skin, bubbling and aching for me to act on it at the harsh reminder of their betrayal. My mind begs me to lash out and put them in their place, but I bury that piece of me. I’m not here to talk about the past. I’m here to discuss the future of their band. Nothing more. Nothing less.
As Kieran drifts farther away from the group of men staring at him with wide eyes, I slip back into my professional persona. With one last deep breath, I become River West—The Fixer. Not River West—The Brokenhearted.
“I can do whatever I want. I can’t be in the same room as her,” Kieran growls, picking up his pace toward the French doors on the opposite side of the room.
My edges harden at the word her again and how it’s implied. Maybe I should remind them of who they’re fucking with. I discreetly rub the handle of my old knife nestled in the pocket of my dress pants. Images of Kieran behind the counter at the old record store I worked at come to mind. I smirk. This time Kieran wouldn’t get a boner when I sit the edge of my knife near his dick, which I’ll promptly cut off if he keeps up this defiant rock star bullshit attitude. He’s on thin ice, growing thinner. Soon, he’ll drown at my hands.
Asher looks at me and back at Kieran with wide eyes, expectantly waiting for him to come back to his seat like a good boy. But if there’s anything I know about Kieran, he’s not a very good boy.
Every step Kieran takes is a step closer to him forfeiting their contract. I could let him go and walk out into the hall and wipe my hands clean of them and never look back. I could laugh as they realized they’d fucked themselves over by not staying in the same room as me. No more concerts. No more fangirls willing to suck their mediocre dicks on their tour bus. And no more West Records. Bye, bye Whispered Words. You can return to Central City and explain to your mommy why you’re back penniless and contract-less.
Inwardly, I groan, staring at the ceiling and counting backward. I’m better than that. I’m more professional than that petty behavior. Plus, my brothers would never let that fly. For some fucked up reason, despite knowing exactly what they did to me, they like their music.
The moment Kieran’s hand touches the handle, I sigh. My responsibilities nag at me to do the right thing, just this once, and I comply.
“Mr. Knight, you should know the moment you step out of this meeting, you void not only your contract with West Records but all their contracts as well,” I say in a smooth voice, crossing my arms over my chest and surveying the room.
Someone grumbles. Another gasps. And Asher, the once smug bastard, fucking begs—much to my delight. There once was a prideful man named Asher, who never got on his knees to beg another human being for anything. And yet, here he is, about to drop down and save face. I shouldn’t have a giggle bursting up my throat or joy humming through my body at the stark difference.
But I do.
“Kieran, you have to give this a chance. It’s a second opportunity for us to continue with our dream,” Asher pleads with desperation, falling back into his chair with a desperate huff, never taking his pleading eyes off Kieran’s retreating form.
“Bro, you can’t walk out.” Rad finally slides his gaze to me, quickly darting away with a twist of his lips and a shake of his head. His brows furrow, almost in confusion or maybe pain, but he shakes it off, running a hand through his curly mullet. I can’t believe he’s kept it after all these years.
“I can do whatever the fuck I please,” Kieran sneers, twisting away from the door. “You can’t be our band manager. You don’t fucking belong here. You belong in the gutter like the rest of Central City. Is this a fucking joke?” Kieran barks out, throwing his arms all around like a child.
“Oh, ouch. Awesome,” I mutter with so much sarcasm I swear one of them chokes on my tone. So much for biting my tongue. Must. Remain. Professional, River. Ugh. As much as I want to bash my fist into his dick and make him drop to his knees, begging for mercy, I don’t.
“You can’t be,” he hisses again like a hysterical child, readying himself to drop to the floor and throw a full-blown fit.
You’d think our daughter Lyric was in front of me, throwing herself around and screaming at the top of her lungs because I refused to let her eat unicorn ice cream for dinner—cue the eye roll. Somehow, my four-year-old manages to regain control of her emotions better than this full-grown man. Pathetic.
Cracking my neck, I straighten my posture and ready myself to face the bull. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll fight this every part of the way. And I say, bring it on, Kieran Knight.
“I am your new manager. That’s something you’ll have to get over right here and right now. I am in charge of you, officially, this time. You fuck with me. I fuck with your career. Do we have an understanding?” I ask with an even tone, trying not to let my boiling anger get the best of me. “This is a professional environment. We will not disrespect each other. The past stays in the past. This is the present. I will not be disrespected again. Got it?” I ask, narrowing my eyes on each of them as they nod in unison, still giving me the stink eye. Reaching into the paperwork, I pull out a thick copy of their contract with West Records and throw it down the table. “If you want to read for yourself, it’s on page fifty-seven, subsection B. It’ll lay out everything you need to know when dealing with me and the professional services I offer at West Records.”
