Our Secret Song

Emily C. Childs
Copyright © 2021 by Emily C. Childs

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the
publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Edited by Sara Sorenson

Cover by Wynter Designs

 Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Fullpage Image

Prologue

1. Alexis

2. Bridger

3. Alexis

4. Bridger

5. Alexis

6. Bridger

7. Alexis

8. Alexis
9. Bridger

10. Alexis

11. Alexis

12. Bridger

13. Bridger

14. Alexis

15. Alexis

16. Bridger

17. Bridger

18. Alexis

19. Alexis

20. Bridger

21. Bridger

22. Alexis
23. Alexis

24. Bridger

25. Alexis

26. Alexis

27. Bridger

28. Alexis

29. Bridger

30. Bridger

31. Alexis

32. Alexis

Epilogue
 Prologue
Alexis

THE FIRST TIME I was sent to the principal’s office was because I hit a
boy in the head with the hardback version of Charlotte’s Web. He told me
Wilbur the pig was a wimp and ruined the ending by spoiling Charlotte’s
fate.
The second time was for hoarding Miss Christie’s books and rehoming
them in my bookshelf. She called it stealing, but that’s such a strong word. I
appreciated them so much better than the other first graders.
But the most memorable of all my grade school office visits hit a little
closer to home. It involved the guy who slept over in the room across the
hall, whose mom invited us over for pancakes on Saturdays.
The guy who was my friend and nemesis rolled into one skinny, nine-
year-old body.
When he made fun of me for crying over Little Women in the school
library—in front of both the second and fourth grade classes—he became
more enemy than boy next door.
Don’t worry. He wasn’t laughing so hard when I stole his stupid
notebook where he wrote down poems that never rhymed and read them out
loud in front of his friends.
 I didn’t mean to scream when he tugged on my pigtails and called me a
snitch and a crybaby. I didn’t mean to smack him in the mouth, either. But
I’d never forget sitting side by side outside Mr. Henson’s office, him with
an ice pack to his cheek, me clutching Little Women (the sweet librarian told
me I could keep it if I loved it so much) to my chest.
He glared at me. I glared at him.
“Fine, Al,” he shouted with his swollen lip. “Fine. It’s sorta sad when
Beth dies. Sorta.”
“You know her name?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” He turned away from me and paled when
his dad walked into the office, eyes narrowed at both of us.
I shrunk a little in my chair, but secretly liked the way his dad glared
harder at him than me. Mr. Cole would probably give me a fist bump when
no one was watching.
Two days later a triple-folded piece of lined paper was taped to my
bedroom window. One of those weird poems written in his sloppy
handwriting. At the bottom it said:
They aren’t poems dummy. It’s a song.
B
P.S: I have tons of stupid books I don’t read. I’ll give them to Parker to
give you since that’s all you do.
P.P.S: Do you think it’s a good song?
Chapter 1
 Alexis

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN it’s gone?” My cheeks prickle in heat. This isn’t
happening. Cue the blabber in three, two, one. “How can it be gone when it
was supposed to be mine? I mean, I know it wasn’t only mine, it was more
a we thing, you know? A threshold to cross, a life to build. The after-
honeymoon refuge. Us. We. Together. I know there’s been a mistake, let me
call my fiancé.”
The woman at the desk flicks her eyes to me as I whip out my phone. She
holds a worn magazine, cover rolled back. Her cat-eye glasses perch on the
tip of her nose, the eyeglass chain is made of colorful beads. Shades of
purple, blue, of sun yellow, and strawberry red. For a moment she drags her
eyes—rife with disinterest—over my scarecrow figure. Joints and bony
points is how my tumbling coach once described me.
The sort of body image issue every girl wants.
I flash a grin at her, wishing she’d stop looking at me like I’m insane. I’m
not. I’m fidgety, and rightfully so. My apartment is gone!
Eyes on my screen, I don’t have a single message from Bryce. He must
not know the mishap has happened. He’s going to be livid.
The woman lets out a long sigh, relieves her magazine to the desktop,
and laces her fingers beneath her chin. “Sweets, how else do you want me
to put it? It’s taken. We’re full. Contracts are booked for the year. There’s
no room at the inn.”
 I take a deep breath in through my nose. A wave of sun-soaked mildew
and body odor strikes me like a fist to the throat. This was supposed to be
my palace, stinky as it is. Right now, in the heat, simply to have a roof over
my head, I could get used to the low-powered AC units. I’d tolerate the
slowly-roasting-alive smells.
“But this was reserved,” I start, a little whimpery for my tastes, but
desperate times and all. “I made the deposit months ago. We toured.” I lean
closer, as if it might help her see my features better. “Do you recognize me?
Thirteen A, the one on the—”
“Lower floor, corner. Hon, I know. Listen, what do you want me to say?
Two nights ago, Mister—”
Don’t say Hall, don’t say Hall.
“Hall. A Mister Hall called and canceled his spot on the list.”
I shake my head. This is a mistake. “But he would’ve told me.”
She tilts her head, sympathetically. “He’s your guy, is he?”
“I mean, yeah. We’ve been friends for a long time. All through our
undergraduate degrees and now into our graduate. We’ve been together
forever, as in two years. We make a good match. Everyone says so. When
he asked me to marry him, it made sense.” I pause for a breath, my mind
going faster than my tongue, and steal a glance at her nameplate. “Patti—
may I call you Patti? We’re getting married this weekend. It’s Thursday,
Patti!”
“Uh, huh. Big wedding?”
“Not really. We’re in Vegas, so why not? But don’t worry, it’s more
planned than some Vegas weddings. People are coming. My friend from
Utah, even my brother is flying in from Seattle—he’s playing against the
Mariners, you see. He’s a ball player. Cool, right? His coach never allows
players time away, but he gave him leave to give me away. Our dad is
dead.”
I let out a groan, cursing myself. No one wants that sort of thing dropped
in their laps. But sad as it, I don’t really think of my dad in a mourning way.
I never knew him.
What I’m thinking is how Parker will have to return to his team—his
entire team of sexy, professional baseball players—and let them know a
wedding didn’t happen.
I press a hand to my chest because any second my heart is about to burst
out.
Patti kneads her plump chin with her plump fingers. “Lemme ask you
this, sweets. Who, uh, who’s the money bags in this whole set up?”
“What? We’re students. I mean I paid for the apartment deposit and the
first month’s rent, but that’s because I had a little money from my dead dad.
I mean, just my dad, sorry I keep saying he’s dead. A little something for
when I graduated college.”
“Like a trust fund?”
“No, no. Like an inheritance. And not millions, more like thousands. A
good chunk of change to help with a down payment on an apartment.” Am I
wailing? Kind of. I sniff and clear my throat. “So that’s what I did with it.”
“And your fella, he, uh, he had access to this inheritance?”
“Ah, I see those wheels in your head turning, Pat. It’s not like that, okay.”
Funny, but my voice starts to tremble. “A lot . . . a lot of couples have joint
accounts.”
“Oh, hon.” Patti pouts her bottom lip.
Hot, stinging tears brim over my lashes. Am I really so stupid? Have I
been duped? No. I maintain this is a misunderstanding.
 Bryce and I get along like peas in a pod. We hardly argue. We’re logical,
intelligent human beings with a ten-year plan. My inheritance amounted to
ten grand. We spent it on a modest wedding dress, the loan on Bryce’s car,
and the down payment on the apartment. I had the money. Why wouldn’t
we use it? I can practically hear Bryce’s deep voice rattle in my skull, Joint
accounts makes finances so much simpler, Lex.
I’d believed him. For flipping sakes, he’s getting his MBA with a finance
emphasis! I’m here for Library Studies. There’s a difference in spreadsheet
and budget know-how.
“Sweetie?”
“I thought . . . I thought his ideas on how to use it were smart. Practical,
useful, avoid-debt smart.”
Patti sighs. “Do you have anyone I can call for you?”
Why would he do this? I grit my teeth, angry enough I could scream. “It
was beyond the cancelation period, though.”
“Yes, and he paid the fee.” She flicks her eyes to me again. “Honey, do
you have anywhere you can stay until you find another place?”
My chin quivers. “I’m not from Vegas.”
Not that I grew up far away, but I’m not going home. No way.
Good ole Patti nods and rifles through an old rolodex with handwritten
addresses. “Well, here. I’ve got a few friends. Now, they can be colorful.
One runs a nightclub a few blocks from The Strip, but if you don’t mind
karaoke at all hours, she’ll let you crash on the couch. Tuesday night is
ladies’ night.”
My brows lift. “A nightclub couch?”
“Unless you’d prefer my second cousin. She runs a legal brothel up in
Ely.”
 I blink through my stun and take the few addresses with a nod.
Nightclubs. Brothels. Might as well cozy up at a casino. They’re open at all
hours and I doubt the staff would notice as long as I look like I’m busy
gambling.
My throat is dry and I hardly remember staggering outside.
Ten in the morning and already the Las Vegas sun scorches the earth at a
whopping hundred and one degrees. Welcome to August in the desert. The
pavement is so hot I don’t even smell the burgers grilling at the restaurant
next door. All that’s there is dry burn.
I sit on a stone bench tucked beneath one of the many date palms lining
the lawn of the apartment complex. Even in the shade sweat gathers over
my brow. The address cards Patti gave me to my unique potential sleeping
arrangements serve as a fan. I slouch against a red sandstone wall, tie back
my long, dark hair, tug my capri pants higher on my legs—a little air is
needed—and I process.
How could Bryce do this to me? I take a deep breath and make grand
plans to call him, to figure out what’s gone wrong. Maybe he found a better
place and wanted to surprise me.
I jump when my phone buzzes in my hand. A breath of relief escapes my
throat and I’m quick to answer. “Parkagon, hey.”
My brother, Parker, usually laughs at his nickname. He is not laughing
today. “Alexis! Where are you? Where is that son of—”
“Park!” I stop him because when Parker Knight goes on a cussing rant,
he goes on a cussing rant. It’ll make the Vegas Strip blush. Then, my brow
furrows. “Wait, how did you know something was wrong?”
“Because your stupid, moron of a fiancé is all over Twitter. With Cami!”
 I stare at the shimmer of heat billowing off the sidewalks. A punch to the
gut, one felt deep under my ribs. “Cami? As in—”
“Our ex-stepsister! Yes!”
I fumble with my phone, putting Parker on speaker phone, and pull up
my app. My fingers tremble when blaring back at me is my horrible
recently ex-stepsister. She’s the kind that would give the sisters from
Cinderella a run for their money. Her botoxed, glossy lips are slobbering all
over my . . .
I draw in a sharp breath and stare at the words of the tweet, stunned.

Cam Bam Cam @camiluv4

Sorry ladies he’s taken! #whathappensinvegas #hubby
Posted four whole minutes ago. There, staring—bragging, really—right
back at my face is Cami smashed against Bryce. She holds up her hand with
a stupid not-a-diamond on her middle finger. The middle finger! Is that
supposed to mean something? Or is she that idiotic?
I can’t breathe. Air refuses to enter my lungs. It burns. I’m afraid my
heart might burst through my ribs. When did this happen? I was texting
Bryce yesterday! Where a moment ago I couldn’t breathe, now sharp puffs
of air squeak out of my throat, and I’m looking at the dusty desert peaks,
the palms, the flashing lights as through a fog.
“Lex?” Parker’s voice rattles in my ear. I can’t answer. Not yet. Talking
is too much effort.
My phone dings. A text from, ugh, my mom. This is really happening if
I’m being bombarded by text messages from her.
I ignore them and return to Parker. He always knows what to say, knows
what to do.
 “Park . . .”
His voice is softer than before and I’m grateful. Parker knows when to be
hot-headed, and when to be a big brother. “Lex, hey, it’s going to be okay.
He’s a total . . . he’s an idiot. Let’s focus on getting you somewhere, though.
I can be there in six hours if I catch the next flight.”
“No,” I say, hardly more than a whisper. For a mind that reels too much,
my brain is silent now. “No, you already got an earful from your coach
about coming on Saturday. Just . . . stay.”
Parker is two years older and my opposite. Athletic, a new closing
pitcher for the Vegas Kings. A hot shot. But my brother has always been my
guy. A true friend, despite our polar differences.
“I’m coming, Lex.”
I pinch my mouth into a tight line, breathing through my nose until my
heartrate slows. “Please, Park. I can figure this out. The lady at the
apartments was nice. She gave me some places I can stay.”
“You could go home.”
“Did you cringe as much as I did just now?”
“I did, actually.” He chuckles and something shuffles in the background.
I picture him flopping onto his bed in his fancy hotel room. He always does
that when he talks. “Okay, where are the places the lady gave you? I want
the addresses.”
Always the protector. I roll my eyes, tears still forming behind them.
“She has a few friends willing to give up a couch.”
“Still going to need to know the where?”
I can’t lie. As in, I’m terrible at lying. I have maybe two secrets to my
name and those are too embarrassing to admit, so they’re easier to keep.
 “Um, one is at Boardwalk Night Life and the other is Cowboy Ranch,
then—”
“Whoa. Back up. Did you say night life?” Computer keys click in the
background now. Great, he’s Googling. Parker snorts. “Oh, no. No way.
You said Cowboy Ranch, right? Come on, Lex. It’s in Ely.”
I laugh. “Oh, the brothel thing doesn’t get you. It’s the distance.”
“Brothels have bodyguards, so no, actually, I’d prefer it over the night
club.”
I let out a long sigh and rub the bridge of my nose. “How could he do
this? Why would he do this?”
“Because he’s a tool, Alexis.”
“Thank you for keeping it PG.”
“You’re welcome. Cami is the worst, we know that, but Bryce—I never
liked him. He was sketchy.”
I must be an idiot because I never got a sketchy vibe. More logical. The
next step would be finding a life partner, right? Someone to work with
toward mutual goals. We sort of clicked and made sense.
“You never said anything,” I whisper.
Parker hesitates. “Because you seemed determined to make this choice,
Lex. But he wasn’t good for you. Didn’t show you he loved you, or even
cared.”
Thinking on it now, Parker did pipe up a few times about Bryce’s lack of
affection.
Who doesn’t like to make out with their significant other?
Apparently, Bryce Hall. At the beginning he told me I was beautiful,
smart. He gave me those funny twists in my gut when he kissed me. He
wasn’t my first kiss or anything. The first had been passionate, forbidden.
Tempting. But it made a bit of sense when we’d dated for about a year and
he told me we didn’t need to be as hot and heavy.
Now, I have to wonder if maybe he said it because he didn’t like kissing
me.
Parker clears his throat, voice soft. “Honestly, Lex, I should’ve said
something. I have a letter. I planned to give it to you this weekend.”
“A letter.”
“All the reasons not to marry Bryce Hall. Lame, I know, but I’m
officially making a sibling declaration—if we’re going to make a super
dumb, life altering decision, and it’s totally going to ruin our happiness—
we speak up.”
I wipe at my eyes and sniff. I nod, even though he can’t see. “Deal.”
“Hey, you’ve got this. What’s the next step? Let’s work this out.”
I sit a little straighter. I have a brain. Give me a second and I’m certain a
solution to my homelessness will present itself. Thirty-three dollars in my
wallet, a rumbling stomach, a parched throat, and a suitcase is the extent of
what I have going for me.
The last of my inheritance was swallowed by tuition and fees so—
“I need to get a job.”
“Okay, maybe a roof, first, but yeah. A job is good.”
I fiddle with my braid. “I think I need to get out of the heat. It’s drying
my skin like a raisin. I think better in cooler temperatures, honestly, I think
most people do. Who wants to mentally exert when they’re burning alive?”
Parker chuckles, he always lets me ramble. “Okay, step one—get some
shade.”
“And a smoothie. I think I’ll hit up Gardenia’s Smoothie House. It’s
staring at me from across the street. It looks really good, sort of tropical
with plumerias on the windows. Yeah, I’m going to think in there.”
“Sounds good.” Parker shifts again, the rustle of his sheets loud in my
ear. “I’ll work on my end and see what I can find, okay?”
“Thanks.” My lip trembles, and I’m grateful he can’t see me.
“You’ll keep me updated?”
“Depends. Do you have practice?”
“Yes, but I sprained my wrist, so I’ll be on the bench.”
“Parker!”
“Hey,” he says, sternly. “We’re focused on you. I have an apartment to
ice my pretty little wrist tonight. You, however, do not have a place to live.
Seriously, Lex, say the word and I’m there.”
He would do it all, but truth be told, my journey to stubborn
independence means my brother is not digging into his deep, professional
ball player pockets to save me. As he said, I’ve got this.
“Thanks Park, I’ll let you know if it comes to that,” I say. “Love you
more than Jane.”
“Love you more than baseball.”
Jane Eyre and Baseball. Two very loved things. It’s a big deal.
Once we hang up, I glide across the street, avoiding a few lazy cars,
probably stalling beneath the sun, and step into the blast of cool air at the
smoothie joint. I sip a strawberry mango smoothie, pause to dream of sandy
beaches and islands for a moment, then focus. I’m used to this place. I grew
up in a small desert town forty miles away. I can handle the flashing lights,
the sequins, the feathers. I’ll take the crowds, the casinos, the smoke, and
curious smells of unknown things in stride.
I’m here and I’m staying. I came for more than a wedding. The Library
Studies program is solid.
 Two hours later, and two texts from my brother, I’m forced to report I am
no closer to finding a place than I was. I think I convinced him to stay in
Seattle after I reminded him I’m twenty-six, and there are plenty of cheap
hotels I can crash at with the remaining twenty-seven dollars in my wallet.
I get another text from Zoey, a friend from undergrad who ran off to
Southern Utah with her perfect husband. Graham really is perfect for Zoey.
I’m happy for her, but I miss her.
Zoey: Girl! What’s going on?
I lick my lips. What’s the point in avoiding it?
Me: Looks like my fiancé got married without me.
Zoey: Baseball bat? Keys? How are we handling this?
Me: We’re not. I have no idea where he is. He didn’t even have the
decency to call.
Zoey: You’re kidding? I’m going to bury him. What do you want me to
do?
Me: Nothing. No, wait, maybe text my mom and keep her from shouting
to the neighborhood what a failure her daughter is. You know how she does
that.
Zoey: *eye roll emoji* Don’t even worry about her. Want to crash here?
Me: Thanks, it’s a little far, though. Classes start Monday.
Zoey: Okay. I’m here, though. I’ve got your back.
When the texts stop, I let my shoulders slump. Maybe I ought to be
honest with Zoey and Parker. The truth is I’m terrified. I’m angry.
Embarrassed.
And I have absolutely no idea where I’m going to live.
Chapter 2
 Bridger

EVERYONE DEALS WITH THESE things differently. Stacia wears

sunglasses and pretends to have a hangover. Tate drums the walls with ball
point pens. Leo is probably high. Me, I stare at the city skyline, imagining
what it might be like to walk down the street without being incognito all the
time.
The room is filled with dozens of signs and billboards for the first string
in the two scheduled First Responder Concerts. It’s awkward staring at a
massive blown-up version of yourself.
In the promotional canvas on the wall, my dark hair waves over my brow,
perfectly styled. What did the headline say about my face—oh yeah—a
jawline made of glass. What does that even mean? Expertly trimmed scruff
is in the photo. It’s messier now. Two black studs in my ears, and they had
me put in my old lip ring.
I look fake and ridiculous.
I blink my attention back to the schedule in front of me on the desk. My
back aches from sitting so long, but these guys love to hear themselves talk.
Slouched in the chair, I spin side to side, and stare out at the Vegas Strip.
Up here on the eleventh floor, I see it all. The sun is beginning to set. The
lights of Las Vegas flicker to life. In two nights it’ll be like overcrowded
cattle down there.
Four Billboard artists. Five sets each. I’ll play guitar for Leo’s solo debut.
There’ll be a cameo duet with Ellie Walker and my band, Perfectly Broken.
Then, we’ll sing and play with Stacia Blackthorne. All on top of our own
sets.
The concert is extravagant this year. Enigma Records, the indie label that
owns me, brought out each of their headliners. All to try to fix the damage
being done.
I close my eyes, blood throbbing in my head. Don’t lose it here. Truth
wins out, right? Except non-fiction memoirs of dating a rockstar sell faster
than charity concert tickets.
I never wanted anything to taint this event, now here I am, the largest
blight of all.
I’m already exhausted.
“Hey, you good?” Ellie whispers.
I hadn’t noticed she’d scooted her rolling chair closer. I smirk and adjust
my Vegas Kings cap. “Yeah. Fine.”
“This’ll work out, you know. People will forget by Christmas.”
My jaw pulses. No doubt there are things in the book that’ll have people
remembering and believing things to their graves. I offer a grim smile.
Ellie takes the hint and changes the subject. “Think the parents will
notice if we slip out early?”
“I don’t think they even know we’re here.”
Ellie snickers. Her purple hair reminds me of my mom’s lilac bushes. Her
matching nose stud, too. A solid pop-rock name, Ellie has become a good
friend. One of the few in this industry who’s more content strumming guitar
on the sidewalk, not always in front of thundering crowds.
I heard her sing at some dive bar and loved her voice. Little did I know
she’d already been signed by our label. Ellie had an in since her brother is a
music producer, but after I saw her singing with a beer splattered
microphone and an old ball cap, we hit it off.
She has become the sunshine in the broody rockstars. Everyone loves
Ellie. Except Tate, my friend and drummer. I don’t get it.
In the back of the room, Tate thrums the wall with his pens and wanders.
Adam, our backup vocalist and lead guitar drinks, while Lance, our bassist,
sleeps. Yep. He’s long gone.
At the head, a few managers, Ellie’s brother, and two more producers
babble about the weekend plans. I don’t know what they’re so worried
about. We rehearsed last night. We’re all known artists. We can hit our
marks.
My agent, Tim, snaps his fingers. “Bridge! Come here.”
I’m twenty-eight, a professional, but it’s hard not to roll my eyes and
groan like I’m fourteen. I stand, and since no one makes room with another
chair, I crouch beside him.
“What d’you think about an ensemble number? I know, I know—it’s last
minute.”
“A little,” I say.
“But these people can’t get enough of any of you. A big, final production.
Tate comes in, buh-bom-buh-bom, drumming the beat.” Yes, Tim mimics
the drum. “Then, Lance, buh-ba-duh, ba-duh.”
Ah, now my manager is a bass guitarist.
“Let me guess,” I say with a touch of sarcasm. “Next, Adam starts to
hum.”
Tim’s eyes brighten. “Not just Adam, we’ll also bring in Ellie.”
“What?” Tate’s eyes abandon his wall. “No. She throws it off.”
Ellie’s eyes narrow. “What are you saying, Hawkins?”
 Tate scoffs, it’s not friendly.
I shake my head. Tim sighs. We all know what’s coming.
“Nothing, princess,” Tate says. His hair is tousled and messy behind his
ears, but it’s his I-don’t-care rocker look. “It’s just we’re hard rock. Add a
pretty-in-pink-pop star in the mix and you get bad branding.”
“Pretty in . . .” Ellie’s mouth drops. “I can out play you by a mile,
Hawkins. A mile.”
Tate lets out an irritated chuckle. “You? On the drums? You couldn’t last
two sets.”
“All right, guys,” Finn, Ellie’s brother, says. “Can we let this one die, just
once? Some of us have a life outside of this office.”
Tate spins his mock drumsticks in his fingers and thuds a beat to the wall
seamlessly.
“Coward.” Ellie mutters under her breath as her jaw tightens. No one else
can drop her perma-grin like Tate Hawkins.
“Annnyyway,” Tim goes on. “Perfectly Broken will start the melody,
then Ellie will take the first verse, build the crowd, you know. Then, who
should appear?” He holds out his hand. “Leo!”
Tim says his name like a basketball announcer.
I bite the inside of my cheek when Leo peeks over his rose-colored
glasses, annoyed for being disturbed, I guess.
“Then,” Tim barrels on, “you come through, smoke, yeah smoke, with
Blackthorne. The lot of you finish the last verse and the crowd brings down
the house.”
Stacia, aka Blackthorne snickers and settles back in her chair.
I lift my gaze to Tim, aloof. “I’ll do it for a million.”
 Ellie lets out a kind of choked laugh. I even get Lance to shoot me with
his fingers, grinning, though he never opens his eyes. Tim blanches, but he
recovers quickly. Nothing phases the man. A good quality in the cutthroat
industry, but just once I’d like to throw him off balance.
He nods, mind whirling, no doubt. “Okay. Yeah. Yeah. I think we can
arrange it. I can get some addendums negotiated and we’ll, uh—”
“Tim,” I interrupt. “I’m joking. This a charity concert.”
“Right. Right. So, ensemble? Yeah?”
I shrug, wanting to say no, but it’s not only me. “If everyone agrees,
fine.”
“Great,” Tim says, celebrating even though no one voiced in favor or
disfavor yet. “Oh, and I’ll make sure Mallorie gets some girl-next-door a
backstage pass. We’ll work it out, Bridge. Got your back, man.”
I crack two knuckles. “Girl-next-door? Explain that one, Tim.”
“For your image. Your new image.”
I simply stare at him, confused.
“Come on. Sweet, innocent, but daring enough to steal a rocker’s heart. I
sent this in the memo. Tell me you’re reading them.”
We stopped reading Tim’s endless memos two years ago. I shrug.
Tim lets out an irritated noise and leans over his knees. “We need to help
your image and since it’s a woman who’s causing the bad press, we’re
going to get a woman to fix it. Enter, girl next door. The sort of gal you take
home to your mom. Play it up right, and it’ll make ‘em lose their minds.”
As in the fans, or the paparazzi?
“You’re going to hire someone to stand backstage as my . . . date? To
what? Hang all over me? How pathetic do you think I am?”
 Tim snorts a laugh, but it turns into a sneeze. “Not pathetic, Bridge.
We’re doing damage control before it happens. If you don’t want me to do
it, then you find your own, but make sure she’s the right material. Not a
groupie. Got it?”
I don’t have a girl next door on speed dial. Anyone on my arm knows
exactly what they’re getting. No commitment, no relationship. I don’t do
that, not anymore. I can’t do any of it.
“Trust me on this. It’ll help. And to be honest, we could use the boost in
sales. It’s been, what? Like three years since we’ve had a top ten single.”
Tim clicks his tongue. “If you’re in a slump, we need to focus on
reputation.”
“I’m not in a slump,” I lie. It’s been two years since I’ve really written
anything that sticks in the charts.
“It’ll be a hard sell, Tim,” Ellie pipes up. “Bridge loves the ladies in the
shadows. One and done, isn’t that the policy, my man?”
I point at my friend. “Makes me sound like a total jerk, but yeah. The
shadows part. Privacy. No cameras. All things people want.”
“Ah, but you should try the ones who love the limelight,” Tate says, and
flicks his brows.
“Ugh, some of us have class, Hawkins,” Ellie mutters.
Tate frowns and whirls his pen drumsticks around his fingers, beating the
wall with a little more umph.
“Bridge, listen.” Tim says. “In a little while your life is going to be
anything but private. Get ahead of this and we win. Lose sponsors, then she
wins.”
“Some paid groupie in a scrunchie and cat sweater isn’t going to solve it.
In fact, it might make her think she’s something more, then I’ll get another
stalker out of it. Want to miss your wife’s pot roast because you’re chasing
off the lunatics?”
Tim chuckles and scratches the back of his head. “I’d sell my left hand to
miss her pot roast. You would, too. I’m the best manager in Las Vegas for a
reason. I know what I’m talking about. Take my advice, man. Either you
find yourself a Mary Sue for the cameras, or I do. Women like to know a
rebel is reformed, and sixty-three percent of your fanbase is women.”
My body stiffens. If I’d truly done the things I’m being accused of doing,
then I would not be a man worthy of forgiveness.
“I’ll think about it,” is all I say.
“Great. Thanks, kid.” Tim pats my shoulder, I suppose as his way of
excusing me.
My head is reeling a bit. I hate how this media frenzy over these new
accusations are marring the point of this concert. A fundraiser for Clark
County first responders. It’s my favorite concert of the year, the first will be
for fire and police of the entire metropolitan area. The second for medical
teams. Doctors, nurses, aides, and paramedics. It’s unique and special and
close to home.
Plus, this year marks fifteen years since the accident. Unbidden,
memories surface and I quickly shove them back down.
A few minutes later, Rich, Enigma Records CEO, claps his hands and
looks to the bored musicians. “All right, I think we got it. Don’t do any
talking tomorrow, rest those voices, and we’ll see you all at Caesar’s Palace
at six. That’s in the morning, Tate.”
Tate snorts and scratches his scruffy chin. “I might be late. Apparently,
I’ll be running miles around someone.”
 A sound like a growl comes from Ellie’s throat, but Adam claps Tate on
the shoulder, then winks at Rich. “Don’t worry, Pops. We’ll have him
there.”
Pops—the weird nickname everyone on the label calls Rich. He isn’t a
father figure. He’s all business, all the time. Still, he goes by Pops.
It’s chaotic as we start to leave. Managers and producers always want to
haggle even after a three-hour meeting.
I slip my thin sweatshirt over my arms, making sure my tattoos inked
from wrists to shoulders are covered.
Intolerable in Las Vegas August sun, but the tats have become too
recognizable.
“Hey, you doing okay?” Ellie asks as she gathers her satchel, beanie, and
sunglasses. Incognito in triple digit weather is simply part of us now.
I give her a quick nod. “Fine. Just anxious to get home and hole away, is
all.”
“You can hole away soon. Remember, Saturday at six. As in morning,
Bridge.”
I laugh and wave her away. “Go. Sleep. See you on Saturday.”
Ellie grins and leaves me alone by the elevators. Knowing her, she’ll hit
the studio to unwind until dark. I once had that motivation, but lately I can’t
find it.
Down in the parking garage the bright sun dims, and it’s surprisingly cool
after roasting all day. The best part—it’s empty. All afternoon shoved in a
small room with loud, pushy people has me on edge. A night at home,
undisturbed, is practically mouthwatering.
The emptiness doesn’t last. I turn to the click of high heels and the slap of
heavy feet over the cement. A man dressed in a suit and tie laughs with a
woman in a tight skirt. She hangs on his arm, head on his shoulder. They
look happy. Authentic.
I’m envious. Even if fans scream their adoration and love, the truth is
I’ve let two people into this thing in my chest. The first didn’t want me and
ruined me for the next. When I took the risk on the second, she didn’t want
me, either. She wanted the name and the cameras. She wanted the drama
and the interviews. She’s getting them, and it has left a rotten, bitter thing in
my heart.
I quicken my steps until I reach my electric blue jeep. One of the presents
I bought myself with my first eye-popping royalty payment. The houses, the
condos, they pale to this. I love my car. Too much, honestly.
Before I even close the door my cell rings, startling me.
I fumble to right the screen and a grin breaks as I answer. “Hey, man.
What’s up?”
“Did I actually catch the famous B-Ridge?”
I scoff and lean against the headrest. “You’re one to talk, my friend. I see
you on TV more than me.”
Parker snorts a laugh, but it’s true. I don’t miss a single Kings game.
Nothing is better than watching him close out the games, watching the
crowds freak out when he strikes out the last batter as if it’s nothing. Once
inseparable, now we’re connected through TV, magazines, and the off
season.
“It’s crazy right now, dude,” Parker says. “I sprained my wrist, too. I
think my pitching coach about popped a blood vessel.”
“Because you’re his pride and joy. So when are you getting in? The guys
and I have a gift for her, but don’t tell her it’s from me.” He’s coming home
—briefly—between his Seattle series. Don’t like the reasons—at all. To the
point my insides feel more like jagged bits of glass, but I’m in no place to
say anything.
Truth be told, I’ve had to stop myself at least a hundred times from
saying something.
Parker is quiet for a long pause.
“Park, you there?”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “This weekend is actually why I’m calling.
Maybe hold onto the gift because I’ve got a favor to ask, man. And it’s a
big one.”
He blurts it all out. My fists clench. Parker grovels and begs, and he
doesn’t need to know I’m already driving in the opposite direction of my
house.
“Parker,” I say. “You owe me for this. Big time.”
I toss my phone and drive. This is a terrible, terrible idea.
I can’t stop smiling.
Chapter 3
 Alexis

I NOW HAVE TWENTY-ONE dollars. The smoothies are delicious, and

the guava-peach with a spritz of energy blast broke me.
I’m starting to get a few curious glances from the employees, but they’re
friendly enough. Always asking me if I need more water, another smoothie.
I don’t want to think of the new reality, not after two more tweets have
come in.

Cam Bam Cam @camiluv4

To hyphenate or not to hyphenate the last name. That is the question?
#marriedlife
Cam Bam Cam @camiluv4
When you know, you know. So happy! #newwifey

Bryce is dead silent. Not a text. Not a tweet. Nothing. He’s officially
gone dark and I hate him. My stomach turns in knots, and I must be in a bit
of a daze when my phone rings and I answer without looking.
“Alexis.”
Ugh, stomach knots turn to waves of hot sick. “Mom.”
“What are you doing?” she asks sharply.
“Drinking a smoothie.” My voice cracks. “They’re really good, actually.
Nice and sweet—”
“I don’t care about the smoothie! What did you do? How did you let this
happen?”
 I scoff, eyes wide. “How did I let this happen? I don’t know, talk to
Mike’s daughter and the cheating scumbag.”
My mother clicks her tongue. She always clicks her tongue. “Men don’t
wander if they’re satisfied.”
And like that we’ve hopped back fifty years.
I ought to remind her about her ex-husband and how it was rarer than
snow in Las Vegas for him to come home at night. But that seems petty, and
what’s the point?
“I’m not responsible for him,” I say after a long pause.
“You had something really going for you. He could’ve taken care of you.
Now what? Am I supposed to give up the spare room?”
“I’m not moving home, and I like to think I had more than Bryce going
for me. You know I’m here to get a graduate degree. Sort of cool.”
She chuckles, and I hate that it sounds so bitter. “A library degree. What
sort of career will that bring?”
Uh, more than drinking and drifting through men. Again, petty, Alexis.
“It’s been a long day, Mom. I’m going to go now.”
“Work this out, Alexis. You won’t find better. He’s stable. He’s not a
screamer. He’ll provide. Your brother does nothing to help me, but at least
Parker has money. You need to get your act together. If Bryce needs it, then
loosen the boundaries. There are plenty of women who let their guys keep
side pieces, you know. What you don’t see doesn’t hurt you sort of thing.”
I’m not sure what’s more depressing: that my mother is giving me this as
genuine advice, or that she’s settled for the same thing time and time again.
“I’ll work it out, Mom. Without Bryce, though. Talk to you later.”
I hang up before I can get another dose of wonderfully terrible motherly
wisdom. My smoothie refuge all at once is suffocating. I stand and toss my
drink cups. The lights of the Strip are starting to brighten the dusk. At least
it’ll be cooler, right?
The air is heavy in hints of red sand and grilled onions and something
sickly sweet. I don’t make it far, hardly five feet, before I plop onto a bench
and let my roller suitcase topple to the side.
Two years. Two flipping years I devoted myself to Bryce Hall.
In a way, I run from romance. The real, messy, under-the-skin kind.
It seems painful when it falls apart. I suppose that’s why I stick to safe
and secure.
But, no mistake, my heart has wanted to love before. Wanted it fiercely,
and that’s what’s terrifying. To want someone to the point it hurts. I’ve seen
enough to know when you love hard, when it’s gone, the shattered pieces
hurt worse.
So imagine my relief when I met Bryce Hall. Handsome, smart. Safe. He
wasn’t needy, but made my heart patter from time to time. He respected my
love of books. He didn’t date me to get close to Parker. It’s happened, y’all.
Turns out even the safe ones can be the deadliest of them all.
It might be time to drop some pride and either head to the night club, or
call Parker back. I hate the idea of stealing my brother from his life with the
Kings. It’s contract negotiating season and he’s worked so hard. I don’t
want anything to hinder his chances of a big chunk. He’s earned it.
I like to think his coaches would understand, but I don’t know. Coach
Hewitt is kind of a drill sergeant. I’m not sure if he knows what family
emergency means. I doubt his family ever has a crisis, and if they do, he’d
tell them to buck up and deal.
All at once, I jump back when a guy sits next to me. Too close.
 He wears hoodie, a ball cap. His face shadowed. My creep alert is off the
charts until he says, “You know, I think books like Jane Eyre are knock offs
of ultimate classics like Beauty and the Beast.”
“I beg your pardon?” I splutter, yes, splutter. How dare he. “There is a
difference between a fairy tale and a historical gothic—”
“No there isn’t.”
My eyes widen. I’m going to go away for murder. Until he smirks that
annoyingly handsome smirk I know all too well.
Those golden green eyes find me and my pulse quickens, heat floods my
face. All those dangerous symptoms of visceral chemical reactions to
another person. Those things I run from.
I sneer. “Should’ve known. Is it wise to be out in public? Am I about to
be swarmed by crazed girls asking you to marry them?”
“Not at the moment. But if you take off my hat, I can’t make any
promises, Al.”
Bridger Cole. My brother’s oldest friend. The only person who has ever
called me Al. My nemesis from the day he insulted Little Women.
Funny how both Parker and Bridger are now heartthrobs for the women
of America. As if they planned it. I guess they kind of did. Always
dreaming of making it big, of leaving our small town behind. I haven’t seen
Bridger outside of media for what feels like forever.
But this, him showing up here, is a little too convenient. “Why are you
here?”
“Really? That’s all I get? No, ‘hey, it’s been forever, wow, you’re so
much sexier now’.”
“I don’t lie, Bridger. And there is no reason I can think of that would
make me want to see you right now, so . . .”
 “Yeah? Not exactly how I planned to spend my evening, either. Good
thing I don’t listen to you, and when a buddy needs me, I’m there.”
I glare at the sky, mouth tight. “He called you?”
“Al, come on. Obviously.”
“Well,” I start, lifting my chin, “I’m sorry you took time out of your day
to come down here. I’m fine, really. I was just about to go find a hotel.”
I hate how my voice trembles. It’s been a long day, and showing my life
disaster in front of Bridger—who’d never be abandoned two days before a
wedding—is mortifying. My head is reeling, and I have to bite the inside of
my cheek to keep from rambling out the entire situation. Doubtless he
already knows.
Did the thought of calling Bridger cross my mind? Yes. For a fleeting,
desperate moment. I simply figured he’d be too out of reach. He’s not
exactly a typical couch to crash on. And I’m pretty sure we’d kill each
other. Which is why this is such a problem.
I clasp my hands in my lap, knee bouncing, and turn away before he can
see the sudden glisten of tears in my eyes. I’m not fooling anyone.
A sharp breath hitches in my throat when Bridger inches closer, his lips
next to my ear. “Al, you’re not staying in a hotel. Come on.”
“No.” I wipe at my eyes. “No, I’m fine—”
“Alexis,” he says, dropping the demanding act. Now, he sounds
desperate. “Let’s go talk in private.”
For the first time I notice a few gawking eyes have spotted us. They’re
wondering. They’re staring. They’re pulling out cell phones.
I nod briskly, and shoot to my feet. Bridger curls his shoulders like a pro,
takes my suitcase, then fades between the smoothie shop and the
laundromat next door. I stay tight on his heels, head down. I’m not blind to
know with a few unwelcome pictures his face could be on the front page.
Me, behind him.
“Do you have a car?”
I shake my head, an unwelcome bite of tears in my eyes. “I sold it.”
“Why?”
“To pay for a stupid wedding that isn’t happening! Stop questioning me.”
He holds up a hand in surrender and points me in the direction of a back
parking lot. A bright blue jeep is parked at the far end. I pick up the pace
and hurry to the passenger side. If Bridger smelled good, his car is even
better. The leather seats are polished with a musky hint of something
smooth, like caramel or vanilla. I’d like to lick the console to find out.
Bridger drops my bag in the back, then hops into the driver’s seat. He
tosses back his hood and flips his Kings cap backward. Ah, there he is. The
guy I’ve always known. His hair is a touch longer, his face scruffy. I grin at
the silver rings on his fingers and the chain around his neck. Always one for
sparkly things. Like the shiny onyx studs. The colorful tattoos.
“I’ll admit I’m impressed,” he says, as we pull out of the lot. “No
questions, you just got up and bolted.”
I snort and dangle my arm out the passenger window. “I’m prepped for
this. Parker is starting to get his fair share of swarms. Get this, last time I
went to his place we went out for tacos, because who doesn’t like tacos, and
I guess I dawdled too long. The next morning an online article posted a
picture of us, naming me his new fling. Talk about awkward.”
Bridger doesn’t bat a lash when I go on with my tangent-filled stories,
but he never has. One point for him, I suppose.
“Not that it matters, but, uh, thanks.” He rolls down his window, too, and
lets his arm dangle out. “I don’t like being smashed.”
 What he means is he doesn’t like being crowded. How he’s survived as a
rockstar I’ll never know.
I fight a smile. “Didn’t do it for you. I hurried to save face and not get
slapped into one of the gossip columns with you.”
“Right. Wouldn’t want cultured Alexis to be caught having a life.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Just shut up and drive, Cole.”
Some things never change. Like our endless bickering. Our one-upping
each other. Like the way my heart betrays me and warms when he smiles.
How he teases me about books, but at least he’s talking to me about books
when no one else will. Or when he saves me from sleeping at a night club.
“Thank you,” I say. A moment of truce. But only a moment. “For
coming, I mean. I didn’t want to get anyone dragged into my mess and—”
“Al,” he says, silencing me. “I’m going to say this once, so listen. That
guy isn’t a man, understand? He’s a coward, and clearly, doesn’t have a
brain.”
I do not need to feel a flutter in my stomach right now. He doesn’t want
me here as much as Bryce didn’t want me in a chapel and white gown.
“Full of compliments,” I say a little snidely. “This day keeps getting
weirder.”
“Wasn’t really a compliment.”
“Still,” I say. “I doubt you wanted to be saddled with your friend’s little
sister when you have a million things to do. I didn’t miss the billboards, big
shot. Concert weekend?”
He shoots me a swift glance; his eyes peel back my ribcage and spear my
heart. “I have the concert, but this matters too.”
What is there to say to that? My speedy tongue goes numb, and I simply
nod and look back out the window as he drives.
Chapter 4
 Bridger

