The Sound of Temptation: A Standalone Second Chance Forbidden Romance, page 29
I need to see this.
Music has become even more of a sanctuary for me. When I’m writing, playing, singing, my mind is clear, my heart isn’t constricted by indecision. My music is. I’ve stayed sane and relatively sober since the world fell out from beneath me.
It was rough at first.
Jack convinced me that fucking someone would cure me.
So, I tried. I found a girl who looked like Beth, at least from the back. I took her home, fucked her face down and tried to pretend she was my baby. But from the feel of her pussy to the way she smelled, there was no pretending she was anything more than a replacement. I hustled her out of there. And then I fucking cried in the shower.
Beth wasn’t just a woman I loved fucking. She owns a piece of my heart, and always will. Once I came to terms with that, I decided to focus on the other thing I loved, music.
My band, Blue Clover is official and we’ve done it our way. I’m the main song writer, lead singer and pianist. Dane is our drummer. Heath is our guitarist and Lucas is on bass.
In the process of writing this album, we laughed, we cried, and went a little crazy, but the end result was some of the most beautiful and heartbreaking music we’d ever heard. I laid my burden down and left everything on the pages of composition sheets I filled with my love story.
Things were starting to feel normal. I had entire days where Beth only came to me in my dreams.
Until last month when Phil changed his tactics. Instead of calling, he sent a text from a number I didn’t recognize. It was a picture of her wedding invitation with three words, “FYI”
Whoever or whatever is in charge of this mysterious world is a fucking sadist. Because that’s all it took to send me back into the hell I’d finally started to escape.
The one where everyone and everything reminded me of her.
The one where I make myself come in the shower to the memories of fucking her and eating her and then spend the day choking on my self-loathing.
The one where I still remember how she tastes and what an addict I am for it.
I would find myself wishing I’d never met her and then snatching the thought back, feverishly. Just the thought of a world where she doesn’t exist makes it hard to breathe.
I miss the way she winked every time our eyes met across the room.
I miss the way she pressed her nose to my throat and inhaled every time we hugged. I miss the way she licked my lip at the start of our kisses.
I miss our arguments, her laugh, her stubbornness, her magic.
Our magic that we used to spin ourselves a cocoon of inspiration, lust, and love.
I’m consumed by thoughts of her and it’s ruining my life.
I haven’t been able to write, or play since I got the invitation.
I need to end this.
So, here I am.
It’ll hurt. But it won’t kill me. When this is over, I’ll be stronger.
So, I’m going to sit here and watch Elisabeth Mortimer Wolfe becomes someone else’s wife.
The sick part of me that doesn’t give a fuck what DNA or the law says will be permanently deprived of its main source of sustenance — hope.
And then I will, finally, move on.
After avoiding it since I walked in, I force myself to face forward and look at Duke Tremaine.
At the sight of him, my throat tightens, and my eyes start to burn.
He’s surveying the crowd of people gathered to watch his triumph.
He looks so fucking smug. When his eyes sweep the corner where I’m sitting, his smile tightens and something like fear flashes in his eyes. But, when I blink in surprise, his gaze has moved on and his smile is restored
I must have imagined it. Even if he could see me, why would be afraid?
He won.
And if this is happening, it’s her choice. I know from my own experience, that when your heart is broken, sometimes you end with the very last person you’d ever chose.
Except, he’s actually the very first person she chose. For good reason. She’ll get her inheritance and her way out.
I should be happy for her.
But, I’m not. I’m fucking angry and bitterness is digging its claws into my chest.
The pipe organ’s soft background noise stops abruptly and then, in the next beat, it launches into the familiar opening strains of Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major.
I turn with the rest of congregation and see a groomsman standing there with Dina on his arm.
As she passes me, her gaze sweeps the section where I’m sitting. The flash of alarm in her eyes before she moves on, surprises me, but it’s also clear that I’m visible from this vantage point. I don’t want to think about what might happen if Beth and I make eye contact.
The music stops and the doors to the church close. Everyone surges to their feet when the next song starts.
Except me.
The song that’s playing is the one I have tattooed on my arm, Sonata 17 in D Minor.
It’s not a popular wedding song, but it’s one of Beethoven’s most popular pieces. It’s possible that this is just a coincidence.
Then I hear the modification I made to the sixth and tenth stanzas. And I know it’s not.
Oh my God.
Beth is going to walk down the aisle to my song. Did she hope I’d hear it and take it as a sign? Does she want me to stand up and object?
I get a grip on myself. She doesn’t even know I’m here. She’s made her choice. It’s going to be fine. I just have to get through this. I’ve got my whole life ahead of me.
I glance around, noting the exits on the outside of the pew. My throat is raw — as if I’ve been screaming. My heart races like it’s hitched to a thousand unbroken horses, and the whooshing of my blood pumping to keep up with it all is so loud I want to cover my ears with my palms.
The program I picked up on my way in is completely unrecognizable as the ivory card stock bifold it once was. This attack of anxiety has turned it into something that resembles what I imagine my twisted soul looks like.
