Chapter One
Liam
My head hurts. I squeeze my eyes tightly to stave off the morning light, turn over in bed, and breathe deeply, hoping my hangover won’t be bad. My eyes open abruptly when I smell perfume. Staring at the pillow next to me, I realize I’m not in my own bed.
Motherfucker. I did it again.
I sit up too quickly and rub my eyes. My skull pounds to the beat of my heart. I glance around the room for clues but don’t find any. Expensive-looking art adorns the walls. I peer through an archway into the bathroom, raising a brow at the size of it. My clothes have been stacked in a pile on the dresser. Whoever lives here is very neat. And well off.
On the nightstand I don’t find Advil, which is usually the first thing I reach for in the morning. Instead, I see what’s left of a bottle of whiskey, and next to that is the flyer from Mom’s funeral. I really have hit an all-time-low, going home with a stranger on the day I buried my mother.
She’s better off.
That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. For the past thirteen years, she’s been living in her own hell. I tried to tell her what happened wasn’t her fault, but it fell on deaf ears. At least she didn’t feel any pain. That’s what the doctor told me. He said she was most likely knocked unconscious the minute her head hit the shower floor. There wasn’t even any blood. By the time the housekeeper found her the next morning, the running water had washed it all away.
Kind of ironic that I tied one on shortly after she died as a result of being too drunk to take a fucking shower.
Like mother, like son. I twist off the lid to the bottle and take a swig.
I grab my jeans off the dresser, jamming first one foot in and then the other, then throw on my shirt and leave the room. I stop when I see whose back is turned to me as she cooks at the stove. Dark-as-night hair falls to the middle of her back. A short robe barely covers her ass. I must make a sound because she turns.
“Eggs?” she asks.
“Sure. Whatever.” I sit on the couch in the living room and put on my shoes, wondering what the hell happened last night that would have me hooking up with one of the people I despise most in this world: Veronica Collins.
She raises the spatula. “How about a thank you?”
I snort. Even half-naked, she’s still a raging bitch.
I must have been particularly shit-faced to have gone home with her. I don’t remember a damn thing. I search my memory but come up blank. The last thing I recall is leaving my uncle’s place after the reception. If I remember correctly, I required help to navigate the steps outside the front door.
A few minutes later, Ronni puts breakfast on the table. I get up slowly, so I don’t jar my throbbing head, and join her.
“What happened last night?” I ask, then shovel a forkful of scrambled eggs into my mouth.
“Wow. I knew you were wasted, but you really don’t remember?” She laughs. “Don’t worry, it was nothing to write home about.”
I cringe. I’ve wondered if I’m a better lover when I’m piss drunk. Guess not. “So we…?”
“You woke up in my bed, didn’t you?”
I rub a hand across my jaw. “I hope you don’t expect—”
“Let me stop you right there, Liam.” Her lips curve into a nasty smile. “I don’t expect anything from you. I don’t want anything from you. And I certainly don’t need anything from you. It was sex. That’s all.”
I finish what’s on my plate. “As long as we’re clear on that.”
She studies me. “You’re a lot more fucked up than I gave you credit for.”
“Yeah? Well, we can agree on that too.”
She shakes her head. “Not to sound too cliché, but you’re reckless. You didn’t even offer to use a condom.”
My eyes snap to hers. I always use condoms. I thought.
“We did,” she says. “But only because I mentioned it. Listen, I’m about to make you and the rest of Reckless Alibi rich and famous, and the last thing we need are a dozen paternity suits. If you can’t keep it zipped, then at least find someone who won’t trap you.”
“You mean someone like you?”
“I told you, I don’t need or want anything from you. But, yeah, if you need to get your rocks off, you can always call me. I’m safe, discreet, and I’m used to quirky musicians.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Just how many of us are you sleeping with?”
“Does it matter?”
I get up from the table and rinse my plate. “Guess not.” I think about what she said. I turn and lean against the counter. “On a scale of one to ten, exactly how quirky am I?”
“About three hundred and fifty,” she says without hesitation.
My stomach clenches. “Sounds about right.”
She motions to the door. “You’ll be leaving now, won’t you?”
“Can I use your shower first?”
“I’d prefer you didn’t. That’s my personal space. You understand.”
“Ronni, my dick was inside you last night.”
“That’s the only part of me it touched,” she mumbles in amusement.
“You are a prize,” I say sarcastically, striding over to pin her to the chair. “Just so we’re clear, this stays between us.”
“You think I want anyone knowing about this? Like I said, I’m discreet.”
I back away. “Okay then. I’m outta here. I’ve got stuff to do.”
“Like working on those songs?”
Damn. She’s not pulling any punches. I shoot her a furious scowl.
“What?” she asks. “Brianna and Crew can only carry you so long, you know. You’re the one who writes the music, not them. They’re the lyricists. But you’ve had them pulling double duty for months.”
“Seriously, Ronni? My mom’s body isn’t even fucking cold, and you’re bringing this shit up?”