FALL—2006

Parker tosses a new baseball from the drugstore at the fence. He better
watch it or what’s-his-name inside will probably come out and scream at
him. I don’t know who Mama Knight brought home last night, but it’s set
Parker up in knots.
“Want to go swimming?” I ask, slurping the last of the juice from my
popsicle.
Parker lobs the baseball at the fence, hard enough the wood splinters.
The window glides open in a hurry. “Kid, shut up or I’ll make you shut
up.”
I grimace. Mama Knight’s date has three chins and a stupid mustache.
“Hey,” I say because I can’t keep quiet. “It’s his yard, fatty.”
His eyes are sort of crazy. The kind Dad warned me about. He points one
of his sausage fingers at me, then disappears from the window. Parker’s
mom shouts something, a lot of nasty words, and something topples inside.
Parker grins, eyes bright. We live to torment Mama Knight’s dates and
we hit the jackpot on this one.
“Run!” he says.
We bolt out the front gate, right as the scumbag fumbles through the
screen in his skivvies and stained tank top.
“Get back here you waste of space!” He calls me other names. A lot of
other names.
 Oh-ho, wait until my dad finds out. Keep ‘em coming big guy. My dad is
the Hulk. Six foot four, and two hundred pounds of muscle. A firefighter in
one of the driest places in the United States. Enough said.
Creep Monster follows us through the fence. We’re already on our bikes.
Tate and Adam are across the street. Tate waves at us, then sees the
charging maniac, so they beeline it for their bikes too.
“Meet you at the pond!” Tate shouts. He gets it.
Parker laughs as he mounts his bike. But when he glances back at me, his
eyes go wide. I don’t have time to look around before a fat hand curls
around the collar of my shirt and yanks me to the desertscape front yard.
The small rocks scrape down my back and knock the wind out of my lungs.
“Not so tough now, kid!”
“Tony!” Parker’s mom shouts through the window. “What are you doing?
He’s not mine.”
“Shut up Lila! I’m dealing with it.”
Holy—this guy is going to hit me. He smells. Like the weirdly sweet
smells on the Strip after dark. We went for my birthday and I came home
with a stomachache.
“Let him go!” Parker shouts.
From the corner of my eye, I watch him pedal faster to reach me. He
won’t make it.
“Next time, you’ll shut your mouth.” Big Guy lifts his fist.
I don’t want to be a wimp, but I close my eyes, bracing. Next thing I
know, Big Guy curses, groans, and his big, sweaty body staggers off me.
“You stupid little—” He curses again, calling someone else a heap of
really dirty names. Things that start to bring the interest of the neighbors.
Man, I wish my parents weren’t at work. This guy would be roadkill by
now.
The scumbag grunts again, crying out in pain. Then a loud thwack slaps
off his skin.
“Alexis Marie Knight! You get down outta that tree!” Mama Knight
shouts. “I’m gonna smack you, girl. No! Stop it!”
I peek at the queen palms tucked in the corner of the yard and see Al.
She’s wearing her usual satchel that I think belonged to her dad, hi-top
sneakers, stupid knee-high socks, and two long braids over her shoulders.
She lifts the slingshot again and lets a pebble fly.
She’s a terrible shot, but it distracts this tool long enough I roll out from
under him.
“What are you doing, dummy? Get lost!” she shouts. Her lisp loud and
proud since she got her braces put on.
When her mom’s date stumbles toward the base of the tree, Alexis leaps
out into the street. He’s going to kill her. Already two welts are forming on
his forehead. Parker skids to a stop, torn between saving his sister, or me. I
race to my bike. We’re definitely saving Al.
“Hey, you leave that girl alone!”
A grin spreads on my face. Old lady Morgan is tromping out of her house
in her bathrobe, armed with her twelve gauge. She’s nicknamed the cop of
the street. No one, and I mean no one messes with Old Lady Morgan’s kids.
And every kid on this street is hers.
Scumbag holds up his hands innocently. “Whoa, whoa, lady. Just trying
to get her out safely.”
“Lila!” shouts Old Lady Morgan. “Come get your trash.”
 I don’t hear Mama Knight’s response, we’re already halfway down the
road.
“Hey guys!” Tate calls. “Let’s go.”
I look over to the tangle of palms and pomegranate trees that grow a little
wild at the end of the block. She thinks she’s awesome at hiding, but she
sort of sucks at it. Her bright red sneakers are poking out, and she dropped
her bag on the outside.
“Hang on, guys,” I say and drop my bike. “Hey, Al.”
She peeks out from behind one of the palm leaves. “He gone? Because if
he’s not gone, I think I ought to stay put. You know, in case he decides he
didn’t like my shot. I got him good, though, didn’t I?”
“Ah, not Chatty Kathy,” Tate groans. “Come on, Bridger. We’re going to
the pond. No girls allowed. Park, help me out.”
Parker sighs. “Lex, why don’t you go to Old Lady Morgan’s until we get
home.”
Her shoulders slump. “Yeah. Sure.”
I don’t know why I do it. I don’t want to be a baby in front of the guys,
but I hold out a hand. “Hang on. Al’s coming.”
Tate and Adam moan and groan, but Parker hides a smile. This isn’t for
him, though.
“I’m coming?” Al looks to me.
She’s only eleven and she’s a girl, so it’s sort of lame to invite her, but I
shrug and snatch the slingshot out of her hand. “Just this once, Al. Got it?
You stink at shooting this thing, and you better learn because if Smelly is
still back there when we get home, I’m not coming to save you.”
She narrows her eyes. “I saved you. Just like that scientist who saved the
astronaut in that space book you gave me.”
 “What?” I glance over my shoulder. My friends are watching. Parker
especially. “I didn’t give you a space book. Fine, Al. Don’t come. You
could’ve been one of the guys for today.”
“No,” she blurts out, takes the slingshot, and shoves it into her back
pocket. “I want to come.”
“She’s riding on your pegs, Bridge,” Adam says and takes off to race the
other guys down the road.
I huff and roll my eyes. “Well, get on. You gotta hold onto my
shoulders.”
Alexis adjusts so she’s on my makeshift pegs I put on my mountain bike.
Her fingernails dig into my shoulders, but it’s better than her choking me so
I don’t say anything.
“You did give me a space book.”
“If I did give it to you, did you like it?”
“I like historical books better, but it was pretty cool.”
“Well, if I ever want to give you a book—which I won’t—it won’t be
historical. Those are boring.”
She snickers, but tries to hide it. We ride in silence for a while until
Alexis taps the top of my head. “I saved you, Bridge. Admit it.”
I can’t really deny it. Everyone saw the truth. “You might’ve gotten a few
good shots. So what?”
“I’m like one of those things under the trapeze. When you fell, I was
right there and bam! You were safe.”
“Do you know anything? They’re called safety nets.”
“Yeah. That’s me.”
I pedal faster. Her nails dig deeper. But I grin. “Fine, Al. Sure. You’re
like my safety net. Happy?”
 She pauses, but when she speaks it sounds like she’s smiling. “Yeah. But
Bridge.”
“What?”
“This doesn’t mean I like you.”
Chapter 5
 Alexis

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, BRIDGER pulls into a four-car garage,

separate from a beautiful adobe brick house on the hill. My hair is wild like
a tumbleweed around my face. But I like that Bridger’s is crazy too.
“Hey, I need to check on the alarms at the front gate,” he tells me and
pockets his keys. “I had a notification something might’ve tried to get in.”
“Creepy how you say something.”
“Could be a desert tortoise. Maybe a ghost. You never really know.” He
winks and my fingertips go numb. “But go on inside. Not the front door
because it’s not really the front door.”
“Then I wonder why you called it the front door at all,” I say.
He lets out a sigh. “Really? Are we going to argue about the door? Just
take the side path, it’ll lead to another gate and alleyway. That’s where you
want to go. The code to the real front door—”
“Side door.”
“. . . is two, zero, zero, seven.”
My palms tingle and my heart jolts. “Two thousand seven?”
Bridger shrugs, a muscle tight in his jaw. “Sort of unforgettable.”
I’d like to hug him, but hold back. The year his dad died changed
Bridger. It’s when he lost himself in his music. It’s when his entire life
changed.
“Al,” Bridger says. “You good?”
 “Yeah,” I say quickly. “Yeah, I can find my way through your booby-
trapped yard. Send a search party, though, if I go missing.”
He gives me a curt nod, then jogs toward the front side of the house. I tug
my suitcase by my side, tuck my leather-bound edition of Jane Eyre Bridger
so callously insulted under one arm, then proceed to gawk.
For a few heartbeats I take it all in. Scrutinize every balcony, every aloe
plant, every palm. The front is rounded with windows from the rooftop to
the ground. The drive curves like a near perfect horseshoe. Earthy, adobe
brick, tile slats on the roof. Two side lawns stretch around the back, no
doubt where luxury balconies and pools await.
I balk, a little stunned. I mean, I knew . . .
Stupid of me to think any differently.
He’s a star. America’s heartthrob. But I guess sometimes I still imagine
Bridger in the three-bedroom rambler with ugly red brick and a tin carport.
In my head he still rides his mountain bike with homemade pegs on the
back wheel because his mom never bought him a BMX bike.
I bite my nerves into my bottom lip and begin the hunt for the secret true
entrance. He doesn’t want to draw attention to himself, yet he lives in a
monstrosity like this. Pfft, makes sense. Who do the neighbors think lives
here?
Cameras on the surrounding gates send a shiver dancing down my spine.
Like constant eyes on me at every turn. Twenty paces beyond the garage,
the turnoff materializes between a thick barrier of juniper trees. Seriously,
Bridger? Cacti? Little spikes with pretty little flowers practically sneer at
me and line the narrow path. A dare to enter and come out unscathed.
Jaw tight, shoulders back, I take the dare. I’m hot, thirsty, and I really
want to see inside.
 Barbs pick and tug at my bag. One catches my arm, a white scrape on my
onion-dry skin frees a few drops of blood. By the end, my hair sticks to my
neck, not only my brow. My bag has a few barbs in the zipper, but I emerge
to a covered stairwell. The plop of my suitcase on each stair rattles the
silence of the yard. I don’t even notice, all I do is praise the shade, the
subtle mist from overhead spouts, and the gentle trickle of a fountain that
runs the length of the lower wall.
The stairs end at a kind of dugout, shaded, concealed up to a wholly
normal-looking door.
Once I’ve broken through the code, inside, gentle air soothes the harsh
desert heat off my cheeks. A bit of vanilla and musk teases my nose, a scent
I could absolutely get used to. The room is nothing impressive. In truth it
reminds me of an office lobby. A few potted plants, a leather upholstered
bench, and a front desk.
With a guy looking at me with crazy angry eyes!
“Hey!” he shouts. “You can’t be in here!”
I scurry backward until I smack the door. Man, the guy can move. He’s
lunging for me. His big meaty, boxer-ish body makes a sort of cage around
me. On instinct I hold up Jane Eyre and take a swing, shrieking.
“Whoa, hey,” he says. His hands are over his head. He’s in a suit, but the
way he moves he might as well have been in a T-shirt and sweats. He’s
agile, quick, and in another breath we’re in a tug-of-war over my collector’s
edition.
No one—no one—touches my books.
“Let her go!” I cry out, as if a human being lives within the pages.
He grimaces when my flailing nearly hits his nose. “You can’t be in
here!”
 “I’m here with Bridger! He knows me.” I let out an uncool, guttural
sound, and finagle my book back. I backpedal, my back against the wall,
breathless.
I’m pleased to say macho man is a little out of breath, too. Mess with a
librarian and her favorite books and you’re leaving with a bit of damage. He
points at the door. “Turn around, miss, and I won’t call the cops.”
“The cops!” I say incredulously. “Are you not listening to me? Bridger
brought me here because my brother texted him because my fiancé married
someone else! Do you think I planned this? No, I certainly did not. But I am
here with Bridger. He’s checking the gates. Want to call him? You can. He
has his phone because, as I said, my brother texted him. How else would I
have the code to his underground lair?”
The guy blinks, I guess he’s a little lost that someone can blurt so much
out in two breaths, but he has no idea how long I can go on without
stopping.
Sweat glistens on his bald head and his frown is a perfect upside-down U
shape. “Stay right there. I’ll make a call.”
I roll my eyes, but my pulse won’t stop racing. The front desk Rambo
picks up an office phone, glares once at me, then faces away. I drum one
hand over my thigh, hum a bit, and pretend my stomach is not tangled up
like silly string.
“Matthews, uh, there’s a woman here. Yeah, broke in the front—”
“Side entrance. And I didn’t break in.”
He glances at me, then turns back to the phone. “Yeah. No. Anything
strange at the main gates?” The guy pauses, then one brow raises. “Oh, he’s
there?”
I cross my arms over my chest, frowning.
 Suit-n-tie Gladiator glances over his shoulder. “Well . . . yes, that is what
she said. Matthews, is he laughing?”
“My goodness, is that Bridger? Let me talk to him.” I stomp toward the
desk.
The guard swats me away with a grunt. “Miss, one moment. Please. Mr.
Cole, hello. Yes, she’s armed with a copy of Jane Eyre and a suitcase.
Insists, you’re expecting her. Oh, she is?”
“Ugh! He knows me!” I swear if Bridger did this to tick me off, he’s
succeeding.
The guard holds up a finger to his lips. He nods, mutters agreement under
his breath, then hangs up the phone. “Have a seat, miss.”
He gestures to the leather bench and I oblige. Truth be told, I’m acting
tough, but the sting of tears begins behind my eyes. This day could not get
any worse. I’m a sweaty, pathetic mess.
The guard doesn’t return to his seat. Instead, he leans against the desk,
ankles and arms crossed, and watches me.
I narrow my eyes. “I’m not a crazy fan, okay? And I’m not a groupie.
You can stop looking at me like that.”
“I said nothing.”
“You’re thinking it.”
“Funny thing, but wouldn’t a crazy fan tell me they weren’t a crazy fan.”
“Would I know the code to the door?”
“Possibly. It’s not as if you’re the first person to know the code. This
house has known it’s fair share of vindictiveness and women who want to
get back at a man with means.”
Two things: I don’t like talking about vindictive exes of Bridger Cole,
and I certainly don’t like the way it convinces me many a woman has
probably crossed this threshold over the years.
I point the corner of my book at him. “We grew up together, okay? My
brother is his best friend. Parker Knight? Ring a bell? I’m not a Bridger
Cole fan, I’m a . . . librarian.”
Smooth. Doubtless I’ve intimidated the pants right off him.
To my astonishment, my bald boxer bodyguard shows a glimmer of a
smile. “Parker Knight, you say?”
“Yes.” I cross my leg and turn away. I’d rather not speak with him
anymore.
“I’ve met Parker and—”
He doesn’t finish. A hurried beep, beep, beep, beep kills our bonding
moment and the door flies open. Bridger rushes in, tears in his eyes. Is he
laughing at me? I hold my breath; I’ve really missed that smile and I hate
that I admit it. Even to myself.
I school my face into a tight, utterly guarded expression. “Good of you to
show up!”
“Al, s-sorry,” he says in a little gasp. “I should’ve called ahead.”
“Sorry?” I free an annoyed chuckle. “Maybe next time you could warn
me about the assassin in your basement, or at the very least, tell your friend
here not to lunge at women. I didn’t mean to hit him with my book, but it’s
really his fault.”
“Quinn,” Bridger says, his shoulders shuddering. “Are you lunging?”
“I am,” says the guard. “It is what I’m paid to do.”
My mouth drops. “There are ways to diffuse situations without lunging!”
Bridger takes off his hat and drags a hand through his hair, really, really
fighting another laugh by the looks of it. “Thanks, Quinn. She’s okay.”
Then, he turns to me. “Come on, Al. Let’s go . . . catch up.”
Chapter 6
 Bridger

THE TRUE ENTRANCE, AS I call it, is designed so neighbors don’t really

know who lives here. As far as everyone is concerned this house is often
rented to businessmen or celebrities. My main residence is supposed to be
Malibu. The ruse has served me well.
True, a few rogue fans have found their way to the front door. How they
found out this was my house, I don’t know. It’s hard to keep secrets in
today’s world. But even with the unexpected, uh, visits, my personal space
isn’t in the front part of the house. They never even caught a glimpse of me
or my rooms.
The front security has handled any issues, most without me even being
aware. No one has ever figured out the code, or that my lower-level door is
the real way inside.
Honestly, I think Quinn found a bit of satisfaction someone other than me
came in. It shook up the monotony a bit.
I steal a glance at Alexis as I lead us to an alcove with the elevator. Pink
cheeks, dark, thoughtful eyes that remind me of Hershey’s Kisses. She’s
still the same—book in hand, a little furrow in her brow like she’s always
thinking—but she’s different in the same breath. Proud, determined Alexis
Knight slumps a bit, like the weight of the world bends her spine. And her
mouth is set, absent the little curl of a smirk she always had when she
wanted to cause a bit of mischief.
She has no idea what she’s doing to me.
 I think I hate her for it. I also want to reach out and hold her close.
I shove my hands into my pockets instead. What’s wrong with me? These
unwarranted, misplaced feelings should’ve been let go years before. I
thought they were, but the second I saw her on that bench—no—the second
Parker told me what that snake did to her today, I saw red.
“An elevator?” she says, but I think it’s more to herself.
I grin. “Believe it or not, it was cheaper than a hidden staircase.”
“Why the bat cave?”
“Because I’m Batman,” I say in a rough voice before I can stop myself.
She snorts. There’s a hint of a smile and I’m undone. More like I’m an
idiot. Alexis doesn’t like me, and frankly, I don’t like her. I don’t.
Well, I don’t like most of her.
We’re opposites and have no reason to be friendly but for Parker’s sake.
Besides, she’s not here because she wants to be. She’s here because she’s
been hurt and needs someone she can trust. Maybe we’ve been distant for a
couple years, maybe we argue over everything, but she can trust me. I’ve
never thrown her to the wolves in life; I’ve never tried to make her
something she isn’t. We drifted apart for good reason, but trust is still there.
“I enjoy privacy,” I start to explain, not that I need to, words simply
tumble out. “So keeping the entrance concealed allows me to come and go
as I please.”
“I think it’s genius, genius, I tell you!” She’s such a weirdo, adding a
maniacal laugh. “It’s really worked? No one has spilled yet?”
“Not until recently.” I don’t explain more. When the official tell-all
releases, I’ll need to beef up security. Maybe move.
“Huh, I’m going out on a limb and say there’s more to that comment, but
you’re a turtle right now, so . . .”
 “Here it goes.” I let out a dramatic sigh. “I am not being a turtle.”
“You are. Head all cozy and tucked in your shell.”
“Maybe there are things called private thoughts.”
“Maybe your private thoughts really aren’t private thoughts, and you use
that as a copout because you don’t want to say them to me.”
“Bingo.”
She glares at me. I offer an ironic grin in return. Even if she’s right.
Vulnerability with Alexis Knight makes me lose my mind and my heart.
Better to stay bolted up like a military fort under siege.
She puckers her lips and scrutinizes me for half a breath before she says,
“Fine. Stay in your annoying turtle shell. I’ll crack you open eventually.”
The scary thing is, if this discomfiting need to be close to her keeps up,
she might crack every shell I’ve got. Again.
No mistake, I try to keep my expression undisturbed, but inside I’m made
of knots and heat and want. I need to step cautiously here. Cameras are
everywhere outside, and now is not the time to be caught bickering with a
woman in public.
Parker understands, and has apologized in about a dozen texts since he
called. He’s made twenty promises as soon as he gets in town, she can come
stay with him. But the truth is how could I not go to Al? Relief that she isn’t
going to get married this weekend is more potent than any worry about
reputation or risk.
I know. The back and forth between rejecting her and wanting her is
confusing. I get it. I gave up trying to sort it out long ago.
The elevator opens to the main floor of the ‘real’ house. It’s much
simpler here. More me. I take a bit of pleasure when Alexis chuckles and
goes to a long wall table where a hideous clay pot sits on the corner. Painted
like the pallet threw up, she holds it up and faces me.
“You guys were so proud of these.”
My shoulders relax. “Because they are breathtaking pieces of art.”
She shakes her head, glances at the scribble of a name underneath, then
returns it to the table. “Park still has yours. Right on his kitchen table. It’s
the centerpiece.”
I glance at the pot Parker traded for my oblong attempt at a ceramic bowl
when we were in fifth grade. It’s hideous, but I’ve never parted with it.
“This is nice,” Alexis says, looking around the room. “I can’t believe this
is my first time coming here. You still have a no girls allowed policy like
the clubhouse, I bet.”
I grimace. Unfortunately, part of my problem is I had a girls allowed
policy. Sometimes too much.
Alexis takes in my expression and doesn’t ask. She clears her throat and
spins around in the center of the room. “I’m a little disappointed there isn’t
a firepole or water slide, though. I thought for sure there’d be something
like that to get downstairs.”
“Maybe I’ll remodel.” I open my arm toward the kitchen door. “Want a
drink?”
Her dimple shapes in the corner of her mouth when she smiles. “Still
have an impressive supply of lemonade?”
Strange, but I smile, too. Like I used to. “Always.”
She follows me, abandoning her suitcase in the living room.
The moment we shove through the swinging door, we’re attacked.
Alexis shrieks and covers her face with her hands. I’m desperate to drag
the drooling terror off her.
 “Poppy!” I shout. “Hey, get down. No. No. Get down.”
“Ahh!” Alexis cries out, but then it sounds more like a laugh. “What is it!
She’s . . . she’s eating me.”
I snatch the English Mastiff by the thick leather collar and drag the
mammoth canine off her. “Sorry, I didn’t kennel her today and . . . sorry.”
Alexis is red in the face, laughing. She wipes a drool splatter off her
cheek, then turns to Poppy straightaway. “Look at you. All squishy and
drooly and huge.”
“You always liked dogs too much.”
“I don’t trust people who don’t.”
“Look at that,” I say and dig into the jar of dog treats. “We agree on
something.”
For a moment, things fall into a familiar normal. Alexis. Dimple. Dog.
Laughter.
A pang of guilt taps my chest. Why feel guilty? I’m not doing anything
wrong here, not betraying anyone but myself. I promised to let this go.
Clearly, I failed, but no one else needs to know.
I hand a cold can of raspberry lemonade to Alexis and point at the
breakfast nook. “Have a seat.”
Alexis obliges and pops the can, sitting in the far corner. I settle on the
bench at least three feet away. A safe distance. I’m less safe when I meet
her chocolate Eyes. The title to our last top ten hit.
My head tilts. It’s like a punch to the throat. Alexis has the chocolate
eyes.
I didn’t write it about her. My face prickles with heat. At least I think I
didn’t.
 With a quick drink to wet the scratch in the back of my throat, I bury my
disquiet and scoot an inch away.
We sit in a long silence, broken only by the occasional slurp of our
drinks, or the hot-breath panting of Poppy.
“Bridger,” Alexis says when the tension starts to suffocate. “I can’t do
this. I think I’m going to go to a hotel.”
“Can’t do what? Drink lemonade?”
“Sit here like we know how to talk to each other anymore. I’m good at
talking, so it’s got to mean something when I can’t even think of anything
to say because I might poke the bear.” She starts to move, then glances at
me. “Thank you for coming, but I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.”
Let her go. Stay as you are, hardened, untrusting, unavailable. Life will
be so much simpler, but here I go complicating everything. “Alexis . . .
wait.”
She pauses.
I close my eyes for a moment and fiddle with the top of the lemonade
can. “You’re welcome here, okay? It’s been a long day and it’s been a long
time . . . for us, I mean.”
“I know,” she says softly. “Maybe we should—”
“No.”
She tilts her head. “You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“We’re not bringing anything up.” I drag my fingers through my hair,
staring at the refrigerator where harder stuff than lemonade sits, and for a
second, I want to drink it all.
Alexis nods, mouth tight. “Okay. What do we do, then? Sit here in
silence until I leave?”
 It would probably be the wisest choice. “We can talk. If you want to tell
me what happened today, that is.”
“I don’t want to tell anyone. Least of all you.”
I take another drink and put on my smuggest grin. “Ah, but it’s a
requirement to pet my dog.”
I use my chin to point at Poppy’s big head in her lap.
Alexis glares at me. “Fine. But it’s actually been a difficult day, so if you
could hold back on the snide comments that’d be great.”
I mime zipping my lips, but she knows better.
“Bottom line—I thought I could get married and live happily ever after. I
don’t know what happened. I thought we were happy, maybe a little dull,
but isn’t everyone dull after two years?”
“You wanted to be with someone dull?”
“I’m sure the lovers of Bridger Cole never get dull, but—” She stares at
me, horrified. “Forget I said the word lover and Bridger in the same
sentence.”
I flick my brows, like an arrogant jerk, but inside I’m nothing but
splinters and broken pieces from the wall I tried to build to bar me away
from this woman. She’s a siege, a stealth attack. One sentence, one word,
one look, and I’m back to places I won’t survive if I go again.
“Al, in all seriousness, you shouldn’t be dull after two years. That’s
dumb.”
She kicks me underneath the table, a flush in her cheeks. “It isn’t dumb.
We were comfortable is all. We got along, had the same values—I thought.
Passion doesn’t keep a marriage alive.”
“You’re making it sound like this was a business arrangement. Did you
even love the guy?” She better say no.
 “I was marrying him, wasn’t I?”
“Not an answer.”
“Well . . . I don’t need to answer to you.” Alexis gnaws on her thumbnail,
answering anyway. “I thought I loved him. We got along, didn’t argue. It
seemed more stable than, say, my mom.”
I stare at her, frustrated and relieved all at once. She does this stuff all
wrong and it’s almost adorably innocent. Alexis will get serious with guys
who are the complete opposite of Mama Knight and her type of men. This
means Al dates blank-faced, boring Joe Blows. She knows what love and
passion feel like. I have to believe she does. But it’s getting her to realize
those things aren’t the end all that’s the problem.
“Honestly, maybe this is good,” she says. “I’m not sure I’m the marrying
type.”
Why did that twist my gut? I’m not the marrying type. Especially not to
anyone like her.
Alexis takes a drink of her lemonade and sighs. “I know this isn’t a
convenient time for you, Bridge, but I won’t be in your hair long. First thing
in the morning, I’ll start the search for a new place and—”
“Not worried about it, Al.”
She offers a bemused grin. “Still, I’m going to pull my weight around
here. How much do you want for the room?”
She starts digging into her purse slung over her shoulder.
“Alexis,” I say, sharper than intended. “We’re not doing that. Not right
now.”
“I’m not taking handouts.”
All at once I’m reacquainted with her independent streak. Sexy and
maddening in the same breath. “It isn’t a handout, Al. You do realize
everyone needs help sometimes, right?”
“Not you and me.” She grins.
I furrow my brow. “I’d say especially you and me. Safety net moment,
okay? I get this is something out of your control, so I’m not making you
pay for a room. Let’s be honest, I don’t need it.”
“So humble.”
“I like to say unashamed.”
She isn’t convinced and pinches her lips. “Bridger, despite your
despicably sized bank account, I am not going to stay here for free.”
“Where are you working?”
She hesitates. “Well, that was step two. It’s even on my calendar. Job
hunt.”
“Hard to pay rent without a job.”
“Hey, I’ll get a job,” she says, frowning. “It’s not the end of the story.
I’ve hardly hit the first act. And I’ll earn my keep here, even if it’s . . .
cleaning, or something. I need to pull my weight. I need to, Bridge.”
My head snaps up and I lock her in my gaze for too long. My fist
clenches over my knee beneath the table. I’m not oblivious to her tone.
Alexis isn’t one to take handouts to a fault. The woman could be bleeding
out on the side of the road and refuse an ambulance simply to prove she can
hobble to the hospital on her own.
She craves independence, true. It drives me crazy sometimes, but I also
understand. Being a front row seater to the way Parker and Alexis were
raised, the codependence they witnessed, I understand.
“I don’t want your money, Alexis.”
“Okay, a more basic question then: do you want me here? Not because
you’re loyal to Parker, I need you to be honest. We always said we’d be
honest, even if it hurt.”
“Yes. I do.” A quick reply and not a drop of hesitation. I’m on shaky
ground and it is wholly unexpected. My eyes flick to her lips, but I hurry to
look away. “What are rich connections for?”
I almost said friends, but we aren’t friends. We shouldn’t be or things get
complicated.
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not freeloading.”
“You’re not. So, the third bedroom has its own bathroom, if you want
that one.”
“But I wanted to share a bathroom. I’ll bring all my tampons, and push
them in your face, and put up a flowery shower curtain, and hang up cute
dog pictures.”
“Yes, to the dog pictures,” I say. “Sorry, my shower doesn’t have a
curtain—it’s all man cave. And, uh, the other stuff, I’m entirely too
immature for that sort of thing.”
She laughs and it’s real. As if me being here is working, as if it’s helping
her forget the pain of the day. It’s intoxicating and I need to get a grip.
“The truth?” she says. “I really do appreciate you coming to rescue me. I
won’t be a bother. I know you’re busy, and my classes start Monday, so I’ll
be like the ghost that haunts this place. Which is saying something because
you probably do have something that haunts this place it’s so big.”
“Looks can be deceiving. The real house is about twenty-four hundred
square feet. The rest is made of secret passages with medieval torches and
portraits with eyeholes.”
“Secret passages where your ghosts live.”
And all at once I’m falling into a flow with Alexis. My jaw tightens.
 “Parker told me about the classes,” I say. “Your dream of becoming the
highest class of nerd is coming true.”
She snickers and kicks my shin—again—under the table. “You should
talk. How many people know the truth about rockstar Bridger Cole?”
I tick off five fingers one by one, then cup my hand. “A handful. I have
non-disclosures, so don’t think of spilling either.”
“Spilling what? Your unhealthy obsession with sci-fi?”
“It is not unhealthy. I call it a vacation from reality.”
“No judgement here.”
I chuckle, drink some lemonade, and once more forget that this isn’t
normal. “Listen, I just had a thought. If you really want to earn your keep
—”
“I do.”
“Okay. The thing is I’m gone a lot in the day.” My eyes flick to Poppy
who thuds her tail against the lower cabinets, staring and drooling. “Would
you want to be hired as my official dog walker?”
A touch of something bright flashes in her eyes, but she pinches her lips.
“Dog walker? That’s it?”
“I mean, clean your bathroom, but yeah. My girlfriend Gabby comes
three times a week to do light cleaning—”
“Whoa. Girlfriend?”
I flick my brows a few times. “Absolutely, she’ll tell you she is, too.
Sixty-two, so obviously experienced. She brings macadamia nut cookies on
Fridays, brags about her grandson, and pinches my cheek. There is nothing
more I need in a woman.”
Alexis pulls her bottom lip over her teeth and I stare at it too long. Think
too many thoughts about that lip, about both lips. Ugh, I’m already splicing
lyrics about those lips. Lyrics? How long has it been since lyrics simply
flowed through my head?
“She sounds incredible,” Alexis says.
I shrug and whip out my phone, keying in the words about soft lips that
speak gently, but hurt like . . . a knife. No. Too Bryan Adams. A blade? No.
Hurt like the past.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
I tuck my phone away. “Nothing. Anyway, with Gabs, my cleaning is on
auto, and I eat out a lot. My needs are basically met.”
“Unhealthy, eating out every night.”
“Fine, be my chef, too.” Truth be told it’s the best idea we’ve had all
night. Librarian by day, but if I remember correctly, Miss Alexis M. Knight
could take some ramen and pepper and find a way to make steak with it.
Who am I to push away the opportunity?
She grins again. “Okay, if you’re serious. I’ll cook and walk this smooshy
face.”
She cups Poppy’s floppy, slobbery jaws, nuzzling her nose. I think I fell
in love a bit.
I tap the side of my can to hers and lift my lemonade in a silent toast
slash non-verbal agreement. Tim’s voice rings in my head, screaming to
grab one of those on-hand non-disclosures. Yes, I really have them. Yes, it’s
a little depressing. Yes, I learned the hard way what it means when they
remain unsigned.
But this is Alexis.
Tim will have to deal with it.
“How about I give you a night off for your chef duties and order some
food?”
 A bit of relief brightens her eyes. “I’m not even going to argue with you.
I’m so hungry I could eat your face.”
Parker would murder me because my first thought is that I wouldn’t
mind. “Are you still a maniac about tacos?”
“Once a maniac always a maniac."
“Fair enough.” I push open my kitchen door for her. “Welcome to the bat
cave, Al. Looks like we’re officially roomies.”
“Think we’ll make it without killing each other?”
I grin. “Highly doubt it.”
Chapter 7
 Alexis

SPRING—2007

It’s embarrassing sitting on the stage, all in a row, as we wait. A few

cameras flash in the audience and my stomach is tighter than the elastic
band in my ponytail. My phone buzzes.
I steal a look at the faded green screen. A text message—those are so fun
to send—from Parker: I’m here
The seats in the auditorium are too dark to see faces, but I grin as I close
the phone and return it to my pocket. It’s a brand-spankin’ new flip phone
with a purple butterfly case. I’m only twelve, but I think the phones were
my mom’s new boyfriend’s way of buttering Park and me up so Mom
would start letting him spend the night.
I almost laugh. She’d have let him spend the night without the phones,
but I’m not complaining.
He’ll be gone by summer, and I plan to use this cell phone as long as
possible even if it means grinning and bearing it when he dumps his dirty
clothes in my laundry basket and invites his creepy friends over on Fridays.
Mrs. Watkins steps up to the podium. “Welcome parents and students, to
the final competition of our creative writing contest. Can we give a round of
applause for our middle school finalists?”
She leads the applause, and the auditorium echoes in proud parents
clapping for their student. At least I have Parker out there. I bet Tate and
Adam are with him. They’ll clap for me even if I bug them.
 “Okay, from sixth grade we have Alexis Knight.” Mrs. Watkins signals
me to come up and read my flash fiction story.
My hands shake, but I lift my chin. Someone whoops from the audience.
I think it might be Adam. Nice of him, but it makes me drop my paper. My
face heats like a pot of boiling water. When I bend over to snatch my story,
it’s already been picked up by the last person I want to make eye contact
with.
Bridger holds out the sheet.
I frown. He glares.
“Don’t stutter,” he whispers.
“Don’t puke.” I snatch my story and whip around.
“The Room,” I begin. “The room at the end of the hall is dark. It’s cold.
Once it was warm. Once it was bright. No one goes into the room at the end
of the hall. ‘Stay out’, it says. ‘Don’t stay here. Here, you will be trapped,
be lost. Move forward, not back.’
“But she goes. One step. Two steps. It’s safer there. Familiar. The room at
the end of the hall is loud. It hurts. It laughs. It smiles. It cries. She steps
inside. One step. Two steps. She’s lost because the room at the end of the
hall holds the good times, the bad, the lonely. The room at the end of the
hall will never let her go. Not until . . .”
I lift my eyes. Heart pounding. The audience is silent. “Not until, she sees
a window.”
I tip my head to signal my story is over. People clap. No doubt they have
no idea what the story means, but from what I’ve learned in all my time
escaping in books, it’s okay to interpret writing in a way that moves you.
Each book is like a personal thought, a unique emotion. That’s the
beautiful thing about writing—it speaks to each heart differently.
 Marcus Heath, from seventh grade, shares his short, humorous story and
it deserves the few laughs it gets. It’s juvenile, though.
Like I bet his will be.
“Last,” says Mrs. Watkins, “from eighth grade, a poem by Bridger Cole.”
He gets the most whoops and hollers of the night.
Bridger doesn’t write poems. It’s a song, I think. With my arms folded
over my chest, I wait for him to shoot me some stupid sneer, but Bridger
keeps his head down. Holy cow! His hands are shaking.
Stupidly confident and annoying Bridger Cole is . . . he’s nervous.
Bridger clears his throat, his voice cracks because he and Parker insist
they’re becoming men. They have like one whisker.
Bridger doesn’t look up; he simply starts to read.
Dreams of letting go
Of being new
I won’t give up, won’t give up
‘Till I see it through.
Barely breathing. Afraid of falling
I need you to catch me
Because you, you promised safety.
Bridger hurries back to his seat, his face redder than a tomato. It deepens
when the audience claps, when his dad booms over everyone, “That’s my
kid!”
I stare at him. He won’t look at me.
What do the lyrics mean? What safety? Like a safety net? Our safety net,
the thing we say any time we really need to admit something and need to
call a quick truce—is that what it’s about?
What’s he afraid of?
 I stiffen when Mrs. Watkins returns to the podium after the votes are in
from the English department panel. She holds up the third place ribbon and
envelope, complete with a gift card to the Shake Shack. “Third place,
Marcus Heath.”
The audience claps. Marcus looks thrilled when he holds up his fifteen
dollar gift card. My hands are clammy and scrape up and down my faded
jeans as Mrs. Watkins holds up the second place envelope.
“In second . . .”
Now is not the time to pause, lady!
“Alexis Knight.”
My stomach churns and I let out an ungrateful moan. It’s not that I’m not
happy I was a finalist and just won thirty bucks to the Shake Shack plus
family movie passes, it’s that I lost to Bridger.
When he accepts his fifty dollars, movie passes, and the opportunity to
have his poem published in the yearbook, he flicks his eyes to me and
smiles. Not a nice smile. Not a good game smile. No, this is a victorious
smile. Like beating me is the best part about his night.
The second we’re free to go, I hurry into the audience to find Parker. It’s
not any better. He’s with Tate and Adam, but also Holly and Garett Cole.
Bridger is ten paces behind me and there are congratulations all around.
“Lex, Bridge,” Holly says, slinging her arms around both of us. “You two
did awesome.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“I bet Mom will be happy for you, Lex,” Parker says. But we know
better. I didn’t even tell my mom I was a finalist.
“Come on,” Garett says. “Let’s celebrate and get some burgers.”
 Parker and his friends cheer, running ahead. I hang back and pull out my
phone. I have five numbers installed and I don’t know why he’s one of
them, but I blast off the text as quickly as my fingers can type it.
Me: You took my safety net idea. Thief!
Ahead, Bridger takes out his silver flip phone—he calls it a Razor even if
it doesn’t look like one. With a quick sneer over his shoulder, Bridger
responds.
Bridger: You didn’t even know the word. And—safety net moment—those
lyrics actually took a long time to come up with.
I frown and furiously type as I walk.
Me: Well, you suck.
Me: But the song was good.
Bridger doesn’t look at me, but responds.
Bridger: Thanks.
That’s it? I roll my eyes and start to put my phone back into my pocket
when it buzzes again.
Bridger: I got the story. The room was the past and the window is
escaping it, right? Cool, Al. Really cool. Now stop texting me. I don’t have
unlimited.
Chapter 8
 Alexis

MY NEW—TEMPORARY—BED IS DESIGNED for a queen.

No other way to describe it. As if the mattress knew my shapes and
curves, it molded to me, hugging me all night long. I’m pretty sure I didn’t
move. I’d still be asleep if my mind hadn’t decided the gray misty dawn
was the perfect time to wheel through the events of yesterday in slow
motion.
My teeth grind together and I’m gripping a coffee mug tighter than I
ought to be. The worst part of it all is the tears. A hot sting blurs my sight.
Heartbreak robs the breath, splits the ribs, and pounds the softest places
of the soul until it’s physically hard to move.
Is this heartbreak? Or am I simply really, really ticked off?
The way my fingers curl around the mug, causing my knuckles to whiten,
I’m guessing it’s closer to the latter.
The tears coating my lashes aren’t from heartbreak. A twinge of rage
mingles with a hint of coffee. Bryce’s selfishness is one for the books. Who
comes to Vegas with the plan to set up his apartment with his soon-to-be-
wife, then marries her stepsister?
The worst part is I pushed him to Cami. I asked Bryce on his way back
from a business meeting in Phoenix to stop at my mom’s house and grab a
pot and pan set I forgot. Even if Mike and my mom divorced six months
ago, Cami still hangs around like a bad dream.
Bryce left the house with more than a skillet.
 I’m not romantic, never have allowed myself to be. I’ve been witness to
what passion brings. It’s unstable and usually founded on cheap, physical
emotions. When I think love, the people I think of are Zoey or Parker. They
are my loves and I’d be lost without them. They are worth loving and
breaking for in a platonic, my tribe kind of way.
My eyes scan the white kitchen. Speckled marble countertops and
stainless-steel appliances. It’s a large space, but strangely homey. I grin and
sip the Italian roast. I suppose Bridger Cole can be included in my people,
too. He’s simply the deliciously handsome antagonist. Villains are usually
sexy, though.
I sniff and wipe a tear off my cheek. After all this time, after all his fame,
after . . . things, Bridger came for me and, to be honest, it’s confusing.
He’s supposed to be a face of the past. My brother’s friend who tolerates
me, but I’m embarrassed that he isn’t. He never was. Bridger is my villain,
but also my hero. The lines can get blurry sometimes.
How stupid to have hormonal reactions to his handsome face when I’m
an educated, independent woman and he, well, he is the Bridger Cole.
Doubtless five hundred women would put a hit out on my head if they knew
I was here, drinking his coffee, sleeping in his bed. Spare bed, I mean spare
bed.
But back to my anger.
With a glance at my phone, it intensifies like a stoked fire. Not even a
single text or attempt to call.
Another tear drops into my coffee. I startle when something heavy plops
into my lap, but laugh in another breath.
“Poppy girl, good morning beautiful. Gosh, you’re a pretty dog. Did you
know that?” My voice tips into baby talk and I scratch her floppy ears,
crooning. The dog’s tail beats against the wall like a thick rope.
My nose is buried against her blocky head when his voice wraps around
me like hot chocolate.
“I think my dog likes you more than me.”
My eyes flick over Poppy’s head. He’s such a sight and I’ve missed
seeing it.
Bridger scratches his head, yawning. His hair is tousled and gathered
over his brow. The white T-shirt stretches over his chiseled chest and arms;
the colors in his tattoos practically glow in the sunlight.
He smiles at first, reaching for a coffee mug, but stops. He takes in my
face, no mistake, peeking inside my head. “Al? There are tears in your eyes
and I need you to tell me what dragons to slay to make them go away.”
He’s been saying that since I did a report on the mythology of dragons
my freshman year. I bark a laugh, not a pretty sound, but it’s what comes
out. “Slaying would be a missed opportunity. I’d rather you rob the dragon,
not kill it. They’re notorious for being jewel hoarders.”
Half of Bridger’s mouth curls into a grin as he pours his coffee. He joins
me at the breakfast nook. “Lay it on me, Al. You said we needed to talk,
right? Let’s talk. Then, we can move into me telling you why he doesn’t
deserve your tears.”
I smile and nudge his shoulder. “Don’t look now, Bridge, but you can be
charming sometimes.”
“Take it back.”
I need to remember that getting too comfortable again will blow up in our
faces. I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
 A furrow gathers between his brows. Bridger adjusts on the bench, facing
me, one leg tucked beneath him. “You and me, we do embarrassing.”
Safety nets. The thought is fleeting and, gosh, it stings. I draw in a deep
breath through my nose. “Truce?”
The corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. “It’s too early to argue or
think of comebacks. Truce, Al.”
Poppy nudges my leg as if she knows I’ll need her smooth ears to rub. I
oblige and stare at my coffee. “I don’t think my fiancé was attracted to me.”
Bridger has his coffee mug halfway to his mouth, but stops. “What?”
“Do guys like to kiss a lot? I didn’t really think about it much at first, but
now I’m stewing, so all the memories are coming back. Bryce told me most
guys, once they’ve found the one, they don’t really like to kiss or do
anything. The physical stuff is more when they’re hunting—his words, not
mine.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard, and—”
“I didn’t mind, really. It made some sense,” I barrel on. “Why do people
need to be all over each other when they’re already committed? We did
stuff, don’t get me wrong, but it wasn’t like the movies. And it’s not like I
was left fumbling all over myself. It was just something to do, I guess. I
think what’s making me mad is I took him at his word. But now I’m
thinking it’s more he didn’t want to do anything with me. I think I might not
be very good at kissing and touching and all of it.”
I take a breath, heat in my face, my neck, everywhere. It stabs saying it
out loud. I’m humiliated more than anything. More so, now that I’ve placed
it all at the feet of Bridger Cole who, no doubt, has enough practice with
lips to make him a master.
 Bridger stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. I blink my shame to
Poppy, who pants and drools.
He returns his mug to the table. A breath of silence. Another. And one
more. Then, Bridger grips my elbow and urges me to face him. “Al, that
isn’t possible.”
“You can’t know that, though. We barely tolerate each other, and the last
few years we’ve hardly seen each other at all. Maybe I turned into the
wicked witch who doesn’t brush her teeth and makes it so the man who
asked her to marry him doesn’t want to touch her.”
Bridger grins. I’m keenly aware his hand is still on my arm. His thumb
traces small circles around the joint of my elbow. “I’m going to say this
once, so listen.” He leans in closer. “The problem isn’t you.”
My eyes bounce between his. My throat is dry and tight, my head is
spinning. Why doesn’t he move back? Why don’t I?
This is not the first time I’ve seen that look in his eyes, nor is it the first
time my body has burned for him. But we can’t open those wounds again.
We barely survived before, and somehow managed to brush things under
the rug and return to our snarky remarks and distaste.
At least I pretended to put it all behind me. Even got engaged to prove to
myself I didn’t need reckless rockstars. I didn’t need passion and mess and
uncertainty.
Bridger says nothing, simply studies me. Pierces me with the past is more
like it. I might do anything to know what thoughts are buzzing in his head.
His knee presses against my thigh. I lean in. Our shoulders brush. Bridger’s
hand travels up my arm. The callouses of his fingertips send a shock to my
head when he touches the line of my jaw. My hand glides over his chest.
The rapid beat of his heart stirs something in the pit of my stomach.
 I’m doing this. I’m going to kiss my brother’s best friend. My nemesis.
My safety net. A guy on magazines. The guy who told me my braces were
ugly, but hugged me after I cried when the shark died in Jaws.
My lips part, wanting this, needing this. All this rush of heat and
sensation sends my head into a spin.
“Al?”
I pounce out of my skin and pull back, breathless. Bridger looks at me
curiously, sipping his coffee. One thing is certain, he’s not urging me onto
his lap.
Oh. My.
I blink as through a fog. What is wrong with me? I daydreamed a make
out session with Bridger.
I need more sleep. Shaking my head, I force a smile. “What? Sorry, I
dazed for a second.”
“I asked how you slept.” He’s studying me in a way that tempts my mind
to fall back into daydreams of his breath on my neck, his hands on my hips.
I go to answer but jolt when Poppy booms a deafening bark.
Bridger drags his fingers through his hair, unsettled. “Uh, someone’s at
the door.”
He leaves me, and it’s a good thing. My body trembles. I clap my hands
to my cheeks, a sinking in my gut. Parker would blow through the roof if he
knew I was being this ridiculous about his best friend.
I need to get my logical, unneedy mind back on straight. I don’t need
validation.
Thinking more of Bridger will lead to problems.
It’ll lead to putting down the swords and admitting that once upon a time,
he meant everything.
Chapter 9
 Bridger

