Chapter 13
VAN
Iwas riding a high that I hadn’t felt in forever.
Between last night’s almost kiss and this morning’s revelations, I was jacked up with so much adrenaline I could’ve power-walked the whole way around the city.
Brodie wore his disguise; my baseball cap, a grey scarf, mirrored aviators, and a distressed leather jacket. My heart twinged with a strange ache as I looked at him in my dad’s hat.
All the childhood memories I had of Dad and me involved hot summer days at the stadium and yelling so loud for our team that we lost our voices.
Happy times, the feeling of home…
Brodie touched the brim and nodded at me, giving me that gorgeous smile of his that kickstarted my heart again.
Fuck, were we really doing this?
I set aside my analytical brain for the time being, letting my worries take a backseat as we headed out into the heart of the city to play tourist for the day.
Regan wasn’t keen on letting Brodie out with just one security personnel, so I suggested Dawson and Lennie. The four of us made an interesting group.
We found a local café, suggested by the hotel staff, and stuffed our faces full of delicious fried beignets and huge bowls of café au lait.
After the jolt of caffeine and sugar, we walked around the French Quarter, stopping at street vendors and listening to buskers who were as talented as musicians you saw on stage. And I got to practice my Francais when we entered a store that sold locally made soaps and cologne.
Thankfully, no one recognized Brodie with his shades on, his hair tucked up under the cap, and his jacket and scarf covering his tattoos.
I almost reached for his hand a time—or three—but caught myself.
He walked closer to me than usual, our bodies occasionally brushing against each other. I liked it. I liked it a lot.
And it would have to do for now.
For lunch, Brodie had us walking uptown to a place called the Oyster Shack. And it was, literally, a bright blue shack at the end of the block. But the smells, fuck, the smells were so good. Deep-fried goodness and spices.
Lennie lined up to place our order, along with two dozen people, most of them locals.
It was well worth the half-hour wait.
We ordered po’ boys and muffuletta sandwiches and split them amongst us, washing it all down with the sweetest tea I’d ever tasted.
Then, we made our way down to a place off Bourbon Street, which was particularly crowded for a Monday afternoon. Then again, it was the day before Halloween, so the party was getting started early.
“That’s the place Armand was talking about,” Brodie pointed across the street to a red neon sign that read “Stoney’s Jazz.”
“Who?”
“The concierge at the hotel. I called down before we left to get recs on the best music joints.”
“And this place is good?”
Brodie nodded. “So he said. Let’s find out.”
We stepped inside a dimly lit room filled with an eclectic range of colorful antique furniture and a mahogany bar that was already packed with patrons.
“There’s a table in the corner.”
He turned and grinned at me.
“Great minds, I was thinking the same thing.”
A hostess greeted us and steered us toward that very table.
I sat at the back beside Brodie, with Dawson and Lennie on either side of us. We ordered a round of IPAs and sat back to enjoy the crisp brew.
A jazz trio—stand-up bass, drums, and singer—took to the tiny wooden stage in the opposite corner.
With our hands hidden under the table, Brodie slid his left over my right, and we interlocked our fingers tightly.
I wished he could take off his sunglasses so I could see his eyes, but he had to leave them on.
So far, he’d gone under the radar, and we wanted to keep it that way. Then it occurred to me that wearing sunglasses indoors might attract questions, too, but no one paid us any mind.
That was the great thing about New Orleans. Eccentric was normal.
“Is there anything better than live music?” I asked him, my eyes lingering on his mouth.
“I can think of one thing, but it’s a close call.” He smiled. “This is just what I needed. This singer is amazing.”
I nodded in agreement and sat back, the soulful strains of the music settling into me. The singer’s voice was smooth, sultry, and with just a hint of a gravelly undertone. I let it carry me away to another time and place as she switched between English and French.
The song spoke of longing and love and put to mind silky sheets, glistening bodies, and heated kisses.
Brodie rubbed his thumb against mine, and it was all I could do to sit still and not lean over and take what I wanted.
I never knew I could have an insatiable hunger for a kiss. But there it was.
It shocked me.
Almost as much as Brodie’s confession this morning.
He hadn’t had sex in almost a year. A year… That’s, like, ten years for a rockstar.
And there was the fact that he was letting me set the pace.
In all the years I’d known him, Brodie was always determined when it came to what and who he wanted. Never shy with an opinion or a move.
And usually, he made the first move.
His understanding of my needs touched something deep inside of me. It was wholly unexpected but in the best possible way. This sensitive side of Brodie was as attractive as all the other facets of his personality. And I was longing to learn more.