Too late, I realize the monumental proportion of my error.
This pain isn’t the kind that will make me stronger.
It’s the kind I will wish I hadn’t survived.
I have to get out here.
Like the devil himself is chasing me, I surge to my feet and ignore the shocked gasps of my pew mates when I trip backwards and trample their toes and knees in my uncoordinated attempt to stand up straight.
I stumble the into the outer aisle and push open a swinging door that leads to hallway. There’s a door with a huge exit sign above and I stride out of the church.
I don’t stop until I get to my rental car. I never look back. I focus on putting distance between me and the hellhole of a town.
The hollowed out place inside that used to be filled with all of the promises I made the woman I love is raw and aching. But in the months to come, it will be the source of all my inspiration.
Because as I drive away, a song starts to come together in my head and I know I’ll never put it to paper. This is a song about the new chapter, the one I’m facing without her. One I’ll never finish writing because it’s an endless stretch of time.
This is the beginning of a new us.
This is the start of a new world.
One where we learn to live without each other
One where all we do is miss each other.
Tied together, but pulled apart,
And somehow this feels like just the start.
It’s definitely not the end.
‘Cause we’re us….
And us, is forever.
PART 3
1 YEAR LATER
Los Angeles, California
42
Carter
Friends, no Benefits
“Hey, C, you’ve got a visitor,” Dane sticks his head into the Live Room. I’ve been holed up writing since last night.
I glance at my watch, see the 6am time and frown.
Our first single debuts on national radio today and we’re supposed to meet here this afternoon to listen. It’s the first time we’ve seen each other since we wrapped up all the pre-recorded promotional material last week.
It was supposed to be down time before we head off on our three month long promotional tour.
I’ve been in the studio by myself all week, focusing on writing new music. It’s the only thing keeping me sane and sober. I’m not expecting anyone, my bandmates included, for at least another hour.
“Why are you here so early? And what visitor?”
“This visitor, you fucking asshole,” Jack’s voice reaches me before he appears in the doorway.
“Jack?” I stand up in surprise. I ask, confused and alarmed to see him.
He strides into the room and slams the door in Dane’s face without a word.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, alarmed by the barely restrained anger pouring off him.
Instead of answering me, he drops wearily onto the couch in the corner and sweeps his gaze around the room. His expression is distinctly unimpressed as it lands on me.
“Is everything okay at home?” I prod when he doesn’t answer.
He inspects his fingernails with exaggerated nonchalance. “I’m surprised you remember you have a home. Seeing how you forgot that you have a family. I thought maybe, you’d forgotten everything.”
“What are you talking about? I talk to at least one of you every single day.” I ask, annoyed now, too.
“Oh, I know. And you’ve told us all about LA, and your music, and your little band, and all that shit. You forgot to tell us that you found your biological brother. The one that your biological mother, who you also found, gave birth to ten years after she gave birth to you. And that you found out Dad had a sister. “
My heart drops like a stone in water to my toes.
“Jack, I can explain.” Are the only words I can muster.
In the span of the second it takes him to surge to his feet, he is transformed. His nostrils flare, his lip curls and he’s vibrating with unadulterated, unbridled, anger.
I tense, instinctively braced for him to launch himself at me.
He stops an inch away from us being toe to toe and roams my face, inspecting it like he’s looking for something.
When our eyes meet, I flinch at the disappointment in his. He snorts in disgust and looks down, as if the sight of me hurts him.
I’m gripped by a keen sense of helplessness. I don’t know what to say. How do I explain that the chapter of my life he’s asking me to probe is one I’m too afraid to revisit?
“I drove all the way here.” The change in subject is so abrupt that I wonder, for a second, if I missed something or misheard him.
“From the airport?” I ask, cautiously because he’s still staring at the ground and his voice is thick with anger.
“I didn’t fly, Carter.” His words are as gritty and rough as gravel, but I forget his anger and gawk at him.
He rotates his head, as if just talking about the drive is making his neck stiff.
“Wait. You drove from New York?” I gape.
“No, from Austin,” he says around a large yawn.
“What were you doing in Austin?” I ask, but guess before I even finish the question.
I should have known that I couldn’t bury my head in the sand and ignore Phil forever.
Pure disdain is etched onto every angle of his face. That fierce, dark look he’s got locked on me was one of the secrets to his success on the soccer pitch. And now, I understand why. I’ve never backed down from a fight with him, but right now I’m thinking about making a run for it.
“I was there meeting your other brother. He’s been trying to reach you for months. When he couldn’t, he reached out to me, on fucking Instagram. He said he had something important to give you, and didn’t want to risk sending it to your agent’s office because it’s highly personal. So, I flew down to see him.”
“Why? You could have just given me the message?” I ask, genuinely puzzled. Jack hates to travel, especially by plane.
His lip curls again. “Because, ass wipe, I wanted the whole story and I didn’t trust you to give it to me. And boy was I right. He told me that fifteen months ago you found out that Beth was your fucking half-sister. That Loren Bosch isn’t your biological father. That’s a whole lot different than your whole it didn’t work out bullshit.” He makes air quotes around his caustic words.