Kieran grunts, shoving the paperwork at Callum, who sits rigidly in his seat, clinging to the armrests of his chair.
“You read it,” Kieran barks out his order, pointing at the stack of papers.
Callum doesn’t flinch when he reaches for the contract and flips through the pages, using his photographic memory, no doubt. “Fine,” he mutters, stopping on my part of the contract, and he nods. “It’s-it’s all right here,” he says, heaving his breath while pointing at it.
A pang pierces through my chest. The old Callum was doing so well and coming into himself. Now, it seems like he’s reverted back to the stuttering, shy man I helped come out of his shell.
Those beautiful, gray eyes spare me one glance, and my heart thunders. Despair rests deep in his gaze when he flicks his eyes up and down my body. A familiar redness tints his cheeks until his gaze hardens again. Every ounce of life spirals out of his eyes, leaving me with his blank stare. My lips pop open when I zone in and really examine the faint remnants of black surrounding his slightly swollen eye, and then he turns away.
“How?” Asher mutters in a shaky voice, rubbing circles over his ghostly white temple, bringing me back to the conversation.
“I still don’t fucking believe it,” Kieran growls, throwing himself back into his chair. His fists clench when he leans forward, placing his elbows on the table.
Ignoring their questioning glares, I pull out another copy of their contract, flip it open to the page marked by Zepp, and scan the words.
“Well, believe it. As a matter of fact, don’t forget it. I’ve been doing this for three years now, and this is how it will go. There are moving vans on their way to all your residences right now.” I raise a brow when Kieran glowers at me with an unrelenting stare, but I shake him off. Nothing he can do will deter me from doing my job. “You’re to pack whatever you want to take with you on a six-month vacation.”
“Six months?” Rad gasps with wide eyes, finally looking up at me again. My heart pounds as memories of him and I on his dirt bike come back to mind but quickly dissipate. I don’t have time to rehash memories that bring me nothing but pain. The quicker they get this done, the quicker we can move on with our lives.
“You’ll never have to worry with me, Pretty Girl. I’ll fight off the monsters and keep your brain in your head,” he murmurs, shoving the helmet over my head with force and buckling it under my chin.
I shake myself out of that stupid, childish memory. I did have to worry about him. He loved me with his entire soul and pursued me the hardest. Only to drop me for whatever reason. Was it the Van kiss? Or did they decide they’d gotten their use out of me with Battle of the Bands? I did my job. They just didn’t hold up their end of the bargain.
“You can’t be serious,” Kieran shouts. “I can’t leave my place! That’s mine. There’s no way?—”
“It says it in the contract,” Callum cuts in with a quiet but authoritative voice.
“Why the fuck didn’t we read that better?” Kieran grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why didn’t you?” He glowers at Callum, who reads through the contract again, shaking his head.
Clearly, their friendship is falling to pieces. Judging by their cutting glances at each other and snarky attitudes, they can’t wait to leave each other’s presence. The Kieran I knew before was never this cruel to anyone. Sure, he had an attitude problem. But this? This seems like more.
“Yes. You owe West Records six months of total dedication. You’ve had time to sow your wild rock star oats, and now you need to prove that our investment was worth it. Six months at the Band House. Six months of practice, therapy, and rebuilding yourselves up. Six months of being mine.” An ominous grin spreads across my face, making each of their expressions drop. “And if you fail, you can say goodbye to your contracts and hello to unemployment. No other record company will dare to sign you after you leave us. They’ll all know you failed my program because I’ll make sure of it. The choice is yours. Music or nothing. At any time during this process, you’re free to leave. But your contract will be void. Oh, and I’m the ultimate judge. So, piss me off again, and you’re done.” I hold Kieran’s stare when his gaze hardens again. But for the first time since stepping foot in this room, he bites his tongue.
Good boy.
One point River. Zero for the boys.
“What the fuck did we sign up for?” Rad asks, swallowing hard, apprehension crossing his face.
“Bullshit, that’s what,” Kieran so helpfully adds with a huff.
“Glad we have that settled. Moving vans are at all your places now. I suggest grabbing everything you’ll need for the next six months. Your new home will be furnished, and a recording studio will be in the basement. I expect all your instruments to be there. We’ll start practice at 8:45 a.m. Monday morning.”
“Eight AM?” Kieran shrieks again with wide eyes. “What the fuck?”