But I was still wrapping my head around the fact that he not only wanted me, but only me.
I was going to have a hell of a hard time setting him up on that “date,” even though I knew it would all be for show.
My fear was that his date would be a much better bet than me. Someone who didn’t have my inexperience, someone who didn’t have the added complication of working for him.
Brodie’s life would be a lot easier if he’d find someone like that to hook up with. If he just ignored this chemistry between us and we went back to our usual roles—manager, singer, colleagues, friends.
Easier for me, too.
Then again, I knew his stubborn mindset. And I knew mine.
He may be letting me drive this relationship for now, but he wasn’t going anywhere. He was gonna stick with me until we reached our destination.
All I could feel was my want for this man. And his for me. It was as real as the hand I was holding.
Did I know what the fuck I was doing? No. But I wanted to keep going.
The singer ended the song by hitting the longest, lowest note, and I felt a surge of emotion that brought tears to my eyes.
Reluctantly, I let go of Brodie’s hand so we could clap along with the rest of the audience. The singer took a bow and turned to her bandmates, who nodded at the patrons.
Dawson and Lennie waved the server down and we ordered another round of beer. They got into a conversation, and Brodie turned to me.
“I miss places like this. Just blending in, feeling normal,” he admitted.
“You said goodbye to normal years ago.”
“I know. And I’m grateful.” He nodded. “I know I’m lucky. A lot of artists struggle their entire careers. I don’t regret anything. It’s just that lately, I need more than recording, touring, and partying. I need a life outside of that. And someone to share it with. A family of my own.”
My mouth dropped open.
Brodie wanted a family? That was one surprise I was not prepared for.
“Where has deep, introspective Brodie been all these years?” I teased.
“I’m only this way with you. Everyone else gets the sarcastic version.”
I mulled over his comment but hesitated to ask what I was dying to ask.
“You look like you want to say something, Van. Go ahead. You can ask me anything.”
I leaned in closer and brushed my lips against his ear. “You said you want a family of your own. Do you mean kids and everything?”
“Kids and everything,” he confessed.
A dark flush stained his cheeks. He’d probably deny it, but I noticed.
Brodie James as a dad?
I tried to picture it, and I was surprised at how easy it was. He’d be the fun one, the rulebreaker. And his kids would probably be hellions like him.
“I come from a big family, yeah? Four of us siblings, plus my parents, nieces and nephews, cousins. I love it. When I’m with them, it grounds me.
They still treat me like the annoying but obviously best-looking James in the family.
They have my back, no matter what happens with my life. And I have theirs.”
“I know what you mean. When my parents were alive and I’d travel back home, it felt like I could finally breathe again.
All the pressure and stress from work took a vacation.
I didn’t appreciate or realize just how much I was going to miss them.
I miss coming home. I certainly wouldn’t call my Nashville condo that.
It’s just a place where I sleep and do laundry.
There are no memories or feelings attached to it.
God knows, I never do any writing there; that should tell me something. ”
“Writing?” Brodie asked.
I guess now was as good a time as any.
“You’re not the only one with secrets.” I sighed and took his hand again under the table. “I’m Corley Hewitt. I’ve been songwriting for nearly twenty years. It helped pay the bills while I was a road manager and before I started at Bandit. And I still love it.”
I paused and looked at Brodie.
“I can’t see your eyes, but your body language tells me that you’re not surprised about this.”
Brodie took a sip of his beer and nodded.
“I’ve known for a few years. One night, when we were rehearsing, you dropped off a new song for us to look at. But it wasn’t the final version; there were notes and edits, and I recognized your handwriting.”
“The guys know?”
“Nope. Only me. I don’t think they pay attention to things like your handwriting.”
No, they wouldn’t.
“But you did.”
“I did, and I do. I notice every single thing about you, Van.”
A shiver wracked my body.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked.
“It was none of my business. If you wanted to tell me, you would. And now you have.”
“So—”
“So?”
“What do you think of my songs?”
Brodie burst out laughing.
Okay, that was not the reaction I was expecting.
I tried to pull my hand back, but he gripped it tighter.
“We’ve recorded what, seven of them over the past four years? What do you think? I love them. Especially your new stuff, like ‘Sideline.’ It’s more emotional.”
“Well, my muse is very inspiring,” I whispered and squeezed his hand.
Brodie’s cheeks flushed.
“You’re a gifted writer, Van. And now that you know that I know, it’s the perfect time to say we should collaborate. Write together.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah.”
“I’ve never had a writing partner before.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” Brodie responded with a teasing grin.
Songwriting was the least of it.