MY PALM IS SWEATY when I grab the doorknob. What happened back

there? Al stared at me with those eyes, and all I wanted to do was touch her.
Sort of like my mind went blank and I went insane.
For a split second I wanted those soft, full lips more than I wanted
Nadia’s tell-all to burn up in flames. More than I wanted to write music.
The idea of my fingers tangled in Alexis’s hair, her mouth on mine, body
close—I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
With my face, no doubt, flushed and red, I open the door.
“Heya, bud.” Ellie flashes me a bright grin and steps inside without
invitation.
“Hey, uh, did I forget plans?”
“Nah,” she says and holds up a cardboard box. “I was out getting a treat
for my niece and thought I’d stop and bring you sugary strength.”
She opens the box and shows off rows of gourmet donuts from a shop
across town. Ellie takes one with crumbles of bacon and drizzles of maple
over the top and takes a loud bite.
“Strength for?” I ask, setting the box on the table.
“Dude,” she says through her mouthful. “It’s excerpt day! Good Morning
America day.”
My blood chills. How could I forget? Maybe those full lips, chocolate
eyes, and inappropriate thoughts about my best friend’s sister had
something to do with it. I groan. “I forgot.”
 “How . . .” Ellie stares at me, her eyebrow ring lifting with her brow.
“Never mind. Good. Forget. Don’t worry about a thing, my man. She’s a
total—”
“Elle, you’re taking your niece for two weeks this summer, practice your
kid words, yeah?”
She closes her mouth into a bloodless line. “You’re right. Finn already
said Micah has a swear jar ready.”
I laugh, it’s a little squeaky because I feel more like puking than
laughing. Micah is Ellie’s six-year-old niece who comes backstage all the
time and can outwit half of us. Especially if it’s trivia about Walt Disney.
Finn doesn’t talk about what went wrong with Micah’s mom, and we
don’t ask. It had to be something rough, though, since he works himself to
death on our label.
Busy as her dad stays, Micah has been more a mascot for rockstars than a
normal kid.
Ellie pats my arm. “Seriously, Bridger. You’re going to be okay. Where is
your band? Shouldn’t they be here for moral support?”
I snort a laugh. “I told Tate and Adam if they even tried to be the
shoulder to cry on, I’d kick them out of the band, so.”
“Good move. Adam’s busy being fiancé and Hawkins, well, he wouldn’t
know what sympathy meant even if it had its tongue in his mouth.”
“Be fair,” I say. “Tate isn’t that bad.”
She tilts her head.
“Okay, maybe he is,” I admit, “but I’ve known him since I was a kid.
He’s got something inside his chest.”
“Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it. Anyway, this isn’t about Hawkins. I
just wanted you to know if you need to scream and rage, you can always
call.”
I drop my gaze to the carpet. Nadia can spin this any way she wants. It’s
a good reminder not to fall into the trap of feelings again. I ought to
remember and not be stupid and try to kiss my friend’s sister again.
“Hey,” Ellie tries again. “Everyone who knows you isn’t going to believe
the crap she’s about to spill.”
“So maybe ten people.”
Ellie offers a sympathetic look. “Who was there when that fan
photoshopped those really, really convincing pictures of me snorting drugs?
Or that time when someone released a pregnancy announcement and I had
to turn down those lucrative offers for all the prenatal sponsors? I mean, I
was ready to take one for the team, but you were the guy reminding me
having a real baby for monetary gain was probably not a selfless act.”
I grin. “You’re right. I’m a hero.”
She grips my bicep and sighs dramatically. “A white knight. And don’t
forget it.”
I open my mouth to say something, but the kitchen door creaks and
Ellie’s eyes go wide.
“Sorry,” Alexis says. “But Poppy is whining. My official duties need to
begin, but you neglected to tell me where the leash is and poop bags. You
better have poop bags because it’s super impolite to leave the mess behind.
Oh, hey, you’re Ellie Walker. I love Take Me Out. It’s a total belt-it-out-in-
the-car song. Anyway, Bridger—poop bags?”
Ellie’s eyes bounce between me, then Alexis, then me again. A knowing
grin spreads over her blue lips. She thinks she knows but she doesn’t. She
has the wrong idea entirely.
“Um, Elle.” I clear my throat. “This is . . . this is—”
 “Alexis Knight. He seems to have forgotten my name. Wouldn’t that be
embarrassing if I was some one-night stand right now? I think I’d be
offended. Bridger, that would be rude. Then again, look who I’m talking
about. He’s usually rude.” She holds out her hand and take’s Ellie’s. “Don’t
worry, he knows my name. He’s known me since I was two.” Alexis
smacks my arm and I jolt. “Leash. Poop bags.”
“Uh, the drawer b-by the back door. Al, you don’t—”
“Nope, stop there,” she says, holding up a hand. She grins and that same
pinch of heat twists in my chest. The kind that almost had me claiming her
lips as mine ten minutes ago. Alexis makes a move for the back. “This is
my rent. I will be the best dog walker you’ve ever seen. It was so good to
meet you, Ellie Walker. I mean, we didn’t really meet, but if you’re still
here when I get back, we can try again. It’s just . . . nature calls.”
When Alexis and her whirlwind leave us, the silence starts to put
pressure on the walls. As if the room is caving in. It takes a good minute
before Ellie clears her throat, face red from biting back a laugh.
“So, uh, I didn’t realize you had company. What happened to our signal?
If you’re not alone we’re supposed to signal so the other can get the heck
out of there.”
I roll my eyes and take the box of donuts into the kitchen. “It’s not like
that, Elle.”
“Right,” she says with wide eyes. “I get it. Let off a little tension, no
judgment here but—”
“No,” I interrupt, something sour and gross in my mouth at the thought of
Alexis tucked into a category of guitar chasers. She’s not that, she’s . . . so
much more. “Al’s brother is my best friend from home—”
 “Wait. Knight? Your best friend as in Parker Knight? Gorgeous pitcher
with honeypot eyes that melt my clothes right—”
“Yeah. Easy, geez. Alexis had a bit of an emergency yesterday and
needed a place to stay.”
“Ah,” Ellie says. “And is now your dog walker.”
“You need to understand Alexis to understand how that happened.”
“I’d like to understand her if it gets me closer to that hot brother of hers.”
Ellie doesn’t give me a chance to respond before she turns concern my way.
“Bridge be careful. The pap will eat you up if they find out you have a sexy,
single woman living with you. Has she signed—”
“She doesn’t need to,” I say. I may have a wide spectrum of feelings
about Alexis Knight, but one thing I know is she wouldn’t stab me in the
back.
Ellie drags her bottom lip between her teeth. She disagrees with me not
having Alexis with a gag order, clearly, but she doesn’t know her.
“How long is she staying?” Ellie asks.
“As long as she needs.”
Ellie grins a little wickedly. “Then you just found your Mary Sue. Bring
her to the concert this weekend.”
“No way. She’s not going to stand in as this weird Tim idea.”
“Doesn’t need to be a girlfriend. Could just be a friend.”
“Yeah, that’s how the press’ll spin it. Bridger Cole has a friend. Oh, and
guess what, she’s female. Nothing to see here, kids.”
Ellie laughs and does her thing where she tries to pinch my chest. I swat
her away.
“All right,” she says, “don’t bring her. But I hope you will simply for my
sake. If she’s known you her whole life, I have so many questions.”
 “Maybe I will have her sign that NDA.”
“No way. I’m going to ask it all, Bridger.” Ellie rests a hand on my arm.
“I joke a lot, but I really do want you to be careful. They’ll spin everything,
and if you don’t want her in the spotlight, watch it. They’ll pester her, too.”
It’s so much more than pester. It’s borderline assault. “I know.”
“Okay. Well, I better hit the road. I’ve got a niece to go see.” Ellie
catches me up on a few orders of business for tomorrow morning, reminds
me not to be late like a mother hen, then leaves.
Alone, I fall back onto the couch and close my eyes. My head spins in
too many directions. First, over Al. She’s innocent and hurt already. Being
here might disrupt her life even more, but I don’t want her to leave. The
truth is, selfishly, she helped put me in a place where I forgot today was the
first of many interviews and excerpt releases on Nadia’s walk-of-
slanderous-fame tour.
The betrayal presses on my chest like a lead weight. I want to shout all
my frustration at Nadia, want to defend myself, but by now I’ve learned
how words and actions are twisted.
As if on cue, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Tim: Get ready. Here it goes. Oh, and remember 6:00 AM
Another text.
Brooks: Hey bro, after the concert, maybe come home for a while. The
wrecking ball misses you and it might be good to lie low.
I smile at that. Maybe I ought to go home. It’s not far enough, though. I
shoot my brother a text, more a warning to be braced for media. Then, I
send another one.
Me: Better yet, man, maybe you and Jen should take Beau on vacation.
 Brooks: Hey, we’ve already got our no comments ready. Beau said he’s
going to kick them, so get ready for that bad press.
My nephew is a fireball. A three-year-old with a hot temper. My poor
sister-in-law and brother have their hands full, to be sure.
A call rings over my phone. Now my palms grow sweaty. “Hey Mom.”
“Sweetie,” she says, voice trembling. “I . . . I want to watch, but I think
I’ll go away for murder and—”
“Don’t watch,” I say, voice rough. “Don’t. It’ll trigger everything.”
My mom sniffles and I hate it. I hate what Nadia is doing to everyone I
love. “Bridger, you are above this. Lies always fall apart, son.”
“Not everything she’s going to say is a lie.”
My mom pauses, her voice unsteady when she speaks again. “I know, but
the untruths, they always come to light. One way or another. Cookies are
waiting, kid.” My mom’s way of saying come home, the door is always
open. She loves me.
“Love you, too.” I hang up before I lose it.
Then, I grit my teeth and open a live stream of Good Morning America.
There it is—the promo of the book cover and Nadia’s grinning face. Pretty
on the outside with her silky hair and red lips. But inside she’s nothing but
jagged pieces.
“When we come back, a dig into the darker side of rock and roll,” says
the announcer. “Nadia Prator, model and long-time girlfriend of rock
sensation, Bridger Cole, gives a peek into life, love, and when fame goes
wrong.”
My stomach is in knots. How can she sit there and smile when she knows
everything is a lie? What sort of person does that? Better question—what is
it she really wants out of this?
 I’m glued to the TV, hardly breathing during the four-minute commercial
break. Then, the first questions are asked.
How did we meet?
“A joint event during Fashion week. We had instant chemistry and fell
hard. We fell fast.”
Look at that, Nadia can tell the truth. My fists ball in front of my mouth. I
lean over my knees, propped on my elbows. My body bounces because I
can’t keep still as Stephanopoulos digs in and presses about the harder
things. When did Bridger’s temper flare? When did he take the first hit?
What about the drugs?
She only gives bits and pieces because, come on, people need to buy the
book.
Hints to my extreme alcoholism, my cocaine addiction. My violent
temper. It’s like knives down my back. I hate her, I’m hurt by her. I was
willing to give it all to her.
“Turn it off.”
I whip around. Alexis stands in the doorway of the kitchen, a dog biscuit
in hand, and a very patient, very drooly Poppy waiting. With narrowed
eyes, Alexis stomps across the living room and snatches my phone out of
my hands. She flips the live stream off and still hasn’t noticed the dog is
waiting.
“Al—”
“What the heck was that?”
“It’s complicated and—”
“Doesn’t sound complicated.” Red splotches dot her neck. She’s about to
blow a gasket. “Why is Nadia Prator on GMA, lying?”
 Poppy lets out a little whimper and flops onto her back. She’s
performing, now, and really wants that treat. I open my mouth to say
something, but Alexis is on me again.
“Bridger she’s lying,” she repeats. “You don’t have a drug problem . . .
anymore. Who does Nadia think she is? It’s laughable. You, hitting her?
Yeah, I’d like to see you try. Mama Holly would bury you. Alive.”
Poppy rolls back to her belly. She paws at the couch.
I snatch the treat out of Alexis’s hand. “Would you feed the dog
already?”
Alexis pats Poppy’s head. “Sorry, girl. Back to you, Bridge. What was
that?”
I slouch against the sofa. “It’s nothing.”
“Didn’t sound like nothing.”
If I’ve learned one thing about this situation with Nadia it’s that
sometimes talking does more harm than good. A twinge of guilt burns in
my gut. This is Alexis, she isn’t Nadia, but for a moment all I see is
pleading eyes, red lipstick, and ulterior motives.
My jaw tightens and I jolt to my feet. “Al, drop it, okay? Just forget it.”
“What? No way. I don’t forget things in case you forgot. Tell me what’s
going on. I want to help, and if—”
“You’ll find out in two weeks with the rest of the world. Drop it.”
Alexis stares at me like my words have shot straight through her heart.
Her voice is hardly a whisper. “What happened to being your safety net?”
Maybe I shot her, but she shoots back. I step close, chest to chest, and
speak through my teeth. “That was before I realized my safety net leaves
when things get rough sometimes.”
 Her mouth parts, tears brim over her lashes. “That isn’t . . . that isn’t
fair.”
We both can throw punches, but I know how to land the killing blow.
“We’re not going there, Al,” I say, backing away. “We’re not doing any
of that again. And I’m not talking about Nadia. Just drop it.”
A bit of the light leaves her eyes, and nothing can get me to stay and
watch the rest of it fade. I let out a sort of growl, turn into my bedroom, and
slam the door behind me.
Chapter 10
 Alexis

WINTER—2007

“Lila, I’m telling you if another one of those guys comes at my son again
. . .” Garret Cole pauses, probably knowing we’re all listening from the
crack in the back door.
I hunch on the back stairs, Parker over me, and Bridger standing, ear to
the door.
My mom lets out a mean laugh. The kind she does when I bug her too
much, or when she thinks my outfit looks ugly. Weird to hear it aimed at
Bridger’s dad.
“You and Holly think you’re so high and mighty. Think you’re better
than us, huh? Don’t forget I’ve seen you higher than a kite buckets of
times.”
“Stop it, Lila. We’re not better than you, we just fixed ourselves.” His
voice softens. “You can, too. If you don’t do it for you, do it for the kids.”
She laughs, the mean kind again. “The kids? Ha! The constant reminders
of what I might’ve had. Of mouths I can’t feed unless . . .”
She pauses and drags in a long breath of her cigarette. I know what she
thinks—that she needs someone to love her to take care of us properly.
She’s wrong, but doesn’t get it, I guess.
I hate that my mom hates us. Holly, Bridger’s mom, says my mom
doesn’t hate us, but feels like she doesn’t take care of us, so she hates
herself.
 Doesn’t make sense to me.
Mom can be nice. Once in a while we have waffles, or get ice cream
before she goes to work. Sometimes she tells me she likes my hair or that
Parker is good at baseball. She tells us to go to college. We tell her we will.
But today is one of the bad days. Where it feels like Mom can’t stand us.
“We can go,” Bridger whispers. “Al, you can be one of the guys today.”
We start to move, but pause when Garett leans over our table. “Lila,
we’re here for you if you need support, you know that. But I’m also not
going to let my son, or your kids for that matter, be hit, or yelled at, or
abused by these creeps anymore. I’ll take Park and Lex myself, got it?”
Mom snorts. “You talk big, Gare. But you wouldn’t do it. Not really.”
“I would. They’re like my kids and you’re not going to mess them up.”
We scatter when Garett turns and heads toward the door. He’s not a
dummy, though. Bridger’s dad has a big smile. Most people are scared of
him because he has tattoos and bulky arms, but he’s the nicest guy ever.
“Hey, goofs,” he says, rustling Parker’s hair. “You shouldn’t listen to
adults when they’re talking privately.”
Garett stops. My mom slams the door without even looking at us. A
muscle twitches in Garett’s jaw, but he keeps smiling. I’m not dumb, either.
He’s smiling for our sakes.
“Hey, Lexie girl,” he says as he tugs on one of my pigtails. “What’s up
with the tears?”
I blink. Geez, I didn’t know I was crying like a big baby. With the back
of my hand, I wipe my nose. “Did you mean it? You want us to be with you
guys?”
Garett loses his smile. He flicks his gaze to Parker, Bridger, then back to
me. “Kiddo, listen. Your mom loves you, she really does. I’ve been where
she is and I always loved my kids even if I didn’t make the best choices.
But yeah. If she can’t figure it out, then I want you guys with us. Until then,
you’re welcome anytime. You know how to get in and that door’s always
open.”
I nod and wipe at my eyes before Bridger or Parker teases me.
Garett returns his easy smile. “Hey, I don’t need to go into the station for
another five hours. What d’ya say we hit the fields? Park, you been working
on that curve ball?”
“Struck out three guys last game.”
Garett shoves his head playfully and says, “Thata kid. You stick with
baseball. I think you’re going far. Don’t let Bridge and the other guys force
you into their band.”
“Dad,” Bridger whines. “We need him to play bass.”
“You need him to do what he loves, just like you, bud. You two keep at it
and you’ll be the one in a million.”
“The what?”
“One in a million,” Garett says. “When Park is playing pro ball and
you’re on stage, supporting your old man with your multi-millions, kid.
Statistically speaking both of you are looking at about a one in a million
shot. And you know what—you’re going to be that one. Or two, in your
cases.”
Garett winks, takes the baseball Parker carries everywhere, and tosses it
back and forth with him as we walk.
Bridger hangs back with me. He doesn’t like crying, and usually tries to
make it stop as soon as possible. “What’s with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Your mom?”
 “No. I don’t really need her anyway.”
“It’s good to need people, though.”
I blow out my lips. “No it isn’t. Parker is the only one who needs me and
that’s because he has to say that. I’m his sister.”
Bridger shrugs. “I guess so.”
My chin quivers. I said it, but I didn’t want him to agree with me.
“But, uh, who’d be my safety net without you?” Bridger whispers.
I flick my eyes to him, confused. Maybe a little hopeful. “I’m not that
important to you, Bridge.”
In a rare moment, Bridger’s face softens around me. “That’s not true.”
“What?”
He moans and stares at the clouds. “Are you going to make me say it
again? You and me, we don’t do games, right? We’re honest no matter
what. You said you weren’t important, I disagreed. Honest. End of story.”
I grin and a weird tingle I keep getting around Bridger lately dances
across my arms and it doesn’t make sense. Better to change the subject. I
use my chin to point at his dad. “You’re lucky, you know.”
He nods, a small grin in the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. Come on, I bet
he takes us to that new burger place after the ballfields.”
I run to keep up with Bridger’s lanky legs, laughing. Almost forgetting
how angry my mom sounded that she had kids.
We have a perfect day.
And it’s the last one we ever spend with Garett Cole alive.
Chapter 11
 Alexis

I’M NOT ONE TO give up easily, but I’ve also never seen Bridger turn into
stone and withdraw so harshly either. Usually he’s always up for a good
fight.
I stand outside his door, fist raised, ready to knock. I can’t bring myself
to do it. With a long sigh, I turn away from his door and head to my
bedroom. I flop back onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.
Who does Nadia think she is?
Those longing looks at the camera, the slight touch to the brim of her
cheeks, as if a bruise remained there. Bridger never hit her. I bite my bottom
lip. Then again, domestic violence is often a silent epidemic. Tears sting
like needles behind my eyes. I can’t think those things of Bridger. It’d be a
wretched kind of betrayal. He wouldn’t, not being so close to Parker and
me. He wouldn’t be that way.
I sling an arm over my eyes, but am distracted when my phone rings.
“Hey, Zo,” I say through a knot in my throat.
“Random question,” she says and takes a bite of something. “I know he’s
had some issues—I mean, who could forget—but is, uh, Bridger Cole a
grade-A scumbag?”
“No, she’s lying!” I shout.
“Whoa, easy killer.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Sorry, but I know exactly what interview
you’re talking about. It’s not true. Nadia is totally in this for money, maybe
revenge because Bridger broke up with her.”
“Hmm. Maybe. I mean, there was a commenter on the video who agreed
with you. Said she was a gold digger because her modeling career or
whatever is on the fritz. And you know me.”
I grin. “You internet stalked her.”
“How could I not? Anyway, turns out she did get dropped by Maybelline
for some sort of hushed up contract infarction. Maybelline isn’t small fries.
Maybe she’s looking for a payout.”
“Must be,” I insist. “He’d never do that sort of thing. You should’ve seen
his face when he watched the promo. It was like someone socked him right
in the throat.”
There’s a bit of a pause and I take the time to gnaw on my thumbnail
when I replay the sullen, vacant expression in his eyes as he stared at his
phone. Each word like a dart to his fragile shield he tried to keep in front.
“Lex, I’m going to need you to back up. Speak a little slower, maybe.”
Zoey adjusts and I can practically see her, straight backed and tight lipped
on her office chair. “Did you tell me I should’ve seen his expression, as if
you saw it firsthand?”
My eyes bug out. “Holy cow, Zo. I forgot to tell you. I’m staying with
Bridger. He sort of rescued me from my homelessness. I’ve got my own
bedroom, and like a good man, it’s even stocked with a floor-to-ceiling
bookshelf.”
“Alexis!” she interrupts. “You’re at Bridger’s house? Right this second?
Alone? When he has a story like this breaking?”
“Hold up. I’m not in danger here, Zo.”
“Are you sure?”
 “Zoey,” I say, heat flushing up my neck like a sick wave. “If anyone
knows if he’s some secretly abusive guy, I think I’d know.”
Zoey hesitates. “That’s not the only thing that has me worried. I’m
talking about the undergrad fallout.”
I wince. It’s not that I blame her. Some memories with Bridger are hard
to forget. She’s right. Too right, and I hate it. Bridger has lived the
stereotypical lifestyle of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Doubtless Parker
knows more details than me, but I know things, too. Lived through things
with him when no one else could be there.
“He’s not like that anymore, Zo.”
Paper crinkles in the background as she sighs. “Okay. I hope not, for both
your sakes. But Lex, you haven’t really been part of his life for a while,
right?”
“I’ll be fine. Parker knows where I am. He’s the one who called Bridger,
actually.”
“Okay, you should’ve led with that.”
“I can make choices without my brother.”
“I know, but Parker will make anyone who messes with you disappear.
He wouldn’t be okay with you being there if Bridger is a slime ball.”
I chuckle softly. “Someday I’m going to be a grownup to you and my
brother.”
“Nevah! Hey, Lex,” Zoey says before we hang up. “Call me if you need
me, girl. I’d be there in a second.”
“But is it because of me or do you secretly want to see the rockstar’s bat
cave?”
“Do reasons really matter?” Zoey takes a deep breath. “In all seriousness,
Lex, don’t let tomorrow get to you, okay? If being at Bridger’s helps with
that, then great.”
Tomorrow? All at once my breath hitches. Tomorrow was supposed to be
my wedding day.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
Once she’s gone, I bury my head in my pillows. They smell like fresh
laundry and Bridger. Citrus and spice. I could breathe him all day and it’s
unnerving what the thought does to my insides.
I go to the bookshelf. Time to turn off my brain and escape. After I’ve
made my choice and dig into a science fiction romance, I lean back against
the headboard and try to forget. Try to forget Nadia, Bryce. I try to forget
that every time this sexy alien tries to kiss the female scientist he loves, I
think of Bridger Cole.
Funny, but between being dumped and Bridger not being willing to open
up about whatever is happening with Nadia—it’s the latter that hurts more.

Bridger drags his fingers through his hair. He leans against the counter,
an unopened beer bottle next to an opened can of Dr. Pepper.
Every glance he makes at the bottle is a bite to my chest. Like he’s
testing his resolve and he wants to give in to the pull I have no doubt is
there. Maybe he doesn’t want to give details about what’s going on, but I’m
not going to let him fall into something he might not escape.
I lift my chin and walk with forced confidence to the counter, then snatch
the beer bottle away. Bridger whips his head around, startled, his eyes
simmering with heat. “Alexis, what—”
“Nope,” I say and head to the trash can. With the foot lever, I open the lid
and dramatically drop the beer bottle in. I cross my arms over my chest and
glare at him.
He glares right back, challenging me as he leans against the edge of the
counter. “You think I don’t have more?”
“I’m sure you do. This is one of those symbolic moments, Bridge. Where
I stand here all tough and be the person who won’t let you go down this
hole. You’re supposed to resist a little, but soon you’ll realize I’m right, that
I’m trying to protect you. Next, the scene will turn into something heartfelt
and fuzzy.”
His glare breaks and a grin plays with his lips. Unintentional. I’d planned
to stand off with each other for at least a few more minutes, maybe shout a
little about the risks of drinking at a time like this.
Bridger lets out a long breath, ending in a soft chuckle. “Al, you’re bad at
this. You can’t write a script for our pretend intervention. It needs to happen
naturally or where is the fun in having a come to Jesus moment?”
“I’m just telling you how it’s going to go. Do you disagree?”
“Honestly, I’d rather skip it.”
“Fair enough.” My voice quivers. “Don’t go there, Bridge. I won’t let
you again.”
His crosses the kitchen until he’s a step away. “I don’t drink, Alexis. I
keep them as a reminder.”
“Why tempt yourself?”
“Because it helps me. Maybe it’s not for everyone, but having the devil
stare back at me helps, okay?”
“Fine.” I narrow my eyes and resist the urge to reach out and massage the
base of his head. The muscles are all corded there. But if I touch him, I’ll
probably set up to kiss him like my rogue daydream and what good would
that do?
 A great deal of good to this need boiling in my stomach, no doubt, but
it’s embarrassing. But as a whole what would it do?
Nothing but cause a lifelong friendship between Parker and Bridger to
end because my older brother would have to break his best friend’s nose
when hearts were broken. Not sure if my heart or Bridger’s would be
broken. He’s a sex symbol, and I’m not interested in opening this thing in
my chest. It’s really sixes on who would take the first punch at destroying
the other.
But there’s no denying something sparks inside being here with him
again.
“Alexis.” His voice interrupts my thoughts.
“What?”
“You might not want to be around me when this breaks out.”
“Nope. Don’t try to scare me off.”
He sighs, but I think he’s trying not to smile. “Al, come on.”
“You come on,” I say, poking his chest. “When did you turn into a bear
and storm out on me? You’ve never backed down from a battle of words
before. In fact, you usually insist on having the last one every time. What’s
going on Bridger? Don’t you think I deserve to know?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “But I’m not going to talk about it.”
“Why not?”
“Too risky. The more I talk, the more the tabloids write.” My mouth parts
and I swear a flash of regret fills his eyes. He reaches for me. “Al, I—”
“No.” I pull away, voice rough. “I get it. You need to protect yourself. We
both know I can’t shut up. It’s not like I want to ramble, but it happens.
Who knows what secrets I might give up? I’m surprised you haven’t had
me sign one of those NDA things. Parker makes all the girls he thinks I
don’t know about sign one.”
Bridger shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the floor.
Whatever desire was in my gut now turns to good old-fashioned hurt.
“Ah,” I say. “You’ve got one ready for me.”
“It’s not personal, Al. I’ve just been thinking, and it’s for your protection
as much as me. The paparazzi can be intense and they’d push for any kind
of comment.”
I thought I might cry, but I’m angry. A delirious kind. “If I’m going to
sign a gag order, might as well tell me everything, then.”
“I wasn’t sure if I’d ask you to sign anything yet.”
“But you were thinking of it. I told you, I understand. We’re not exactly
close anymore are we?”
My words draw out the same hurt in me, on his face. Bridger is a
professional at burying feelings, though, I simply thought I had the ability
to bring them out. His jaw tightens and he offers a curt nod. “Yeah. You’re
right.”
“Then tell me. Why is Nadia writing all that stuff? Stuff like how you
broke her nose. People have to realize it’s always been crooked. Once upon
a time I thought it gave her face some character, now I’d really like to break
it.”
He smiles, but there is a touch of sadness behind it. I hope it’s not
because he misses her. Nadia encouraged him to be the rebel rocker.
Bridger can own his mistakes, but I have to give her a little credit. She
brought him lower when he needed someone to push him to be better. I
won’t forgive her, not yet.
Truth is, Nadia almost killed him.
 And now, she has the guts—nay, the audacity—to cut him like this? That
woman hit the jackpot of men. Loyal, sexier than books, talented. Gentle.
His arsenal of qualities is why I pushed away for a time.
While Bridger partied, I studied. I met Bryce Hall. I lived a life apart,
watching as he eventually floundered. But even in darker days, Bridger was
the enemy who’d always own a piece of my heart.
“Thanks,” he says at last.
“For what? Are you avoiding my questions again because you know I
can keep going and—” I draw in a sharp breath when his hand covers mine.
My stomach tightens. Each finger takes on a mind of its own and threads
with his.
“I’m not avoiding your questions,” he says. “I’m telling you I’m grateful
you didn’t ask if I did it or not.”
My brow furrows, my voice lowers. I squeeze his hand again. “Bridger,
the thought never even crossed my mind.”
He gives me a soft smile. “Nadia has written a tell-all about our
relationship and breakup. We were hushed about why we split, and I guess
she found an opportunity to make some money.”
“Are you suing? You could get her for slander.”
He shakes his head. “No. I’m keeping my head down. Denying, if asked.
But there’s no proof I didn’t do it, Al. All I want is for this to die down and
be forgotten by the next big scandal.”
“There’d be police reports, Bridger! Hospital stays, some paper trail to
corroborate her story.”
“Not always.” His jaw tightens.
“Bridge—”
 “It’s fine,” he says. “But I should’ve warned you the second I picked you
up. Any connection with me right now will bring attention to you, so I
understand if you don’t want to be here.”
“Are you . . . trying to get rid of me, Cole?” My voice is a high whisper. I
twitch my eye intentionally. “You think I’m . . . crazy or something?”
He laughs, and before I know it, I’m in his arms, pressed against his
chest. What . . . what happened? I’d brought out Crazy Al simply to make
him laugh, but if he wants to smash me up against his delicious skin, all the
better.
“Don’t think what I’m about to do next means I like you or anything,
Cole,” I say against his chest.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. But I’m totally intrigued to know what this next
thing is.”
I grin and curl my arms around his waist, my fingers gently scratching
his back. Almost instantly the tension eases from his body and he drops his
forehead to my shoulder. It does something horridly forbidden to my heart.
Things like unleashing thoughts of crossing that horrible line we drew in
the sand once before. It’s foolish.
I’m not the girl who fits anywhere near Bridger Cole’s lifestyle. I’m not
the girl he sees when he thinks of a lover. I’m a girl who makes him laugh,
infuriates, annoys, and speaks honestly.
A girl who let him ruin her and who ruined him back.
Chapter 12
 Bridger

WINTER—2007

The back of the church has a music room. I stand there, staring. There’s
an old piano, a tambourine, and a guitar against the wall.
My hands shake as I reach for it, fingers on the fretboard. In my head I
see the melody, but my hands are frozen. Bitter and cold. What’s the point
of playing? He’ll never hear it. A hot, angry tear drops on the strings. I wipe
it way, still clinging to the instrument like it’s my lifeline.
I should be out there with my mom, but I can’t be by that . . . casket
anymore. I loosen the tie around my neck and tug off the suit coat my
grandma bought me, so my arms can move around the guitar easier.
I hold it, but don’t play.
For a Christmas present, my dad arranged guitar lessons, starting in
February, with Bill Daniels—only the best guitarist and voice coach in
greater Las Vegas. He’s worked with hundreds of musicians. Even played
with Celine Dion at Caesar’s Palace. I know what it cost my parents, and
now . . .
I close my eyes and a few tears stick to my cheeks. I can’t stop crying.
Everyone expects Brooks to cry; he’s eleven. I’m the . . . the man of the
house now. That’s what Old Lady Morgan told me.
I hate it. I don’t want it.
An ugly noise comes out of my throat. Uncool, and not like a rockstar at
all. Not like Dad. He’d never hide in a stuffy old room and bawl like a baby.
 I jump when a hand touches my arm. “What . . .” I sniff and hurry to
wipe my eyes and hide my face. “What do you want, Al?”
She fiddles with her black skirt and stares at the floor. “I couldn’t find
you.”
“So.”
“I wanted to find you.”
My chin quivers. I stare out the old, dingy window hoping she’ll go away
and keep her mouth shut to Parker that I’m crying.
Even if I caught Parker crying last night.
“Hey, Bridge,” Alexis whispers. “Safety net.”
I hang my head. She’s my safety net. My dome of silence. I can say and
do anything right now and Al won’t tell a soul. She’s proven it over and
over ever since we decided to be safety nets to each other.
My voice is already stupidly squeaky, but I make it worse when I try to
talk and the tears keep coming. “I can’t . . . I can’t play, Al. I think I hate the
guitar. I . . . I think I hate singing and music.”
I drop the guitar and lower into a crouch and let it all out. My chest hurts,
my throat. I’m not bawling. It’s more than that. I can’t breathe.
I’m fourteen, but already two heads taller than Alexis. She still manages
to wrap her shorter arms around my shoulders. She hugs me and doesn’t let
go. Not for a long time.
When my feet tingle from crouching so long, I wipe under my nose,
embarrassed to look at her. She doesn’t force me. Alexis starts humming. I
shake my head. I know what she’s doing, humming our weird song we
made up. It has stupid words, things like fathead and onion breath, but she
keeps humming.
A twitch pulls at the corner of my mouth.
 Our mad lib song always made my dad laugh. Tears still in my eyes, I
cross my legs underneath me and take the guitar over my lap. My fingers
shake, but little by little, I start to pluck. Then, strum. Alexis starts to sing
the words.
I snort a wet laugh when in the third verse she shouts, “Fart clouds!”
A minute later I realize I’ve sung the fourth verse and I’m laughing. I’m
playing. Music isn’t what I hate. It’s that my dad won’t be here to hear it.
He’s a hero for saving a lady, that’s what everyone keeps saying, and I
believe them. But I wish he weren’t a hero. I wish he were here.
When the roof of the warehouse caved in with the fire . . .
My jaw tightens again. Alexis rests a hand on the guitar. “Don’t stop,
Bridge. He’s listening, still. If you need me to, I’ll sing with you until you
can on your own.”
“You can’t sing.”
She glares. “No, but I write funny songs. And you’re going to be one in a
million. You’re not stopping now.”
I blink because I don’t want to be that uncool and start crying again. She
offers me her hand once she stands, but I get up on my own. Mom and
Brooks need me to be strong today, and I think I can be now.
But after we return the guitar to its stand, and Alexis opens the music
room door, I tap her shoulder. “Hey, Al?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you really think my dad can still hear me?”
She grins, and it’s the first time I realize she’s been crying the whole
time, too. “Heck yeah, Bridge. I bet he’s up in heaven jamming out with the
angels and saying what he always did—that’s my kid. Don’t stop playing or
it’ll be too quiet up there.”
Chapter 13
 Bridger

I TUG MY KINGS cap low on my brow and gather my duffel bag.

Outside is gray with the desert dawn rising, but my darkening shades are
drawn. The second I pulled back the shades, a guy dressed in black had his
long-range camera pushed up against my window.
Tony and Brody at the gates took him down a minute later, but it sort of
set the day off on the wrong foot.
The screen on my cell brightens the room. I hold my breath, hating that
he’s always been insane and rises with the sun. Time to get this over with.
I press my phone to my ear. “Hey man.”
“How’s it going?” Parker asks. There’s a bite in his tone.
“Sorry, Park.” We’ve known each other long enough, I don’t need to beat
around the bush. “I should’ve told you what was going on.”
“Should’ve,” he says. “Look, I know I asked for your help with Lex, but
it’s sort of unnerving waking up to an interview about your best friend, who
has your sister at his house, then finding a pap by your car.”
“What? The paparazzi came to you already?”
“Dude, we aren’t exactly quiet about being friends,” Parker says. “The
guy shoved the camera in my face and some chick started asking me all
these questions about your drug use. Then, went to me, asking if I’m using
stimulants.”
“Parker, I’m—”
“I get it, Bridge.”
 “Is the league—”
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Mandatory drug screening this morning.”
I let out a long groan. This is what I was afraid of. Those closest to me
getting their lives twisted all because they have a connection to me. If
anyone doesn’t take drugs, it’s Parker Knight. He hardly takes vitamins he’s
so worried something will flag on his drug screenings. Now because he’s
friends with the addict rockstar he’s under fire.
“Bridger, it’s fine. All it takes is peeing in a cup.” Parker tries to laugh it
off, but I don’t smile.
“You shouldn’t have to.”
A pause builds between us. Being drafted by the Vegas Kings is a dream
for him, and I’m certainly not going to be the cause of any drama getting in
his way.
But when the silence goes on, I’m not sure friendship is enough. In fact, I
think Parker is planning a few ways he can murder me with his wooden bat
and make it look like an accident. One thing I learned a long time ago, you
don’t mess with his younger sister.
“I’m not worried about me,” he says at last. “It’s Lex. She thinks she
understands what it’s like to be swarmed, but . . .”
She doesn’t. “I know, I told her as much.”
“Yeah, I bet that went over well.”
“She didn’t care. Told me how it was. She’s like a guard dog.” And it
means something after all this time that she got defensive at all. In truth, I
thought Alexis might look at me with disgust and walk out the door.
Not threaten to break Nadia’s nose.
“You should’ve seen her when she came to visit for Christmas,” Parker
says. “Some jersey chaser tried to slip something into my drink at the hotel
bar. Dude, my sister can get feral.”
Something stirs in my gut.
Truth is, I wouldn’t mind seeing Al lose her mind a little. Even though
her tongue rarely stops moving, her brain is organized like a file cabinet.
She can probably pull out the three by five card stored somewhere up there
and tell me what gifts I received at my fifteenth birthday party. Or what
color my shoes were at my first high school dance. She’s like that. Always
thinking, always pondering. To those who know her best, always talking.
“Bridge, just be careful, okay? I hated watching that crap and I can’t
imagine what it feels like on your end. I’m worried about the publicity you,
and maybe Lex, might get. But mostly you, man. Don’t let her bring you
low. She sucks, dude.”
“Sugar coating a little with the crap and sucks, are we?”
“There’s a family with little twins right next to me.”
“Where are you this early?”
“The airport. Got a show to get to.”
I chuckle and feel a little better. Nadia might be out for blood, but I’ve
got my own army behind me. The press will swallow me and spit me back
out, no doubt. But all that matters is I get to play guitar and keep my
fiercely loyal people.
It’s sort of a comical, motley mix. A mama bear who’d kill for her sons;
brother and sister-in-law whose version of wild is staying out past nine;
three-year-old nephew who’ll either be the most successful guy in history or
end up in jail; major league pitcher who only trusts two people on earth. A
few rockstars; and Al—a homeless librarian.
I’ll take them.
 “Bridge,” Parker says. “Are you good? No cameras here, man. You can
be honest.”
I rub the knot on the back of my neck. “I’ll be good, how’s that?”
“Semi-honest.”
“I can’t really think about it or it makes other things start to look
appealing.”
“Got it. Well, don’t think about it. You’ve got your show tonight, so
focus there.”
I roll my eyes. “My manager is making the entire thing damage control.
He’s hiring some groupie to pose as the girl-next-door and hang all over my
arm.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Apparently, women want a reformed rebel who attracts the good
girl. What better place than a charity concert?”
“That’s stupid,” Parker says. “Hey, we’re boarding. I’ll let you know if
your bad habits somehow found their way into my drug screen.”
He’s trying to make light of this, but it makes me sick. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t apologize again, Bridger. Just . . . look after Lex, okay? Don’t kill
her, and don’t let her get caught up in all this.”
“Deal. Go pee in your cup.”
“Already did. It was magical.”
I let out a laugh, better than I was before the call. “I’m so relieved. See
you later.”
The room falls silent again, but at least I’m smiling. My life is spent
around Tate and Adam and Lance. We’re family, no mistake, but Parker will
always be a true second brother. Even if he chose baseball, and I often
remind him of his poor life choices whenever my royalties come in.
 Honestly, sometimes I feel closer to Parker than I do Brooks. Not that my
brother and I aren’t close, it’s just Brooks and I live wholly different lives.
And he listens to country music. It’s a sin, really.
I gather my things and head into the kitchen. Grilled onions and bacon
bring me to a halt outside the door. A sweet, soft hum fills the silence. My
throat tightens, but it’s more the way my pulse picks up a notch that gets
me. With a swipe of my tongue, I lick the dryness away and step inside the
kitchen.
Alexis turns away from the stove. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a
wild bun. She’s got her sexy librarian glasses on and is wearing teal running
shorts and an oversized tee that hangs off one shoulder.
I’m not sure I’ve seen such a perfect sight in my kitchen.
“Al, what are you doing up before five thirty in the morning?”
She bites into an overly crispy strip of bacon, spatula in hand. “Chef,
right? I was given an itinerary from Thor downstairs and I knew you had to
be out the door by five forty-five this AM.”
“Thor?”
“Quinn. But Thor is a more fitting name for a guy of his breadth, don’t
you think? Anyway, he hooked me up. I now know anytime you take a step,
Mr. Cole.”
“Uh, okay, but—”
“No.” She swats the spatula at me and grease splatters on the floor. “No
fast food, no bagels, no donuts. You have a crazy long day and you’re going
to start it off right. I take my duties as chef seriously. Plus, I make a mean
breakfast burrito.”
I can’t help but smile. The duffel bag drops off my shoulder and I move
to her side. “This is weird.”
 “What is?” She doesn’t look at me and keeps flipping the bacon and eggs
in the pan.
“Someone cooking for me in my own house.”
“Is it really that uncommon? I bet Tate has a chef for each meal.”
I laugh. “He’s actually a tight wad.”
“Really?”
“You know he has his reasons.”
Alexis meets my eye, then nods, understanding. “Well, get used to
someone cooking for you. At least for a few days. Tis my job after all.”
I roll my eyes and lean against the counter. “Can I help?”
“I’m sure you can.”
She’s annoying, but still the perfect sight this morning. “May I help.
Satisfied, grammar police?”
“Mmmm, you have no idea.” Alexis flashes me a cheesy smile as she
prepares the tortilla. “You’re probably in a hurry so if you will hand me the
cheese and fill up your own condiment things. I bought those little plastic
to-go cups restaurants use. We’re fancy up in here.”
I dig into my weirdly full fridge and hand her shredded cheese she
must’ve prepared last night.
“Why not just buy the cheese already shredded?”
“Trust me it’s better off the block,” she says. “I’m the chef. Don’t
question me.”
I hold up my hands in surrender and take out an unopened bottle of salsa.
Shoulder to shoulder, we roll a few burritos. She insists I share with the
band and give her credit because they’ll be blown away.
After the first bite, I’m positive my house will be constantly filled with
the guys if it means they get to eat here.
 “Good?” she asks, a bit of vulnerability in her eyes.
I shrug one shoulder. “It’s okay.”
Alexis smiles, lifting her chin smugly. “I’ll give your compliments to the
chef.”
I chuckle. Funny how she can still read between the lines. I finish off the
burrito, snag another one (utterly aware how her smile widens), and pick up
my bag. “If you want to come today, I can arrange to have a pass for you at
the gate.”
“Oh, I already have one,” she says, rolling a few burritos and shoving
them in plastic bags for the guys.
“You have one?” I take the bag from her, brow lifted. “How?”
“Ellie Walker left one for me with Thor. By the way, he laughed when I
called him that, so don’t worry, I’m not offending him. Unless I am, then
you’ll tell me, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, shifting my bag’s weight on my shoulder. “But when did
Ellie drop off a pass?”
Alexis shrugs. “I think she was being nice. Or she wants to meet Parker,
who knows.”
I shake my head. “Probably both. Okay, well if you come around noon
there’s always a good lunch spread and it’s not as busy as night.”
“Oh,” she says as she starts on dishes. “It was nice of Ellie to think of
me, but I don’t know if I’ll make it.”
What? My face contorts into a disappointed frown. I liked the idea of
Alexis in the wings and I don’t have time to unravel why. I school my voice
into something aloof. “I get it if it’s not your thing anymore—”
“It is,” she’s quick to say. “I-I’ve missed seeing the shows.”
 My blood heats and a smile plays with my mouth. “Then why don’t you
want to come?” I take a step closer until I smell her sweet orange cream
shampoo. “Could be a good time. Backstage pass, super-hot rockstars—”
“Ah, full of ourselves this morning.”
“Never said I was talking about me, but I’m glad you thought so.” I flick
some of her hair off her shoulder like I used to. “The guys will want to see
you, and Parker is going to be there.”
Alexis drags her bottom lip between her teeth. “I don’t know. It might not
be a good day for me to be in public.”
“Why?” She sighs and holds up her left hand, pointing to her ring finger.
I’m an idiot. “Crap, Al. Sorry, I didn’t even think . . . well, now you’re for
sure coming. You’re not sitting here wallowing over a scumbag like him.”
“I’d never wallow.”
“Right, because you didn’t love him.”
“Quit being so judgmental.” She hits my shoulder, but her cheeks are
pink in an instant.
“Come.” I want her to come. It’s been too long since I’ve looked out
through blinding lights to Alexis Knight giving her signature I love you sign
because she always forgets to tuck the thumb for the rock on symbol. “We’ll
go out after like we used to when we were singing in dive bars for free
onion rings.”
“I wasn’t allowed to come to those.”
“You can be one of the guys tonight.” I’m pushing this, and the more the
idea simmers in my head, the more I like the idea of leaving the stage and
seeing her. But I’ll keep that to myself.
She cracks a smile. “Fine. But I’m not going to an afterparty or anything.
Parker told me about one he went to.”
 She shudders.
“They aren’t that bad.” Sometimes they can be bad. Especially on tour,
and it depends on what fans get passes from the roadies. Once or twice, Tate
has nearly been trapped by false pregnancy accusations from some of those
afterparties. I drape my arm around her shoulders. “There’s no afterparty,
though. It’s the first responders’ concert, so a lot of kids will be in the
audience.”
She sighs and lets her head fall against my shoulder. This close feels too
good, too right. Her body molds against mine. I should pull back, but
there’s no way I’m doing that, either. I’d nearly forgotten what genuine,
normal touch felt like.
Alexis seems to realize what she’s doing and pulls away. “Um, okay. I’ll
go. But I don’t want to be trampled in the crowd.”
“Backstage, Al. Best seats ever.” I clear my throat and take a step back.
“Listen, I need to go. When you want to come, call this number. It’s for
Mallorie, our label assistant. She’ll arrange a car for you.”
“A car?”
“Parking is awful. Trust me, you’ll want a car.”
“I just think you don’t want me driving yours.”
“One hundred percent true.”
I’m late and back toward the kitchen door. I give Poppy a scratch behind
her ears and look back at Alexis. She’s staring at Mallorie’s card, a little
broken. Maybe lost.
“Al,” I say. “I’m only going to say this once, so listen. You deserve better
than Bryce. Come tonight.”
She grins, eyes wet. “I might show. Who knows, maybe I have better
things to do.”
 I shake my head. “There’s nothing better than rock.”
“Hey Bridge,” she says when I’m halfway out the door.
“Yeah?”
“When I come tonight, even if I dance and sing along and cheer for you,
it doesn’t mean I like you.”
I laugh to hide the flood of heat in my face. “I’d never think otherwise.”
Outside, the luxury car is already waiting. I slip inside and let my head
fall back. An ache building behind my eyes. To know she will be there, for
the first time in two years, it does something to me and I shouldn’t let it.
Alexis was going to get married today. To forget would be stupid. I’ve
already promised I’d never give my heart to anyone again, and Alexis has
no interest in romance or unstable relationships. Touring with a rock band—
hardly the sort of stability someone like her is looking for.
As the driver pulls away, I have to wonder why I wish it was.
Chapter 14
 Alexis

I WISH PARKER WOULD drive to the concert with me, but he’s about as
stubborn as me and insists on doing his ritual of trying to unsettle Bridger.
Bridger does the same thing whenever he goes to the Kings’ games. Once
the entire band of Perfectly Broken held up large cutouts of terrible pictures
of Parker right behind the catcher. It made the news, but Parker pitched his
best game on that one. I think it’s sort of good luck thing between them at
this point.
I called Mallorie. She sounded flustered, but insisted a car would be
there.
And a car it is. One of the nice, black luxury cars you’d expect
dignitaries or movie stars to ride in.
Quinn stands by the door and opens it for me.
“Thank you, good man,” I say. Inside is a bottle of champagne and
strawberries and—I let out a laugh—gummy bears and chewing gum.
Ah, Bridger Cole. My nemesis who gets me.
I startle when Quinn slips into the car beside me. “Whoa, what are you
doing?”
Quinn smirks. “I’m accompanying you tonight.”
“Accompanying me?” I snort and bite into a strawberry. “Didn’t take you
for a hard rock kind of guy.”
“I’m accompanying you, Miss Knight.”
 I pause with the strawberry halfway to my mouth. “Hmm. Sounds a bit
like you’re going to be my bodyguard.”
“If you’d like to call it that.”
“Will I need a bodyguard?”
He turns his flat no-nonsense expression my way. “I wouldn’t hold stock
in beating people with a book as the best line of defense.”
There Bridger goes again. Overprotective while aggravating me at the
same time. It’s a character flaw that holds a certain kind of charm, I
suppose.
I finish my second strawberry, wipe my hands, then lean against the seat.
“Well, Thor. Looks like you and me better become friends then.”
I’m not positive, but I think there is a flicker of a grin on his mouth.

