Chapter 2
brODIE
TWO YEARS AGO
“I’m not recording this piece of shit you call a song. It’s garbage.”
I finished talking and stared at Van and then Greg.
“What?” I snapped. “It sucks, and I won’t have my name attached to it.”
“You’re being unreasonable,” Greg replied calmly. “Lawson Raine is one of the most in-demand songwriters in the business.”
“I don’t care who he is or what his resume says; the song is fucking crap. Van?”
Van’s blue eyes settled on mine; then he turned to Greg. “I agree with Brodie. It’s subpar songwriting. It’s not worthy of the band or their brand.”
Greg shook his head. “I know Lawson personally, so I—”
“I don’t care if you’ve fucked him; the answer is still no,” I bit out.
Greg glared at me. “Watch your mouth, Brodie. And I know what sells. I didn’t get to where I am by making stupid choices. Now—”
“Hold on, Greg,” Van interrupted. “Maybe I wasn’t clear enough. Brodie and I are in charge of the song selection for the band. You gotta trust his instinct and mine. This song isn’t worthy of Wayward Lane. And I know Lawson, too, but this piece is just not cutting it. Come on, you gotta see that.”
“Van’s right. I’ve read better lyrics on graffiti walls downtown,” I added.
Van’s sudden bark of laughter sparked mine.
Then I watched Greg’s face turn from pink to purple, the vein in his forehead throbbing.
Not that I gave a shit. I wasn’t changing my mind. If Greg wanted to record that crappy song, he could do it himself.
“Fine,” Greg mumbled and stood up. “But you better come up with something and fast. Recording for the album starts in three days. If you don’t have an eighth song lined up, you’re recording this one.”
Then he turned around and stomped out of the studio.
“That went well,” I chuckled and turned to Van. “And thanks for sticking up for me.”
“Of course. And I have a new piece for you to look at. It’s not finished, so I didn’t want to show it to Greg. But I think it would work for you guys.”
Van handed over a set of sheet music, and I carefully read every line. Then I noted the name of the songwriter, Corley Hewitt. I glanced at the edits on the page, and something familiar about it rattled in my brain, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was…
“It looks good. Can the writer finish it in time for recording?”
Van nodded. “I’ll get it organized.”
“By the way, I’ve got a date for the Bandit party on Friday. I’ll send you their details, make sure the guy gets a pass, and anything else he needs for the night.”
Van’s friendly expression iced over.
“What’s the problem?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Van paused, running an agitated hand through his hair. “Normally, you don’t bring a date to events. Is this someone you’re seeing regularly or—”
“Fuck no! I don’t date,” I scoffed and stared at Van. “It’s some friend of Holls from L.A. He’s a big fan.”
“I bet he is,” Van mumbled and tapped on his phone.
“What are you so cranky about?”
“Nothing.”
“Why don’t you ever bring someone to these things?” I asked.
That was my lame attempt at trying to find out if Van was dating anyone. So far, I hadn’t been able to pry any information out of him.
And we talked about everything.
Everything but Van’s sex life. And my curiosity needed to be sated.
Despite having my choice of men, I was getting bored. You read that right.
Only one man could hold my attention outside the bedroom, and I was staring right at him.
And lately, the need to have Van inside my bedroom was fucking with my head. Both of them.
All this to say, Van was occupying way too much of my attention lately, and it had to stop. Between that and the tour schedule, my sleep was non-existent. So much that I was now downing sleeping pills like rock candy.
Friday night, things would change. My date would be the perfect distraction.
“I don’t have the time or desire to bring a date,” Van replied. “Anyway, back to Friday, since this guy is Holloway’s friend, for fuck’s sake, let him off nicely. I don’t have time to deal with the PR team this week.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault that some guys get the wrong idea. It’s not like I tell any of my hookups I want more than a fuck.”
“Anything else?” Van asked as he stood up.
“Yeah. Are you going to be there?”
“As usual.”
“Good. Save me a dance.”
Van laughed as he walked out of the room.
I wasn’t kidding, but the joke was still on me.
VAN
I was sitting in my office the day after the party, staring at the PR photos of Brodie.
