Xander
Wilde
Last night definitely didn’t go as
planned—a visit to the ER, then sleeping in a chair next to Zane all night on
the bus because the steroids he was given freaked him out. It’s noon and Amy
and I are just arriving at the Pelican Hill Resort. Breathless was leaving
right after the show last night so Amy had already planned to ride with us and
meet up with them in Irvine. She invited me to some party being thrown by her
band’s label that I would have rather not gone to but Ellie, the tour manager,
insisted we all go for the good PR.
I’m exhausted and really need
some sleep before dealing with the press and tomorrow night’s show. The
paparazzi have been everywhere—by the bus as we exited to the waiting car in
LA, outside the doctor’s office, at the gates of Zane’s father’s house, and now
they’re here in Irvine at the hotel.
To avoid the chaos awaiting us in
the lobby, I call Ellie, who is already here, and ask her to check me in and
meet me at the pool bar with the key. Draping my arm around Amy, we head that
way. I’ve been here a few times so I know my way around. Cutting through the
grotto and over to the pool and cabanas, I steer Amy to the right and stop in
my tracks as all the air rushes from my lungs.
My body floods with adrenaline
and my gut twists. I don’t even have to do a double take because I’d know her
anywhere. There’s no mistaking her. She’s just so beautiful—the elegant planes
of her face, those high cheekbones, red lipstick, her platinum blonde hair
shorter than it used to be tucked behind her ear, that face of an angel. She looks
the same. No, she looks better. Her skin glistens in the sun and my gaze
automatically follows the shape of her long legs. They look smooth and tan
against her white bathing suit. An ache forms in my chest as I think about
running my fingers up them. She’s still that eighteen-year-old girl I once knew
but now she has the body of a woman—lean and toned and full of curves. When she
moves it’s so familiar it doesn’t seem like a day has passed—and everything I
ever felt for her, it’s all still inside me.
My pulse races at the mere sight
of her. She’s lounging in the cushioned chair reading a magazine just outside a
cabana. My heart slams harder in my chest when she sticks her earphones in her
ears like she always used to do and it transports me back to the last time I
saw her do the very same thing. We’d skipped school and were at my
grandparents’ house—their pool. She was lying on the lounge chair listening to
music and singing along—her voice so full of soul. I’d moved to sit with her
under the guise of putting lotion of her back. She sat up and smiled that shy
smile she didn’t need to have when she was with me. I squeezed the tube into my
hand and after rubbing them together I slowly applied it to her back kneading
my way up and down, touching every inch of her that I could.
It brings me back to the here and
now when she suddenly sits up and looks over at me. Her eyes pin me in place.
She looks at me as if she remembers me for who I was, what we were, not what I
did to her. With my chest pounding, memories of us keep flashing through my
mind. Fighting a smile, I wonder if she’s thinking the same thing—remembering
what we were, what we shared, how we loved.
She quickly breaks our connection
when she averts her eyes over to the man handing her a drink. I suck in a deep
breath trying not to feel sick at the sight. He’s nearing fifty, wearing a
terrycloth robe. He’s about my height, dark brown hair, meticulously groomed
facial hair, and not exactly ripped but fit. He’s Damon Wolf, a man I’ve never
actually met but hate all the same. I’ve seen their picture on TV and in
magazines. He’s her agent, her fiancé, and I’m sure he’s the reason she’s not
singing anymore.
She looks up at him with that
same forced smile she used to give people she just wanted to appease and mouths
“thank you.” I have a sudden urge to go over and deck him when her gaze shifts
back to mine and he pulls her chin back to look at him. I can sense a
discomfort between them. We could sense each other’s feelings even when we
weren’t near each other.
Amy’s hand slides down my face
and I have to blink a few times before I can hear what she’s saying. Glancing
one last time at Ivy I see that she’s staring at me again. Then suddenly her
mouth forms a scowl and she flicks her attention toward him. Hooking her arm
around his neck, she pulls him down for a kiss and I think I might throw up.
“Are you okay?”
I nod. Not able to say a word.
“Isn’t that Ivy Taylor over
there? The girl you used to date in high school?” Amy asks. There’s an
irritated tone to her voice I’m not used to hearing and it makes me agitated.
“Yeah, it is,” is all I say. She’s not just a
girl I used to date…she’s the only girl I ever really loved. She’s also the
girl whose heart I broke. Seeing her now brings back all those feelings I
blocked, ignored, tucked aside. So many times over the years I wanted to go
after her and tell her the truth—but I never did. Why I don’t know. Then one
day it was too late—she had gotten engaged.