It’s packed at the arena.

Maybe I should’ve taken Bridger’s advice and come earlier. I didn’t
come to the arena at lunch because I needed to be a responsible adult and
try to find a job. There is a promising one at the county library and I applied
straightaway. Right after I applied, I reached for my phone to tell . . .
Bridger.
I know! I’d surprised myself. After I readjusted my head, I told Parker
and Zoey all about it, then proceeded to get dressed for the show.
I went backstage at one of Bridger’s shows once during my senior year in
high school. It was at a club in Phoenix, back when Perfectly Broken still
booked their own gigs, drove themselves in an old ten passenger van, and
had to pay for their motel rooms out of pocket.
 Dressing for a backstage event of this caliber, I resorted to a FaceTime
call with Zoey, and settled on ripped jeans and a Perfectly Broken tank top
with their awesome gritty raven logo.
The arena is already packed with the VIP firemen and police officers,
plus their entire, and I mean entire, families. It’s a chance for grandparents,
aunts, uncles, cousins, anyone they love most to come and celebrate their
sacrifice.
I smile at the roaring crowd, the kids running around wearing Las Vegas
Fire and Rescue or LVMPD on their shirts. From North Las Vegas to South,
the concert is open to all departments, all branches of emergency
responders.
A guy in sunglasses and a tight black T-shirt opens the door for us on the
east side of the arena. There are lines of fans waiting to get a glimpse of the
bands, and when they see our car with an escort I want to curl back inside
and run. My new friend, Quinn, doesn’t allow it.
I duck my head and flash my backstage pass to anyone nearby, as if they
might toss me out any second and I need to prove I’m meant to be here. The
ground rumbles from the thunder of the crowd and the beat of the opening
band.
“They’re good,” I shout at Quinn. I don’t know the openers.
“Band from Portland. Called Chasing Silver. Mr. Cole heard them on his
last West Coast tour.”
“He’s got a good ear,” I shout back. Chasing Silver looks pretty young,
but the singer has a smooth, crisp voice that sets the crowd on fire. I predict
in a few years they might be making their mark on the map of celebrity.
“Miss Knight, this way.” Quinn holds open his arm and guides me
toward a covered tunnel.
 I disappear from the screams. Guys and girls screaming for Bridger, for
Tate, for Adam. Ellie has her own fan club, too. Bare-chested guys with
initials of her name on their skin. It’s all exciting and intimidating and I
wonder how Bridger does this.
He doesn’t like crowds, doesn’t like tight spaces.
Not since Garett died. I think it comes from the nightmares he had for a
solid year after his dad passed. Being trapped and suffocating torments
Bridger. We never really talk about it, but I know all about it. I was his
safety net, after all, and once I caught him pacing the sidewalk in the
middle of the night. Caught red-handed he had to admit why he never slept.
Last I heard, planes were still an issue, too. Cramped and overcrowded.
Nothing but his music would get Bridger on a plane for oversea tours. But
even then, Tate always has to distract him with Boggle or card games.
Once we’re in the tunnel, the music fades slightly and I’m fascinated by
everything. Crew members dance around ensuring final sound checks are in
place, checking lights, and rooms. Security is everywhere. So are groupies.
Really? At a charity concert?
I avoid the girls with overdone makeup and glitter in their hair. A few
sneers find me because I’m wearing the badge that’ll get me to the stage
and they, well, they aren’t allowed there.
I roll my eyes when a guy dressed in a suit walks up to the dozen girls
and says, “Okay, ladies, cell phones in the basket. If anyone in any of the
bands wants to spend time together you can get them back at the end.”
Ugh. It’s degrading to female empowerment how they squeal and drop
their phones, fluffing their hair and tugging down necklines. For what? An
hour with a guy who won’t remember their names? Do they really think
they’ll get bragging rights? Guaranteed, each of those girls won’t get their
cell phones returned until NDAs are signed and sealed.
“Miss Knight,” Quinn says again. He’s leading us up a narrow staircase
that’ll lead to the wings of the stage.
Truth be told, I’m glad Quinn is here. Alone, navigating this maze
would’ve been a trip.
Quinn takes us to a small room built on the upper level and opens the
door. The moment I walk in my stomach squeezes and I grin. Teenage
dirtbags, once. Now I can’t even hide it when I reconnect with Parker’s old
friends. My old friends who all became extended big brothers.
“Chatty Kathy!” Tate says at once, dropping his drumsticks and hurrying
across the room.
He scoops me up and spins me around.
“Tater tot!” I’m not even embarrassed that I squeal and squeeze his neck.
Tate is built like a football player, has dark wavy hair that falls in his face,
is a total playboy, but underneath it all he’s loyal and kind. “It’s been so
long! What the heck is this?”
My finger flicks the new Kings tattoo on the side of his bicep.
“Blame your brother.”
“Nah, don’t toss Park under the bus. You had one too many to drink,
made the bet, and lost.” Adam stands from his cozy spot with his fiancée
Becca and steals a hug from me next. “Hey, Lex.”
“Hey, yourself. And, uh, what’s this bet?”
“Tate has no faith in Parker’s pitching abilities,” Adam starts.
“Not true,” Tate says as he stretches his wrists. “I bet that he couldn’t
strike out three innings in a row. Statistically, do you know how difficult
that is?”
 “Ah, but you should know Parker. He’d rise to the challenge. Speaking of
the guy, has anyone seen that brother of mine? I don’t get good reception in
here and don’t know if he’s made it yet.”
“No, but he’ll show,” Tate says. “Now that he’s not here for the wed . . .”
He pauses and sweeps a glance at me. My cheeks fill with hot sparks of
embarrassment. Tate clears his throat. “Anyway, he’ll be here.”
I nod and give Becca a quick hug. I like Adam’s fiancée. We’ve hung out
a few times when Parker is in town. She didn’t grow up with us and he met
her when she was interning at the production studio. She’s solid, though.
The way she looks at Adam is made of the kind of love everyone dreams of.
Lance is in the corner, hanging over two girls, and hardly notices us. I
don’t care. I don’t know him. He was an addition later in their success.
But when Bridger slips out of the shadows, his green eyes on me, my
insides turn inside out. It’s a kind of visceral betrayal of my own body. His
hair has been mussed, his jeans are tight in the best ways, the black leather
wristbands are in place, and the T-shirt with the black vest stretches
seductively over his broad chest.
He’s delicious, has a weird control over me, and I really don’t like him
right now.
“Finally made it,” he says lazily.
“Ah, it’s adorable that you noticed I was gone.”
“Nope.”
A guy with a headset pokes his head in, breathless. “Five minutes guys.”
“That’s the cue,” Tate says. “Bring it in.”
Bridger keeps his eyes on me as he huddles up with his band like a
football team. Another breath, and Bridger drops his eyes from me and
drapes his arms around Adam and Tate on either side. Lance fits in there,
too, but I smile at the guys I’ve known my entire life as they shout together,
“Break it down!”
A long-standing joke from when Bridger’s grandma tried to tell them to
bring down the house when they were starting to get bigger gigs. I miss
Mae and love the tribute.
“Good luck guys!”
Tate blows out his lips. “Luck. Come on, girl. We haven’t needed any of
that for a long time.”
Tate is all smiles until he opens the door and practically smashes into
Ellie Walker. She looks incredible. Her purple hair is wild, her eyeliner dark
and smokey.
“Hey, princess,” Tate says in a dark tone. “Mind stepping aside? The
rockstars need to hit the stage.”
“Really, Hawkins? Do you ever listen in our meetings?”
“No.”
“I’m singing the first set with you.” Ellie rolls her eyes, but catches sight
of me. “Oh, you got the pass! Good. I need you to tell me all the dirty
secrets about Bridger Cole. I had no idea we were talking over two decades
of information on this guy.”
Tate groans and shoves past. I laugh, then swoon a little when Adam
kisses Becca and she whispers something in his ear that lights up his eyes.
Bridger slings his guitar over his shoulder and adjusts the earpiece in his
ear, staring at me as the others head out.
“What?” I ask. “Are you wanting me to wish you good luck?”
He scoffs. “We’re nominated for best rock album. I don’t need your half-
hearted luck.”
“You’re miserable,” I say.
 Bridger flicks his brows and turns to the doorway. Too slowly, as if he
expects something. I’m not giving it to him. I’m not.
“Hey, Bridge.”
“Yeah, Al?” A smile quivers in his voice.
I let out a long sigh, pinch my lips as if I’m utterly put out, then hold up
the rock on sign with my fingers.
It takes another heartbeat, but Bridger laughs like he always used to when
I’d give him the sign. I know it’s because I’m a book nerd and totally not a
rocker, but I always do it.
Bridger shakes his head and steps out into the hallway. “Thanks, Al.
Didn’t know you cared so much.”
When he’s gone, I glance at my fingers and groan. Great. I did it again.
Two fingers, Alexis. Parker has told me this a hundred times. Tuck the
thumb. The thumb leads to squirmy insides and thudding hearts.
Everything I’ve learned to expertly hide around Bridger Cole.
Chapter 15
 Alexis

THE SAME GUY WITH the headset ushers Becca and me to a comfortable
place to watch the show from the left wing.
Bridger takes his place at the center mic, Ellie next to him, Adam on his
left, Lance on his right. Tate stretches his wrists once more, then sits on his
raised drum set and spins his drum sticks once.
I hold my breath as the crowd quiets. Anticipation is heady. Lights
around the arena dim. My stomach flutters, I can’t bite back the smile. I
love this part. For a dozen breathless moments Perfectly Broken holds the
crowd in suspense, then Bridger nods his head to a soundless beat and
together they explode.
The white curtain shielding them from the crowd falls at the same time
sparks erupt on the sides of the stage; the same time Bridger and Adam and
Lance ignite their guitars; the same time Tate transforms into a new person.
His sticks reaching his snare, his foot on the pedal. He does so many things
at once.
The arena is deafening.
I bounce on my toes, cup my hands around my mouth, and scream. I’ve
never been able to hold back.
Becca laughs and leans into my ear. “I turn into a total fangirl at every
show, too.”
“I love to see their faces,” I scream over Bridger’s voice. “It’s like those
instruments, those lyrics, that stage is their home.”
 Becca tosses her head back and laughs again, swaying to the beat, but she
nods.
Bridger lights up the stage. He presses his lips close to the microphone,
belts out the deep, dark rumble. His raspy voice fills the night. His fingers
slide over his fretboard on instinct now.
Lights, flames, heat. It builds with the energy of their song. When Ellie
takes over, Bridger stands back, claiming the stage. He wears a ferocious
kind of grin as he plays his guitar, leaning into Adam. Then, holding a fist
up for Tate when the drummer tosses a drum stick over his head, catching it
at the next beat.
I close my eyes and absorb it all.
At the end of the song, I can’t hear a thing over the shrieks of the
audience. They cheer Ellie off. Once she’s in the wing she accepts a towel
and water bottle, grinning at the stage.
“That was so good,” I say.
“Thanks. They’re on fire tonight, aren’t they? I haven’t felt this kind of
energy from PB for a while. You might be a good luck charm.”
I snort. “Doubt that.”
Ellie takes a drink with a smile before she’s ushered to prepare for her
solo set.
I grin when Tate begins a harder song. I might be a librarian, but
something about the deep, throaty rock songs, the ones that rattle the heart,
stirs me. The emotion in the rough edges is intoxicating.
Bridger and Adam bang and nod their heads in unison. I don’t know how
they don’t get lightheaded, but more and more people in the audience pulse
those rock on signs, some with tongues out, screaming when Bridger belts
his lyrics.
 A break in the song comes where the word yeah is repeated. Tate pounds
a beat, Bridger holds out the mic toward the crowd as they shout: Yeah.
Yeah. Yeah.
Adam, Lance, and Tate bleed their energy into the crowd with the beat
and Bridger steps to the microphone, arms wide, foot propped on an amp.
My stomach tightens.
He’s going to do his thing. The thing his grandma hated. The thing that
shoots my heart into my throat.
He screams.
Not high pitched. No, it’s the rocker scream. Deep, guttural. Raw. He
holds it while the others go wild and the lights spin like a storm.
Bridger breaks, takes the fastest breath I’ve ever seen, and is right back at
the mic with his guitar. I’m about to combust and have to shriek and dance
as they play. Two more songs are much the same.
Before the start of their fifth song, Bridger steps back from the mic. His
eyes are bright. He’s made for this. I forget to breathe when he steals a
glance at the wing. Our eyes lock and he winks.
Is it betraying my status as nemesis if I admit I’d really like to kiss this
man?
The crowd quiets as the band sets up to do another song. But the mellow
moment is broken by a bellowing shout.
“Marry me, Bridger Cole!”
Bridger glances at the crowd. Frankly, I do too because, although, there
have been plenty of women screaming the same thing, that was certainly
not a female voice.
Bridger and I must see him at the same time because he laughs when I
snort.
 Five rows from the stage, Parker holds up a handmade sign that says,
Bridger Cole is my true love. He’s trying to throw him off, and the way
Bridger is laughing, I’d say my brother won this one.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, our local baseball hero, Parker Knight!”
The lights flash to my brother and he recoils a bit, but he’s just cocky
enough he doesn’t completely shy away from the spotlight. And the
spotlight is certainly on him. Now, there are screams for the untamed ball
player. Parker is a mystery to the public and he’s made it that way
intentionally. The most people know is he’s obsessed with baseball, never
wants to get married, and is best friends with a rock band.
But mystery means challenge. Countless reporters have tried to earn
personal interviews. Even more women have tried to be ‘the one’ who heals
his heart.
Bridger crouches at the edge of the stage. “Park, I thought you’d never
ask me.”
With a quick signal, security helps part the crowd and Parker comes
forward. Bridger helps him on stage. They do their weird back clap hug,
Bridger mutters something no one can hear, my brother greets Tate and
Adam, then Parker waves at the cheering crowd before rushing out of the
way so the band can finish.
I roll my eyes and open my arms when he hurries to me in the shadows.
“You know some magazine somewhere is going to print that Bridger Cole
and Parker Knight are happily engaged, now.”
He laughs and hugs me. “He deserved it. Last game he arranged a kissing
line outside the clubhouse. He promised each woman I’d give them ten
minutes, Lex. Ten. Minutes. Do you know how hard that swarm was to
avoid?”
 My eyes widen. “Okay. He deserved it.”
Parker and Becca share a few greetings, but we all quiet down when
Bridger goes to the mic again.
“This last one is for you.” He points at the crowd, then holds up his left
arm where a fire badge with his dad’s ladder number is inked on his inner
bicep. “Your sacrifice means everything. To your families, we thank you for
your sacrifice, too.” He pauses. Readies his guitar. “This is for you, Dad.”
The song is melancholy, a slow beat. A soft beat. It’s what I love about
Perfectly Broken. They rock hard, then have the most beautiful somber
songs. Bridger’s deep, smooth voice can sing a love song as well as he can
scream.
The crowd responds. Lights from cell phones are a sea of stars in the
stands as they hear Bridger’s tribute to them. To Garett. A sad story about
running in when everyone else runs out. About loss and love.
It’s one of my favorite songs.
Thought time could heal the broken side
Time goes on, but leaves me behind.
It cut you out the inside.
So, far away.
You’re so far away.
At the final chord there is a heartbeat or two before the audience roars its
applause. I’m wiping my eyes, too.
Forget Nadia. After that heart-wrenching love letter, who could ever
believe Bridger would harm a fly? The white fluttering curtain goes up
again and it’s time to make space for Blackthorne.
The guys hurry off, all grinning, all sweaty, and breathless.
 Becca squeals and wraps Adam in her arms. “Babe! What was that? You
guys were on fire.”
He kisses her long and thorough, grinning against her mouth. “I know.
Energy was up and it was epic.”
He sort of growls and kisses her again.
“That was wild! Way to bring it, B,” Tate says and hooks his arm around
Bridger’s neck, causing them to stumble a bit.
Bridger’s eyes fall to me and I have my role to play. In truth, falling into
his voice after so long, it’s really, really hard to play the indifferent nemesis.
I smirk, and shrug. “It was okay.”
Bridger beams and tosses Tate off him. “I’m touched, Al. Reel back the
praise.”
He surprises me by doing the same as Tate and curling one arm around
my shoulders, drawing me against his side.
I don’t even care if I’m expected to toss out some kind of insult, tell him
he’s mediocre, or remind him if I was dancing, it doesn’t mean I like him.
My smile is genuine, the thrum of energy is palpable. He rocked tonight.
All of us make our way toward the room. Crew members congratulate the
band, and random screams from people who’ve been let backstage rattle our
heads.
"Bridger. Bridger Cole! It's Lydia. We dated."
I slow my step. Not because a woman shouted she was an ex of Bridger.
That would be ridiculous.
I glance at the crowd of backstage pass holders, now mixed with roadie
selected groupies. The kids are cute, and frankly, the most polite. But it's the
semi-familiar woman with short hair and too much eyeshadow I'm
watching.
 I nudge his ribs. "Know her? She looks familiar."
Bridger follows my gaze. This Lydia goes insane, waving her hands once
she realizes we're looking at her.
"Remember, Bridger?" she shouts. "We dated."
He squints his eyes. My jaw is tight. Again, not because I'm frustrated
Bridger undoubtedly has a long list of ex-lovers, no. I'm perturbed my
retreat to food in the greenroom has been halted. Really.
Until Bridger starts to laugh. His arm tightens around my shoulders,
urging me to rejoin this conversation. "Al, it's Lydia. The Dr. Pepper-library
girl."
The woman frowns. "We dated."
"Is that what you call it?" Bridger chuckles and starts to tug me in the
opposite direction.
The women who'd been giving Lydia dagger eyes for catching Bridger's
attention are back at it, trying to earn his and the other guys' notice for
themselves.
I grin. No wonder she looked familiar. It's been over a decade since we
had a childish standoff, but it doesn't make this moment of in-your-face less
sweet. I won't descend into the ultimate pettiness, though. At least, not
entirely. I simply wiggle my fingers in a wave and say, "Hey there. Band
geeks rock, don't they? Thanks for coming."
"Bridger!" She shouts. "We've grown up, come on. Bridger!"
He doesn't turn around before a swarm of backstage crewmen usher the
band away. Meet and Greets aren't due to start until after the concert is over.
"That was wickedly satisfying," I mutter.
Bridger winks. He doesn't say it, but I wager he's thinking it. Outside the
greenroom, a guy with stylish glasses and a tailored suit waits for us. He’s
typing on his cell and only looks up when Tate lets out a loud laugh at
something Adam says.
“There they are! Awesome, awesome show. Good call using the last song,
Bridge. Wasn’t a dry eye in the place.”
Bridger stiffens, his arm still around my shoulders. “Wasn’t a strategy,
Tim. My dad died fifteen years ago. It was a tribute.”
“Right, right.” Tim isn’t listening, his eyes are homed in on me. “Who’s
this? We’re not doing the private meet and greets, yet. And frankly, I don’t
think with all that’s going on you should be taking, you know, private
moments with—”
“Uh, excuse me,” I interrupt, pulling back from Bridger. “I am not a meet
and greeter, thank you very much. Do I look like I’m here for funny
business?”
The guy scans my outfit. “Is that a serious question?”
Tate snorts but turns away when I glare at him.
“I’ll have you know something, sir, whoever you are—”
“Tim Grant, Perfectly Broken’s manager.” He holds out his hand, shaking
mine without skipping a beat.
“Okay, good to meet you. Now let me tell you something, Tim Grant—I
am not a groupie. And if I were, I’d definitely be Tate’s, not Bridger’s.”
“Lex,” Parker says in a growl.
Tate nods proudly and puckers his lips at me. Bridger doesn’t think the
joke is funny, and his narrowed gaze sort of draws me to a pause, but the
tongue has been unleashed, so I barrel on. “I am a librarian who happens to
like rock and roll. Seriously, I thought I was dressed pretty conservatively.
Do I not look like a librarian?” I tap Bridger’s arm and gesture to my figure.
“I’m not even wearing earrings. If I wanted to put the moves on a rockstar,
don’t you think I’d wear bright red lipstick, not Vaseline Chapstick?”
Bridger’s eyes swallow me whole, his jaw pulses. For a moment I’m
mesmerized. Is he checking me out?
Not what I intended when I asked the question. I hold my breath, hoping
he can’t see the thud of my pulse in my neck.
He snaps out of it with a quick shake to his head. “She’s Parker’s sister.”
“Oh,” Tim says, completely brushing all previous interaction away.
“Pleasure to meet you. She’s perfect, Bridge. Perfect. I’ll have Mallorie tell
Candi she can head home and we won’t be needing her after all.”
Bridger curses and scrubs his face. “You really had someone waiting?”
Tim looks aghast. “Did I sound like I wasn’t serious? The song was
perfect, broke their hearts, now the personal image needs to be molded into
our narrative. That GMA teaser got over a hundred thousand hits in four
hours. Wait until the book is out.”
The good mood fizzles like a balloon leaking air. Lance clears his throat
and shoves Bridger’s shoulder. “Well, some of us aren’t grounded from
meet and greets. See ya later.”
The bassist abandons us, and Bridger wears a stoic face. I raise my hand.
A habit of mine when I’m not sure who is meant to speak. I know, it’s
weird.
Tim flicks his eyes to me. “Yes?”
“Um, I’m perfect for what? And who is Candi?”
“She’s now insignificant,” he says with a grin. “But you, you’re his good
name, Miss Knight.”
“Come again?”
“Tim,” Bridger warns. “Al is not—”
 “I’m not what? I think I can decide for myself what I am and am not.
What’s going on?”
“Is this the thing you told me about?” Parker asks. Bridger nods. Now,
my brother laughs at Tim. “Oh, man. If you want Bridger with a good girl
who fawns over him and pumps up his ego and image, you’re going to want
to pick someone besides Alexis.”
Fawns over? I wouldn’t fawn, but it doesn’t mean I like the idea of
anyone else fawning. My chest squeezes. I need to stop these rogue
possessive, needy thoughts. Soon. Bridger is still Bridger. Arrogant, rude,
annoying. He’s all those things and always will be. This new need to touch
him, laugh with him, and be by him can scurry away.
“You’re setting Bridger up with someone?”
“Afraid it’s a need at this point,” Tim says. “He needs to show the
cameras he’s not so far gone that he can’t attract a sweet librarian.”
Tim winks at me. But my stomach goes out through my sneakers.
“No,” Bridger says.
“Seconded.” Parker crosses his arms, a stony expression.
“I don’t know,” Becca says with a sly grin. “You guys already know each
other. You might have the perfect setup.”
“Do explain,” Bridger says, exasperated.
“Well, if Candi has to be your sidekick, if I had to guess, it’ll be hard to
cut ties when this all blows over. We don’t want another Erika, right?”
A collective shudder runs through the group. I’ll never forget the woman
who kept showing up at Bridger’s shows, convinced he was her husband.
When she broke into his bat cave, that’s when it went to a new level. Last I
heard, Erika was still getting help at the state hospital. Delusions of
grandeur they called it.
 “I’m liking this train of thought,” Tim says.
“We fight,” Bridger tells him. “Seriously. We fight. Right, Al?”
“I wouldn’t fight. I’m a pleasant person. It’s you who insists on being
totally impossible.”
“See.” Bridger gestures at me, clearly satisfied his point is made.
Tim waves us away. “Fight all you want behind closed doors. Give a few
hugs, a few laughs after shows, and give the press something to wonder
about as this hailstorm hits. The label will compensate you, Miss—”
“I beg your pardon?” My mouth parts. “I am not someone who can be
bought, Mr. Grant. I can give Bridger Cole a piece of my mind for free,
thank you very much. And another thing, this Nadia disaster, I don’t need to
be asked twice to smile pretty next to Bridge if it means shutting her down.
I’ll do it. Of course, I’ll do it.” Then, I reel on Bridger. “Even if I laugh at
your dumb jokes, or let you hold my hand, this doesn’t mean I like you,
Cole!”
And with that beautiful display, I storm into the greenroom.
They need someone to knock Nadia off her lying pedestal? Sign. Me. Up.
But it’s not because I have anything but irritation for Bridger Cole. He gets
under my skin like no one else.
I’m not so sure I mind.
Chapter 16
 Bridger

SUMMER—2009

Desert Sands Library is small, old, and rarely full. Especially on a Friday
evening. But there is something incredibly awesome about Desert Sands
Library, particularly in the back section where the old encyclopedias are
kept.
It’s never used.
Not since they added the computers at the front. Now the shelves are
filled with thick, red books and an extra layer of dust.
Which is why it’s the perfect place to check off the Mesa High rite of
passage—making out for as long as possible before Miss Cook, the old
librarian, catches you.
Parker made it a full thirty minutes last Thursday. Tate—freaking two
hours! They didn’t even get caught, just left because something was up with
his gramps and he had to hurry home.
It’s no secret between working at the drive-in four nights a week, keeping
up with Brooks’s homework since Mom has been covering late shifts, my
own homework, band practice at school, plus trying to catch gigs with
Warped Head, I date less than any of my friends.
Tonight is mine, though.
Parker’s thirty-minute girl has a cousin.
I park my dad’s old blue Honda, grinning at the passenger seat. She’s hot.
Long hair that reminds me of strawberries, big green eyes. Tight skirt. She
laughs at my jokes, she held my hand first. Plus she doesn’t know anything
about me, my family, nothing.
If the night keeps going like it has been, I think by morning I might start
falling for Lydia Taylor.
Maybe she’ll come to my shows? I could be that guy—the rocker who
has his girl screaming his name. Parker keeps warning me to cool it with
chicks. He says I like them too hard, too fast. But he’s never met Lydia. A
smile curls in the corner of my mouth.
“What are we doing here?”
My stomach is tight. I’m nervous, but only pansy’s get nervous. I’m
sixteen. I’m in a new rock band. No better time than now to learn how to be
the suave rockstar. I glance at her. “We’re going to do the dirty dip.”
Confidence is key here.
“The dirty dip?”
Rockstar. I lean over the console and pinch her chin between my thumb
and finger. “Don’t tell me you haven’t wanted to kiss me all night.”
Her eyes widen, but she does this hot little thing where she bites her
bottom lip. I give her a rundown on the rules and my inner David Bowie
must’ve come out because she agrees. My palm is practically drenched
when I take her hand and tug her inside the library.
It’s dead quiet and smells like dust that hasn’t been touched for a century,
but who cares? This is happening.
A single guy is at the counter checking out, and I fight off the groan
when I catch sight of the girl behind the counter. She’s still wearing braces
because her teeth are that crooked, and glasses that don’t really fit right.
Can’t fault her for that, though, Mama Knight never takes her in to get them
resized.
 She’s made this place a total mood killer since she got hired on a couple
months ago. Parker never comes in when Al is here, and let’s be honest,
she’s always here. He’s lucky he got thirty-minute girl on her one day off.
Al finishes checking the guy out, then returns to reading a thick book.
Some romance that looks like it’s set in World War II. I want to groan again
—when is she going to catch on that sci-fi is where it’s at?
I try to lead Lydia past Alexis, but it’s like Al has a sixth sense and must
take any opportunity to be annoying.
“What are you doing here?”
I roll my eyes and glance at her. She sips a pink lemonade through a
straw, glaring between me and Lydia.
“It’s a library,” I say. “What do you think I’m doing?”
“Since you can’t read, I really can’t say.”
Lydia balks. See, she’s even the kind of girl who’ll stand up for me. I hit
the jackpot.
I lean over the counter, grinning snidely. “Hey, why don’t you live your
life through that book and just avoid the back row for the next three hours.”
Alexis pinches her lips, eyes narrowed, but she doesn’t get a chance to
say anything. Lydia tugs me away by the arm.
“Who is that?”
“Parker’s little sister.”
Lydia looks over her shoulder and snorts a laugh. “That’s his sister? Talk
about opposites. He’s a jock and she looks like a total dork.”
My stomach curls. I look over my shoulder. Al is returning books back to
the shelves, sort of keeping a close distance. She probably wants to watch,
but I’m still stuck on Lydia insulting her. I’m pretty sure Alexis heard, and
that doesn’t sit right.
 “She’s not a dork,” I say. “She just likes to read a lot.”
“Whatever,” Lydia says, pulling me into the right row. The overhead light
is out. It’s dark, quiet, and perfect. She goes onto her toes and hovers her
lips over mine. “I don’t care what she does, but I’ll stick to the jocks like
you.”
Lydia kisses me. She’s a hard kisser. Sort of fast and wet. I like it, but . . .
I’m not a jock.
“I, uh—” I start to say between kisses. Whoa, her hands are everywhere.
“I don’t play sports.”
Lydia pauses. “I thought you played with Parker.”
My fingertips dance down her spine. I lean in and kiss her, but she’s not
as vigorous. I shake my head. “No, he’s the ball player. I’m in a band.”
Lydia pulls away, her hand on my chest. Not in a sexy way, more like
she’s keeping me at a distance. “You’re in band. As in the school band?”
“Yeah, and a garage band. We’re playing at—”
“Like marching band?”
“No. Regular band.”
Lydia snickers, eyeing me kind of how she looked at Alexis. “You’re a
band geek? Gross.”
Heat prickles up the back of my neck. It’s not a new thing. I’ve heard it
before from some of the football players. Until they heard Warped Head
play. They don’t laugh at me for being in a band now.
Lydia scoffs and starts walking away. “My cousin told me you played
with Parker.”
“Come back to my house, I’ll play for you. We’re already scoring gigs.”
“What? You think you’re going to be like, famous or something? Super
lame.”
 I don’t answer and she laughs. Actually laughs at me. I’d be totally
satisfied if the heavy encyclopedia shelves tipped over and buried me alive.
“Hey.”
My blood freezes.
Alexis stands behind us, holding two Dr. Pepper cans. This night couldn’t
get any worse. She heard Lydia laughing, no mistake, and Al is getting
quicker with her comebacks. She’ll never let me live this down.
Alexis holds out a can to Lydia. “Free drinks tonight. We like to clean out
the fridge before the new week. If you needed to take a breather.”
Lydia takes the can, so do I, but my eyes are on Alexis. They don’t give
out free drinks. Miss Cook guards her Dr. Pepper like a rabid wolf.
“Cool,” Lydia says. “Come on, Bridger. I want to go home.”
Alexis shakes her head when I reach for the can top. She mouths, Don’t
do it, at the same time Lydia pops her top. A frothy explosion hits her in the
mouth, then dribbles down her white T-shirt and hands.
“Oh!” Lydia screams as more soda spills out. It’s all over the carpet by
the time it ends. Lydia glares at Alexis. “You loser. You shook it on
purpose.”
“Revenge of the nerds!” Alexis does her weird, evil laugh. This time, I
laugh with her.
Lydia shoots me with her glare and shoves her wet soda can in my hands.
“You know what, forget driving me. I’ll call my cousin. You’re both
losers.”
I stand there holding two sodas, silent for a long time.
Alexis inspects the carpet. “I better clean this up. Miss Cook will
probably fire me for touching her Dr. Pepper. Kind of a bummer. I liked this
job and it’s one of the few places that’ll hire a fourteen-year-old.”
 “She won’t fire you,” I say. “We’re going to buy some more and you’re
going to take the credit for the surprise. She’ll give you a raise.”
“I don’t get off until nine. The store will be closing.”
“I’ll go buy some.”
She tilts her head. “Ah, cute. You don’t want me to get fired.”
“I don’t. If you get fired, then you’ll have more free time to bother us. Go
get the towels, I’ll help get this cleaned up first.”
Alexis grins and disappears into the bathroom. She returns with damp
paper towels and we start dabbing at the spilled soda in silence.
“Hey, Bridge?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not a loser. You’re just perfectly broken and at the last talent
show you looked way more like a rocker than a band geek. You’ll for sure
be one in a million.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to hide my smile. “Al, I’m only going to say
this once, so listen.” She lifts her eyes to me. “You’re not even close to a
loser, either.”
Alexis smiles at the carpet. “Hey, don’t think this means I like you,
Cole.”
I nudge her shoulder. “I wouldn’t dare.”
Chapter 17
 Bridger

MY MIND HASN’T CAUGHT up since Alexis stormed into the

greenroom. Her words keep bouncing in my head, but I can’t make sense of
them.
Tim claps his hands together. “Perfect. I’ll get the NDA all written up—”
“Hang on, Tim.” I shoot a glance at Parker. “What did she say?”
He frowns. “Something crazy.”
“Does she even have any idea what this would mean?” He doesn’t need
to answer, we both know Alexis is doing this out of loyalty and hasn’t a
clue how this will affect her life. My jaw tightens, and I shove my way into
the greenroom. “Give us a second.”
I close the door behind me. Alexis is at the table lined with our mishmash
of favorite things. Mini pizza slices, potato logs, pineapple. We all have
different tastes. She’s spearing a triangle of pineapple, her back to me.
“Al, what are you doing?”
“Eating.”
“You know what I mean.”
She drops the fruit and faces me. “Paying you back for giving me a place
to sleep, how’s that?”
“A lie.” I go to her side. “What are you doing? You can’t agree to this,
it’s . . . it won’t be good for you.”
“I think you have it backward. It won’t be good for you if I don’t.” She
waves a hand in front of her face. “Listen, Bridger. You drive me insane,
but what Nadia is doing drives me more insane. Let’s be grownups and help
each other out. You helped me. I’ll help you.”
I spin her against me. She gasps when our faces are inches apart. “This is
different than giving you a room, Al. People will follow you, harass you.
They’ll dig into your life.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
I hesitate. “Why are you doing it?”
Her breaths come harder. Her hand is over my heart. I didn’t realize how
close we’d become.
I curl my arm around her waist, trying to read everything her eyes are
saying, but what her mouth isn’t.
“Because it’s my job to be your safety net,” she whispers.
My pulse won’t stop pounding in my skull. She licks her lips as my
thumb comes up and follows the line of her jaw. In this moment, I’d do
anything to rediscover what her mouth feels like on mine. This is risky,
dangerous. We can hardly stand each other.
I don’t care.
Alexis tilts her head, driving me insane in the best ways. She’s looking at
me like she might be thinking the same thing, like she might want me to
close the space between us as desperately as me.
The handle of the door jiggles and we break apart.
I take my guitar from around my shoulders and drag my hands through
my hair as Tim comes in, smiling.
“Hey, thirty minutes until the ensemble,” he tells me, then glances at
Alexis. “Miss Knight. Here is your non-disclosure agreement. I’ll need you
to sign it before you leave. It states . . .”
 I’m not listening. I’m watching Alexis glare at Tim. She hates that NDA
and she’s going to eat him up when he’s finished with his spiel.
“What’s going on?” Parker asks at my side.
I blink, still a little stunned. “Um, I think . . . I think she’s agreeing to be
my Mary Sue.”
Parker’s jaw pulses. He gives me a pointed stare. “Do I need to say it?”
In truth, he might need to give me the big brother speech because I’m
still stuck in the moment we came close to something else. I shake my head.
“I won’t let her get hurt, man.”
Parker grinds his teeth and crosses his arms over his chest. “You better
not.”

Quinn sat in the front of the car. Alexis and me in the back, what’s left of
the fries and chicken fingers are smelling up the backseat between us.
I look out one window. She looks out the other.
My phone lights up for the fifth time. The same message.
Tim: Bridger, I can see you’ve been getting my texts. You’ve GOT to get
her to sign that NDA.
Alexis glances at me, she must read my face, and grins. “Is he still at it?
Well, be sure and tell him I’ll go to my grave before I sign one of those
stupid things. It’s offensive and rude. Oh, but also tell him the picture of his
wife and daughter on his phone were adorable. Seriously, so cute.”
I tuck my phone away and shake my head. “Yeah, they’re great, but he’s
ruthless. Even if he’s always smiling. It’s his job to keep the band’s best
interests, Al. He’s not going to give up.”
 “I’m not going to sign it.” She looks out the window again. “But I’m also
not going to tell anyone anything. I’m not Nadia, Bridger.”
I wince. It’s a shot to the gut. I have been closed off with Alexis. In a way
treating her like Nadia, and it’s never been that way with Alexis.
“I know,” I say. “But I also think you’re making a mistake agreeing to do
this.”
Alexis shifts in her seat the best she can with the seatbelt and pierces me
with her gaze. “Why? Why is the idea of anyone being close to you so
terrible? You’re not some broken thing.”
I laugh. “Perfectly Broken.”
She rolls her eyes. “I still think I deserve a royalty check for coming up
with your band name. It’s so much better than the first one.”
“Warped Head was awesome,” I say, my shoulders relaxing. Per usual, a
few tangents with Alexis and I’m forgetting the stresses of reality.
“No. It was a dumb name.” She takes another fry. “You are, you know.”
“What?”
“Perfectly Broken. And perfectly broken people deserve good things.
You deserve a lot of mean and nasty things, too, because you’re terrible.
But all the work you’ve put in to bring you to this place.” She grins at me.
“You deserve to stay in a positive light, Bridger. She doesn’t get to take any
of this away from you. Not while I’m around.”
I clench my fist over my knee to keep from reaching out and pulling her
against me and kissing her until we can’t breathe anymore. There isn’t any
point in trying to shove the thoughts away, either. They’re on a constant
replay and I’m starting to enjoy the forbidden more and more. Parker will
murder me if he ever finds out the thoughts I have about his sister.
 “Fine, Al,” I say and pull sunglasses over my eyes to annoy her. “You
have no idea what you signed up for. I’m a very needy boyfriend. Get ready
for it.”
“Pfft. I can take anything you’ve got, Cole.”
I wish she would. I really wish she would.
Chapter 18
 Alexis

MY LIFE HAS WHITTLED down to spooning a dog.