He looked like his usual self, smiling, or rather smirking, for the camera. But I could tell by his eyes that something was up with him. Even with makeup, he couldn’t hide the dark circles and bloodshot eyes.
I knew Brodie was having problems sleeping and had been prescribed pills months ago. Was he abusing them? Mixing them with other drugs?
That anxiety sparked a real concern in me and, next thing I knew, I grabbed my keys and made for the door.
It would be best to drop by and see him in person. If there was a health issue, I wanted to know so we could address it right away.
I sent off a quick text and waited for his reply as I made my way down to the parking garage.
All I got was a “K” in response.
Then I wondered if Brodie’s date was going to be around when I got there. That thought had the acid in my stomach churning away.
It was only because I felt protective of him. There were a lot of users out there and men who wanted to take advantage of his fame and money.
And now that we were in each other’s lives more than anyone else, our friendship had grown closer.
Lately, though, I was possessive of his time, which was not like me. I mean, I cared about all the musicians I worked with.
But not like him.
Pushing my strange mood aside, I drove to his house and knocked on the door.
Brodie answered it wearing his usual jeans and nothing else, all his intricate tattoos on display.
His hair had grown out a bit, and the black waves were mussed and sticking up on end.
But the only thing that held my attention were the violet circles under his eyes.
They seemed to be there permanently these days.
“What’s so urgent?” he asked as he stepped aside to let me enter.
“Are you having issues with the pills your doctor gave you?”
Brodie shook his head and wandered down the hallway.
“I need them to sleep. I can handle it.”
“How many do you take? Are you taking them every single night?”
Brodie’s steps faltered, but he remained silent.
“Dee?”
“Two. At least. Maybe three pills. And yeah, every fucking night. Sometimes with a drink or a spliff. A couple of sedatives. It’s fine.”
“It’s not. You shouldn’t be taking them every night. And not with sedatives. They’re addictive.”
“I’m in control, Van! I’m fine. You can see I’m fine. Stop mothering me!” he yelled and stomped into the kitchen.
I followed and watched him as he yanked on the fridge door. He pulled out a bottle of juice and chugged half of it.
“How long?” I asked.
“What?”
“How long have you been on the pills now?”
“Six months or so. Why?”
“You need to go back to your doctor. He’s gotta wean you off them. Don’t you get it? The longer you take them, the worse your sleep is gonna get. And the more pills you’ll need.”
Brodie’s eyes blazed. “Get out!”
“What?”
“Get out of my house! I don’t need you coming in here and telling me what to do!”
I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Dee, this is serious shit when it comes to your health. Not only that, but I have to tell Greg.”
Brodie slammed the bottle down on the counter and got right in my face. My heart was pounding furiously in my chest.
I’d already lost someone I loved a year ago. I couldn’t lose him, too.
And I knew, I just knew how these things went. I’d seen it many times in my career with many musicians.
He’d start taking more and more, and then he’d need a different pill or drug to wake him up, then there would be a phone call in the middle of the night and…
“Please, Dee, I can’t—” My voice cracked, and I reached for him. “I don’t want you to get sick or worse. You gotta nip this thing now. Please. Please.”
Brodie stared at me, silent. Then something in his gaze flashed, and he nodded, surprising me.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes. I’ll speak to my doctor. And not just about the sleeping pills,” he muttered.
“What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “It’s nothing. Nothing you can fix.”
“Try me.”
Brodie shook his head. “Can you come with me? I hate going there by myself. Doctors creep me out.”
“Anything you need.”
“Thanks, Van. Sorry I yelled at you.”
Brodie didn’t apologize. Ever. Hearing and seeing him like this was totally unnerving.
“I’m used to it by now,” I chuckled, trying to ease the tension.
My heart was still pounding hard, my body was shaking, and my hands were sweaty. Brodie looked so lost that I reached out and pulled him into my arms.
He gripped me tightly, trembling, and I heard a sniffle. He notched his face in my neck, and I rubbed his back in soothing circles.
“I know it’s not going to be easy, but it’ll be okay. You’ll be off the pills in a few months.”
Then he began to shake, and I held on even tighter.
“Every step of the way, I’m here. I’m always here.”