Amy chatters on. “I think that’s
Damon Wolf with her. We should go say hi.”
My body goes cold and my face
blank at the thought. I straighten and just as I’m about to say, “No fucking
way,” my phone vibrates in my pocket. Squinting at the screen, I see that it’s
my brother. I look over to Amy and motion toward the bar. “Hey, this is River.
I need to take it. I’ll meet you over there in a minute.”
“That’s fine. We can catch up
with them later. I’ll go order us a drink.” She smiles and starts toward the
bar.
Turning around to avoid staring
at Ivy, I answer the phone. “It took you long enough to call me back.”
“I was in a meeting and stepped
out as soon as I could, so don’t start. What did the doctor say about Zane?”
“He’s out for the rest of the
tour and we’re fucked.”
“You sure? You’re back in LA for
almost two weeks after tomorrow night right? Isn’t that enough time for him to
heal?”
“Technically yes. But his old man
wants him out. The doctor said that he couldn’t be sure how long the blood that
accumulated under his vocal cords had been there but obviously last night, the
amount of ruptured vessels was enough to cause his voice to change. He advised
at least two weeks of rest before another evaluation to see if surgery is
necessary. Zeak wants his son to take a longer period of time off. He’s just
afraid that if Zane keeps singing and it keeps happening, scar tissue will
build up and cause his voice to change forever.”
“Do you blame him?”
“No I don’t,” I tell River and I
feel like shit that I have to put him in a position to do what he didn’t want
to do in the first place. But I also know that if I don’t, the band won’t
survive. If I have to cancel this tour—the Wilde Ones are done. So I ask, “Did
you talk to Dahlia?”
He sighs. “Yeah, I did. She’s
cool with it, Xander. I’m just trying to figure it all out.”
“You know I’ll do whatever you
need me to do, right?”
“Shit why can’t you just be an
ass and make it easy for me to say no?”
“Because you have no idea what
this means to me.”
“Actually I do, and that’s why
I’m going to make it happen. But Xander, remember I can’t play a twelve
string.”
Laughter and relief take hold of
me. I feel a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. “Right now I wouldn’t care if
you only played the violin,” I joke.
He laughs and I add, “You’ll be
here tonight?”
Now he sounds slightly annoyed.
“I said I would. We might be a little late so don’t get your panties in a wad.”
“That’s cool. Thanks for
everything. Hey, one more thing.’
“What?”
“Ivy Taylor’s here.”
“No way. Have you talked to her?”
“Fuck no. You know she won’t talk
to me. And besides she’s with that asshole.”
“You should talk to her. Tell her
the truth.”
“What’s that going to do now?
She’ll just think I’m lying.”
“You want me to talk to her? I
can explain everything.”
“No. I don’t need my little
brother to fight my battles. I’ll talk to her if I feel the time is right. Do
you hear me?”
“Whatever you say. Look, I have
to run but I want to discuss this later. And Xander…you don’t know he’s an
asshole. Just because Dad said his name once doesn’t mean shit.”
“Right. Okay, see you tonight,” I
say and end the call. My head is spinning knowing that after all these years
I’m actually in the same place she is. I want to talk to her, tell her
everything but what would it matter now anyway. Glancing behind me, I catch
another glimpse of her with him that turns my stomach. He’s such a slime ball.
Since his father was hospitalized and he took over the business, he’s been
scooping up labels, tearing them apart, and rebuilding them with bands he
thinks are better fits. My guess is he picked up Jane’s label—that’s why he’s
here. I heard they were having some financial difficulty and he’s just the kind
of bottom feeder that would want to capitalize on not only being her agent but
now also her producer. The sight of him touching Ivy makes my skin crawl.
Damon Wolf—two of the last words
my father ever spoke to me before killing himself, and I never knew why. Of all
the guys in the world Ivy had to end up with him—why him? I look up and they’re
gone. But I’m anything but relieved. Rubbing my chin, I’m antsy, agitated, pissed
as hell, but feel more alive than I have in years.
Kim Karr is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of romance, including her sexy New Adult romance series, Connections. She describes herself as wearing a lot of hats–writer, book-lover, wife, soccer-mom, taxi driver, and the all-around go-to person of the family. However, she always finds the time to read. She believes in soul mates, kindred spirits, true friends and Happily-Ever-Afters, and loves to drink champagne, listen to music, and hopes to always stay young at heart. Kim lives in Florida with her husband and four kids.