But she’s so soft and cuddly. I bury my face in Poppy’s velvet ears, the
deep snorting breaths of her massive body soothing the tension in my
shoulders. I’m sure I look pitiful. I’m wearing my old yoga pants with paint
stains, my hair is a rat’s nest on the top of my head, and I must’ve bent my
glasses at some point because they’re not sitting right on my face.
My eyes sting from no sleep last night. Never mind the fact that I agreed
—in one of my emotional tornados—to hang all over Bridger in public, but
surprise! Bryce finally reached out.
Nothing earth shattering. A simple text. But it clued me in to know that
Bridger likely got a hold of my phone since I became his roomie and
deleted my ex’s number.
(702) 300-2781: Hey. Can we talk?
Even with Bridger’s good intentions, I knew it was Bryce. I’d memorized
his number when I was once without my phone for a week.
Me: Guess.
(702) 300-2781: Come on, Lexie. Please.
I’d sent an emoji in return that would make Parker proud, then shut off
my phone, and stared at the ceiling the rest of the night. After so long, I
gave up and started to wander. Bridger’s house is comfortable. A man’s
house, to be sure, with a lot of leather and musky smells. He picked a soft
rug, though. Dark and plush. The perfect place to snuggle a dog and try to
sleep.
I’m about to doze off when a stern knock rattles the front door. I sprawl
out like a starfish and curse everything. It’ll be someone Bridger knows
personally or they wouldn’t be using his mysterious side door.
“Why, Poppy? Tell me, why?” I grunt as I stand and shuffle to the door. I
don’t know if Bridger will appreciate me answering his door, but it’s
flipping six in the morning and he’s dead to the world after his concert.
Squinting in the dim light, I open the door to a woman in a suit and
straight blonde hair. She eyes me. Really goes for it and drinks me in, then
raises a brow. “You must be Miss Knight.”
I push my glasses up my nose and nod, trying not to talk too much in
case I smell like morning breath and dog.
She shoves her way in. “I’m Mallorie. The executive assistant for
Enigma Records and PR for Perfectly Broken.”
Mallorie spins on her thin stiletto heel and takes me in again as if I might
look better on second glance. She’s the most put-together woman this early
in the morning I’ve ever seen.
“You have two jobs?”
“Indie record labels. We all wear different hats. I’m here to speak with
you and Mr. Cole about the next steps.”
“Next steps?”
“Yes. For your role in his image readjustment.”
That’s one way to put it. Poppy hops up from her place on the rug and
bolts down the hall. My stomach clenches when Bridger’s raw voice greets
the dog, then another heartbeat later he rounds from the hallway. His hair is
a delightful mess, but I’m at a loss for a minute. He’s shirtless. Well, he’s
halfway pulling on a T-shirt and getting a peek at his chiseled, colorful
shoulders and chest is probably the best sight of the morning.
I clear my throat and turn away. He rubs his eyes and blinks into the
room. “Mal, what are you doing here?”
“I’m here with the itinerary for your public appearances.”
“We have them scheduled?” I gawk at the list of events. Some are official
like an interview with a local radio station. A fancy dinner in two weeks.
But the others are staged sightings. Taco truck downtown. Blue Man Group
next weekend. Getting into an Uber. Holding hands in a department store.
Visiting Bridger’s family. That one I have no problem with.
“The goal is to get into next month’s edition of People with the hope
they’ll put you in the Stars are Just Like Us column,” says Mallorie.
I school my confusion at Bridger. He doesn’t meet my eye, but points at a
spot on the list. “This one is off.”
Mallorie takes a look. “What’s the problem?”
“I’m not going to interrupt Al’s school and have her walk around campus
talking about me. It’s not natural, and she’s there to get a real degree. It’s
not for show.”
My heart sings. Only Parker shows any hint of understanding how much
I love my education. To know Bridger gets it leaves my insides squishy and
greedy for him to step a little closer.
“It’s a good place to gather attention,” Mallorie says, sternly.
“No.” Bridger holds her stare. “I’m not making her a spectacle. She’s
doing me a favor. No.”
It’s quiet the impressive standoff. Clearly, Mallorie knows how to handle
the rich and famous. She hardly blinks. But does she know when Bridger
Cole digs his feet in, he rarely backs down?
 At long last, Mallorie lets out an annoyed breath. “Fine. No bragging at
the university.” She crosses it off our public agenda. “Next, Miss Knight
has an appointment tomorrow with our stylists.”
“Why?”
Mallorie looks me up and down a third time. “To smooth out some
edges.”
“Rude.”
Bridger laughs. “Get used to Mal. She doesn’t know what sugar-coating
means.”
“I mean, you can’t really judge what I look like right now. I had a rough
night,” I insist. “We got in late, I was thinking about this situation, and my
ex texted me, so I didn’t sleep much. I do clean up decent enough”
Bridger narrows his eyes. “Bryce texted you?”
“Whoa, who is this ex? I wasn’t informed,” Mallorie says. “We can’t
have any skeletons jumping out of her closet.”
I ignore her and turn to Bridger. “He wanted to talk.”
“And you told him to get lost, right?”
Bridger’s voice is deliciously low and demanding. My fingertips tingle.
“I did.”
“Seriously, who is the ex?” Mallorie says.
“He’s no one. He’s married to my stepsister now. Long story.”
“And I expect to hear it,” she says. “I’ll need to know anything that
might be a surprise. I assure you, if you two will listen to me and do as
we’ve planned, you’ll get through this, Mr. Cole.”
Bridger sits on his couch. He claps his hands together so Poppy will
come to him. “Honestly, Mal, I think the best thing to do is ride it out. Stay
low. Forget all this charade crap.”
 Weird, but hearing him say that strikes a nerve. This getting along is a
charade, and I’d do well to remember it. I bother him. He bothers me. But I
guess I hoped I wasn’t so irritating that he’d hate this idea.
“Look, it’s not a favorite idea for me either,” I say, an attempt to shield
my weak heart.
Bridger opens his mouth to say something, but Mallorie interrupts. “It’s
no one’s favorite idea. But this is what happens when non-disclosures aren’t
signed. Which brings me to the next point.”
She slaps a packet on Bridger’s coffee table.
“Nope.” I shake my head. “I already told Tim Grant I’m not signing
one.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t need one. I’m not a backstabber.”
“Yes, but we don’t know that.”
“Bridger does.”
Mallorie rests a hand on her hip. “He’s believed that before.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m not Nadia. Unlike that woman, Bridger and I
have a history.”
“Exactly. You have even more you could sell.”
I throw my hands in the air, frustrated. “You’re right, I have so much on
this guy, if I wanted to sell something I would’ve done it already.”
I cover my mouth, afraid it got away from me again. Bridger and I don’t
talk about certain things I know, things I’ve seen. He doesn’t look up from
stroking Poppy’s ears. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’d never, never, hold
certain things over his head.
“Are we done here?” I ask, desperate to get away. “I’d like to shower and
smooth out my edges.”
 Mallorie doesn’t seem appeased at all, but she relents. “We’ll be in touch,
Miss Knight. You might not like my methods, but I’m very good at my job.
I know how to make guys like him look like baby angels to the public.”
“Right. Got it. My job is to make sure no one sees the real Bridger, only a
sparkly, pink-cheeked cherub. Well, I happen to think the world would like
the real Bridger Cole!”
I turn on my heel and storm down the hallway. Why, tell me why, do I let
my mouth run wild? Who tries to swing an insult with a cherub in the mix?
Before I close my door, Mallorie’s voice carries. “Get her to sign it,
Bridger”
“She doesn’t need to.”
“You willing to take the risk?”
He pauses too long.
His silence is deafening and cracks a sharp line straight through my
chest.
I close my door against it all.

On Monday, my appointment with the label stylists was canceled. He

never took credit, but to thank Bridger without being too obvious, I made
his favorite green chili enchiladas after my orientation.
After the enchiladas, his gratitude came by leaving the keys to his jeep to
drive to my classes with an explicit note that if I scratch it, he’ll sell my
copy of Jane Eyre.
My classes take up my mornings with one extra online class, and I
already love it.
 I even survive the entire week without shouting to the university that I’m
‘with’ Bridger Cole.
Truth be told, we haven’t seen much of each other since Mallorie’s visit.
He spends his time in the studio with the guys. Enigma insists on a new
album by winter, and Becca hinted that they’ve been in a bit of a slump.
Bridger works the lyrics for the band most of the time. Adam and Tate work
melodies. I’m not sure where Lance fits in.
With the amount of time they’re working, hopefully it means they’re
finding their groove.
On Friday, I set out the few groceries I bought, ready to make Mama
Holly’s famous mac ‘n cheese she always made us as kids. I figured today
he might need a little more comfort food.
Monday is the day. The bomb-dropping day. Nadia’s book is going live.
As I’m shredding cheese, the door to the kitchen opens and Bridger steps
inside. His body screams fatigue, but his eyes are bright, like grass after
rain.
“Hey, Al.”
I give him a look. “Hey, yourself. What’s with you? Why are you so
happy? No, scratch that, why haven’t you insulted me today?”
He laughs and takes out a Dr. Pepper from the fridge. One right next to
his devils. “No insults. I’m riding a high right now.”
My eyes widen, blood drains from my face.
Bridger chokes on his first drink and holds up a hand. “No, not like that,
Al. Not like that.”
I let out a shaky breath. He crosses the space between us, surprising me.
One hand holds the side of my face and I think of nothing but the warmth of
his skin, the hint of clean laundry on his skin. The burn of his gaze.
 “Never again,” he whispers.
I swallow with effort and nod as he pulls back. I’m not even ashamed to
admit I wish he wouldn’t.
Bridger takes a seat in the breakfast nook. “We just scored six new songs
in five days. Six. It all . . . flowed. Do you know how long it’s been since
we’ve been able to do that? I’m talking years.” He wears a boyish grin.
“I’ve missed this feeling.”
“Glad you finally pulled your head out.” I bend down into the cupboard
for a pot. “What changed, do you think?”
Bridger doesn’t answer. He twists his soda can on the table, knee
bouncing.
“Earth to Bridger.”
He takes another drink and shrugs. “You’re the only thing that has
changed for me.”
My heart blocks my throat. I turn around, hoping he doesn’t see the heat
rush that went straight to my head. What is happening here? I’m
acknowledging unspoken feelings I’ve had for my frenemy since I was
fifteen, that’s what. It’s risky, given what we’re about to do publicly.
Doubtless, one of us will be burned in the end if we don’t keep walls up.
But when he looks at me like that . . .
“What are you making?”
I lick my bottom lip and blink through my brain fog. “Uh, your mom’s
mac.”
His smile widens. “Hey, that’s the one thing I know how to make. Let me
help on this one.”
Bridger doesn’t give me a chance to retort before he comes to my side
and takes over the cheese grater. Ten minutes later we’re dancing around
each other, laughing about how many times Adam pretended to be sick all
so Holly would bring him this mac n’ cheese.
“You know, we ought to tell her what’s coming so your family isn’t
blindsided,” I say, searching the fridge for my fresh basil.
“I already talked to them,” he says as he fires up the burner on the stove.
“You did. What did she say?”
He chuckles. “I’m not going to tell you or you’ll blush again.”
“I didn’t blush.”
“I made you blush and you tried to hide it.”
“You did not, and you have never made me blush, Bridger Cole.” Lies.
All lies.
He raises a brow. “Al, are you giving me a challenge?”
I blow out my lips and snatch the basil. When I turn, I smash into his
chest. “What are you doing?”
“You think I don’t know how to make you blush.” Bridger traps my face
in his hands, thumbs drawing a line across my jaw.
The floor tilts. “Why . . . why would you even try?”
He grins, a little wickedly. “Because it is one of my favorite things to
do.” Bridger glides one palm across my shoulder, down my back, and curls
an arm around my waist, holding me against his chest. “And . . . success.”
I frown and try to shove him away, but he tightens his hold. Bridger’s
smile fades, his thumb grazes my lip. One more touch and my legs are
going to give out. His eyes bounce between mine, his heart hammers under
my hand I didn’t realize was on his chest.
“Alexis,” he says, voice rough. “Safety net moment.”
“Okay.” I’m melting into him and can’t stop.
 “I’m grateful you’re here. I’m grateful for what you’re doing. I’m
grateful for you.”
Warmth blooms in my chest and I’m undone. All walls are down for half
a breath and I curl my arms around his neck, holding him closer. He buries
his face in my hair and hugs me back. My fingertips tickle his neck, tracing
the edge of his T-shirt. “You’re going to survive this, Bridge.”
“I know,” he says and pulls back slightly. “But I’ll admit it’s nice not to
do it alone.”
I scoff and let my hands drop. Any more and I’ll do something crazy like
kiss him. With uneven steps we drift apart, finding our places around the
food again. “And you tried to kick me out. Aren’t you glad you didn’t?”
Bridger laughs, but when the front door bangs open, we both jump.
“Bridger!” Tate’s voice carries.
Together, we let out a breath of relief as Tate, Adam, and Becca shove
their way into the kitchen.
“Oh,” Tate says. “There you are.”
Adam pauses at the stove. “What is this? Lex, don’t tell me . . .”
I wink. “Yep. Mama Holly’s.”
“Babe.” He turns to Becca. “We’re staying for dinner. I don’t care what
they say. We’re eating here.”
“Okay, chill,” she says as she looks at me. “What have you done to him?”
“It’s his favorite from Bridger’s mom.”
Tate takes some of the shredded cheese and sprinkles it in his mouth.
Poppy pounces on the bits and pieces that fall, slobbering all over the tile.
Bridger shoves his shoulder. “Are you three? Get a plate. Why are you
here?”
 “We were talking about making a few changes to the last verse from
earlier. We think it might work better with a repeat of the second verse.
What? Did we interrupt something?”
Bridger glances at me. A small, knowing smile curled in the corner of his
mouth. As if we have a secret that’s only ours. “Only making Al blush.”
“Oh, got it. A truce moment,” Tate says.
I frown until he laughs. Maybe we all know each other too well.
Our safety net is over. But the weird thing is, after we all sit around the
table, laughing, shoving our forks with pasta, Bridger and I trade more than
one heated glance across the table.
Almost like the moment when our walls crumbled at each other’s feet.
When we bore it all and we unraveled.
I can’t let it happen again.
It hurt too much last time. This time, with all the years between us, would
be so much worse.
Chapter 19
 Alexis

SPRING—2013

I don’t want to drive home with Tyler. He’s been pushing the limits all
through prom and it has sort of ruined it for me. Senior prom only comes
once and I wish I would’ve gone without a date at this point.
Mom isn’t home, not that she’d care. She practically expects me to hole
up in a motel with my prom date. My house is empty now that Parker is at
Arizona State. To make it worse, he’s even further since Arizona is playing
against LSU this week.
Tyler pulls into my driveway. The house is darker than pitch, and he
stares at me with a hungry gleam in his eye.
“Thanks for taking me,” I say and smooth out my light blue dress. “I had
fun.”
Tyler shuts off the ignition. “You’re not going to invite me in?”
I shake my head. “Sorry, my mom is home and wouldn’t like it.”
He laughs and scoots closer. “Your mom is at the club working her stuff.”
I narrow my eyes. Maybe I’m not close with my mom, maybe she has
problems, but I don’t like how everyone uses her past against her. “She’s
not a dancer, Tyler. She’s a waitress. But even if she were, you don’t need to
say it all judgey like that.”
“Whatever. All I’m saying is the night doesn’t have to end.”
I pull back. “Um, yeah. I’m good.”
 Tyler’s face shadows. “Come on, Alexis. I did all this stuff all day.
Dinner, pictures. And I don’t even get a kiss.”
I snort my irritation. “I’ll pay half if it’s that big of an issue.”
When I reach for the door handle, Tyler grips my arm and tugs me to
him. “Or you could be a good prom date and settle it like normal girls.”
He leans down to kiss me and I shove him back. “Get off me, you jerk!”
“It’s a kiss, Alexis. It’s not like I’m pushing for more.” He grips the back
of my head, a sly grin on his face. “But if you want more, I mean, we’re
both eighteen. We can do what we want and—”
He doesn’t finish. The driver side door rips open, and a hand curls around
Tyler’s suit coat, pulling him onto the driveway.
“She said not to touch her!”
Tyler holds up his hands. “Whoa, Cole. Take it easy. We’re good.”
My breath catches when Bridger lowers into a crouch, hovering over
Tyler on the ground, his eyes like hot coals. “We’re not good. Not even
close. Get out of the car, Alexis.” He doesn’t look at me, but I oblige
without argument. Bridger tugs on Tyler’s tie, so their faces are nose to
nose. “Get out of here. Don’t even look in her direction again, Sanderson.”
Tyler scrambles to his feet and into his car, cursing under his breath.
“You’re not even her brother,” he says as Bridger slams the door.
Only once Tyler’s taillights fade into the night do I look at Bridger. He’s
been gone so much lately. An indie record company signed the guys a year
ago and to get their name out to the world, the label has kept them on the
road for three months. Mostly playing small venues and clubs across the
state. But I heard a Perfectly Broken song on the radio and I about lost my
voice from screaming so loud.
 They’re making it and I don’t know what surprises me more. That
Bridger is off the road, or that he’s here, waiting for me to get home from
prom.
I narrow my eyes. “Thanks for embarrassing me! Now everyone is going
to laugh at me. Why did you do that, Bridger?”
Another surprise. Instead of a smart retort, Bridger jogs after me to my
front door. His palms trap the sides of my face. I don’t move, I don’t
breathe. “You want to fight me on this, Alexis? You want to argue that I
should’ve let that guy keep his hands all over you? Try it. I dare you.”
I shake him off. “What are you doing here? Where are your new
groupies?”
A flash of anger fills his expression. “Really? I help you out and you
throw it back at me.” He lets out a long breath. “You’ve been worse than
normal since we started taking off.”
“Yeah, well you think you’re Led Zeppelin or something. I don’t need
cocky rockstars.”
“So you admit we’re rockstars. About time.”
“You’re an opening act,” I bite out. “And I don’t need your help.”
Bridger growls, a real growl, and has me caged against my door. I freeze.
His hands are flat on either side of my head, his mouth close. I want it
closer and I hate it.
“Say thank you, Al.”
“No.”
“Why are you such a . . . You’re like a spoiled brat who wants one thing,
then does another.”
“Look in the mirror.”
“Say thank you.”
 “No!”
He stares at me, challenging me. I don’t blink. I don’t back down, and
before I know it, his mouth crushes against mine. He tastes sweet and
minty. I close my eyes, my arms around his neck.
“This . . .” I whisper against his mouth. “This doesn’t mean I like you,
Cole.”
He pulls away, his lips hover over mine. “Parker is going to kill me.”
“Then stop.”
Bridger tugs on the back of my head and kisses me again. He resists. He
kisses my jaw, my neck, back to my lips.
All at once, he breaks away with a curse, leaving me breathless, my back
against my front door. We kissed. A real kiss, and I need to brace against
the door to keep upright.
Bridger paces on the porch his fingers laced behind his head. He’s gotten
more tattoos on his arms and I want to trace each one. I want him to leave. I
need him to touch me again.
His eyes are wild when he turns back to me.
“Safety net moment. I didn’t like that guy touching you because—”
Bridger comes closer, his hands on the sides of my neck. He drops his gaze,
gathering thoughts, then lifts his eyes to mine. “Because I want to be the
one who touches you. The one with you.”
It takes all my composure to keep my head from spinning. I can’t lose it.
This is simply a heated moment. We’ve had plenty of those, to be sure. But
this one, oh, this one is different. Needy and desperate. Passion makes
people lose their minds and make terrible, life-changing choices. He’s
getting started on something I know will be big. I’ve always known he’d
get here, and I’m not going to let one fight, one moment of unbidden heat
ruin it. For either of us.
“No you don’t,” I say with as much deliberateness as I can manage.
“Don’t speak for me.”
“You don’t want me. You’re just being protective. Like Parker.”
He glares at me. “I am not a brother to you, Alexis. Not in any way.”
“You’re at the beginning of a music career, Bridger,” I say, voice soft.
“You think I’m going to believe you aren’t going to get lost in fans and girls
who want you?”
He steps back as if I burned him. “You think I’d cheat on someone? On
you?”
“I know you get caught up in the idea of love and relationships and—”
“Not with you!” His face softens and he drags his fingers through his
hair. “Not with you, Al. I’ve resisted you. You think I want to be here,
doing this? You’re like, like a constant thorn in my side. You’re my best
friend’s sister!”
“Wow. I’m swooning.”
He almost grins and slips his fingers through mine, then guides our hands
behind my back, holding me against his body. “But you’re a beautiful thorn.
And I can’t keep pretending you haven’t dug deep inside me.”
My pulse won’t stop racing. All I want is to throw caution to the wind
and lose myself in him. But I promised myself I’d always be cautious. I
wouldn’t open my heart to silly romantic whims because I refuse to depend
on anyone. I refuse to be my mother. She lost her love after my dad died
when I was a baby, and she’s been searching ever since. She latches onto
this furious whirlwind like Bridger is bringing and she is always, always
burned in the end.
 I will not be her.
I’ve stood on my own two feet my entire life and I’m not about to
stumble now. It would ruin me and it would ruin Bridger. Truth be told, I
care way too much about his stupidly wonderful heart to ever hurt him in
that way.
I pull away from him, shaking my head. “No, Bridger. No. We’re not
going down that road—”
“Alexis don’t lie to me. Don’t tell me you haven’t felt something.”
“I won’t lie. But that’s exactly why we’re not going there. We’re too
emotional. Too involved. You need to live your life and I’ll live mine.
Nothing will change. I’ll tell you when you’re a total jerk, since you are
99.365 percent of the time, and you’ll become that one in a million. You’ll
live it up, and you’ll never resent me for tying you down.”
“Tying me down?”
“I would, and I don’t . . . I don’t want the wild life, you know. I’ve seen
what that does.”
“You don’t want me is what you’re really saying.”
I want him too much and that’s the problem. When it falls apart, we’d
both break.
He flinches, and I’m forced to blink away tears as he takes a step back.
“This isn’t over, Alexis.”
I open my front door. “It is.”
“No. It isn’t.”
I hang my head and close the door on him. We’ll keep this between us.
That’s what our safety nets mean. We crack our ribs open and bear our
hearts and keep our mouths shut once we stitch ourselves back up again.
 But tonight, I slide down the wall and hug my knees to my chest. My ribs
are still cracked when I bury my face in the ruffles of my dress. I cry. For
the first time in all our bickering, our rude words, Bridger Cole makes me
cry.
He’s right. It’s not over. With him, it’ll never be over.
Chapter 20
 Bridger

HE’S A MONSTER.
He’s an abusive junkie
#boycottBridger
Sounds fishy.
She might be lying. He does a lot of charity.
You never really know a person, I guess.
I put my phone in my pocket, already tired of the flood of commentary
still pinging my alerts since Nadia’s book release.
Each day brings a new battle between sides. I have some supporters.
There are plenty of haters. Nadia’s accusations brought into question some
of my sponsorships. Tim was prepared, though, and has been battling to
keep funding coming in from appearances and commercials we’ve done in
the past.
One of our shows was pulled in Iowa from next spring’s tour. I expect
more to be canceled. The entire PR team at Enigma is working overtime, all
to save my stupid hide.
It’s become like background noise thanks to Alexis.
She had everything arranged on opening day of the book of lies. Parker
had the night off between away games and came over. Tate, Ellie—they put
down their weapons for my sake—Becca, Adam. Lance didn’t make it, but
he’s not really into the whole family thing.
 We didn’t look at anything online. We didn’t watch any interviews.
Didn’t read any reviews. Alexis arranged for us to go back to being
teenagers and we had an Xbox night until three in the morning.
It was perfect.
I didn’t look at anything for three days after it broke, but was forced to
get involved when someone tried to break into my house. Some girl
basically raised a mob of women with pitchforks. They collided with
women who still wanted me to marry them. It wasn’t good. Police were
called.
I knew they’d find out where I lived.
Thankfully, Quinn knows what he’s doing, and for the last two weeks no
one has been outside the gates. Last week, Mallorie gave Alexis and me the
all-clear to resume our staged appearances.
I think it’s a terrible idea.
People believe everything they read, and I’m not clueless that it puts a
target on my back for retaliation. I can handle me, it’s her I’m worried
about. If anyone did anything to her . . . I don’t even let myself think of it.
“Al,” I call down the hallway and wait until she pokes her head out of her
bedroom. I hold up the packet. “Tim sent you a present again.”
She rolls her eyes and disappears back into the room for half a breath.
She returns, a satchel slung over her shoulder, shorts that show off her legs
too well, and sneakers that have pink laces. Mallorie will lose her mind
knowing she’s not wearing the nude stilettos she had the stylists send over.
I love how Alexis looks.
“Is he ever going to stop?” She brushes past me. “I’m not signing an
NDA. I sent bagels and schmear to the offices this morning, so I thought
he’d love me by now.”
 “Oh, he does. You keep sending thank you carbs to the staff and you’ll
always win Tim over.”
“Well, they deserve it. They’re like your own personal army and have
kept things fairly tame, all things considered.”
Can’t disagree with her. Enigma has the right team to manage these
scandals, but the team for Perfectly Broken is more than that. I like to think
they genuinely care about me and the guys. Which is where Tim’s head is
with the papers. I hold them up again. “He loves your deliveries, but still
wants you to sign it. Even texts me once in the morning and once at night.
He’s basically my alarm clock now.”
She rolls her eyes and pushes through the kitchen door. I enjoy it a little
too much when she comes to an abrupt stop.
“Bridger, what is this?”
“Breakfast of champions.” I wink at her and open my arms to the
strawberry parfait bar I set up. I even found her favorite kind of granola.
The one with candied almonds in it. “Or at least the breakfast for lunatics
who voluntarily agree to get swarmed.”
She snorts a laugh and adds the slivered strawberries to a touch of yogurt
and at least four heaping portions of granola. “I’m the chef, Cole.”
“Well, take a day off. This is my thank you food.”
Her eyes brighten as she takes it all in. “Speaking of days off, I have an
interview at the library.”
“Yeah? That’ll be the most boring job ever. Congratulations.”
She smacks my arm, laughing. “You realize I’m going to school for
library studies.”
“Yes, I do. Still liking it a month in?” I take the yogurt spoon from her
and make my own parfait.
 “It’s great. But I’m pretty sure someone took my picture on campus the
other day.”
That brings me to a pause. My chest tightens. “You sure?”
“I don’t know. There was a guy holding a camera, and it looked like he
hurried to turn away from me. I’m pretty sure I heard a click, though.”
“Al—”
She holds up a hand. “We knew it would happen. And since we checked
off that radio interview and they posted me all cozied up to you on their
website, it was going to happen pretty quickly. You saw their Instagram
post. All the questions about the chick on Bridger’s arm. Some of them
were mean, you know.”
I tug on her hand. The last few weeks it’s become easier, more natural, to
touch Alexis Knight. She rests her forehead to my chest as my arms curl
around her waist. “They’ll get worse, Al. I promise they will. Block them
out because I’d never change anything about you.”
“Nothing, huh?”
I smile and rest my chin on her head. “Except all your annoying things.
Which is a lot, so maybe I would.”
She smacks my chest and pulls away. “Same for you, sir. Same for you.
Hey, I better get going.”
I nod, snatching my keys from the peg on the wall. “Let’s go.”
“Uh, where are you going?”
“I’m taking you to school. Coffee run morning, remember?”
She rolls her eyes. “Right. Because everyone wants to be trampled in
Starbucks this early in the morning.”
I hurry and help put things away in the kitchen, leave a note for Gabby to
help herself to the leftovers when she comes, then head out to make our
latest public appearance.
It’s working. Mallorie knows what she’s doing, I’ll give her that. The
little peeks at me with another girl is working. Interest is piqued, and in the
last week or two talk has shifted from boycotting my band to the good girl
who wears sneakers always hanging with me. Why would a girl like that
mess with a rocker who hurts women?
It’s a little bit of a miracle no one has connected her name yet since she’s
Parker’s sister. I have a feeling some of our PR people have been
controlling it. But it’ll break eventually, then Parker will no doubt have
more to worry about himself.
I wave to Quinn at the lower door. Alexis hands him a parfait I didn’t
know she brought and says, “Later Thor.”
He laughs and settles into his chair with his breakfast. My blood heats.
She doesn’t know what she’s doing, but she fits here. Everyone from my
security to my dog loves Alexis.
In the jeep her phone dings. She looks at it, frowns, and puts it away.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“Okay.” I pause and wait for it.
“It’s Bryce. He keeps wanting to meet with me. To talk he says. What is
there to talk about?”
My grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Don’t meet with him, Al. Not
now.”
She gives me a narrowed look. “I won’t mess with your reputation,
Bridger. I agreed to this, so I’ll be sure to look like I’m not stepping out on
you. Don’t worry.”
 “Would you relax,” I say, laughing. “I wasn’t thinking of me. I don’t
want you to meet with him because he doesn’t deserve to be within a
hundred yards of you.”
Her face reddens, and she faces the window, no doubt hiding her own
grin. “Just drive, Cole. I need coffee.”
I laugh again. “Yes, ma’am.”
We don’t go to Starbucks. Alexis grins when we pull into a smoothie
place we used to come to whenever my parents took us to Vegas as kids. It’s
twenty minutes from the Strip with less people.
Alexis beams at me. “I don’t think Juicie was on the approved list of
public appearances.”
“It isn’t,” I say. “Less crowds and I really do want a drink before I get
tackled.”
“Good choice, sir. Good choice. You know they serve iced hot chocolate
here. I always thought it sounded gross until—”
“I forced you to try it on your twelfth birthday. And I was right, wasn’t I?
Like I am about everything.”
“Never mind. I was going to compliment you, but not now. Forget it.
You’re full of yourself.”
I tug her against my side at the door, my lips to her ear. She shudders and
I love it. “Careful, Al. You’re supposed to be head over heels in love with
me right now.”
Her eyes pop; she swallows. I think I have control here, until Alexis
drags her hand over my chest, around my neck, her fingertips rolling one of
my earrings between them. I have no control. She could mold me to do
anything right now.
 “That,” she begins, voice low and soft. “Will be incredibly hard to
pretend.”
I smile for show—people are starting to look our way—except what they
don’t know is none of this is for show. Not for me. “Can’t say I mind
watching you try.”
She licks her lips and stumbles a bit at the door. “We, uh, we better get
going.”
There are a few people getting orders. Two guys at a raised table stare at
us, eyes wide. They don’t say anything, but I assume they recognize me.
They think I can’t see them snapping pictures, but they aren’t good at
hiding. This is what we’re supposed to do. Gain positive attention. An older
couple has no idea who I am and hardly looks our way, but the cashier sort
of gasps as we give an order.
She hardly says a word, but, clearly, wants to. She’s polite and
professional, and I appreciate it as she hands our cups over the counter.
“Um,” the girl says. She’s probably sixteen tops. “Are you . . . in
Perfectly Broken?”
I take the ice hot chocolates and nod. “I am.”
The girl lets out a long breath. “Cool. My brother, he’s like a huge fan.
Me, too, but he is like a huge, huge fan. I don’t want to be annoying, but
he’s in the hospital right now and would freak out if I got your autograph
and a picture.”
“No problem.” I signal for her to join me around the counter, glancing at
her nametag “I hope he gets better soon, Molly.”
She blanches. “Yeah. He, uh, he’s got Leukemia, but the doctors think
this next round of radiation will put him into remission. He’s responded
really well, so fingers crossed.”
 My throat tightens. This isn’t for show anymore, simply a natural thing
the guys and I said we’d do in situations like this. It’s my favorite part of
the job. “What hospital is he at? If you don’t mind, I’d like to send some
things from the band.”
“Mind?” She lets out a little squeak. “He’ll flip! Yes, please. He’s, he’s
just at the regional hospital. Dustin Barlow is his name. Oh my gosh, this is
awesome. You’re awesome.”
The older couple watches, a little confused, as the cashier hurries around
the counter, hands Alexis her cellphone so we can snap a picture. We hold
up rock on signs, then she hugs me. Alexis runs out to the jeep and finds a
picture of the entire band, and a large Perfectly Broken hoodie. I don’t
know if it’ll fit Dustin, but I sign both and hand them to Molly.
“Thank you! I don’t believe all that stuff that came out about you, by the
way. Neither does Dustin.”
“Smart girl,” Alexis says like she simply can’t help herself. “Don’t trust
everything you read.”
The girl is a teenager, so the cynic in me wants to say she doesn’t know
much about the world, but it means something hearing I’ve got support face
to face.
“Thank you,” I say, voice hoarse. “Tell Dustin when he’s feeling better
you two will have backstage passes to the next local show.”
She squeals again and I’m lost in the moment. This is what I always
wanted from music. The smiles, the joy, that can be spread. Alexis takes my
hand, and I give her a quick smile. She gets it. Then again, she’s always
understood this dream of mine. Even if she told me I was a horrible human
most days, she always told me I’d be one in a million more.
“Want to stay here or take them to go?” I ask.
 She shrugs. “People are on your side here, I say we stay for a bit.”
I sit at the table and we’re left alone. The guys stare, but keep their
distance. Molly busies about, a grin on her face. The older couple doesn’t
even care we’re next to them. I get to just be with Alexis. Like we used to
be.
“Times up,” she says with a sigh at her watch. “Education calls.”
Drinks in hand, we wave at Molly, and head for the door.
We don’t make it far.
In the time we spent inside, a mob of cameras has built outside. Alexis
presses to my side. I share a look with her. They’re surrounding my jeep.
It’s a crowd large enough I’d have Quinn clearing a path for me. We’re
alone out here, and they’re practically foaming at the mouth when we open
the door.
I hug Alexis against me, one palm covering her head. Cameras are
swinging, hands reaching out recording devices, so many questions hit me
all at once.
“Bridger! What happened that night between you and Nadia?”
“Who is the girl?”
“Are you on the market again?”
“Do you plan to be violent with her, too?”
That one gets me to stop. I offer the guy an incredulous look, then keep
shoving through.
“Is this your girlfriend? Does she know about your drug use?”
“What do you say to Nadia’s claims you’re reconciling?”
We’re poked and prodded. There are so many people it takes me half a
breath to realize at my next step, Alexis isn’t at my side anymore. My blood
chills when I hear her quiet scream. She’s on the ground. Guys, women,
snapping pictures. She must’ve stumbled in the frenzy, and now the sharks
are devouring her.
“Get back.” I swim through them, pushing back, trying to reach her. “Get
off her.”
I help Alexis to her feet. If I wasn’t seeing red right now, I might laugh.
She sort of kicks her feet out, hair a mess, snarling.
“You’re like animals,” she shouts back at them. “And you spilled my iced
hot chocolate! I want apologies! Geez, is this what you all aspired to be in
life—harassers? Dream bigger!”
They’re not listening, only capturing her rant as I shove open the driver’s
side door of my jeep and practically toss her inside. The pappos have a little
bit of sense to back up when I roll forward and speed out of the parking lot.
When we’re out of sight, I let out an angry breath and glance at Alexis.
She’s dabbing her lip and holding her forehead. I curse, loud enough she
lifts a brow. “They hit you?” I’m seething. About to turn around and give
them something to write about.
Alexis rests a hand on my arm. “Easy. I’m fine. I smacked my face when
I fell, no one hit me. I think one guy was even trying to help me, but the
wolves ate him up.”
My jaw clenches until my teeth ache. “We’re not doing this anymore.”
“Bridge, I’m okay. But I think . . . I don’t want to go to class bloody. I
might need to call in a sick day. They don’t really have those in college, but
I’m making it up.”
I take her hand in mine and squeeze it. “You are. Not even a question.”
Alexis smiles, but behind it all there is a bit of fleeting fear. This scared
her, but she’ll pretend it didn’t. I relax a bit, though, when she leans her
head against my shoulder. “Don’t think what I say next means I like you,
Cole, but . . . thanks for saving me back there.”
“Always, Al,” I say.
Safety nets. I lost hers once. After I put my heart out there for her to take,
I screwed up, and deserved for her to pull the net out from under me.
I hadn't deserved her.
Not with the life I was leading back then.
But she’s here now. The more I think about it, she was always there.
Even when she said she wasn’t. Alexis Knight has always been my safety
net.
I didn’t deserve it then, and truth be told, I’m not sure I do now.
Chapter 21
 Bridger

SUMMER—2015

Alexis: Hey. The show was okay. I guess it’s sort of cool you’re not an
opening act anymore. The door guy said there was over 2,000 people.
Almost impressive.
Alexis: Are you ignoring me? I need to talk to you, so if you’re not too
busy being a cool rockstar, I have something to say. And you know how I get
when I have something to say and can’t say it. My head explodes.
Alexis: Bridger I can see that you’ve read these texts. Answer me.
Alexis: I tried to call. Who do you think you are? You ignored my call. I
NAMED YOUR BAND!
Alexis: Fine. I’ll just get it out. I know you saw James kiss me at the
show. Parker told me it bothered you. I’m sorry. I didn’t come to rub
anything in your face even after I saw the pictures of you with that model.
We said we wouldn’t let the doorstep scene change anything, but Parker
told me you drank quite a bit after the show. Don’t go there, Bridger.
Please. Don’t be the stereotypical rocker. It’s not worth it. This concern
doesn’t mean I like you, Cole.
A week later.
Alexis: Really? Disorderly conduct? It’s all over the news. Snap out of it,
you fool. You’re breaking your mom’s heart.
 Alexis: Fine. You want the truth, you big baby, you’re breaking my heart.
This isn’t you. Parker says you’re spiraling. We both come from families of
addicts. Don’t risk it. Talk to me. Talk to anyone. Safety net, Bridge. Please,
call me.
Three days later.
Alexis: Your mom told me what you did. How was your night in jail? I’m
here for you, but I can’t watch you do this to yourself. It’s breaking more
than my heart. It’s breaking all of me.
Two months later.
Alexis: You won’t respond to this and that’s fine. I know you’ve seen my
messages. I know you’ve gotten my voicemails. I’m sorry, but I can’t watch
you destroy yourself. I know we always promised safety nets, but I can’t be
yours anymore. You deserve more than this, Bridger Cole. I wish you’d see
that. But you’re killing yourself and you don’t care. I won’t be at any more
shows. I’m going to focus on school. Bye, Bridge. Please, use your brain
and demand more of yourself.
I shut off my phone in the greenroom. It’s our first Warped Tour and it’s
been epic. I should be celebrating this, but honestly, my head is in a
constant heavy fog, and I think I might get sick if I try to stand.
I tip back a drink of whiskey from a flask.
So much for a soft place to fall. Should’ve known she’d be gone. Like
everyone, people you care about always leave. In my head, I know I’m the
one who pushed her away. Something snapped when I saw her and that guy.
They sat close together, kissing, laughing. Like a piece of my heart is
poisoned, I shut down. I’ve stopped caring.
I ignore her. Simpler to be angry at her than admit I’m to blame.
 “Hey, Bridge,” Tate leans around the doorframe, concern furrowed on his
brow. “How about we head to the hotel for drinks? Just us.”
Tate’s eyes take in the guys from another Warped Tour band called
Bloody Days. They’re metal and harsh and wild. The perfect guys to help
me forget the ache in my chest.
“Nah,” Sean Haze, the lead singer says. He slings a skinny, clammy arm
around my shoulders. “We’re just getting started with him. Stay if you
want, drummer boy.”
Tate’s jaw tightens. He gives me a pleading look, but I turn away.
“Right,” Tate says. “We’ll be at the hotel if you need us, man. Oh, and
Bridge? Alexis called me. I stood up for you, but I think she’s right. You’re
being a complete idiot. Your dad would hit you upside the head if he were
here.”
I close my eyes against words, against what I’m going to do. I’ve already
decided, but thoughts of my dad watching me break like this cut out my
heart and leave it to rot on the ground.
“Cole,” Sean says, holding up a plastic bag. There’s no need to guess
what’s inside. “Join us?”
I look to the empty doorway. I’m going to screw this up for Tate and
Adam, but it’s a heady pull to drown out the noise in my head. I look once
more at my phone, at her last words. She’s gone. The best way to get over
that is to forget.
I sit beside Sean as he opens the bag. Soon, I’ll be numb. I nod. “Yeah.
I’m in.”
Chapter 22
 Alexis

THEY KNOW MY NAME.