The blood drains from my face as remorse, fear, and resentment coalesce to turn my gut into a churning sea of contradiction.
I’m sorry that he found out this way. But, my decision to keep my family in the dark wasn’t a whim taken in a moment of panic. It was deliberate. When I limped back home, I was hanging on to everything by a thread. And the truth, at the time, was too terrible to give voice to.
Now, though, I can see that the lies I told them were the real transgression, the truth was… just that.
He lets out a harsh, exhausted sigh and shakes his head. “I know I’m an asshole. I know I’m not warm and fuzzy. I call you on your crap and I’m not fucking sympathetic, but God dammit, you can’t keep shit like that to yourself, Carter.”
“I didn’t know how to tell you about Dad. I felt like, maybe you didn’t really need to know. It didn’t change who he was to you.”
“Fuck that. We should have been there with you while you were waiting to find out. Dammit, Carter.” He slams his hand down on the top of the piano, the crack of the contact sends a discordant reverb through the room
He shakes his head, his anger framed and muted by disappointment, now. “I’m your brother. I would lay down, right now, and let someone cut me open, take my heart out, and put it in your chest if it would save you.” His voice is nearly a growl, and his throat works as if he’s holding back tears.
“Jackson— I’m sorry.” To my own ears, the words are a feeble and insufficient sentiment. Judging by the unwavering anger in his eyes, he feels the same way . I’ve given him plenty of reasons to be disappointed over the course of my life. Right now, though the depth of his hurt is on full display and I’m sick with guilt knowing that I’m responsible for putting it there.
“You went through some really major shit all by yourself and kept it secret from your entire family. That’s not who we are as a family. We don’t go it alone. Not when we have each other,” he says angrily.
Full of regret, I drop my head into my hands. “I know. I know. I just didn’t know how to tell you. I barely know what to tell myself.” Again, my words fail to rise to the occasion, but I don’t know what else to say.
“You know why I drove here?” he asks.
“Because you hate planes?” I quip. It earns me a scowl.
“I knew I’d need the 21-hour drive to cool down enough to not want to kick your ass when I saw you. I was wrong, because that look on your face - you look like total shit by the way - makes me want to whale on you so bad. I know you think you have a temper. But, you’re not anyone’s big brother. You don’t know what it’s like to love someone the way I love you. And it’s just…shitty to know you didn’t think you could come to us.”
He takes a step back, putting distance between us and I’m hit with a pang of worry that he’s going to say he can’t forgive me.
He runs his hands through hair. The cap of curls is a total mess. The dark circles beneath his eyes testify to the sleepless nights, as do the thoroughly crumpled and stained dress shirt he’s wearing.
He sighs wearily and closes his eyes for a beat, rubs them like he’s trying to dislodge grit. The fatigue he’s feeling is secondary to everything else because when he opens them again, they are full of an angry blue fire that pins me in place while he digs in his jeans pocket and pulls out a key card.
“I’m staying at the Beverly Wilshire. I’m going there to take a nap. Be there for dinner at 7pm. If you don’t show, I’ll come back here and beat it out of you even if your cameras are rolling.”
He slams the keycard down on the piano. “I’m in the Beverly Suite. Let yourself up.”
He’s halfway to the door when he stops abruptly. I brace for whatever he’s planning for his encore.
“Here, your other brother asked me to give this to you.” Without turning around, he flings a piece of paper over his shoulder. It flutters to the floor, and when I look up, he’s gone. Dane ducks back into the room, his eyes wide with amused curiosity. Lucas and Heath, filter in, within seconds of him wearing the same expression and sit next to him on the sofa across from the piano.
“Dude, what the fuck did you do?” Dane asks. I stare blankly at them, as I grapple for what to say. I know I’ll I need to come clean. We’ve hitched our stars together and it’s on the rise. If what happened in Winsome - any of it, ever comes out, they’ll be dragged down by it, too. They deserve the truth.
“I’ll tell you everything, but give me a day.”
I pick up the envelope he threw from the floor and freeze when I see the handwriting on the outside.
“Carter.” Is scrawled neatly in bold, slanted script that I recognize right away.
It’s from Beth…I press it to my nose and smell all of the things she means to me. Home. Love. Freedom. Joy. Need. Want. Everything.
I finger the seal of the envelope and swallow the lump my heart has made in my throat before I turn back around to face them.
“Actually guys…maybe a raincheck would be good. I’ve got…stuff.” I wave the envelope and hope they don’t make me explain.
I don’t miss the quick glances they exchange. I never choose anything over work.
Dane speaks for them. “You’ve been at it really hard this week. You could use a break, man.”
“Maybe get a workout in, too,” Dane mutters.
I look up to find them giggling like they’re a high school lunch table. “What’s funny?”
Heath manages to stop laughing first and clears his throat. “On his way out, your brother said if we wanted the studio to be in one piece tomorrow, we’d make sure you weren’t a no show at his hotel tonight.”