“I’m well aware of your extracurricular activities, Mr. Knight, which include not waking up until two in the afternoon, but this is rock star boot camp. Welcome to your new hell,” I say, gathering my papers into the folder and nodding at each of them. “You’re dismissed. A limo will pick you up at your respective homes, and they will escort you to the Band House. There we will have another meeting of expectations, rules, and another six-month contract for you to sign.”
Each of them nods, looking more confused as I step away from the table, clinging to the file folders resting against my chest. It’s the only thing grounding me. I hold my breath the entire way through the back doors, only releasing my breath when they close behind me and block me from the boys I once loved.
My brothers rest on the loveseat near the wall, cautiously eyeing me as I rigidly stand there. Everything inside me wants to crumple into a ball and not exist for a day just from seeing them. I’m all for putting on a brave face, but right now, tears burn the back of my eyes. Once upon a time, they meant the world to me. Apparently, I meant nothing. An ache forms in my chest as I collect myself, swallowing the hurt and betrayal.
“You did good,” Seger sings his praises, rising from his seat. Having observed the entire encounter through the two-way mirror, he probably watched me like a hawk.
Immediately, he engulfs me in his arms, holding my shuddering body. “So fucking good, River. You’re going to knock them into shape; I can see it now. We know your history with them, but you’ve got this.”
I give myself a moment to break down. And then, I back away, lifting my chin at their praises.
“Very impressive,” Zepp says, nodding his head as he approaches me. Placing a hand on my shoulder, he gently squeezes, taking me out of my momentary freak out that I’ll save for later. “We believe in you, River. We would never have made you do this if we didn’t think you could handle it.”
“This feels like a shitty test,” I grumble through a quivering lip, recalling the ugly name the band used. Central Trash. It fucking hurts to be reminded of where I came from. But then again, it proves how far I’ve come from the girl stumbling through life.
“You’re a fucking rock,” Seger adds, sidling up to me on the other side. “No one in this fucking place can do better than you. We know you’ll be able to help them turn their fucking life around.” He raises a sharp brow, emphasizing his belief in me.
A belief I don’t feel.
I came into that room with revenge bleeding through my veins, begging for vengeance against the men who fucking ruined me. And now, I have to face them daily, organizing their lives and hoping they don’t wreck me all over again.
We all flinch away from the two-way mirror, watching in horror as Kieran practically destroys the conference room with his anger.
Instead of running in there to stop him, Seger chuckles. “Ah, that one will be the fucking worst to tame.”
“You’ve got this,” Zepp mumbles with reassurance. “We’ll give you a raise after this.”
“Much deserved,” I quip, shaking my head when Kieran storms away.
“Miss West!” Kat, my assistant, comes rushing in with a grim expression on her lips.
“Kat, call me River. Miss sounds way too damn formal,” I grumble, noting the pale expression she’s wearing.
“River,” she murmurs softly, leaning in. “It happened again.” My heart fucking drops into my ass, and I numbly nod.
“Um, thanks for that… I’ll deal with it.” Something seriously has to give. First them, now this shit. How much more can I suffer through in one day? Ugh.
“Okay. I need to…” She motions out the door, and I dismiss her with a wave of my hand.
“Is she doing okay?” Zepp asks, watching her retreating form.
“As good as she’ll get,” I say with a shrug. “Still needs some improvements, but she’ll get there.”
“There you fuckers are!” Chase chides, walking into the tiny room with his arm around their wife, Kaycee. Her brows dip as she looks me over, examining my ruffled expression. But before she can speak, Chase interrupts with his usual cheerful disposition, dipped with concern. “What did you do to Little West?” Chase asks with a frown, eyeing my face and heaving chest.
“Not now,” Seger gripes, running a hand down his face. “We’ll explain later.”
Waving a hand, I shake off the doom sitting on my shoulders and plaster on my best fake smile. “Nothing. I’m fine. Just a hard job ahead.” Hard is the understatement of the fucking century. “I’ll run and get Lyric from the daycare and meet you in the lobby?” Kaycee nods, brows furrowing like she wants to ask what’s wrong, but decides against it.
“Okay,” she says with a tight smile. As I walk past her, she grabs my elbow and stops me. “Something is off. We’ll talk about this later, right? Maybe a girl's night?” She examines my face when I nod, promising to fill her in later over a glass of wine. Scratch that; make it four glasses.
With that, still clutching their files to my chest, I make my way through the large skyscraper and head to the daycare to get Lyric the hell out of this building without being noticed.