Not even a full two days after the smoothie encounter, online articles
everywhere are shouting Bridger Cole’s new lover—Alexis Knight. Ninety-
nine percent of them always add something like sister of Vegas Kings
Pitcher, Parker Knight.
Being an unemployed librarian is hardly interesting, I guess.
The worst part are the pictures of me holding my face after I fell. The
narratives, thanks to Nadia, are cruel toward Bridger. There was even a new
hashtag #SaveAlexis that trended for most of yesterday.
Another wretched consequence is Bryce. All evening he tried to reach
out to me.
The Ex: Lexie, what is going on?
The Ex: Answer me. Are you with Bridger Cole? Are you safe? Call me.
Please.
The Ex: If I don’t hear from you in the next hour, I’m going to the police.
Me: Leave me alone, Bryce.
The Ex: What are you doing Alexis? You’re smarter than this.
The Ex: Fine, don’t write back. But I’m going to call you tomorrow.
Don’t ignore my call.
After that, I had to escape last night and took Poppy on a lame walk
around the yard because I was too afraid someone might recognize me at
the nearby dog park. The only reason I was able to sleep at all was when
Ellie Walker called me.
“Hey girl, did you see the tweet?” she said.
“Which one? The thousand that think Bridger’s holding me hostage?”
She laughed. “No, from the kid. I’ll send you screenshots. Oh, and tell
Bridger to stay off social media. It seems worse than it is. Pops is beaming
—Perfectly Broken is bringing in more money than any of us right now,
and revenue just shot up because of this girl.”
I’ve been in the company of rockstars since the guys took off. But I’m
still reeling that I text and call Ellie Walker as if we’ve known each other
forever.
This morning, I glance again at the tweet images she sent me yesterday. I
smile. Molly shared the picture of her and Bridger at the shop. She told the
story of how the cameras surrounded us, how the reporters knocked me
down, and how Bridger Cole is the coolest guy ever.
Turns out the guys in the corner of the café had unintentionally
summoned the swarm by posting on their social media about the star
sighting in real time.
Even better than Molly’s first tweet defending Bridger, are the pictures of
her little brother, bald and smiling, as he dug through a huge basket of
signed pictures, guitar picks, drumsticks, posters, hats, and T-shirts for
Perfectly Broken. But my favorite is the picture from yesterday afternoon
when the entire band showed up at Dustin’s room. There’s a thirty second
video of Tate teaching the thirteen-year-old how to use the drumsticks with
his entire family crying happy tears in the corner.
I think Molly at Juicie is going to start getting my carb-filled thank you
baskets because her tweet is catching fire and has spread more than the
speculation. A sixteen-year-old girl caught the eye of other stars—from
Hollywood to Nashville—celebrities are calling for stricter regulations on
feral paparazzi.
The house is silent, dawn is still thirty minutes off, but I’m not entirely
surprised when a knock comes to my door.
“I know you’re awake because you have the earliest internal alarm clock
I’ve ever seen,” Bridger says. “You decent?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
He pauses. “I would, and I also know you brought my mind to the gutter
on purpose.”
I snicker and cross my legs underneath me. “I’m decent.”
Bridger steps inside wearing sweats and a tight black T-shirt. He
should’ve warned me that even fully clothed he’s indecent for making me
think certain things.
Something glimmers in his eyes when he studies me; he buries it
straightaway, then slips into the opposite side of the bed. Memories of
doing this a hundred times as kids come in a rush, mostly on his trampoline
when we couldn’t sleep. We’d stare at the stars, pull out the safety nets, and
simply talk.
Life for the last two years hasn’t been easy, but he’s coming back to me.
Slowly and surely.
I scoot closer to him. Same as when we were teenagers, when we were
positive no one would see, Bridger scoops an arm around my shoulders and
I curl against his side.
“Parker is getting more attention now that everyone knows your name.”
His fingers draw soft lines up and down my arm. “He’s acting put out, but
we both know the truth . . .”
 “He loves it,” we say together and laugh.
It’s easy to fall into something peaceful; being like this is safe,
comfortable. When I let my defenses drop, I let myself imagine what this
might feel like all the time. It’s not fair to him, to me. We would hurt each
other, no doubt. But after the hills we’ve climbed, the demons we’ve faced,
Bridger Cole ruined anyone for me long ago. Even if he is my nemesis.
“Did you come in here to talk about Parker?” I ask after a pause.
“No.”
He shifts down on the pillow so we’re forehead to forehead. A furrow
tugs at his brow, and before I can stop myself, I start massaging my
fingernails over his scalp. Bridger closes his eyes and sinks into me. The
surefire ways to get this guy to relax are back scratches, scalp massages,
and cuddling. He’d never admit to it, how much he’s a cuddler, but I figured
it out a long time ago. Now this is sort of like our little secret.
“Nadia called me,” he says. “My mom’s house is getting bombarded with
paparazzi, and all I can think about is how I caused this. How mistakes I
made are going to hurt people.” His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me
closer. “You most of all.”
My fingers leave his hair and my hand rests against his cheek. “I’m not
some rookie at this, Cole. I have a brother who is a Sin City golden boy, a
mom who drank her meals, and in case you’ve missed it, I’ve sort of been
on this ride with you from the get-go. I can handle my pictures being
taken.”
His gaze scans the scrape on my cheek where I fell in the media storm.
His thumb brushes it softly. “Still, Quinn is going to drive with you to
school.”
“Come again?”
 “Quinn. Is. Going. To—”
“Uh, no. Absolutely, not!” I sit up and shove his chest. “I am not going to
walk around campus with a babysitter.”
Bridger laughs, grips my wrists, and tugs me flat to his chest. “Would
you be reasonable for once in your life? It’s not only cameras we’re worried
about. Sometimes fans or haters can get rough.”
I hug his waist, my cheek over his heart. “No.”
Bridger frees a sigh, his fingertips touching the divots of my spine. “Want
to know something, Al?”
“What?”
“You’re annoying.” He kisses the top of my head. “Cut a guy a break and
let him be protective.”
“I have a brother for that, and as you’ve told me many a time before,
you’re not my brother.” I roll off his chest and get out of the bed.
A small, sexy muscle tightens in his jaw. “No,” he says, voice low. “I’m
not.”
I gather clothes and head for the bathroom to shower. “I need to get to
school.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t—”
“I need to. The department head of my entire program called a meeting
with me. Don’t say anything more, I know you want to, I can see it on the
tip of your tongue. To be honest, I’m really nervous, so don’t say anything
jerkish.”
He tilts his head, but stays quiet.
“I do, however, want to reel back to that little ditty about Nadia calling
you.”
 Bridger rolls his eyes and flops back onto the pillow. “It wasn’t anything,
really. She wants to meet and discuss our issues.”
“Your issues. You mean, her releasing a book that’s filled with lies.
Those issues?”
He shoots me with his fingers and clicks his tongue. “That’s the one.”
“Are you going to? Not that it matters to me or anything, but I think she
deserves a cold shoulder. Maybe more than the cold shoulder, really. I
mean, I didn’t talk to Bryce even though he keeps calling me, so what I’m
trying to say is maybe think hard about meeting with Nadia.”
Bridger props himself onto his elbows, one brow lifted. “Did you get
flustered at the idea of me seeing Nadia?”
I snort, cheeks hot. “No. Do what you want. I don’t care.”
“I think you do care.’
“Figures. So full of yourself.”
He grins, wickedly, deliciously. “Alexis Knight. You care if I see my ex.”
I pinch my lips and back into the bathroom, refusing to let him see how
unnerved I am. “If I cared, it’s only because she’s terrible. I’m going to
shower now. Keep your thoughts out of the gutter.”
“Not likely.” Bridger rolls off my bed and opens the door. “I’ll go tell
Quinn you’ll be ready soon.”
“I’m not going with a nanny, Bridger!”
“I’m sure you’ll have a great time together.”
“Bridger!” The door to my room clicks. “Bridger!”
When silence answers, I growl at the ceiling and slam the bathroom door,
grateful he can’t see the grin on my face.
 Quinn laughs at me when I curse once I see him standing by the black
car. Talk about drawing attention to myself. It looks like I’m begging for
people to know I am associated with someone important.
“This is so unnecessary.”
“I brought Wuthering Heights. I’ll blend in.” He holds up a worn copy of
the classic.
My mouth parts. I press a hand to my chest. “I think you just stole my
heart.”
He laughs and is hardly the same gladiator he was when we first met. The
ride to the campus is quiet, but I don’t mind. Quinn is brooding, but loyal to
Bridger. In truth, that’s all I need to know about the guy to like him.
“My building is that one,” I tell the driver. “The parking lot has some
two-hour parking spots if you want to hang around. I’m sure the meeting
won’t be long.”
“I’ll come inside with you.”
“It really isn’t necessary,” I say, softly. “I’ll go straight up and—”
“Whoa!” The driver slams on the breaks, and flushes when he swears
loudly.
I don’t blame him. A guy with three cameras strapped around his
shoulders jumped right out in front of the car.
He’s not alone.
Along the sidewalk dozens of people snap photos of the car. Blood drains
from my face. They’re shouting my name. Quinn whips out a pair of aviator
sunglasses and a brimmed sun hat. Does he just carry this stuff with him?
“You have a choice, Miss Knight. We leave, or you can go out there. I’ll
cut a path.”
“They’ll eat you alive.”
 He booms a throaty laugh. “I’d like to see them try. Up to you.”
I gnaw on my bottom lip, cracking my knuckles. After a few breaths, I
take the sun hat. “They’re not going to mess up my meeting.”
Quinn smiles almost like he’s proud, gives me a nod, and opens the door.
He’s a miracle worker. Somehow Quinn maneuvers me against his broad
body, while at the same time splitting a path from the curb into the building.
It’s claustrophobic, loud, and I almost fall again, but Quinn holds me up
like a featherweight.
Inside the writing building, campus police block the doors. Students
gape, their day interrupted, but most look at me like they’re trying to figure
out who I am. I keep my eyes glued to the carpet.
“Where are we going?” Quinn asks.
“Second floor, office two ten.”
He moves almost gracefully now that we’re free of paparazzi. A few
more steps and he has us safe and secure in the elevator.
I slouch against the wall, fanning my face. “How does Bridger do it?”
Quinn smirks. “It took some getting used to. He still doesn’t like to be
crowded, but he’s learned to grin and bear it.”
“You know why he hates being cramped, right?”
A somber expression fills Quinn’s eyes as he nods.
“You two are close. He tells you things. I like it.”
“You tend to get close when you’re tasked with keeping someone safe. It
wouldn’t be a fun job if I hated the guy, now would it?”
The elevator opens and the floor is quiet, thankfully. A few professors
peek out the windows at the chaos below.
“Miss Knight.” Dean Valen is already waiting for me in her doorway.
The woman is stern. Thin lips, a peppery bun on the back of her head, but
her eyes sparkle a little like diamonds. “I heard you arrive.”
I swallow past the knot in my throat. Is she mad? Oh—is she going to
kick me out of the program? My fingertips tingle and I think I might get
sick.
“Come in,” she says.
I glance at Quinn. He points at a chair outside the door. “Be right here.”
The office is cold inside, but the way my skin is engulfed in flames, it’s a
relief.
“Miss Knight, thank you for meeting with me. I’ll keep this brief.”
“I won’t be a bother,” I blurt out. “I know the cameras are annoying, but
please, I’ve worked so hard to make it to this point. I’ll keep my head down
and you won’t even know I’m here. I’ll come in disguise if I need to.’
“Miss Knight,” she says. “What are you talking about?”
My fingers tangle in my lap. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me to
leave the program. I know the media can be irritating.”
“Very true,” she says. “It’s caused a bit of class disruption. But I’m not
asking you to leave the program. I have two discussion points. First—” She
clears her throat. “You can speak freely here. I’m not proficient on these
social media platforms, but enough to bring me concern. This is safe in
here, Miss Knight. Are you safe?”
I blink through my stun for a few heartbeats. “I am, Dean Valen. I assure
you. I know what they say about him, but I’ve known Mr. Cole since we
were basically toddlers. He’s my total nemesis because he’s so irritating, but
. . .” A smile passes my lips. I’m not sure if I’ve ever said this out loud.
“He’s also my best friend. He’s a gentle person.”
She releases a breath and seems relieved. “I have your word?”
 “Every bit of it. Besides, I have enough people in my corner that if
Bridger Cole ever did put a hand on me, he’d be history.”
“Good. Well, then, onto my next point. I need to tell you the disruption is
enough I must ask you not to attend class anymore.”
“But you said—”
She holds up a hand, silencing me. “We’ve been working with the
program instructors, and we’ve arranged for your coursework to be moved
online. I know it’s not ideal for anyone, but it’s the best solution.”
My heart is still pounding. “I’m not kicked out? Just online?”
Dean Valen nods. “If you agree to it.”
“Yes,” I say, quickly. “Yes, thank you for allowing me to stay.”
“Online can be difficult, we’re taking a bit of a chance with this. But
we’re also using it as a test run to open a fully online program with the hope
of enticing more out of state students. Welcome to being the guinea pig,
Miss Knight.”
My grin widens. “Thank you. Truly.”
“You’ll be expected to video chat once a week.”
“Done. It won’t be a problem, Dean Valen.”
She takes the time to explain a bit of the new process, gives me a new
schedule and access to the courses, then wishes me well. But not before
admitting her granddaughter has a poster of Bridger on her wall.
Like a prepared boy scout, Quinn is loaded with tickets to the home
concert during the holiday break of Perfectly Broken’s upcoming tour. I tell
Dean Valen to let her granddaughter know the show will debut some of
their new tracks. I think I basically secured myself straight A’s by the look
on her face.
 Quinn takes me a new way out of the building. The driver is waiting at
the back of the campus, and we had to cut through three different buildings,
but no cameras are shoved in our faces.
I’m about ready to declare success when my phone rings. I groan at
Bryce’s name and ignore the call. But he calls back three more times in a
row.
On the fourth call I give in and shout, “Bryce, I have nothing to say to
you. Leave me alone.”
“Wait, Alexis,” he says, almost cruelly. “I think you want to talk to me.
Come meet me at our favorite place. We’ll have lunch and talk about how
to keep your boyfriend out of worse press.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come talk. I have things to show you, Lex. I think you’re really going to
want what I have. But maybe you don’t care about Cole as much as I
thought. No doubt there are plenty of places willing to buy what I’ve got.”
A chill dances down my spine. I have no idea what Bryce has, but it
sounds an awful lot like he’s threatening Bridger. And frankly, he’s going to
regret it.
I grip the phone too tightly, my face contorted in fury. “I’ll be there in
fifteen minutes.”
Chapter 23
 Alexis

“I NEED TO DO this on my own,” I tell Quinn once the car pulls to the
curb outside an Italian bistro.
“No way.”
“I did survive on my own before I started rooming with Bridger, you
know.”
Quinn adjusts in his seat. The man knows how to pin someone down with
a single glance. “Miss Knight—”
“Alexis, Thor. We’re beyond formalities, don’t you think?”
He grins. “Alexis, I never accompanied Miss Prator.”
“Nadia?” My brow lifts. “Okay.”
“As in, Mr. Cole never asked me to accompany her. Not once, but he was
with the woman for nearly two years.”
“Quinn, I’m pretty sure my ex-fiancé is trying to threaten Bridger, I’m a
little flustered. You’ll need to spell out what point you’re trying to make.”
“From day one, Bridger gave me explicit instructions that your safety is
priority.”
Heat prickles on the back of my neck. “Probably because of Parker.”
Quinn shakes his head. “No. It’s not for your brother’s sake, Alexis. If
you go in there and something happens to you, I’ll be jobless.”
I grin and open the door. “A little dramatic. I’ll be fine. We’re in public,
and I promise if paparazzi burst from the eaves, I’ll call you straightaway.
Please.”
 Quinn clenches a fist, but doesn’t say anything. I take it as his concession
to following me inside, and leave the car. I hug my middle and scan the
area, almost waiting for cameras to flash in my face. The walk is quiet.
Nearly empty in the afternoon heat.
I hide how my blood is raging, school my face into something flat, and
search the restaurant. At the back I catch sight of Bryce’s chestnut hair. My
jaw tightens and my insides knot hard and angry. But when the hostess
allows me to walk myself to the table, my lungs forget to breathe. Bryce
isn’t alone. He’s with my mother.
I stand like a fool five feet from the table.
My mother leans forward, whispering to Bryce. She looks exhausted. Her
hair, dyed a rusted orange color, is fading, and she’s still in her uniform
from her waitressing job. No doubt she fell asleep in it last night and woke
up an hour ago.
She glances at me and leans back in her chair. Bryce looks over his
shoulder. I take half a breath to study his features. Why did I want to marry
him? He has cold eyes, frown lines that age him, and there is something
almost unfeeling about his grin.
I know why—to forget Bridger Cole. That’s why I jumped at my logical
opportunity. I’m a fool and a coward in my own way. I refuse to be so now.
I step to the table. “What are you two doing?”
“Sit down, Alexis Marie,” Mom says.
I comply and sit in the chair, glaring at Bryce. “You said you have
something on Bridger. What more could you possibly do to hurt him that
Nadia hasn’t already done?”
“Good to see you, Lex.” Bryce ignores me and reaches his fingers for my
face, but I pull back. He flinches, but recovers quickly. “I missed you.”
 “Yeah? Where’s your wife?”
Bryce shrugs. “Come on, Lex. We don’t need to hash this out right now.”
“You got married to another woman and left me on a curb, Bryce. I don’t
think you have any say in what we talk about.”
He frown, a flash of anger in his eyes. “Fine. Cami filled in some missing
pieces. Gave me what I needed in some areas. Maybe it was cold feet, but I
realize now it was a mistake.”
Is he . . . is he really saying what I think he’s saying? “Filled in pieces
such as?”
Bryce’s face heats in a splotchy red. “You behaved like you weren’t even
attracted to me, Alexis! I’m a man. I have needs.”
My mouth drops. He is saying what I think he’s saying. What a total
scumbag. Although, my mind whirls a different direction. All this time I’ve
wondered if Bryce didn’t enjoy kissing me. Maybe I was the one putting out
the stay away vibes.
The vibes I forgot about the moment I moved in with Bridger.
I’d love it if Bridger Cole never stayed away.
I cross my legs under the table, hugging my middle. Not the time to be
thinking this way. Not the time.
“We’re getting a divorce,” Bryce says glumly. “Obviously.”
“No, not obviously,” I snap. “When I get married, a divorce would not be
my instant, obvious choice, you jerk.”
“Quit with the hysterics, Alexis.” Mom glances around. “People are
staring.”
I almost laugh. There is only one person staring, but he’s trying hard not
to. He must be as stubborn as me because in a back booth, Quinn peeks
over his tattered book. He gives me a wink, then continues to read.
 I face both my mom and Bryce. “What do you want?”
My mom flicks her eyes to Bryce and nods. He drums his fingers on the
table. “I’m here out of concern for your safety.”
“My safety. Right.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m really tired of
everyone treating me like I’m some delicate piece of glass. If that’s all, I’m
safe, now I’m leaving.”
“Alexis,” my mom says. Her tone is almost soft, almost kind. “Listen to
him.”
Unlike my mother, Bryce adds a touch of ice to his stare. “Lex, I’m
worried you’re rebounding with Cole in a dangerous way.”
“You were the rebound from him.” My eyes widen. I didn’t mean to say
that. I sink down in my chair.
Bryce’s face deepens to a shade of plum. Hopefully he’s digesting that
blunder. After a moment, he waves it away. “As I was saying, I care about
you. I love you and want to reconcile. You’ve always craved the stability I
can offer. You keep on this road, you’ll be forced to live the opposite. I can
make you happy, Alexis.”
I stare at him, my lips parted. Then, I turn to my mom. “How can you
actually want me to be with this guy? How can you be here, with him, after
what he did to me? I’m your daughter, mom. Why don’t you, for once,
want what’s best for me?”
She plays with a straw wrapper. “Did you ever think that is what I’m
doing? Take it from me, you want a stable life, Alexis. I don’t want you to
have anything but security and safety. That is why I’m here. Be reasonable
and don’t throw a safe life away over a mistake.”
“A mistake? Mom, what happened to you?” I say, my voice breaking.
“What happened to make you think it’s fine to settle for so little?”
 She shakes her head. “Don’t be stupid, Alexis. Don’t give up someone
who will be kind to you, who will care for you because of this. You’ll regret
it.”
“I won’t.” I look to Bryce. “I don’t regret anything.”
Bryce glares at me. “I didn’t want to do this, Lex, but you’re not being
reasonable. I’ll say it straight—if you stay with Cole, I’m going to release
the messages and images I have.”
“Original,” I say with a bite. “Threatening me with so-called pictures.
Yeah, no one has ever thought of that.”
He pulls out a manilla file and slaps it on the table. “See for yourself.”
My heart drops. I steal a glance at Quinn. He’s watching intently now.
My tongue swipes over my dry lips as I open the file. The sheets inside take
a moment to register, but when I realize what he’s done, my body goes
numb. My entire soul numbs. “You’re a terrible human, Bryce Hall. To kick
someone during such a vulnerable time. How did you get these?”
“Your password is the same for everything, Lex. Wasn’t hard.”
I stare at the stack of daily emails. Five months’ worth. The depth of
pain, of exposed self-hatred brings tears to my eyes all over again. But it’s
the pictures that make me hate Bryce most.
They’re a little fuzzy, as if zoomed in from a distance. The picnic table
was always ours for the two hours I’d visit each month. Secluded, but close
to a pond with ducks and desert palms.
On the bench I sit next to Bridger. His hair is longer, striking his
shoulders, and his body is thinner. The look in his eyes is one of a lost man.
He wears black sweats, flip flops, and a plain T-shirt. My arm is hooked
through his in the picture, and I’m reading to him.
 There are more. Each taken as the visit went on, as different emotions
billowed to the surface. The next image, the book is closed, and even with
the fuzzy quality Bridger’s grimace is clear. I wish I could remember what
I’m saying to him, but I look desperate. My hand on his back.
A third photo is Bridger throwing something. His face twisted in anger.
Behind him, my hands cover my mouth. It’s unbecoming, broken, it’s
angry. A perfect image to fit the narrative of a violent nature.
But the last image paints a different picture. I’m standing, my chest
pressed to his back, embracing him from behind. Bridger’s face is pointed
at the sky, his hands cover mine on his chest. My chin is propped on his
shoulder. At peace when peace rarely came to him during those months.
I point my glare at my mom. “What did you plan to do with these?”
She touches one of the photos, her brow furrowed. “I didn’t know about
them.”
I’m too angry to even care. “Bryce, what are you planning to do with
these?”
He steeples his fingers in front of his lips. “Here’s what I want, Lex—”
There isn’t time to finish before a chair is dragged from another table and
placed at ours. Another body joins the table. Bryce looks like he swallows
his tongue. My mom looks away as if ashamed. She ought to be.
Bridger, wearing a Kings cap low on his brow, straddles the chair
backward. He grins at Bryce, then me. “What did I miss?”
“What are you doing here?” I whisper.
“I heard there was someone threatening me.” Bridger waves to Quinn
who waves back. “I’d hate to miss it. Bryce, right?” Bridger holds out his
hand until Bryce shakes it nervously. “Don’t stop on my account, tell me
what you’ve got. Hey, Mama Knight.”
 My mother won’t look at him.
Bridger’s eyes drop to the emails, the pictures, and a bit of the smile
leaves his face. For a silent moment he shuffles through the printouts.
“Huh,” he says. “Cameras really are everywhere. Even rehab.”
“Bryce was just about to tell me how he got those pictures.”
He falters a bit, but soon enough Bryce clears his throat and returns to the
sleeze he is. “I drove you once, Lex. I didn’t like the idea of you going in
there, so I stayed. Imagine my surprise to see how cozy you got with
another guy when you were engaged and he was with another woman.”
“No,” Bridger said. “I believe this was the day I ended things with Nadia.
The reason for all the theatrics, I’d guess. It was a big step, seeing how she
was my supplier. But you’d know that if you read the emails.”
Bryce glares at him and shifts away.
“I’m going to ask once more, Bryce. What are you doing with these?” I
start to pull the conversations to me. Pointless, I’m sure. No doubt he made
copies, but I want them. They’re mine, after all. They’re sacred to me. To
Bridger. I feel utterly violated and can’t imagine what Bridger must be
hiding under that smirk and bravado.
Bryce doesn’t look at me, he turns all his focus to Bridger. “Here’s what I
want. Either kick Alexis out and leave her alone, or option two, I want a
million for these.”
Bridger looks at me. “Is he serious?”
I don’t answer. My skin is melting off my bones.
“And if I say no?” Bridger asks, coolly.
“I’ll sell them. There’s a lot of juice in these emails. Talk of overdosing,
relapsing. How much you crave it. You talk about some dark stuff, Cole.
The tabloids would pay big for half. Throw in these photos, and I’m set for
a long time.”
My head spins, my body trembles in fury. I jump to my feet. “You are the
lowest of men, Bryce Hall. Heaven forbid you ever hit rock bottom and
someone exploits you. This man—” I shove a finger in Bridger’s face. “Is
the strongest man I know and you are not even a fraction of what he is.”
I take a step toward Bryce, making grand plans to hit him in the jaw.
Bridger rises, and curls an arm around my waist, tugging me back.
“How do you sleep at night?” I shout. “A million for what? To show how
hard he fought? How he beat addiction with the entire world judging him?
You are a pig and you disgust me. I hope you, ahhh!”
I’m swept off my feet, my head pointed at the ground. In all my ranting, I
didn’t notice how close I’d gotten to Bryce. Now, Bridger has me draped
over his shoulder. It’s a stroke of good luck the restaurant is practically
empty in the gap between lunch and dinner, so the chances of this madness
making it online are low.
Only a few servers watch as I keep pointing my finger at Bryce even
slung over Bridger Cole like a knapsack.
“You try to mess with him, Bryce. Let’s see what happens. I have so
much on you. How you pick gunk from underneath your fingernails and
inspect it, and how you only brush your teeth in the morning, and how your
dad bought your way into UNLV!”
“I think you get the point,” Bridger interrupts. “Do what you want, man. I
really don’t care anymore. Mama Knight, I have to admit, I thought you’d
understand this sort of thing a little more.”
“Bridger, I . . .” My mom starts, but can’t find the spine to finish.
 “Put me down,” I demand, and smack Bridger on the back. “I have more
to say.”
“You’re done,” Bridger says and walks with me through the restaurant.
Quinn grinning behind us.
“Bridger Cole, put me down!”
“Nope.”
I let out a grunt of frustration. “You are the worst! Let me go!”
“Quinn, we’ll take my jeep,” Bridger says, ignoring me. “There’s
something Al and I need to talk about. Privately.”
Chapter 24
 Bridger

WE HAVEN’T SAID A word since I dropped her into the jeep. Alexis
stares out the passenger window as we flee the city. We’re going home.
Back to freer days where we could be us without the constant scrutiny.
I don’t press Alexis to talk, when she gets quiet like this, it’s her
processing. In truth, I need a minute myself.
Quinn called me the second she abandoned him in the car and thankfully
I’d been at the studio ten minutes away. Something burned inside me when
I watched her come to my defense. Feelings I can’t keep punched into
submission anymore broke free.
I’m not thinking of the fallout, the risk, I’m not even thinking of Parker
hating me. This pull to Alexis, these desires, it’s time to deal with it all.
Tonight.
I’m not sure what makes me angrier, Bryce trying to manipulate her, or
her mom being an accomplice. It’s no wonder Alexis craved someone safe
and low risk. Not that her low-risk choice turned out well, but everyone in
her life is a wild card. Even Parker is constantly on the move.
I think her journey for a simple life isn’t working. And for good reason.
She needs the right person.
I pull off the highway into our childhood. The houses are flat brown,
pastel pink, adobe brick, or white stucco. A few have dry grass, most have
yards made of sandstone gravel and desert shrubs. Like anywhere, there are
nice, manicured homes on one side, and rundown, heaps on the other side.
We belonged in the smaller houses. The neighborhoods with hoarders, the
ones where broken windows were patched with cardboard and tin foil until
funds could be saved for glass. I never thought less of our neighborhood as
a kid. It was wild and free. But my life was different than others like Alexis
and Parker. Like Tate.
I never worried about money. Never thought my parents weren’t going to
show up at night, never worried about who they’d bring home. I knew my
folks didn’t have a lot, but they took care of us. It’s not hard to understand
why Alexis is afraid of risk and anything other than what society deems
normal. Knowing both, I get why Parker is protective of his sister. They
always say they only have each other. I know they mean it as a blood-
related family, thing. But they don’t get it. Family isn’t defined by blood.
They have me. They always will.
And Alexis needs to get that through her stubborn head. I can’t avoid this
any longer.
I take us to the old ball fields we used to dominate after dark when the
heat was tolerable. This is where Parker became who he is now. Where Tate
would draw in the infield dirt because he hated baseball. Where I’d dream
up lyrics with Adam in the outfield, avoiding looks at the girl who danced
around the dugouts, trying to be one of the guys.
I put the jeep in park, and get out without a word to Alexis.
My fingers lace behind my head as I pace the batter’s box. An ache
blooms in my chest, a desire to be close to her. Fierce and desperate, I need
my hands on her, need her in my arms.
“Why did you take me away?” she shouts at my back. “He stole my
emails! It’s not right and he can’t get away with it.”
 Her steps scrape over the dirt. Only once she is next to me do I turn
around. Alexis draws in a sharp breath when I trap her face between my
hands.
“Why, Al,” I whisper. “Why have you always stood with me?”
She blinks. New tears fill her soft eyes. “If you have to ask me, then
you’re not as intelligent as I thought.”
“Pretend I’m not smart. Explain it like I can’t read minds because I can’t
read yours.”
She covers my hands on her face with hers, chin quivering. “I stood by
you because if you weren’t here who would be the villain in my story? You
have a role to play, that’s all, Cole.”
A grin teases my lips. I drop one hand from her wet cheek and glide my
palm down her back. I hold her against me, shoulder to shoulder, chest to
chest. “I’m more than your villain, Al. You don’t prepare to attack guys in
defense of your villain.”
“Bryce broke into my email! I was going to hit him because he offended
me.” She rests her forehead to mine, her thumb lining my bottom lip.
“Don’t read so much into it.”
“Liar.”
“I am not.”
I tilt her chin with my knuckle, so she looks at me. “I need to hear you
say it, Al.”
“Say what? Why I stand by you? Maybe because you’re Parker’s friend.
Because you’re giving me a place to stay. Maybe it’s because even you
don’t deserve what Bryce is doing.”
I let out a growl and step away, eyes on the sky. “You can’t say it, can
you? You can’t admit what’s really going on inside that beautiful, chaotic
head.” I turn on her. She’s watching me, eyes bright and wet. “We’re honest
with each other, Alexis. It’s just me here.”
She looks at the ground, one finger wipes away a tear, then she covers
her face.
“That’s the problem!” she cries. Her eyes are furious and perfect when
she pulls back her hands. “It’s you. It’s always been you! No one has ever
burrowed under my skin like you have, Bridger. You drive me insane. I
want to strangle you in one breath, then in the next you make my heart race.
You’re rude, and impolite, and sexy, and sweet. I’ve never met anyone so
full of themselves and so caring. You’ve always been so . . . perfectly
broken to me and that’s why I love you so much.”
My body stills. Alexis closes her eyes and paces. She doesn’t even realize
what she’s said, but I heard. Those are words I’ll never unhear. They dance
on my tongue—I love Alexis Knight. I’ve loved her since she gave me a fat
lip in the school library. But I swallow them, the risk of loving Alexis is
losing her. I’ve lost her before, and it nearly destroyed me. But touching
her, showing her what my mouth won’t say, that I can do.
I dissolve the space between us, pull her body against mine, my palm
cups the side of her neck.
She draws in a shuddering breath. “Don’t, please. You’re one of the sure
things in my life and I . . . I can’t risk us.”
“There isn’t a risk, Al. You already have me.”
Alexis closes her eyes, body tense. She’s trying to run, I see it in her face.
I tighten my hold around her body.
A tear falls on her cheek. She wipes it away. “What do you want from
me?”
“You. Every piece of me wants every piece of you.”
 I can’t hold back another second and press my lips to hers.
Alexis gasps. I take it for my own. Her arms wrap around my neck,
holding me against her as I back her to the dugout. My palms scoop beneath
her thighs and I lift her onto the ledge of the wall barring the bench from
the field. With her knees on either side of my hips, she curls a fist around
my shirt and urges me closer.
I smile against her mouth. This is the way I should’ve kissed her years
ago. Slow and patient. Gentle and seductive.
Her hands run up my chest. A groan escapes my throat as she parts her
lips, allowing me a taste of her. My skin raises, wanting more, when her
fingers rake through my hair. I drift my mouth to the soft spot of her neck.
Memorize her jaw, her skin. Alexis holds me closer, her breaths heavy.
“This,” she says in a gasp. “This doesn’t mean—”
“Stop talking,” I say against her skin. “You like me, Alexis Knight. You
like me a lot.”
She loves me.
I knew someday that beautiful, rambling mouth would let loose with
something she couldn’t take back.
I’m not sure how long we stay there, but when we pull apart, heads
together, we’re out of breath. Our hair is messier, shirts a little disheveled.
I’ve never seen a sexier sight than Alexis flushed because my kiss was hers.
She plays with the ends of my hair and meets my eyes. “What are we
doing, Bridge?”
“What we should’ve done a long time ago.” I kiss her nose, her cheeks,
the crook of her neck until she’s laughing and pulling me close. My arms
swallow her narrow body, and I’d be content to stay here all night.
“You’re still a thorn in my side,” I whisper, smiling.
 “But one that dug deep inside, right?”
My chest tightens. I kiss her head. “Too deep. There’s no removing it at
this point. Come on, let’s avoid the city for a night.”
“Where are we going?”
I open the passenger door, and kiss her before she gets into the jeep. “I’m
going to bring my girl home to meet my mom.”
As we drive, Alexis curls her fingertips with mine. I steal glances of her
soft smile the entire way. Part of me wondered if something would change.
Would I pull back, would I never roll my eyes at her again?
But no. She’s the same Al. My Al.
She’s always been there, slowly reeling me into her whirlwind. There’s
no doubt my heart started beating for her a long time ago, but time is funny.
We’ve been with each other from the beginning, but this time, this feels as
if the moment when we could drop all the walls between us aligned
perfectly.
A song in my head. I need to write it down as soon as we stop. She
inspires me.
I lift her hand and press a kiss to her knuckles.
Truth is, I would’ve waited indefinitely for Alexis Knight’s heart. It is
worth everything.
Chapter 25
 Alexis

FALL—2018

The knock is rapid and loud. It’s after midnight and my hair stands up on
end as I look out the peep hole. My breath catches. I’d recognize that
tousled head of hair anywhere.
I crack the door. “Bridger?”
He lifts his eyes and tears fill mine. Red, wet, dilated. He’s completely
thrashed.
“You look great. You can go home now.” I start to close the door.
“Al.” His voice is deep and raw. He pushes the door open and trips. I
catch him, disgusted and broken all at once when he laughs. “S-sorry.”
He’s slurring and takes hold of the wall to steady himself.
“What do you want?” I ask, embarrassed how my voice breaks.
He chuckles and leans his head against the wall. “Ah, don’t cry Al. Don’t
cry for me.”
“I’m not! I’m crying for how stupid I am for caring about you all this
time. Go home, Bridger. I don’t have your drugs here.”
He holds out an arm to stop me from leaving. My heart cracks. Behind all
the haze, the bloodshot eyes, is pain. Something so lost I don’t know how to
reach it.
“Park . . . Parker told me.” He slumps over his knees, his eyes flutter.
“Don’t marry him, Alexis.”
I roll my eyes. “Go away, Bridger. You’re drunk. Probably high.”
 “I . . . wrote you a song.” His eyes are glassy and distant, but he still
grimaces. As if he didn’t mean to admit it.
“Great. You’ve been avoiding me all this time and now you come to tell
me you wrote me a secret song. Look at me swoon. Go home, Bridger.”
I go to open the door, but stop when he falls to his knees. His face is
clammy and pale, but he’s still trying to talk. “I want you, Al. I’ve always
wanted you.”
He looks ready to tip over, but I brace him with my body. On his knees,
his head burrows into my middle. Bridger wraps his arms around my waist,
and I hold him. He shudders, well, more like convulses.
I hold him tighter, and touch my lips to his forehead. “Bridge, you’re so
cold.”
His breaths are slow. They’re too slow. He slumps against me, arms
falling away.
“Bridger?” I shake him, and he answers in a soft groan. “Bridger!”
The second I take a step back, he falls facedown. I scream his name
again, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Rolling him onto his back, my hands
are on his chest, his pulse. His skin is pallid, almost blue. His heartrate is
faint and depressed.
“Bridger!” I scream in his face as the second bedroom door opens.
“What the?” Graham bolts out of Zoey’s room.
Zoey’s eyes are wide. “Lex, what happened? Is that Bridger Cole?”
I don’t care what they think, I’m smacking Bridger’s chest. His eyes
flutter a little, then close again. I scream at Zoey to call an ambulance, then
I bury my face against his neck and will his heart to keep beating. He smells
like booze and smoke and sweat.
 I leverage his head in my lap, holding him, sobbing. “Don’t you leave
me, Bridger! I’ll hate you forever. Don’t you dare leave me!”
Please, please, please. I need him. My heart cracks. I love him.
Within ten minutes our apartment is a storm of paramedics and curious
neighbors. I walk to the ambulance with Bridger. To keep touching him, to
shield him.
Whenever someone talks to me on the ride to the hospital it’s as if they’re
underwater. I wait in the hallway of the ER; Parker, Tate, and Adam are on
their way with Holly and Brooks. A guy in a suit shows up before them.
Probably one of Bridger’s people. They’ll do anything to keep this out of
the media.
The suit looks at me. I ignore him.
I can’t think of anything else. Not through the haze of when his family,
his band, when Parker arrives. I hardly hear the word overdose from the
doctors, but I don’t need to hear it. I already know . . .
I jolt up on the long, oversized sectional. Shades are pulled, but the dawn
spills enough light over the room the pieces of board games are visible, as
well as the little scrunched ball of a boy in his sleeping bag on the floor.
Beau, Bridger’s nephew is here. My mind catches up now. I’m in the
Cole’s basement. Brooks and his wife left late last night. Holly is upstairs,
and we fell asleep on the couch.
Bridger isn’t gone.
We’re all here.
He’s alive.
I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. Sweat beads my brow, my
heart flutters violently. I swallow back the scratch in my throat. Rawness, as
if I’ve been crying. Based on the dry tracks on my cheeks, I go out on a
limb and assume I have been.
It’s been a long time since I dreamed of that horrible night. Bridger faded
so quickly I was certain I’d lose him.
As if he knows I need a reminder he’s real, his strong arm tightens
around my waist and draws me against his chest. I grin at his sleeping face.
Here, with no scrutiny, no cameras, he can be at ease and it shows. Rolling
onto my shoulder, I nuzzle into his chest, his stubble scratching my face
when he smiles.
“Do you ever sleep in? This’ll be a source of contention, you know.”
I kiss his neck, his jaw, my fingers scratch his back. “Are you telling me
this isn’t a decent wake-up call?”
Bridger buries his face in my hair, and sighs. “No. It’s perfect.”
We stay like that, holding tightly to each other, listening to little Beau
snore in his sleep. After a long pause, Bridger runs his thumb over my
cheeks and says, “Al, what dragons do I need to slay? You’re crying.”
“Bad dream,” I admit, and trace one of the rose tattoos on his arm.
“Must’ve been from Bryce bringing up rehab. It was about the night you . .
.”
I don’t finish. Bridger presses his lips to my forehead and draws me
against his chest. “I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for doing that to
you.”
“You should. I have.” I lift my eyes to his. They’re clear and bright, and
I’m reminded how far he’s come. “But now I’m sorry. I’m sick inside
because it’s my fault Bryce is doing this. I turned him down before you
came to the restaurant, and I think this is pure retaliation—”
 Bridger silences me with a gentle kiss. “Al, I’m only going to say this
once, so listen.” I grin and slip my hands underneath his T-shirt to scratch
his back. He shudders, and my new favorite thing is flustering Bridger Cole.
He brushes a lock of hair off my face and lowers his voice. “The only
reason this is even an issue is because I made stupid choices. Nothing in
those emails is new. Everyone knows I went to rehab for addiction.”
“But the things we discussed are personal. He has no right broadcasting a
terrible moment in your life.”
“You’re right. He doesn’t, but I had to learn a long time ago this sort of
thing comes with the job.”
“Well, it’s a major con of the job, and I’m going to lose my mind every
time it happens. So get ready, Cole.”
He smiles, adjusting so my head lays on his chest. “You’re feral, Al. And
it’s super sexy.”
I’m not romantic. Over the years I made sure I didn’t get caught up in
silly games, in fluttering hearts. But in his arms, his heart beating for me, I
think I’ve been lying to myself all along. I’ve always wanted those things,
but with him. No one else came close.
I’ve run from him all my life, used snark and rivalry to keep him at a
distance. Little by little he weaseled his way into my shell, and I never want
him to leave.
We almost fall back asleep, but are soon sabotaged by a three-year-old
cannonballing onto our bellies.
For the next three hours we jump on the trampoline with Beau, help
Holly clean out her garden boxes, and escape reality for a little longer.
“Lex, having you there through all this is a blessing,” Holly says. Jen and
Brooks came back for lunch, and now Brooks is laughing with Bridger as
he tries to teach Beau how to pluck the guitar.
“Seriously,” Jen says, lifting her sunglasses. “Brooks would never admit
it, but he’s been losing his mind worrying about if this scandal would set
Bridge back into old habits.”
I’m not the only one who shares a fear of Bridger backtracking. I glance
at them, smiling. “He’s doing amazing. The other guys don’t even let Lance
smoke around him. He’s binge drinking lemonade and Dr. Pepper, and he’s
writing songs again.”
Jen’s lip trembles, but Holly takes my hand. “He’s writing songs because
you’re there.”
“No,” I say, waving the thought away. “He would’ve gotten out of the
slump eventually.”
Holly snickers. “Oh, Lex. You’ve never seen how much you open his
heart. Parker is his second brother, but you’re his soul.”
“Oh, oh, you’re his muse.” Jen claps her hands with a sigh.
Holly agrees. “Always have been. Even when you two fought. Every
second. Of every day.”
My stomach backflips, and I hide behind my glass of water. Jen and
Holly laugh at me, but I love it. No mistake, I love it more when Bridger
lifts his eyes and winks at me.
The morning is perfect, and when the sun begins to fade into evening I
don’t want to leave.
“Come back, cookies are always waiting,” Holly says at the door.
I hug her again for good measure and slip the sunglasses Quinn gave me
yesterday over my eyes. Bridger laces his fingers with mine, his baseball
cap pulled low, and together we step around the bushes.
 The cameras were there before the sun rose, but at least there are only
two guys standing on the other side of the road instead of dozens. We
ignore them and walk hand in hand to the passenger side of the door. I
pause only when my mom’s door opens and she steps out onto the porch.
She wears a look of remorse, but I’m not having this confrontation. Not
here.
Bridger follows my gaze. “You okay?”
“No, but can’t say I’m surprised she got involved.”
“You said she didn’t know about the pictures. He might’ve taken her by
surprise, too.”
“Still, haven’t heard an apology from her, have we?”
Bridger rolls his eyes and kisses me, unbothered with the clicks of
camera lenses. “I’m sorry they hurt you,” he whispers against my ear. “But
let’s not worry about the emails or pictures right now. Can we just . . . be for
now?”
I offer a smug grin and peck his lips. “I think you like me, Cole.”
Once he’s behind the wheel, he spins his cap backward and tugs me to
him. “You have no idea, Al. Not a clue.”
Chapter 26
 Alexis

“I’M GOING TO SHOVE his stupid head through one of those drums!”
Ellie strangles an invisible neck as we head outside with Poppy.
The sun is hidden behind the mountains, the dusk paints the desert in
purple twilight. I snicker and tell Ellie to stroke Poppy’s ears. She is the
cure-all when it comes to irritating men.
“Why does Tate bother you so much?”
“He critiques everything I do. I’m surprised he doesn’t have an issue with
how I breathe! I know I’m newer to the scene than Perfectly Broken, but
he’s hated me from the beginning. I’m not hard rock. I’m not his
competition. He’s a spoiled child, that’s what he is.”
I pause. “What do you know about Tate?”
She rolls her eyes. “Not much. Bridger told me he had a few rough
patches as a kid, but haven’t we all? Why, what do you know?”
I hold up my hands. “Enough, but sorry, some things have to come from
Tate’s mouth, not mine. Did something happen between you two, because
he’s not typically rude.”
“Can you keep a secret?”
“Yes. I might talk a lot, but I don’t gossip.”
Ellie huffs and watches Poppy sniff an aloe plant. “A few years ago,
before Enigma announced they signed me, I went to a party with the label.
Most people assumed I was there because of Finn’s job as producer. Bridger
knew I sang, so he introduced me to the guys.” Ellie pauses, mouth tight.
“Let’s just say I had a little bit to drink, and next thing I knew I was backed
against the wall, making out with Tate.”
“You’re kidding?”
She covers her face with her hands and lets out an embarrassed shriek.
“No. I liked him. Lex, I liked him. The next day Enigma made the
announcement to all the headliners and Tate looked like he wanted to toss
me out the window. He’s been like this ever since.”
“And you’ve never asked why?”
“No. He’s like a brick wall. So I fell out of like and here we are. You’re
lucky, I don’t see you and Bridger argue anymore.”
I spray a little spittle when I laugh. “Wait ten minutes and we’ll be sure to
impress the pants off you with all our jabs.”
“So now that you’re really kissing the man it hasn’t eased up, huh?”
“I’m happy to say, no. He had the gall to make fun of my book this
morning. A risky move since that’s how all our fighting started. I threatened
to smack his mouth again, because I totally did when I was seven, and then
somehow it all ended up with a lot sweeter of an ending.”
She laughs. “How is your brother taking it?”
I tighten my grip on Poppy’s leash and quicken my step.
“Uh-oh. He doesn’t know, does he?”
“It’s not that I’m embarrassed about anything. But I’d like to keep
Bridger’s most valuable friendship intact while he’s dealing with this
fallout. Why tell Parker too early? What if things go sideways? Parker
would feel obligated to side with me and it’d be a mess.” I unhook Poppy’s
leash and toss one of the giant tennis balls I bought for her.
Ellie comes to my side, arms folded. “Why do you talk like things won’t
last with Bridger?”
 Her tone is accusatory, and it means something that Ellie Walker is
protective. The more people Bridger has in his corner the happier I am.
Glad as I am she’s another she-wolf, I don’t want to have this conversation.
Don’t want to admit to thoughts that keep me awake.
“Forget I said anything.”
“No way. Totally impossible. I like you, girl. Like I kind of feel like
you’re my soul sister the way you handle these dumb rockstars, but I don’t
want to watch that guy go through another Nadia.”
My body heats like an instinct hearing her name. “I am not Nadia. I’ve
known Bridger since before I could talk and that’s what scares me. We’ve
lived over two decades a certain way with each other, and now we’ve
changed it all up.
“I’m not blind to what he is—yes, to me, he’s still the annoying,
stubborn, ultra-sexy guy I’ve always known—but to the world, Bridger is a
fantasy. He could have anyone. I push every single one of his buttons, I hate
stilettos, hate shaving my legs, and would rather stay home and read gothic
classics than party. There are a lot who’d say I don’t fit in his world. What
happens if he realizes it and decides it’s better to keep things as we were—
frenemies who don’t make out? Which would be a crime because I really,
really love to kiss that man.”
Ellie listens, taking a turn to toss Poppy her ball. I’ve noticed when she
thinks she’ll touch the pretty diamond stud pierced on the side of her nose.
When she faces me, though, she takes my hand in hers. “I think I love you.
You’re so adorably oblivious and it’s a breath of fresh air.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Oh, I heard. And while you’re worried about not fitting in his world,
he’s busy trying to stay in yours.”
 “I don’t follow.”
Ellie tilts her head. “You guys eat at home with his band, me, and my
brother, three nights a week now. Before, I’d see the guys at the studio.
Maybe text a bit. But we basically kept to ourselves. It’s like he wants a
tight-knit family, a home base you could say. Side note—I can’t wait for the
off season when your brother starts joining. He’s hot, girl. Simple as that.”
I chuckle. “He’s in town for two days before he goes to Colorado, so
he’ll be at our breakfast tomorrow.”
“My day just got better. Anyway,” she goes on. “Bridger is changing. He
brings books to the studio to read in between sets. Bridger lights up when
you walk into the room. Full on, a shade lighter. He’s writing again, he’s
smiling again. The way this stuff with Nadia simply rolls off his back is
because the only person whose opinion matters to him is here, loving him.”
I consider what she’s saying. True enough, Bridger spends nights cooking
with me. We laugh, argue our opinions, usually add an extra thirty minutes
of prep time because we can’t stop touching. He burst into my room
yesterday morning and stole three novels from my bookshelf before he
kissed me goodbye to start recording a new Perfectly Broken single. For
three weeks we’ve been caught in public kissing, cuddling, and laughing.
We’ve kind of meshed his busy life with my slower pace. And the way he
touches me, the way he kisses me, he leaves little room for doubt about how
he feels.
“You’re right,” I say with confidence. “I know Bridger. We’ve dealt with
his fame for a decade now, so we can keep doing it.”
“That’s the spirit. Oh, and a quick warning. When Mallorie finds out
you’re actually together, don’t let her disapproval bother you.”
“Explain.”
 Ellie laughs. “Oh, it’s not only you. When I fall in love with your brother,
she’ll hate me for it. She thinks we must remain single and symbolic, so any
fan can think they’ll be the one to steal our hearts.”
I laugh and return the leash to Poppy’s collar. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Ellie links her arm with mine. “Enough talk about you, tell me how to
win over a pro baseball player.”
“Well, have an in with his friends would be my first tip. Him and Tate are
super close, so—”
Ellie groans at the sky. “Why does Hawkins ruin everything!”
Gaining a new friend with Ellie is a bright consequence of being left at
the altar.
But after she goes home for the night my favorite moments are this:
Bridger sprawled back on the couch, fingertips red and calloused from
playing all day, unaware I’m gawking at his face.
I drop to my hands and knees and creep behind the couches until I’m
crouched by his head.
I pounce. He jumps, stops swearing mid-cuss word. Then, glowers at me
and somehow maneuvers his arms around my shoulders, so I practically
somersault over the back of the couch and onto his body.
“You’re a creep, Al,” he says, hugging me to his chest.
“You should’ve read the fine print when it comes to making me yours. If
I see an opportunity to scare you, startle you, or make you scream like a
little girl, I will unequivocally take it. There isn’t a return policy, Bridger, so
you’re going to need to deal with it.”
He leaves a trail of kisses on my neck, smiling against my skin. “I agree
with this no return policy. One hundred percent.”
 I nestle against his shoulder, playing with the rings on his fingers. “So
I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous. Stop it now.”
I press a kiss in the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his ear until he’s holding
me closer and he’s mine to control. “I want your opinion. I’ve been thinking
of it for a long time, so try your hardest not to make fun of it the second I
get it out.”
Bridger maneuvers us so we’re lying side by side. I hook a leg over his as
he runs his fingers through my hair. “I like your ideas.”
“Correction. You steal my ideas.”
“Al, one time. Once. And can you blame me? The PVC candy gun was a
pretty cool idea.”
“Yeah, and everyone thought you were the coolest because of it.”
“Are you still mad at me?” His eyes simmer in seductive heat. Bridger
kisses me, deeper, sweeter, than before. “Want me to make up for it? I have
a lot of ideas on how I can say sorry.”
I grip his T-shirt, at a loss to what I was talking about when his palm
slowly marks each divot on my spine. I shiver and curl into him.
“No.” I smack his chest. “Ten minutes of focus, then I’m all yours.”
“Five.”
I consider his beautiful mouth and nod. “Five. Okay, I’ve been trying to
figure out what direction I want to go professionally once I graduate. I’m
not sure I want to do a lot of librarian work.”
“Al, you’re getting a Library Science degree.”
“I know, hear me out. Not a conventional library at least. I don’t know if
you’ve noticed, but I have a love for books, and I’ve dissected some of my
reasons why.” I spin the diamond stud in his ear and lower my voice. “I
used books to escape the bad things.”
Bridger’s arm stiffens around my waist, as if defending me from the past
is his first instinct.
“Stories gave me a moment to breathe,” I go on, “to live somewhere else,
and return to reality a little stronger. Anyway, I had this idea hit me at the
first concert with the fire and police. What if I could set up a non-profit
library for families of fallen first responders?”
Bridger’s hand stops on the small of my back. He’s quiet and I don’t
know if he’s thinking or trying to keep his promise not to make fun of me.
“I’ve really thought about it,” I start to defend the idea. “It could be a free
subscription for the kids of police officers, or . . . firefighters. You know
better than anyone what it’s like to lose a hero, but you had music. I can’t
send guitars to everyone, but they have those book boxes people can
subscribe to. You know, they send cool swag and a book once a month. But
what if it was free for these kids who maybe need an escape for a few
hours.
“They could fill out forms on a website, like ages, reading level, and
genre preference. I haven’t figured out logistics yet, but I thought it would
be cool if they got a box every month. Something to look forward to in a
difficult time. Maybe they would return the book like a library, keep the
swag. Or maybe they’d keep everything, I haven’t worked out all the
logistics.” I take a breath. “Will you say something because you’ve gone
stoic, and I don’t know if I’ve made you get lost in bad memories, or if you
hate the entire idea, or—”
Bridger silences me with a kiss. Oh, my, does he silence me. It’s greedy,
passionate, full of voice with words he’s not saying. Who needs to talk,
though, really?
He pulls back and I’m breathless. With his knuckle, Bridger tilts my chin
up, and says, “I wish you’d thought of this when I lost my dad.”
I bite down on my bottom lip. “Really? You like it?”
“Al, it’s awesome. We could even tie it into the concerts next year. You
know, when we pull the families who’ve lost someone on stage, we could
give them information. Maybe you could be there with volunteers to help
get people signed up. We can figure it out, I’m just brainstorming.”
He keeps saying we and it spins my stomach in silk. “A year? You think
we could get it going in that time?”
“I think so. I’ll talk to Mallorie. She has connections with everyone,
maybe she’ll be able to help us figure out how to get started.” He traps my
face. “This is perfect, Al. You’re perfect, and I want to be part of this.”
I trace his bottom lip, tangle my leg a little more with his. “Bridge.”
“Yeah.”
“Five minutes is up.”
He grins a little wickedly, pulls me over him, and in another heartbeat his
mouth is mine. No mistake, I’d be content to stay there all night.
“Al,” he says after ten minutes, twenty, maybe two hours. The sun has set
and it’s dim in the house. Bridger searches my eyes. “Will you . . . will you
come on tour with me this fall?”
My eyes widen. “You want me with you?”
“When I think of being away from you, right when this is happening
between us, I can’t stand the thought. It’ll be boring for you. A lot of cities,
a lot of hotels, a lot of shows. But we’ll have some downtime to sightsee.
One stop is Florida. They have some awesome beaches.”
 I lift my head and prop my chin over his chest. “You really want me
there?”
“Nope. I just said all that to be funny. Come on, who’d want their hot
girlfriend traveling the country with them?”
I pinch his chest. “Do you think we’d survive without killing each
other?”
“Probably not.” Bridger draws circles up and down my neck. “But I still
wouldn’t want to tour with anyone else.”
“Okay, but may I present a problem?”
“It wouldn’t be normal if you didn’t.”
“Parker.”
Bridger’s smile fades. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about him a lot. He
texted me last night.”
He hands me his phone with the message pulled up.

Parker: Dude, do you need to be all over my sister this much? It’s
everywhere. If I didn’t know this was being directed by your manager, we’d
be having words *smiling emoji* smile more, kiss less.

Bridger simply sent a thumbs up in return.

I lift a brow. “So you agree with kissing me less?”
“I didn’t know what to say.” He slips his fingers into mine. “We need to
tell him, Al. The longer we keep it from him the worse it’ll be.”
“Maybe we should wait for the offseason.”
“He’ll be here tomorrow.”
“I know, then he goes to play back-to-back games.”
 “And you have school and I have the tour. When is there going to be a
good time?” Bridger adjusts and sits up, brow furrowed. “Do you not want
him to know?”
“If I’m honest, part of me doesn’t. You know better than anyone how he
is.”
Bridger coils my hair around his fingers. “I know he’d take a bullet for
you and he adores me even more.”
“You’re so cocky.”
He laughs. “I think Parker will be annoyed, but he’d want us to be
happy.”
I’m not so sure. I know my brother wants me to be happy, true, but I
don’t think he wants me to do it with his best friend. A guy who knows all
the dirt on Parker Knight, and the other way around.
“We’ll tell him soon,” I say after a pause. “But not tomorrow. And maybe
I should do it alone.”
“Come on, Al. I know Parker as well as you, and frankly, it’s making me
a little sick keeping a secret from him.”
“I can make you feel better.” I lean forward and nip at his ear, reveling
the way he sinks into me like putty.
When his cell phone dings. Bridger laughs as I glare at the interruption.
Without fail, whenever I try something usually interrupts. I tuck my head
beneath his chin and breathe him in.
I guess he forgot he had another body curled against him because he has
to fumble to catch me when he bolts up and I nearly fall off the couch.
“What?”
“It’s Nadia.” He holds up the phone, face flushed. “She says if I meet
with her she’s going to recant. Everything.”
Chapter 27
 Bridger

AT THE FRONT OF the house there are a few offices for the security team,
a small kitchen stocked for their use, and a room where we sometimes meet
as a band to brainstorm.
Two hours after the text, Tate, Adam, and Lance sit at a conference table
in our band room. This involves our reputation as a whole group, so
everyone showed. Alexis hugs her middle and paces in the corner. I asked
her not to come, but I’d like to see anyone tell that woman to back down
when, in her mind, people she loves are threatened.
We’d called our legal team at the label to get advice. Word spread
quickly, and Pops practically cheered with glee when he learned what might
happen. A full recant after she’s dragged me through the dirt. All he’s
seeing are dollar signs, but I’m looking for vindication.
“Everyone needs to keep cool,” Tate says when silence goes on too long.
“Looking at you over there in the corner.”
“I’m fine,” Alexis says. “Why wouldn’t I be fine? This is good. It’s fine.
Do I want to pull her fake extensions out? Yes. Will I have my hands in my
pockets so I don’t claw at her eyes? Probably. But I’m fine. This is fine.”
“Hey Lex,” Adam says. “Are you sure you’re fine?”
She glares at him, but keeps pacing.
My breath catches when the door clicks and Quinn enters, a scowl on his
face.
Nadia materializes behind him, and pats his shoulder. “Thanks, Quinn.”
 He grunts in response.
Nadia locks in on me right away. She pops a hip and the skin-tight skirt
rides up her thigh. With a grin, she tosses her raven wing hair off one
shoulder, but her eyes lift and her plump, red lips curve into a frown. “B, I
thought we’d be talking alone.”
“You thought wrong,” Tate snaps. “No man in his right mind would ever
be alone with you.”
She looks to me for help. There’s none to find. I gesture to the chair
across from me. “Sit down, Nadia.”
We wait as Nadia sits, her skirt hardly covering her hip when she crosses
her leg. Her eyes drink in the room until she finds Alexis. “What’s your
image fixer doing here?”
“She’s my girlfriend.”
“Whatever, B.” Nadia laughs. “I know how your people work, and I
know you two are weird childhood friends. No need for pretenses.”
“No pretenses,” I say. “Alexis is my girlfriend, but we’re not here to talk
about that. You came to recant according to your text.”
Nadia’s mouth parts and she schools her glare at me. “You’re serious?
What the heck, Bridger. I came here to clear the air with us and you’re just
now telling me you’re with her?”
“What does it matter to you?” I bite back.
“It matters because I’m different now. We’re in better places.”
She’s making little sense.
Alexis laughs with a touch of bitterness. “Amazing. You’re a piece of
work Nadia, really, you are unbelievable.” Alexis grins at me, then rolls her
eyes when I give her a bemused look. I have no idea what she’s talking
about. Alexis points at Nadia, a cruel smile on her lips. “She’s here to
reconcile, Bridge. To get back together with you.”
The idea drops like dead weight in the pit of my gut. “Is that true?”
Nadia flinches. “I think it would be good for both of us to show a unified
front.”
“What unified front? You wrote all about how I was a monster behind
closed doors. I’m curious about the steel-toed boot I threw at you. Do you
still have the scar on your eyebrow?” My eyes narrow as she shrinks in her
seat. “Because Parker does. Or tell me how I wouldn’t let you eat, so you
hoarded food. Tate? Know anything about that?”
Tate is barely holding it together, his fingers drum furiously over his legs.
Adam claps him on the shoulder, but I’m not sure if it’s for comfort or to
keep him from lunging across the table.
“In fact,” I go on, “maybe you should ask Alexis what it’s like to be
boxed in by a car, to think you’re going to be hit, all while someone laughs
at you from the driver’s seat. Funny how your story is identical to hers.”
I didn’t want to bring up the incident with one of Mama Knight’s
boyfriends. He was cruel, and Alexis spent a lot of nights curled in my bed
while Parker and I took the floor for those three months.
The way Alexis holds her chest, as if her heart might burst out, she didn’t
know.
“You listened to stories about people I love for years. You stole them and
used them and I don’t know why. I don’t understand it.”
Nadia dabs her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. She hesitates. “Do you
know how hard it is to stay relevant in fashion at my age?”
In the back of my mind, I knew she used this for a payout, but it’s still a
punch to the back of the head.
 “Why recant? You’ll lose more.”
Even defeated, she manages to sit straighter and dry the few tears in her
eyes. “I have reasons. And there are conditions. For my agreement to
recant, I want you to purchase those emails about to release.”
I shoot a look at Alexis who blanches. “The emails between me and Al?”
Nadia gives me a stiff nod. “Based on your reaction, I’m going to guess
you didn’t know TMZ purchased them. They’re going to run soon. You say
things about me in them that could be . . . problematic.”
“Poor baby,” Alexis says bitterly.
Nadia glares across the room. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“I know, and I don’t care. Admit it, you’re here because you don’t want
the media to know you stole prescription pills from your manager, then
used them to keep your boyfriend high so you could rob him.”
“Rob him?” Tate sits up, fists clenched on his knees.
Alexis nods and leans over the table, facing off with Nadia. “You wanted
his lifestyle, but not him. Which is probably your biggest mistake because
he’s delightful to have. Too bad when he sobered up, he found the money
trail. I’m not sure why he’s kept quiet about it, trust me, it’s been an
ongoing argument for a couple years.”
“It has,” I agree.
“You don’t know anything,” Nadia snaps.
“You think I don’t understand addiction? Girl, I lived with it every day of
my life,” Alexis says. “I get you were addicted to this dream of hitting it big
as much as Bridge was to substance. It just breaks my heart that you didn’t
care enough for him to keep him alive. I almost watched him die, Nadia!”
I reach out and touch her arm, a comfort, maybe a warning not to blow
through the roof.
 Nadia pouts. “I didn’t force anyone to take anything.”
Mystery solved—the touch is to keep Al from blowing through the roof.
Alexis flinches, talking through her teeth. “You enabled him. When he
wanted to quit, you encouraged him to keep going. You didn’t shove it
down his throat, but you certainly weren’t happy about sobriety.”
“What do you know? You have one-sided information.”
“Maybe I don’t know what was in your head, but your actions with
Bridger’s money says a lot. Oh, and when you tried to slip him drugs while
he was in rehab. That was pretty low.”
“I didn’t want him to suffer!” Nadia cries. “Withdrawal is painful.”
“You wanted him high.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I interrupt. “The point is we know why you don’t
want the emails leaked.”
“Bridge you never told us any of this,” Adam says.
“Didn’t see why I needed to. She’s right about one thing—I took the
drugs. She merely supplied them.”
“And stole from you,” Alexis adds. “It’s a key point and you keep
leaving it out.”
“That, too. Happy?” I wink at her.
“Better.”
I school my attention to Nadia. “I’m not stopping the emails.”
Her face pales and she leans forward. “Why not? They don’t make you
look good, either. You talk about everything, even mention your parents’
old drug problems. There’s a lot of personal stuff in them.”
“Yeah, and it sucks that he sold them. I was beginning to think he wasn’t
going to, but it’s exhausting always sweeping everything under the rug. If I
can survive your backlash, I’ll survive this. So, no deal there. However, I
would like to move on to you signing an agreement that you will recant the
lies in your book.”
She scoffs and wipes away another tear. “No deal, as you said. Forget it.”
“Well, hold on.” I point to the corner of the room. “The security system
has picked up this entire conversation. Isn’t that right, Quinn?”
Quinn nods his head. “Correct.”
“You can’t film me without my permission!”
“Security system,” I repeat. “Recant or it gets out. You exploited more
than me with that heap of trash, and their stories aren’t yours to tell.”
Nadia cuts me with her gaze. It’s sickening to see such hate there when
moments ago she was playing the repentant lover. How long would she
pretend to love me before she called it quits? It’s unnerving.
I reach out and take Alexis’s hand. She’s warm and fierce. She’s here
without any ultimatums or conditions.
Quinn knocks again, just in time, Enigma’s lawyer steps inside and spells
out what’s going to happen if Nadia doesn’t comply and sign the legal
agreement and a thorough NDA about this meeting.
I press a kiss to Alexis’s palm. “You’re too good for me.”
She grins and pinches her finger and thumb together. “A little.”
I laugh and tug her onto my lap.
Nadia watches, lets out a huff, but signs the agreements. What more can
she do? I’m on edge. I refuse to be duped again, refuse to allow others to
take advantage of me for a bit of cash.
With a pinched glare, Nadia drops the pen, and stands without another
word. At the door, she pauses. I wait for her to say something. Anything.
Nadia shakes her head, turns her gaze to the ground, then walks away.
 I slump in the chair and grin at the ceiling. It’s over. One dark spot is
done at long last.
Alexis traps my face between her palms and kisses me, sweet and raw.
For a moment everything is right in the world.
If I’d known it wouldn’t last, I might’ve savored the moment even longer.
Chapter 28
 Alexis

I HOLD A FINGER to my lips as if the dog can understand me. “Your tail
is too loud, pretty girl.”
I scratch Poppy’s ears and she only bangs her thick rope of a tail harder
against the wall. Bridger is still asleep, and after a long night with Enigma’s
legal department, Mallorie, and Tim discussing how to move forward, I
want him to keep sleeping.
Mallorie let us know the good-girl reforming a bad-boy could stop now
that Nadia is legally bound to recant what she wrote within three days.
Bridger had smirked and took my hand beneath the table.
It’s a bit of magic knowing the lies will stop. Even Bryce releasing the
emails doesn’t mar the weight that’s lifted. The only trouble—we need to
talk with Parker.
I snatch Bridger’s keys from the counter, stomach tight, as I leave to get a
few last minute things for our ‘family’ breakfast. Maybe he’s right. Parker
will be here face to face. It might be the best time to admit a line was
crossed. To admit I can’t go back over it even if I tried.
Bridger is optimistic, but I have a feeling Parker will view it as a kind of
betrayal from both of us.
It’s early enough Quinn hasn’t arrived yet, and I slip out the door before
anyone insists I take an entourage of babysitters.
Even at seven in the morning the air is dry, but with the top down in the
jeep it’s almost pleasant. Saturday farmer’s markets were a favorite of Holly
Cole, and growing up she took me whenever I asked. This one is busy
already. I think Quinn is making me paranoid because without thinking I
slip on my sunglasses and Bridger’s Kings cap.
Before the heat bakes everyone by lunchtime, people are pleasant. I greet
sellers, they smile back. Some even give free samples, or let me snort their
homemade candles too long.
At a chili stand, a woman taps my arm.
“Hi,” she says. “Sorry, but you look like the girl dating Perfectly
Broken.”
My throat dries. Am I that recognizable? Until she points at my T-shirt
and I realize my stupid mistake. I wore a Perfectly Broken T-shirt. Maybe
it’s not that obvious, but it might’ve drawn a fan’s attention, then cause
them to look twice.
Bridger is always cool in these situations. If I’m going to be with him, I
need to be too. “Um, Bridger is my boyfriend, yes.”
Her face reddens and she beams. “I love Adam. He’s so talented and so
nice. He’s signed all my stuff. Want to know something cool? He personally
responded to a letter I wrote him.”
I blow out a breath of relief. She doesn’t hate me for loving on the lead
singer. “Yeah, Adam is a super nice guy.”
“Do you know him well?”
“I do. I grew up with him.”
Her eyes widen. “You knew him as a kid? I bet he always loved guitar.”
I snicker. “It took him a while to love it, actually. But he’s a natural.”
A shadow passes over her face, but on second glance it’s gone, a smile in
its place. “I’m coming to the show in a few weeks. I have floor seats. One
row away from the gate.”
 “That’s awesome,” I say pleasantly and pay for the chilis. “If you give
me your name, I bet I can score a backstage pass for you.”
Tears brim in her eyes. “Really?”
Her voice breaks and I touch her arm. Bridger’s right, this feeling,
making people happy, is intoxicating.
She digs through her purse and pulls out a pen and torn piece of an
envelope. “Here it is. Adam might remember my name, but you don’t know
it, so here.”
“Great,” I say and take a step back when she invaded my space a little
too much. “Nice to meet you, Tawni. I better get going.”
She smiles at me as I fade back into the crowd. A weird encounter, but
kind of fun. I need to get used to it.
At the jeep, I glance at my watch. Two hours to go before everyone fills
up Bridger’s patio furniture. I’m excited for this breakfast. Parker plays in
Colorado this week, then after he finally has a string of home games, but
the guys will be getting ready to kickoff their fall touring by a few Vegas-
based concerts before they head to Arizona. After that, fifteen cities before
the holidays.
We might not get together again for a while, so I plan to make the most
of today.
“Hey, again.”
I jump back, startled. “Tawni?”
She grins at me, maybe three feet away. Her eyes flick to Bridger’s not-
so-inconspicuous jeep. “I’ve seen this car online.” She licks her lips. The
hair stands up on the back of my neck. Tawni isn’t looking at me, she’s
drinking in the keys in my hand. “You could take me to him. You know
where he lives.”
 “Bridger doesn’t like people he doesn’t know at his house,” I say as
firmly as I can manage.
“Bridger? No, not him, I’m talking about Adam.”
“Tawni, you need to step back,” I say, holding up my hand and cursing
my independent streak.
Why didn’t I bring Quinn?
Her brow furrows. “Step back? No, I just want to see Adam. If you know
the band, you can take me to him. It’s been so long since we’ve seen each
other. It’ll be a surprise, you know. He’ll be excited.”
I take the keys between my fingers. This woman has a wild look in her
eyes. The way she talks about Adam—I read her all wrong. It’s not as if
she’s a typical fan, more like she’s obsessed with him. Becca hasn’t ever
mentioned anything like this, maybe warned me to be careful, but nothing
like this.
“I’m not taking you to Adam. You can see him at the shows, but not in
his personal space, Tawni. We all deserve privacy.”
Wrong thing to say. Her face contorts and she lunges at me. “You want
him for yourself!”
I scream and try to shove her back, but she tangles her fingers in my hair.
My heart races. The ground tilts. She’s attacking me. Seconds start to blur. I
swing at her. Scream and kick. She curses me. Declares love for Adam
Stone. Tawni takes my head between her hands. I shove against her, but it’s
followed by a blinding pain.
My brain boils in my skull. Frenzied voices surround us.
Then, everything falls into syrupy black.
Chapter 29
 Bridger

I CHECK MY PHONE again. Not a word. It’s only eight, for all I know she
left twenty minutes ago, but I’m still mad at her.
I know Alexis well enough I had Quinn come in early because I knew
she’d try to sneak out to get the few things she mentioned last night. If I had
to guess, Quinn missed her by a few minutes. Now, I’m cursing my lazy
self. I should’ve been awake; I should’ve gone with her.
“You’re going to pace a track in your kitchen.” Becca grins at me and
brings in two cartons of orange juice.
“Hey, Bec,” I say and give her a side hug. “You guys are early.”
She chuckles. “You do know I’m engaged to Adam, right? The most
punctual being on the planet. What’s up with you?”
I look back at my phone. “Nothing. Al went to get some groceries and . .
. I don’t know, she hasn’t responded to my text.”
“She ducked your security detail, huh?”
I roll my eyes, mad all over again, and nod. “Yeah.”
Becca rests a hand on my shoulder. “Bridge, a word of advice. I know it’s
hard, but don’t smother her.”
“You know how crazy it can be.”
“I know, but Adam had to learn to let me breathe, too.”
“You’re saying you don’t let people know where you’re going?”
“Okay, yes, I do,” she says. “But I don’t always take a shadow with me.
It wouldn’t work between us if I felt like I couldn’t come and go as I
please.”
“She can come and go,” I tell her. “It’s for right now. A lot of people are
looking at me like I’m an abusive guy and someone might try to save her or
whatever.”
“Well, then they wouldn’t hurt her.”
“Maybe not intentionally.”
Becca doesn’t argue. She knows things like this happen. Not only with
us, but we’ve heard countless stories of unintended harm done out in public.
I don’t want to be that guy who demands a check-in from his girlfriend, but
with so much spotlight on us, it’s hard not to be.
“I’ll text her,” Becca says. She types something in her phone, then smiles
at me. “Give her a few minutes before we all worry.”
My front door opens and loud voices carry into the kitchen. “You
could’ve held the elevator, Hawkins! I have my niece with me. Micah, that
isn’t how guys treat a lady, understand?”
“Way to teach female empowerment, Princess.”
Becca and I share a look. Ellie and Tate—whatever happened between
those two, they need to kiss and makeup or leave each other alone.
“Come on,” Becca says. “When is Parker coming?”
“He’s running a little late. Red eye last night, so he’s probably wired.”
“Are you guys going to talk to him?”
“Soon,” I tell her. We need to tell him the truth, but it’s one of those
conversations I also want to avoid like it’s death. Parker will need to accept
it. I love Alexis and I’m not willing to give her up simply because my best
friend has a problem with it.
We join the others in the front room. Micah lays on the floor, scratching
Poppy’s belly. She looks like Finn with olive skin and golden-brown hair,
but she has the attitude of Ellie. I give her a high-five as I walk past and
laugh when Poppy slobbers on the little girl’s face.
“Finn didn’t make it?” I ask Ellie.
“Tour prep,” she says. “Last minute touches on some of Stacia’s stuff,
then you guys will keep producers busy for the next few weeks.”
Ellie talks to me, but her eyes shoot daggers at my couch. Tate glares
back over the rim of his glass.
I let out a groan. “Would you two work it out? It’s going to start bleeding
over when we perform.”
“Whenever he’s ready to apologize for being a complete—” She glances
at her niece. “A complete jerk, then I am all ears.”
I toss my hands up. “I give up.”
Ten minutes later I stare at the food Al prepared last night. It’s covered.
Untouched. Becca looks at her phone and my heart jumps, but she meets
my gaze and shakes her head. Now, she’s worried. I can see it in the furrow
of her brow.
I’m calling her. No—someone is calling me.
“Quinn,” I answer after the first ring, hands numb. He never calls unless
there’s an issue. “What’s wrong?”
“There was a problem at the farmer’s market. Mallorie called me after a
video went online.”
“Where’s Alexis?”
“We’ve found her at Vegas Regional.”
He rambles off bits and pieces of what happened, but I’m only half
listening. My stomach drops out of me. The hospital?
I’m on the move before I take another breath.
 “She has my jeep,” I shout, drawing the eyes in my house to follow my
every step.
“I’m ready with a car now.”
“Be there in five minutes.” I hang up and hurry to the door.
“Bridge,” Tate says on my heels. “What’s going on?”
“Alexis had an encounter with a fan. She’s at the hospital.” I look to
Ellie. “Parker will be here soon and he’ll lose his mind. Don’t let him
drive.”
Becca stands, face pale. “I’ll stay and talk with him, then we can drive
him there.”
I nod. Parker knows Becca well. He’ll listen to her over Ellie.
I don’t bother telling Tate and Adam not to follow me, they won’t listen.
Unlike me, they do view themselves as extra brothers to Alexis Knight, and
their steps are almost as determined as mine. Almost.
In the car, Quinn catches me up with what he knows, shows me the
video. Someone at the market started filming when a stout woman
approached Alexis and started shouting about Adam.
My friend pales beside me. “That’s the lady who wrote me all those
letters. She . . . she sent me . . . pictures.”
He shudders.
“The one you had the restraining order for?” We’ve all had our share of
overzealous fans, but only Adam and I have ever had restraining orders
against people. Mine wasn’t violent, but pretty delusional.
He shakes his head. “I thought she was gross, but not aggressive. After I
proposed to Becca she started sending pictures with Bec’s head replaced
with hers. Among other things.”
 I clench my jaw. The woman must’ve recognized Alexis as having a
connection to the band. Adam scrubs his face and looks like he might get
sick. “Lex stood up for me. You can hear her tell her to get lost.”
Tate scoffs. “What did you expect her to do? Give up your address?”
“Shut up,” Adam snaps back. “I didn’t mean it that way. I feel bad this is
because of me, so ease up.”
Tate grumbles his bad mood at the window and keeps his gaze there the
rest of the time. Alexis fights for her people, but this shouldn’t have
happened. This isn’t Adam’s fault, it’s mine. I should’ve been there with
her.
The moment the car pulls alongside the curb, I hop out and rush to the
front desk in the ER. An orderly allows me back, but blocks Tate and Adam
to get more information. I outpace the guy, searching for the room number.
A nurse steps out when I skid to a stop. She looks startled, then
embarrassed. “Oh, uh, you’re . . . Mr. Cole.”
“Is she in there? Knight. Alexis Knight.”
The nurse smiles. “Yes. Go on in, she’s just signing discharge papers.”
I give her a rushed thank you, hardly grasping that she said discharge,
meaning Alexis is allowed to leave.
A rush of adrenaline floods my system when I step into the tiny room.
Alexis has her back to me, but I note the bandage on the side of her head.
She’s so . . . everything. I can’t form a single word.
The instant she turns around, I have her in my arms. She buries her face
in my chest, breaths shaky. I hold the back of her head, kiss her hair, her
cheek, careful to avoid the bandage. My hands frame her face as I urge her
back to crush my lips to hers.
 Alexis clings to my waist. She kisses me back like it’s the first time and
last.
“I’m okay, Bridge,” she says and rests her forehead on my shoulder.
“Only a slight concussion.”
“Slight concussion! Alexis!” I swear under my breath and inspect her
face.
“Look, before you get all mad at me, Cole—”
“I am mad at you. Furious,” I say and kiss her again. “But I can’t decide
if I want to shout at you or kiss you.”
“The latter, obviously.” She smiles against my mouth. “But I’m sorry. I-I-
I shouldn’t have left without, at least, telling someone where I was going.”
“Do I have a concussion? Is Alexis Knight apologizing?” She pinches my
arm, but melts into me when I pull her close again. “You should’ve told
someone, Al. I know I push this security stuff, and I don’t want to smother
you, but . . . I haven’t been that scared in a long time.”
She gently scratches between my shoulder blades, pressing kisses to my
neck. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“They . . . they told me Tawni was arrested.”
I nod, rehashing the brief explanation I got from Quinn. The woman was
taken away after bystanders jumped in to help. How long she stays will be
up to Alexis, I suppose. “She assaulted you.”
“I know. It happened so fast. I keep thinking what if it would’ve been
Becca.” Alexis’s eyes turn glassy. “Do you think this sort of thing will
happen a lot?”
My stomach sinks to my feet. Is she having second thoughts? Not that’d
I’d blame her. It can be nuts out there.
 “Maybe,” I admit, praying she stays despite it all. I’d give her an entire
security detail if it made her feel better. Retired CIA? Ex-Marine? Yep. If
she wanted it, I’d find a way to make it happen. “I get if you—”
“Don’t,” she whispers.
“Don’t what?”
“You’re going to give me a backdoor away from you.” Alexis runs her
hands over my chest, shaking her head. “I’m not asking because I don’t
want to deal with it. I’m just mentally wrapping my mind around it all, so I
can make peace with having Quinn as my shadow until I die.”
I smile and rest my head to hers. “At least he’s not terrible company,
right?”
My thumb brushes her bottom lip. She grins and stands on her toes to
kiss me. The anxiety of the moment starts to fade and I get lost in her sweet
scent, her warm touch. In her.
I’m not positive how long we’re tangled up in each other before a throat
clears behind us. My heart stills, and Alexis, still flat against my chest,
stiffens.
“There aren’t any cameras in here,” Parker says, his voice low and dark.
His eyes are heavy, hair slightly on end. He’s in his Kings sweats and bears
something dangerous in his eyes when he looks at me again. “Almost looks
like you’re pawing my sister for real.”
“Park,” Alexis says. “I’m fine, thank you for asking.”
His jaw tightens. He doesn’t look at her. Parker doesn’t take his eyes off
me.
Alexis slowly eases from my arms and takes a step toward her brother.
“We, uh, we need to talk.”
 Parker’s eyes bounce between me and Alexis, but he settles on me again.
“I asked you to look out for her, not sleep with her.”
A hot spark of anger floods my chest. “Watch it, man.”
“You both watch it.” Alexis steps between us, glaring. “Parker, listen, we
didn’t plan for this to happen—”
“Maybe you didn’t,” Parker snaps. “But I want to know how long he’s
been planning it. Did you see an opportunity when I called asking for a
favor? Saw how she was vulnerable? What was it?”
My jaw tightens. “If you think I’d do that to Al, then you don’t know
me.”
“I know exactly how you are.” Parker laughs bitterly and faces Alexis.
“Has he told you about life on the road? The parties, the women? Did he
tell you—”
“Seriously, Parker?” I take a deep breath before I hit him. “How many
years ago was all that?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Stop it!” Alexis shoves Parker’s shoulder. “I know everything. I’m not
meeting him for the first time here. But look at you casting stones, Mr.
NDA.”
Parker glowers, but shuts his mouth for once.
“Park, you can drop the macho act. It’s unbecoming,” Alexis goes on.
“I’m a big girl and—”
“I never should’ve left her with you,” Parker rails at me, stepping away
from his sister. “First you drag her into this ruse—”
Alexis balks. “Excuse me, I agreed . . .”
She’s drowned out. Truth be told, I’m only focused on Parker now.
Seething is more like it. He’s got a lot of nerve accusing me of taking
advantage of Alexis. He knows we argue, knows we pester each other, but
he should know by now I’d never intentionally hurt her. Ever.
“Then, you make her think she means something more to you,” Parker
barrels on.
“She does mean more to me!” The words slip out, and I clamp my mouth
shut.
“Bridge,” Alexis whispers. She wants me to open everything, say
everything.
It’s a suffocating kind of thought. To expose my heart to her when I’ve
lost her before.
Parker butts his chest with mine. “She’s getting trampled by lunatics!
You aren’t thinking of what’s best for her.”
I’m not sure he’s wrong. Not sure he’s right, but his words sink deep into
my chest.
Parker starts ticking off his fingers. “She can’t go to school, she can’t go
to the grocery store, she’s getting private emails exposed.”
“I’d never hurt her,” I say dumbly.
“Yeah, well, look around Bridger,” Parker snaps. “You did. I never
should’ve let her go to you.”
“Let me?” Alexis narrows her eyes. “You didn’t let me do anything,
Parker Knight. You don’t get to tell me what to do, nor who to love.”
My head spins. I want to shove Parker out of this room, get that woman
in my arms, and show her everything I haven’t said.
But the heat fades into something cold when Parker laughs. “Love? Are
you kidding me, Lex? You think he loves you like that? I mean, the kind
you want and deserve? I know Bridger better than you in this; he falls fast,
but it’s shallow. It’s a moment in time that loses appeal and I’m not going to
watch him do that to you.”
“Stop it,” she says. Her voice breaks.
“No. He doesn’t know how to have a healthy relationship, and neither do
we!”
Tell her you love her. Risk it. She’s worth all of it, the pain, the joy.
“You don’t know anything, Parker,” she says. Alexis lifts her eyes to
mine, searching, pleading for me to crack a bit of the shell. “Safety net,
Bridge—do you love me?”
How do you tell someone you don’t love them—you breathe for them?
Lyrics play in my head. I can write it, sing it, but to put into spoken words
what Alexis Knight does to me can’t be gathered in a single endearment.
She breaks me, heals me. I gave my heart to her long ago and she didn’t
know it. Now she’s holding hers in her hands for me. All I need to do is
take the risk.
I lift my eyes, studying her in a new way. When I wake up in ten years,
the first thing I want to see in the dawn is her. At night, she is who I want to
hold. I want her through laughter. I want her tears to be mine to catch and
heal. She is mine. She is my whole heart.
And I’ve taken too long to respond.
Alexis recoils from me. “I get it.”
“No, Al,” I go to her, but Parker steps in front of me.
“Leave her alone, Bridger. You’ve done enough. I’m her brother and I’ll
look out for her.”
“You’re gone seven months out of the year!”
“Oh, and you can do better?” Parker scoffs and lowers his voice. “It’s not
like you’ve been clear-headed the last few years.”
 I’m stunned silent, and for a moment there is a flash of something like
remorse in his eyes. We both recover into our anger quickly. “Way to take it
low, man.”
Parker’s shoulders slump and he runs a hand through his chestnut hair.
“Look, let’s call this what it is. A fling of circumstance. But it ends now, or
you and me, we’re done.”
“Ultimatums?” My lip curls in a sneer. “That’s all it takes to kick
friendship to the side, huh?”
“The way I see it, you’re the one who changed the terms when you
crossed the line. Let’s go, Alexis.”
I point my finger at him. “She’s coming home with me.”
“Good news for both of you, no one has to look out for me. I’m twenty-
six, Parker. I don’t need you to save me. And you.” Alexis glares at me.
“You don’t get to decide what I do. I’m not going home with either of you.”
“Alexis, please . . .” I reach for her, but she pulls back.
A tear drops onto her cheek as she backs into the hallway. “This is what I
was afraid of, Bridge. That you’d lose him for me. It’s not worth it.”
“Don’t talk like that,” I say. “You’re worth it.”
Alexis takes another step away. “I wanted to be, you have no idea how
much I wanted to be. But I need to be away from this. I’m not going to rob
either of you of the most important relationship you guys have. I won’t.”
It hits me in a stinging blow, like the walls of the room crumbled over the
top of me. She’s leaving. Both of us. A frenzied panic rises in my chest.
We’ve put too much out there to let it go over a stupid argument. She thinks
I value Parker’s friendship more than I value her. It’s not that, they both
take up different places in my heart.
 “You have a concussion, Alexis,” Parker says, still angry by his tone.
“You’re not driving.”
Alexis closes her eyes. “You don’t get it. You don’t get to tell me what to
do.”
“Don’t go,” I say. “It doesn’t need to be this messy. I—”
“I’m walking away, Bridge, but not because it’s messy,” she whispers.
“I’ve learned that loving you has always been messy. And I was finally
okay with it. I wish you were, but I’ll be the one to go before you two make
a mistake and throw each other away.”
With that, Alexis leaves.
My initial thought is to chase after her. Parker is right, she does have a
concussion. But we both stand there, silent. Chastised and maybe a little
stunned.
“Why, Bridge? Out of everyone, why her?”
I drop my gaze to the floor. “There never was anyone else. It’s always
been her.”
He’s quiet. And I think for the first time since he showed up, Parker
listens to me.
Chapter 30
 Bridger

MY HOUSE IS TOO quiet. After the hospital Parker and I returned to the
waiting room separately. He left through one door, me the other. Ellie had
picked up Alexis and both have left me in the dark.
The most I’ve gotten is from Adam and Tate.
Tate: Work this out with Parker. It’s almost offseason. You two will ruin
Call of Duty nights.
Me: Easier said than done when he’s being a little girl about it.
Tate: At least come to his game with us.
I frown, wanting to spew petulance more than anything. If Parker
would’ve been an adult this wouldn’t have happened. I tell Adam and Tate
as much because, yes, I go to the game. Even mad at him, I don’t miss
games.
“Eh, I’m going to say this isn’t all Parker’s fault,” Tate mumbles through
a bite of his hotdog. He whoops when the Kings get an out. Seats behind
home plate are the best places to heckle a friend and see the sweat from the
game.
I scoff and prop my feet on the fence. “No offense, man, but you don’t do
relationships.”
“No,” Tate says, “but I get what Lex is saying.”
“She’s talking to you?”
“She’s talking to Becca,” Adam says and tugs his hat lower when two
women up a few rows start pointing at us. “Lex wants more from you and
you didn’t give it.”
“I want to.”
“Want to what?”
I pinch my mouth. “Forget it.”
“Ah, see that’s the problem. You won’t say it,” Adam says.
“I might not know a lot, but I hear women like to make sure their man is
as committed as they are,” Tate adds with a shrug. “Just a thought.”
Adam takes one of the hot dogs we bought and unwraps the foil. “You
and Park are treating her like she’s a kid caught in the divorce.”
“We are not.” Are we? I allow my shoulders to slump as I replay bits and
pieces of the argument. “Park hit below the belt. He brought up drugs and
partying. As if she didn’t know.”
“Yeah, it was a sucker punch, but you poked him in his Achilles heel,
man.” Adam claps when the team roster is announced and Parker will be
third up to bat. “You messed with his sister.”
Tate tosses his wrapper in the trash, pulls a plastic bag of cookies out of
his pocket, and reclines in his chair. “Listen, if you want Alexis, then you
need to make sure Parker knows it. He might be seeing red right now, but if
you make Lex happy, he’ll accept it. Unless you aren’t sure what you want.
In that case, I’d fix you and Parker. You don’t want to lose him, either.”
I lean over my knees. “I’m in love with Alexis.”
The words hover there between us for a long pause. Tate and Adam
hardly seem surprised, more like they’re relieved.
“So why don’t you tell her that?” Adam says.
“I tried, but I couldn’t spit it out fast enough.” I kick the fence and scrub
my face. “I could see her song in my head, but I couldn’t say it.”
 “Well, figure out how to say it,” Tate says. “You know why Parker is
really mad about it, right?”
“Because he thinks I’m using Alexis as some fling.”
“No.” Tate and Adam share a look and laugh. Tate gives my shoulder a
nudge. “It doesn’t have anything to do with Alexis. Not really.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” Tate says, laughing. “Sappy talk is over. Time to be men and
watch baseball.”
I roll my eyes, tug my cap down, and face the field. Jovi Green, the
starting pitcher, ends the first half of the inning with two strike outs, then an
impressive out at home before the Diamondbacks score.
The Kings are a solid hitting team, so it’s no surprise when the first two
batters get a piece and claim two bases.
Parker takes his place at the plate. I shake my head, wanting to throw
something at him, but understanding him in the same breath.
Truth be told, I’ll miss his ugly face if he hates me for much longer.
I cup my hands around my mouth when the announcer calls Parker’s
stats. The crowd is cheering. He’s a golden boy and I take it upon myself to
keep him humble. When it’s a little quieter I let loose. “Boo, Knight! Choke
up on the bat, I’ve said this a hundred times! Boo!”
A few people around us give me dagger eyes, but I’m satisfied. There is a
moment, the briefest glance, where Parker turns over his shoulder. He
knows where we sit. I can’t see his eyes, but under the shadow of his
helmet, I don’t miss the smile.
I like to think the triple he slammed right after was all thanks to me.
 Only a few stragglers remain in the stand. Mostly field crew is left and
those sweeping the steps. Tate and Adam left after the game. Part of me
wishes I could get out of here, too, but I can’t keep avoiding this.
I run my fingers over the brim of my hat, staring at the grass.
“It says a lot about you as a person for bribing the PR guy with concert
tickets to get me out here.”
I try not to smile, but it comes on its own. “You’re being such a baby I
had to stoop low.”
Parker comes around the seats and takes the one at my side. He lifts his
Kings hat and scratches his head. The field is almost fully covered by a top
shield against the Vegas sun, an innovative design really, but even with the
shade, the heat is stifling. I’m not moving, though. Not until we’ve had our
say.
“You didn’t totally suck out there,” I say.
Parker chuckles. “Thanks. Probably why they finally gave me that
seventh figure.”
“About time.” I can put down the sword for half a breath and be
genuinely happy for him. I knew his contract was up for negotiation and
he’s earned it.
We fall into an uncomfortable silence. Parker shifts in his seat, I prop my
feet onto the back of the chair in front of me.
“Bridger,” he says at last. “Are we going to do this or keep pretending
like it’s not going to happen?”
My jaw pulses. I let out a nervous breath and reach into my pocket. The
paper is worn and wrinkled. I’ve read it a thousand times over the years.
The words on that paper kept me moving on darker nights. “I want you to
read this. No one else has ever seen it. Not even Tate and Adam.”
 He takes it from me, gives it a brief scan, then looks back to me. “A
song?”
“Read it.”
Parker gives me a pointed look, but obliges. His eyes flick back and forth
across the sheet. He reads longer than it should take for the length of song,
but I hope it’s sinking in. After a few minutes, he clears his throat and folds
the paper. When he goes quiet, I take it as my opening to start explaining.
“I wrote that the night I overdosed.” Parker lifts his gaze. My chest
tightens against what I need to say. “Did you see the title?”
He fiddles with the paper a few times, then nods. “Alexis.”
“I mean, it’s still a working title, but . . . she’s not a fling, Park.” I run my
hands over my knees and adjust a bit to face him. “I know I don’t deserve
her. I’ve made so many mistakes, but the two constants in my life are you
and her. I love you like my brother, man. But I fell in love with Alexis. She
took my heart before I ever had a record deal, before I even knew she’d
taken it. I’ve never asked for it back, Parker. And I hope it doesn’t change
you and me, but I can’t keep it from you anymore.”
Parker studies the ground. After a moment he hands the song back to me
and leans over his knees, fists to his mouth. “Protecting Alexis is one of the
few things I’ve been able to control in my life. Sometimes I take it too far, I
know I do. But I’m not blind, you know.”
“About what?”
He shakes his head. “I spent ninety percent of my days with you, man.
You think I never noticed the way you guys would fight? The way you’d
look at her when she turned away? Or how she’d look at you? I didn’t think
much of it, and didn’t think those looks would still be here after all this
time.”
 “Why are you so against it? You really don’t think any of us know how to
be in a healthy relationship?”
He winces, shaking his head. “I said a lot of things. Alexis has stuck with
security, but I think it’s because she’s afraid of what she feels with you. And
you, yeah, Nadia wasn’t healthy, but . . . I know it’s not like that with you
and Lex. I think I’m the one who doesn’t belong in a relationship. I didn’t
mean to put my own crap on you two.”
“But you still worry about me with Al.”
He shrugs, but doesn’t look at me.
“Parker, I know I’ve screwed up before, but I haven’t touched anything
in almost three years. And you know I’d never step out on her. I’ve never
done that. If anyone really knows me, it’s you.”
“I shouldn’t have brought any of that up. It was cruel on my part and I’m
sorry.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “And it’s not that I don’t think you’re
good enough for her. It’s simpler—maybe more selfish—than that. I didn’t
want to lose our friendship if something went wrong between you two. And
before you say it, I’m not only worried about Alexis getting hurt. Honestly,
I'm more worried for you.”
“Why?”
“Because Alexis has never opened her heart to anyone in that way and
you bare yours to those you love. Even if you don’t say it.” He points to the
song in my hand, smiling. “You’ll write it, show it by what you do. Believe
it or not, I didn’t want you falling for her when I wasn’t sure my sister
would give it back.”
Parker is worried about my heart breaking? It’s a notion I’ve never
considered. I smile and pocket the song, then punch his leg. “I’ve learned
recently, sometimes, for the right person, heartbreak is worth the risk.”
 “Poetic.”
“I write songs for a living, get used to it.” I meet his eye. “No matter
what happens, you’re stuck with me, man. You’re my family. But it would
be nice to know you might be okay with me being with Alexis.”
“It’ll change things.”
“It will,” I admit. “But maybe for the better.”
He smiles and stares at the last of the field crew packing up. “Maybe. I’m
still going to be protective of her.”
“Good. Me, too.”
“And you’ve got a problem. My sister isn’t talking to you. She’s mad at
us, remember?”
It’s a swift cut to the gut. For a week she hasn’t said a word and it’s
showing in the heavy weight on my chest each morning.
“I remember.”
Parker stands, shouldering his bag, but he’s grinning. “I’ve got an idea if
you want to hear it.”
I lift a brow. “You’re going to help me win over your sister.”
“No. Win over your girl. That’s what you want, right?”
I smile and clap a hand on his back. “Yeah. That’s what I want. But just
to be sure, I haven’t slipped into a different reality or anything, right?”
A bit of the cracks heal when Parker laughs with me. As we head through
the tunnels underneath the stands to his car in the parking lot, it’s almost as
if nothing has changed between us.
“Hey, Bridge.”
“Yeah?”
A grin twists on his mouth. “If you hurt my sister, I’m going to have to
kill you.”
 “Noted.” I shove his shoulder as we make our way to the car. A few
Kings fans hang around outside. They catch sight of Parker and rush him.
For once it’s nice to pull back and let him deal with signing T-shirts and
body parts.
“Hey, you’re Bridger Cole,” one of the guys says and breaks from the
group.
I shove my hands in my pockets, uneasy. I never know how public
encounters are going to go anymore. “I am. How’s it going, man?”
The guy holds out his hand. With a touch of caution, I shake his. He’s
still smiling as he says, “Fight to the end.”
I freeze. “What did you say?”
“I’m sober six months now,” he says, proudly. “But it’s a struggle every
day. Ever since I read that, I keep saying those words. Fight to the end.
Until it’s not a struggle. Until the fight’s over and I win. Like you did. I just
want to say thank you.”
I blink through my stun. “Where did you hear that saying?” It’s
something I said with Alexis. Our motto during the hard days in rehab.
Fight to the end, until the battle is won.
“Those emails.” His eyes shadow. “Did you not know about them?”
“I almost forgot. I, uh, heard someone was going to leak them,” I fumble
out. “I guess I wasn’t expecting a thank you.”
He grins and steps back. “That’s shady, what your ex-girl did. Then to
learn more about how it all went down in those emails, I expect you’ll get
more apologies than anything. I didn’t know they were leaked, that sucks,
too, but you ought to know they’re helping me. Knowing you went through
it and survived, I feel like I can.”
 I clear the knot from my throat, wish him luck on his recovery, and tell
him to come to the last First Responder show next week. Lately, it’s rare to
have people come up who are happy to see me and Pops is going to kick me
off the label if I keep handing out backstage passes. But to see this guy’s
face light up when he tells his girlfriend, I’d hand out a hundred more.
Alexis always told me something good would come out of the struggle.
Maybe she was right.
I miss her.
She’s the first person I want to tell about this moment.
I just wish she’d respond.
Chapter 31
 Alexis

#FIGHTLIKEBRIDGER
#weareallperfectlybroken
Two trending hashtags on social media. I wipe a stray tear away. Bryce’s
diabolical plan backfired.
Bridger Cole is one of the hottest topics in the entertainment world right
now. First, Nadia’s recant of her book made the internet implode. True
survivors of domestic violence have called for her to face some kind of
charge for lying. Can’t say I disagree.
But when the emails from Bryce were published on TMZ, with the
picture of me reading to Bridger, then hugging him from behind, his name
went through the roof.
Instead of backlash he’s becoming a sort of light in a storm. A glimpse at
the dark side of rock and roll. Of drugs and depression. He’s giving hope to
the hopeless.
And people sort of think we’re a fairytale.
I’ve avoided social media, but Zoey, my trusty internet lurker, keeps
sending screenshots. I reread an Instagram post she sent me. The picture is
the one of me hugging Bridger at rehab.

_Britt_H_ COUPLE GOALS. If I don’t have a love like

@BridgeCole and Al, then I don’t want it.
#fightlikebridger
#fairytaleromance
 #weareallperfectlybroken
#fighttotheend

Oh, Britt H. If you only knew. I’m so frustrated with the man I could
scream, and so horribly in love with him I could cry. It aches.
As if he knows I’m thinking about him, my phone lights up with a string
of text messages.
Bridger: I’ve started and erased at least a dozen messages. I keep
thinking I’ll be witty. Maybe see if I can tick you off enough you’ll respond,
but it seems so shallow right now. So I just want to tell you my house still
smells like you. And I miss you.
Bridger: P.S. Poppy misses you, too.
Bridger: P.P.S. Talk to Parker. We punched it out. Cross my heart.
Bridger: P.P—who cares. I hope you come to the show tomorrow.
Because if I haven’t told you yet, I miss you. And admit it, you miss me too.
Me: *mad face emoji*
Bridger: Knew it.

I groan when Parker’s name shows up on my phone. But it’s been long
enough with the silent treatment. Now the time has come to yell at him.
“Calling to remind me how to get dressed?”
He scoffs, no doubt, rolls his eyes. “Clever. Smooth. No, I’m calling you
because you didn’t come to my game and that’s annoying.”
“I don’t need to come to every game.”
“Did you watch it?”
“Maybe.”
 The rustle in the background clues me in that Parker has achieved his
position of lounging on the bed to talk. “Lex, I want to fix this with us. I
hate fighting with you because you give the cold shoulder better than
anyone I know.”
I sigh, but a smile teases my mouth. “Parker, I love you, but you can’t
keep treating me like I can’t think for myself. I know I haven’t always made
good choices—Bryce for example—but you came in like a bear and
threatened to give up your best friend because he was kissing me.”
“I know,” he says, voice soft. “Would you believe me if I said I was
worried for both you and Bridger? With all of it thrown in my face I sort of
lost it.”
“Why were you worried about Bridger?”
He hesitates. “I didn’t want him to fall harder for someone and not have
it reciprocated.”
My mouth parts. “You think I don’t care about him?”
“How many times have you told me you don’t care about romance? That
you’d never go for someone who didn’t have a boring, monotonous nine to
five?”
“I don’t want monotonous, I didn’t want—”
“To be Mom? Yeah, I know. You’ve never really opened up to anyone.
But this someone is different. This is Bridger.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing tears to stay back. “I love him,
Park. And you’re wrong. I can say that, but he didn’t. I think, on this one, I
fell harder.”
“Lex.” It takes a moment for him to go on. “Go to the concert tomorrow.
Don’t shove him out because he and I got into it.”
“You want me to go to the concert after you nearly tore his head off?”
 “Unlike some people, Bridger showed up at my game.”
I laugh and shake my head. “He said you two punched it out, but I didn’t
really believe it.”
“Oh, we punched it out. I know everything, Lex. About your senior
prom. The secret notes from grade school on. I know about the night he
overdosed, how hearing you were engaged pushed him over.”
I draw in a sharp breath. “He said that?”
“He told me he was already in a bad place, but hearing that took him to
the edge.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Come to the concert with me. I . . . I want to be your brother, Lex. Not
your warden. I’m sorry for what I said last week. Bridger is my best friend
for a reason. He’s the best guy I know, and the more I think about it, why
wouldn’t I want you with him?”
A bit of relief warms my belly knowing Parker is supportive, but what
good does it do if Bridger and I don’t feel the same?
“I’ll think about the concert,” I say.
“Good enough, but I hope you think hard. The guys are playing some
new stuff and you know these First Responder concerts are important to
him. It’d mean a lot if you were there.”
Stick a knife in me. I close my eyes and nod even if he can’t see me. “I’ll
think about it. Promise.”
“Okay. Love you, Lex. More than baseball.”
“Love you more than Jane.”
 I’m not sure how we ended up in Ellie’s Honda driving to my hometown.
All she said was we needed sugar in our bellies, I suggested peppermint
cookies, she about croaked right there, and instead of calling Holly for the
recipe we opted for a road trip.
Bridger’s mom is more fun in person, plus I think Ellie wants to snoop in
his old room. Maybe learn something about Tate, but she’ll never admit
that.
“So this is the street where it all happened, huh?” She takes in the older
homes with a grin. “It’s sort of romantic. You fell in love with him here.”
I know what she’s doing. For ten days Ellie keeps finding ways to
casually bring up the way my heart left my chest and landed in Bridger’s
hands a decade ago.
It’s been chaotic. I’ve dealt with the fallout of Tawni, made police
statements about the assault, even had to attend one of the preliminary court
sessions. At the urging of Becca and Ellie, I did press charges. Part of me
felt bad for the woman, to lose herself in such an obsession, but I can’t
shake the idea of her hurting Becca someday simply because she is about to
marry Adam.
A cookie day is much needed.
Ellie adjusts her aviators when we pull into Holly’s driveway. Her hair is
bright blue now and it fits with her bubblegum lips. “All these years I’ve
known Bridger, and he’s never brought me here. You sure this’ll be cool?”
“Holly is basically my mom,” I say. “She highly encourages spontaneous
drop-ins. How bad do you want those cookies?”
“Pretty bad.”
“Then come on.”
 I knock on the door in a rhythm I’ve used since I was a kid. She doesn’t
come, but her car is in the carport. I open the door and step inside. “Holly?
It’s Alexis.”
In the entryway is a wall of family pictures. I try to avoid looking, but it’s
impossible. I take in pictures of little Bridger when Brooks was born. His
first guitar, his senior picture. An action shot of him at one of his concerts.
Ellie snickers when she points at a framed picture on a table against the
wall.
Tate, Adam, and Parker hold up fishing lines with Garett behind them.
They’re all smiling like normal, well-behaved kids. But on the side is a girl
in pigtails screaming, and an eleven-year-old Bridger trying to shove a fish
in her face.
It heats my blood just remembering how irritating he was—is. It makes
me needy to touch him. Kiss him.
Ellie snickers. “This is going on display at your wedding someday.”
“Stop.” I smile and take the picture out of her hands. “Tate was such a
cute kid, wasn’t he?”
She wrinkles her nose before turning to more photos.
“Lex?” Holly peeks out of the kitchen. “Girl, what are you doing here?”
“Sorry to just show up—”
“What are you talking about, come here.” She wraps me up in her arms,
then turns to Ellie. “And I know you. You sing with the boys sometimes.”
“Ellie Walker. We’re on the same label, but I’ve got to say this takes my
friendship with Bridger to a whole new level. Anything embarrassing,
please send it my way.”
Holly laughs and promises to deliver. “Are you close with all the guys,
Ellie?”
 “She likes Tate, but she’ll tell you she only likes Bridger, Lance, and
Adam.”
Ellie’s face reddens and she pinches my arm, but Holly is already draping
an arm around her shoulders. “You’ve got your work cut out for you,
sweetie. Tate is stubborn, but that kid is as loyal as they come and sweet to
boot under all that attitude.”
“Wouldn’t know, he’s basically a jerk.”
“Oh, but that’s only layer one,” Holly says with a wink. “So, Lex what’s
up? Still mad?”
I frown. “They told you?”
“A few things. Parker stopped by and brought another hat for Beau. He’s
such a Kings fan. He mentioned there was a misunderstanding between the
three of you.”
“That’s one way to put it,” I say. “We’re here to forget men today and
came looking for a cookie recipe.”
Holly’s eyes brighten. “That I can do.”
She guides us into the kitchen and ruffles through her box of old, well-
loved recipe cards. We don’t take the card, instead, we stay with Holly to
bake three different types of cookies.
When Ellie steps out to take a call from Finn, Holly joins me in placing
chocolate bits on top of her famous cream cheese cookies. “Are you going
to tell me what happened with you and your brother?”
How am I supposed to confess I fell in love with her son and my brother
went berserk and acted like a jerk? I snort a laugh—he was a berjerk.
“Must be a good story if you’re laughing,” Holly says.
“No. It’s actually a little pathetic and sad.”
“I’m all ears.”
 Holly takes over the chocolate as I lean on the counter and cover my face
with my hands. “I did something dumb, Hol. Super dumb, and I think it’s
made a mess of a lot of stuff. I mean, I don’t even know what sort of
repercussions are going to come from this.”
“Sounds serious.” She’s smiling and I get the feeling she already has an
idea of what’s going on, but will expect to hear it from my mouth.
I let my forehead flop on the counter. “I started . . . dating Bridger. The
weekend we showed up here was when it started.”
“No, he called earlier than that and said the label was trying to fix his
image and you were the winner to help him do it.”
“No,” I say. “We . . . were really dating. And Parker, he found out. We all
sort of went at it, but it wasn’t a normal fight. We went separate ways.” I
drag out a barstool, and like so many times growing up, I slouch over the
counter, picking at cookie dough. “I feel like I’ve jabbed a wedge in their
friendship. Even if they say they’re over it, it’s always going to be a thing
with them, you know? And I don’t know how anything will be the same
with Bridger and me.”
Holly listens. She methodically shapes her cookies and allows the words
to hang between us for a long pause.
“Alexis, you haven’t put anything between Parker and Bridge. They’ll
navigate new territory as they always do. But what you have done is be a
light in my son’s life. You, Miss Alexis Knight, have been his safe place.
You saved him. Literally.”
My chin quivers, my voice croaks. “But I don’t think . . . I don’t think we
can be together.”
“Why not?”
 Here it comes. The flood gates are open. “I thought our relationship
meant something, but I fell deeper than him. I think he liked the idea of
having someone, but when I asked him straight if he loved me, he couldn’t
answer. He’s my weakness, you know? I’ve always felt these things for him
but knew we’d probably kill each other or hurt each other in the end. But I
gave it a chance, and I was right.”
“Lex, take a breath.” Holly rubs my hand.
“One time when he fell asleep during a movie, he said it. I never told
him, but he did. He whispered he loved me. I believed him. At first.”
She squeezes my hand tighter.
“I get that I don’t fit in his world, but I do like his music, so I could fit.
He tried to fit with me, at least that’s what Ellie said.”
“You fit.”
I fiddle with the ends of my hair, mind whirling like a cyclone in my
skull. “When we almost lost him, Holly, I didn’t breathe. In that moment, I
knew, life without a Bridger Cole driving me crazy would be . . . empty.”
She rubs my arm. “Sweetie, do you really think, after all these years,
Bridge doesn’t love you?”
No. Sleepy whispers, soft kisses, gentle touches told me differently. “He
couldn’t say it, Hol.”
“Did he look like a deer in the headlights?”
“A little.”
“Okay, then.”
“What? No, not okay then. If he loves me, I gave him every opportunity
to tell me. In front of Parker! I looked like an idiot and it gave hot-head
Parker Knight a lot of ammunition.”
 “Lex, when it comes to you, Bridger wants to do it all right. Even when
he was fighting you, he always wanted your approval. Who did he show his
songs to? Not Tate, not Adam. Not even Parker. He cleared them with you.”
I chuckle. “With a heap of insults whenever I critiqued anything.”
“But he kept coming to you. Who did he ask to come wheel and deal
their first gig at the diner in town? Not me. Not Parker. He made you
manager for a day.”
I smile, remembering sitting down at the counter sipping a milkshake. I
haggled with Ben Pearson, the diner owner. I scored the guys one free onion
ring a day for a whole month, plus a hundred bucks for playing at dance
night.
Not bad for a thirteen-year-old.
“When Bridger . . .” She clears her throat. “When he got lost, when . . .
that night happened. He went to you, Lex. He ran to you.”
“But he didn’t—”
“Did you tell him you love him?”
I stop midbreath. Have I ever told him I loved him? Or have I only
thought it a thousand times? “Well, I think I might’ve blurted it out when I
went off on a ramble, but . . . I don’t know. I've said loving him was what I
wanted to do. I'm not sure if I said, I love you, though.”
She pats my hand, a knowing smile on her face. “Let’s finish these
cookies, but keep something in mind for me. How does Bridger express his
feelings, sweetie? Does he blurt them out like someone I know?”
“No, he’s usually saying something sarcastic.” My brow furrows and I
think of Bridger. He hasn’t ever been one to say a lot of romantic words. I
shake my head, a little disappointed in myself. “He writes emotions.”
 Holly nods and slides one cookie sheet into the oven. “Some people can
verbalize their love easily, others show it through action, through touch.
Some express through art. Or songs.”
I don’t know if I share her same confidence that he’ll find those right
words, but I nod and help her form the cookies. Ellie joins us a moment
later, and an hour later we’re laughing at stories of Tate when he fell
through one of his drums after a gig.
It’s dark when we arrive back at Ellie’s condo and I’m on a sugar downer.
“Hey,” Ellie says as I set up the pull-out bed on her couch. “I don’t know
how he got my number, but your hot brother texted me and wants us to join
him at the concert.”
“Uh, obviously Bridger gave him your number and he’s being super
pushy about this.”
“But we’re going, right? You’re not going to ignore Bridger forever
because he got tongue tied, right?”
I sigh and sit on the mattress. “I grew up with a mom who loved my dad.
But he died too young and she went searching for that kind of wild,
passionate love again. Instead, she found codependence, mediocre lovers,
and one-sided lust. I’ve always wanted stable and safe. I never wanted to be
so head over heels for a guy that I’d lose myself like her.”
“Oh, but passion and romance and mess is the best!”
I smile. “I think for Bridger, I’d make an exception. But—”
“But nothing.” Ellie snaps her fingers. “So, he fumbled the chance to
profess undying, lusty, sticky, delicious love for you. Why is it all up to
him? You admitted you haven’t gotten on one knee and told him with
intention, either.”
“I did say I wasn’t afraid to messy love him.”
 “Okay, but did you say, ‘Bridger, I’m in messy love with you’?”
“No. Okay, no. I haven’t.”
“All right, then. We’re going to the concert. Support him, love him, fight
with him. But no more hiding. Safe and predictable is boring. Go with the
guy who makes your heart pound right out the back of your body. The guy
who makes you go numb and hot all at once. Go with the guy who looks at
you like you’re a secret thing he wants to crack. Bridger looks at you like
that.”
“You’re a bit of a romantic, Ellie.”
She grins. “A little. But I also call it as I see it. And I think you’re
holding a grudge because you got freaked out.”
I wince, but the truth is I’ve had the same thought a few times. Did I run
at the first chance because I’m too afraid of losing him?
“Come to the concert. Talk to him, Lex. Quit making excuses. He’s your
Bridger. Maybe we’ve only met, but even I can see how entangled you two
are. And trust me, it’s not in a codependent way. You’re not your mom.
You’re just in love, and that’s a beautiful thing.”
She stands and heads to her room, but calls out before she closes her
door. “So we’re going?”
I shake my head, grinning. “Yes. Fine. We’re going.”
“Thatta girl.”
Chapter 32
 Alexis

EVERYONE SHOULD HAVE AN Ellie Walker when attending concerts.

She’s a force to be reckoned with when guys catcall, telling her to show
skin or strip all together.
“Enigma records has a clause in my contract that I can’t hit stupid guys
simply for being scumbags,” she tells one guy who’s clearly had too much
to drink.
“It’s okay, baby,” he slurs. “You can hit me all you want.”
“Oh, I like the sound of that.” She winks, and gestures to a door near the
access tunnel. “Come in here.”
The guy gives his friends sloppy high-fives, with a whole lot of indecent
comments on what he’s going to do with Ellie Walker. I’d like to introduce
him to Quinn if I knew where my basement assassin was.
Ellie curls her finger at him, back against the door as she slides it open.
She shoves him through, then slams it at his back. He shouts at her through
the steel about being out in the parking lot, but she’s already moved on to
the security guards in the tunnel. “That guy stays out, got it?”
One security officer nods and stands by the door.
Ellie flicks her hair off her shoulder, links her elbow with mine, then
practically skips down the tunnel. “Do they really think we’re going to
swoon when they talk like that to us?”
“I think some people actually do.”
 Ellie starts to lead me to one of the wings where we can watch the show,
but a voice stops me.
“Alexis.”
“Quinn,” I say. “We could’ve used you two seconds ago.”
“I should give you a whistle,” he says.
“As long as it’s one only you can hear. That would make it epically
cooler.”
Quinn smiles. “He was hoping you’d come.”
I snort, but my heart is already racing. “I’m not here for Mr. Cole. I’m on
a date with Ellie Walker.”
“That’s right,” Ellie adds.
Quinn doesn’t play along. He stands stoic, marbleized like a broad,
handsome statue. I can standoff with him. Stare him down. Hold steady. I’ll
win this. He lifts a brow. I swallow. Quinn lazily chews on his gum. I wring
my fingers.
He inspects his fingernails. Inspects. His. Fingernails.
This man is on another level with his patience.
“Ugh, fine, Thor. Fine. I’ll go wish the entire band good luck.” My body
is already humming in anticipation. Eleven days without Bridger Cole’s
annoyingly addictive face is too long.
“Sure. Whatever you say. Right this way.”
Ellie wiggles her fingers at me. “Have fun.”
Quinn takes me up the stairs to the same greenroom where I agreed to
pose as Bridger’s hometown girl. I smooth out the black skirt I borrowed
from Ellie and tuck my hair behind my ears as Quinn opens the door.
My breaths come in little gasps. Adam and Tate and Lance—they aren’t
there.
 Bridger has his back to me, adjusting one of the leather wristbands he
wears when he performs. My fingertips prickle, yearning to touch him.
When he glances over his shoulder, I’m shattered. His green eyes memorize
me, study me; they pick up the pieces one by one.
Quinn backs away without a word, and soon only me, Bridger, and the
silence between us remains.
“Al,” he says in a strangled kind of gasp. Bridger crosses the room in
three strides, stopping a foot from me. “You came.”
“With Ellie.” I hug my middle. “We’re on a date.”
“I don’t care who you’re here with. You’re here.”
“Well, you should care. It’s getting serious between us.”
He grins, takes a step closer. My back hits the door. “Were you really not
going to call me back? I’ve been waiting for an angry voicemail.”
Unbidden, the sting of tears burns behind my eyes. “I’ve wanted to call
about a thousand times, but this is more serious to me than a fight we’ll
brush away in two days.”
I love him and I need to say it. If he doesn’t feel the same, I can’t stay.
The door opens and a guy with a headset peeks in. “Five minutes
Bridger.”
He’s gone in another blink.
Bridger reaches one hand for me. His callouses scrape my cheek. I
shudder and lean into his touch.
“Al, I haven’t brushed anything away. I’ve thought of you and nothing
else this entire time. Will you be backstage? I want to find you out there.”
I try to smile to hide the tremble in my lip. “Yeah. Um, I’ll be in the
wings. Bridger . . . we need to talk after. I’m still—”
“Angry.”
 “A little. But there’s more.”
“I know. We’ll talk after. Okay?” He smiles. I don’t pull back when he
steps closer. His lips hover near mine. “Al?”
“Yeah?” My breath is hardly more than a whisper.
“I wrote you a song.”
My chest squeezes. He writes his emotions. “Well, it better be good,
Cole.”
“Get excited.”
The stage crew comes for Bridger, he leaves the greenroom with his eyes
on me. Somewhere out there I hear a rushed, “Break it down,” shout from
the band. I press a hand to my heart as I go to find Ellie. She’s seated with
Becca and Parker on the east side.
“Lex.” Parker stands, holding his arms open.
I roll my eyes and hug him. “I came. Happy?”
“Very.” He squeezes me hard enough my back pops.
Like the last concert, the crowd explodes the moment the thin curtains
fall and golden sparks shoot on the edges of the stage. They start hard.
Bridger and Adam play chords so fast I can’t keep up with their fingers.
Tate tosses his drumsticks as he plays.
There is an energy on the stage I crave. This concert is all Perfectly
Broken, and based on the roars of the crowd, they prefer it this way.
When Bridger sings a song where he does the scream, chills dance up my
arms, as if his voice reaches some piece of me no one else can. My throat is
raw. Parker has tried to throw them off twice, but we’re drowned out by the
noise.
Until Lance and Adam start to play a low, simple tune in between sets.
Bridger takes the microphone and addresses the crowd with a grin.
“Everyone having a good time!”
The stadium trembles under the roar.
“Thank you paramedics!” Cheers erupt. “Thank you to the EMTs, the
nurses, the doctors. You people who save lives day after day.”
When the crowd settles, Bridger goes on.
“These concerts mean a lot to me. They started as a tribute to my dad.
He, like many of you, ran in when others ran out.” Bridger holds up his arm
again with the fire shield. “He died saving lives.” Bridger stalks the stage
like he owns every inch of it. “But this concert, the medical life saving
measures this crowd gives—you all hold a special place for me.”
Cheers are subtle. They want him to continue. And he does.
“It’s no secret I owe a great debt to people like you.” My heart stills. Is
he going to . . . he’s never talked about this publicly. Bridger clears his
throat and goes on. “I wouldn’t be standing here today without the quick
response and actions of brave men and women like you.”
Ellie smiles, I think she swipes a tear from her face. Parker squeezes my
hand. I watch Bridger. Vulnerable Bridger is a new kind of desirable.
“But.” Bridger turns his gaze to the wing. My stomach backflips. He
holds my gaze for a long pause, then faces the crowd again. “Someone else
also deserves a lot of credit for keeping me alive.” He looks to us again.
“Al.”
The crowd (mostly women) lose their minds at the mention of my name.
My face burns like hot coals. Bridger talks to me from his place on the
stage. A stadium of thousands, and it’s only us.
“You saved me. In every way a person can be saved.” Bridger returns the
mic to the stand and readjusts his guitar. “So, I want to sing a new song.
This is for Alexis.”
 My knees bounce. Parker takes my hand again, grinning.
“Did you know about this?”
My brother shrugs with a sly grin. I blink my blurry eyes back to Bridger.
The lights dim in, a soft beat rolls over the stage and into the crowd.
The words I wanted to hear in the hospital room come differently. His
deep, rich voice says them and more. So much more. No one knows the
words, but as he sings the crowd sways. Each word pierces my heart until
my chest aches.
Afraid I won’t be me again
Afraid to be wrong
Give in and fall tonight, so
Your tears are all that’s left behind.
I can’t find my way to you
But after all that we’ve gone through
And after all I left in pieces
You’re still the dream that life is not yet done
I’ll always run to you
Because you are still my reason.
You’ll always be the best of what’s to come
Down the lonely road, night closes in
Waiting for sunrise
I’m afraid to let go.
Our time is all I have to hold
Will I find my way to you?
After all that we’ve gone through
And after all I left in pieces
You’re still the dream that life is not yet done
 I’ll always run to you
Because I know you’re still my reason.
You’ll always be the best of what’s to come
Won’t turn around, let it all slip away
But tomorrow’s a new day
The time has come to release what’s done
With you the shadows fade
And I’ve found my way to you.
After all that we’ve gone through
And after all I left in pieces
You’re still the dream that life is not yet done
I’ll always run to you
Because I know you’re still my reason.
You’ll always be the best of what’s to come
And after that all we’ve gone through
After all I left in pieces
You’ll be the dream when all is said and done.
Release the past, release what’s gone
Forever, you will always be my reason.
You’ll always be the best of what’s to come
Yeah, you’ll always be the best of what’s to come.
I cover my face. My skin is splitting at the seams. In my head my pulse
pounds over Tate’s drumbeat. Adam grins, and plucks his guitar. Lance
nods his head; he’s simply lost in his bass. Bridger isn’t singing, but the
music hasn’t stopped, so no one seems to know if they should cheer or keep
quiet.
 Bridger takes off his guitar and props it against the dais with the drums.
He grips the microphone.
“Al.” He turns to the wing. “No one can see you back there. Mind
coming out here? I have something I need to say.”
No. Oh, no. No way. The blood drains from my face and I shake my
head. Ellie nudges me. Parker is beaming and trying to push me out of the
chair.
“No,” I whisper at Bridger. He can’t hear me, but clearly the way he’s
about to laugh, he knows what he’s doing.
“Come on, Al. Don’t be shy.”
The crowd breaks now, and my name echoes through the stadium.
“Girl, this is one of those once in a lifetime moments,” Ellie says. “This
is yours and Bridger’s moment. Take it.”
I blink through tears, meet her eye, then nod. This is my moment. Our
moment. Smoothing out my skirt again, I crack my thumb knuckles and
slowly break from backstage. I keep my eyes locked on Bridger, there is no
way I’m looking at the crowd. Their cheers and cries rattle me to my bones.
Bridger holds out his hand and I reach my trembling fingers out, taking
hold of him like I’ll never let go.
“I wrote that song at my worst. On that night,” he tells me. My forehead
wrinkles. I rest my hands on his waist, my brow on his. His fingers trace the
line of my jaw. “Even at my worst, you were the one dragging me out. I’m
not good at expressing words, Al.” He tilts my chin, so I look at him. “But I
love you. I love you so much. I’ve loved you since you gave me a fat lip
over Little Women. You are the light in the dark. You are my reason for
everything.”
 A tear drips onto my cheek. I curl my fingers around his shirt. “I love
you, too. I’ve just always run from you.”
“I know.”
“You did not.”
“I did,” he whispers away from the mic. “This, us, we aren’t always
secure, or safe, or tidy. This is big, and wild, and raw. We’ve been afraid of
risking it, but the greater risk is never having you. This is better than secure.
This is real. It’s forever.”
I offer him a wet smile. I don’t care if we’re surrounded by thousands,
and reach up and pull his mouth to mine.
My knees give, but Bridger hurries to wrap his arms around me, keeping
upright. He kisses me, and kisses me, and kisses me until my head spins and
my body melts into him.
Whistles, cheers, a few calls for Bridger to love them instead, shake the
stage. I hardly hear any of it.
“This,” I whisper through kisses “Doesn’t mean I like you, Cole.”
“No. It means you love me.”
And when he kisses me again, I know as messy, as chaotic, as passionate
as this is—I’d never want anyone but Bridger Cole. Ever.
 Epilogue
Bridger

A star is reborn
By: Alta Harper, TMZ correspondent
Hard rock fans across the world helplessly watched the decline of lead
singer from two-time winners of Best Album, Perfectly Broken
Two months ago, in the heart of Sin City, fans went to the internet,
screaming to the world, ‘He’s back!’ In a moment of vulnerability,
notoriously private, Bridger Cole, delved into his journey to sobriety,
addressing recently leaked emails written during his months’ long stay at
an in-patient substance abuse treatment center.
Cole’s name has rocked the media from reports of his alleged abusive
behavior, to a full recant by his accuser, to his candid struggle dealing with
fame and addiction. After a two-year hiatus from releasing new material,
Perfectly Broken debuted a new single: My Reason.
Projected to top the charts when officially released, My Reason left fans
talking about more than music. They want to know the woman behind the
lyrics.
But when asked, once more, the close-lipped Cole offered little, simply
dubbing the woman fans call ‘Al’ as, “My reason.” As it turns out, the
answer was enough to break the internet with fans shipping a new
relationship for the rock superstar. Is this a rebirth? A new sound? A new
muse? Time will tell.

“Why do I need to wear a tie?” I glare at the mirror and try again to wrap
the chokehold around my neck. “I look ridiculous.”
Alexis peeks her head into my room and snickers. I’ll die happy if her
laugh is the last thing I hear in this life. She steps into my bedroom and
fingers the mess I’ve made of the black tie. “We need to look professional.”
“I do not work in an office. This is not my professional attire.”
She wrinkles her nose once the tie is even worse after she touches it and
pulls it off my neck, unbuttoning the top button of my collar. She kisses the
tattoo peeking out from my chest. “You’re right. This is more you.”
Without the distraction of choking to death, I take her in. My throat
tightens, and my hands can’t help but touch her. “Al, you look . . .” I blink
my gaze to her. The tight lavender dress, the heels she hates, the curls of her
dark hair. “Think they’ll notice if we don’t show up and stay here instead?”
She laughs and curls her arms around my waist. “Do I think one of your
best friends will notice you’re not in his wedding line? Nah, I doubt it.”
I trap her face between my palms and kiss her. Very thoroughly. To tempt
her a bit, maybe prove my point that my idea is vastly better. I pull back and
Alexis bites her bottom lip, keeping her eyes closed.
“Adam will understand.”
She snorts a laugh and tugs on my wrist. “Come on. We’ll be late.”
“He hired a band, Al. We’re a band.”
“Uh, I’m pretty sure Adam wants to hang with his friends at his wedding,
not employ them.”
 I pull her against me in the elevator, trapping her with my arms, my
mouth, until the doors open and we’re a little more flushed.
“Quinn,” Alexis says, wiping her lips. “You stand at these doors at your
own risk. I’ve told you this a hundred times. You might get a show when
they open.”
Quinn lifts a brow and hands us both fresh coffees as he walks with us to
the back door. “Another option would be you two control yourselves during
the five second elevator ride.”
Alexis feigns offense. “Fire him, Bridger.”
I laugh and slip my beringed fingers into hers. “Quinn, you’re asking too
much.”
He tries to look annoyed, but he grins in his stoic way. There aren’t many
people who are happier I’m no longer sulking around my too-quiet house,
being used, and wallowing in the past than Quinn.
“This morning I had no choice but to belly up to the show,” Quinn says.
“We need to talk tour.”
“Now?” I say through a groan.
“Yes. It’s starting next week. I’ve double checked the security at all the
venues, it’s up to par.”
“And Alexis?” I ask as I hold the door open.
“She and Becca will have someone available to them twenty-four seven
through Arizona and Texas after the holidays. Then, I’ll be there from
Louisiana on.”
Alexis chuckles. “We’re going to have so much fun, Quinn. Girl talk, late
nights, mani-pedis.”
“I will lurk in the corner during all this fun, thank you very much.”
Alexis snickers and glances at me. “He’ll participate.”
 “Anyway,” Quinn goes on once we’re in the garage. “I also made sure
there is WiFi on the bus for Alexis’s classes. And, finally, there is a video
meeting, set up the Monday you leave, with a nonprofit attorney to help go
through the particulars of Never Forgotten Book Boxes and how to get it off
the ground.”
“Sounds good.” I open the passenger door for Alexis, trying not to laugh
as she curses her high heels. “Thanks, man. I’d never make it if you weren’t
keeping the details straight.”
“Then consider paying me more.”
I laugh and take my place behind the wheel. “Alexis made ratatouille. It’s
in the fridge, if that helps.”
“A little.”
We pull away, expecting the few cameras in the shrubs outside the gates.
I don’t like it, but it’s part of the life, I guess.
After Nadia’s book release, I knew my secret lair wouldn’t be secret
anymore. I’d suggested moving, but Alexis convinced me to roll with the
changes. So far it hadn’t been too much of a problem. The paparazzi were
few, and no one had tried to breach the gates. If they wanted to snap
pictures of Alexis and me holding hands in my jeep, walking Poppy,
bringing home take-out, then so be it.
It was more the in public I worried about. Especially with Alexis. I bury
my disquiet most days and try to not be an overprotective paranoid
boyfriend. She carries pepper spray, sometimes Quinn will go with her
places, but it’s been a bit of a relief that most people have fallen in love
with her. Same as me. Even Mallorie has no complaints that one of the sex
symbols she’s supposed to sell declared his commitment to one woman.
The peek behind the curtain changed things.
 Those emails revealed darker days, but they revealed how Al has always
been my safety net, they proved I wasn’t some beast behind closed doors.
Pops wants to kiss my feet from the uptick in sales. Most people in the
public want to take pictures with us, or tell us their own stories of
overcoming. Not hurt Al, or me, and it’s helped me relax a bit.
The wedding is private and heavily secured in the suburbs of Las Vegas. I
know I should be focused on the newlyweds, but through it all, Alexis
shines.
I watch her dance with my nephew during one of the kid songs. Adam
has three siblings and a gaggle of nieces and nephews. Becca comes from a
family of six kids.
Kid dances are expected.
I take a sip of Dr. Pepper and laugh when Beau and now Micah dance
with Alexis and Tate and even Ellie. She shoots glares at Tate. He tosses
them back at her. They build tension faster than anything.
But Al—she’s perfect. She’s aggravating. She’s mine.
We bicker like always, but we add more kissing during arguments. I
thought the changes in our relationship might take some getting used to
once our romance went live, but it’s better than before. I fell in love with
Alexis Knight, and I fell hard. But it wasn’t recently. No. For over twenty
years this woman has been stealing my heart, and I can’t ever take it back.
It’s hers. Always.
“Listen, I’m supportive and all that, really can’t be happier for your two,
but could you keep the creepy stares at my sister’s backside to a minimum
around me?” Parker hits my shoulder.
I laugh and glance at him. His date—Keelie? Krista? Kasey?—I don’t
remember, keeps leaning into him with her phone, even though he’s talking
to me.
Every time I try to talk to her, she tries to get a selfie. I’ve stopped trying.
She’s doing the same with Parker. Jersey chaser, no doubt. If Parker doesn’t
care, I don’t care. But after our confessions and professions to each other, I
think he ought to try harder. He thinks he’s not good for a relationship and
keeps it shallow.
He’s running from his roots as much as Alexis did.
He’ll figure it out. Hopefully.
“When is the hearing, man?” Parker asks once date-with-a-K-name
leaves to get another drink.
“Our attorneys are meeting in a mediation next Thursday.”
Parker makes a disgusted sound. “Lucky scumbag. Bryce deserves a lot
worse than a settlement for what he did. I wish I could’ve seen his face
when they came at him with criminal charges.”
“Al wants to keep it quiet and clean. She wants to prove he can’t walk all
over her anymore, but be discreet about it.”
“I get it,” Parker says. “But he should do jailtime.”
“Even though those emails have done more good than harm?”
“Yeah. He still broke into a private account and stole something.”
I agree in a lot of ways. But I’ve left this more to Alexis. Even if I’m part
of the emails it was her account, her betrayal. I figure she deserves the last
say. “He’s been kicked out of his program and is starting to be recognized
as the snake who hurt Al. He’s getting what’s coming to him.”
Part of me wants to strangle Bryce Hall for hurting Alexis, the other
wants to sing his praises for being such an idiot. For abandoning her days
before their wedding. Without that . . . I don’t even like to think of where
we’d be now.
 “So,” Parker says, one brow lifted. “You ready?”
The stupid smile breaks over my face whether I want it to or not. “Ready.
I think. If I say no will you let me live it down.”
Parker grins and crosses his ankle over his knee. “I already have the last
chat we had together to hold against you. I’ve never seen you so nervous to
talk with me.”
I hit his shoulder, but laugh with him. I’ve talked to Parker Knight
practically every day of my life, and our last conversation was no ordinary
conversation. I'd asked him a question.
A life-changing question.

Alexis grins at the stars as we walk around the pond. The park tucked a
half a mile behind my house has become a refuge of sorts for us.
She laces her fingers in mine and rests her head on my shoulder. “They
looked so happy tonight.”
I grin. Adam and Becca will be a power couple, no doubt. She accepts
him, he accepts her. They love each other. But the statement leaves a dry
scratch in the back of my throat. I promised myself I’d do this when the
moment felt right.
These moments are what I live for. Where it’s me, Al, her body close to
mine. And it’s quiet. I clear my throat and press a kiss to her forehead. “Do
you think you’ll look as happy at our wedding?”
“Nope. I plan to frown—wait. What?” Alexis meets my gaze, smirking.
She props her chin on my shoulder and fiddles with the black earring I’m
wearing. “Weddings, huh, Cole? I guess I’d need to know you wanted a
wedding with me to tell you if I’d be happy or not.”
 “I want a wedding with you.”
“Oh, really? When? Tonight? Next year?”
I lick the dryness from my lips. She thinks I’m joking. Not even close. It
takes a bit of effort to unravel from each other, but Alexis’s smile fades as I
leverage out of her hold and onto one knee. Her dark eyes glisten in a burst
of tears and she covers her mouth. “Bridger. Bridger, what . . . Bridger—”
I chuckle and press a kiss to her palm. “Do you want to keep saying my
name, or can I talk?”
Alexis drags her bottom lip between her teeth. She’s not trying to be
sexy, she’s trying to be quiet. I love this woman.
“Al,” I say, embarrassed that my voice cracks. “I’ve been wanting to do
this since the concert. Don’t tell me it’s too soon—I’ve known you basically
my entire life. I know every little thing that’s going to drive me crazy, so
we’re good there.”
“You’ll drive me crazy, too, Cole. You do drive me crazy.”
“Noted,” I say. “Now can I talk, or do you want to do this?”
She smiles, trying to hide the tears in her eyes.
I dig into my pocket and pull out the delicate diamond ring. “Alexis, you
are my safety net. You are my heart, my soul, my reason. I know we don’t
see eye to eye on everything, but you’re still my best friend and you still
own every piece of me. You always will. I love you, Al. The messy, forever
kind. Will you marry me?”
Alexis doesn’t wait, she hardly looks at the ring, but I guess that’s never
mattered to her. She kisses me, showing me her answer without telling me.
She wraps her arms around my neck when she pulls back, her lips brushing
mine. “I will, Bridger Cole. I’ll marry you and I’ll love every perfectly
broken piece of you, forever.”
 Hey book nerds. It's Al and the librarian inside me is squealing in pure
joy that you love books as much as I do. I think I love you. Do you know
who else I love? My good friends Ellie and Tate. There is something nutty
going on with those two and I have a feeling this upcoming tour season is
going to throw them for a loop! You can find out what those crazy cats are
up to here in Our Broken Song HERE
P.S. Em asked me if Bridger and I would stop being so private and share
those tricky emails that caused such a stir. I'm fine with it, but Bridger gets
all shy about things. He's delicious and awesome. I don't get it. Being the
kind-hearted person I am, I even shared another scene beyond the emails. A
peek into our happily ever after. Download it HERE You get it all when you
sign up for the weekly shenanigans Em sends out to the universe.
P.P.S Al! I'm going to say this once, so listen. You can share the emails
and a glimpse into what an awesome husband I am because I'm the kind-
hearted person here, and because I love you, and we need to close this
down because I'm being needy and want to kiss you now. That's all.--B

Hey, Em here. More than the sneak peek into the #brexis happily ever
after, I've also written a sizzling, steamy scene with the two lovebirds. But,
Emily, this is a sweet romance? Yes, yes it is. Let me explain. I am a reader
of both sweet and steamy and I've had several emails from readers who
enjoy a bit of heat on the pages. So welcome to my market research study.
I'm gathering emails for a potential NEW PEN NAME. This new venture, if
there is enough interest, would write fun romance with the addition of a few
open door scenes.
So, if you'd like to help me get an idea for interest level in these types of
books download Our Secret Song steamy scene--After the Show HERE
Love big,
Em