“Someone has to.”
I pick up my jacket and cross to the door.
“Check your bank account,” she says. “Your royalties from the first album have started rolling in. I think you’ll find a sizeable amount was deposited this morning. Soon you’ll be getting even more from the second album. I meant it when I said I was going to make you rich. But you have to do your part, too, and get back to writing music.”
I wave dismissively and walk out, hearing nothing after she started talking about royalties. On the elevator, I pull out my phone and check my account. My eyes go wide and excitement courses through me when I see a balance with so many numbers I have to read it twice. I send a text.
Me: Check your bank account, then meet me at Dirk’s ASAP. I’m moving out.
I wait a few minutes for his reply.
Crew: Holy shit! I’ll be there by noon, brother.
I text Garrett and Brad, too, asking them to meet me at my uncle’s.
On the hour-long train ride from New York City to Stamford, I fantasize about being out from under Dirk’s thumb. For thirteen years he’s controlled everything in my life. Not anymore.
Guilt washes over me. If I’d gotten the money a week sooner, I could have moved Mom out of his house. Maybe then she wouldn’t have been so depressed all the time. Maybe then she wouldn’t have fallen and hit her head.
At the train station, I kick a brick wall waiting for my Uber, mad as hell at Dirk. He’ll get his due. Somehow I’ll make sure of it. I’ve got the ace in the hole to make it happen—when the time is right.
When my ride pulls up to his palatial estate, I’m happy to see my car parked around the side of the house. At least I didn’t drive in the state I was in. Crew and Bria arrive, and I greet them. Crew’s smile is huge. He knows what this means to me.
He pats me on the back. “I’m still sorry as hell about your mom, but damn, I’m glad you can finally get out of here.”
“Me too.”
Crew is the only person who knows about my past. The shitstorm that was my childhood. I was always there for him, and he’s there for me. Has been since we were kids.
“What happened to you last night?” Bria asks.
I’m relieved they don’t seem to know anything about Ronni, but I still have no clue how we ended up at her place. “Took a cab home. Slept it off.” That seems to placate both of them.
We go inside. The only person who sees us is Helen, the housekeeper. She smiles and keeps wiping Dirk’s plaques on the parlor wall. He loves to remind everyone how important he is. As the mayor and the owner of the largest car dealership in this part of Connecticut, his narcissism knows no bounds. If he has his way, he’ll be governor in a year, but not if I have anything to say about it. My life’s mission—other than being part of a successful rock band—is to bring him down.
We stroll down a long hallway in the east wing to where Mom and I had lived, along with a few of the staff. Crew and Bria stop at her door, looking sad. “Come on, let’s get this over with,” I tell them.
“Don’t you need a U-Haul or something?” Bria asks when we get to my room.
I look at the ornate furniture. It’s not as nice as the rest of the house but fancier than what most people can afford. “None of this shit is mine. I only need my clothes, guitars, and a few other things.”
“Do you have any boxes?” Crew asks.
I shake my head and lean against the wall. “I don’t even own any fucking suitcases. Everything here is Dirk’s.”
Crew sends a text to Garrett, asking him to pick some up on the way. “Stack what you’re taking on the bed, and we’ll pack it up when Garrett gets here.”
A half hour later, I realize I have more stuff than I thought. The bedroom door opens. I expect Garrett and Brad, but it’s not them.
“What’s going on here?” Dirk asks.
“What does it look like? I’m moving out.”
He looks surprised, or maybe taken aback.
“Did you think I’d live here forever? Thanks to you, Reckless Alibi is on the fast track to being one of the hottest bands around. With that comes money. Lots of it. I don’t need you anymore.”
He takes a purposeful step toward me. “That’s where you’re mistaken. You’ll always need me, and I’ll always have a hand in what you do.”
I set my jaw obstinately. “You’re wrong. I’m on my own now, and that’s exactly how I want it.”
He chuckles. I’m all too familiar with that devious laugh. He’s got something up his sleeve. “You underestimate me. Do you really think I’d give you all the opportunities you’ve had and not make sure I’d profit from it?”
Garrett and Brad walk in. The air is thick with tension.
“Bad time?” Garrett says, dropping an armful of boxes on the floor.
I turn to Dirk. “What did you do?”
“I guess it’s time I told you. Two months ago I bought Indica Record Label.”
I swallow incessantly to keep the bile from spewing from my mouth. He owns the recording company that puts out our music. “You fucking prick.”
He smirks. “Is that any way to talk to your new boss?”
I get in his face. “You won’t be for long.”
“I know you recently got a fat check, but it’s a far cry from being able to buy yourselves out of the contract. You’re stuck with IRL, and you’re stuck with me whether or not you live under my roof.”
“Get the fuck out.”
“You can’t order me out of what’s mine, son.”
“Do not call me that, you son of a bitch. You aren’t even my real fucking uncle.”
Bria whispers to Crew behind me. “Dirk’s not his uncle?”
“No.”
“Wrong again, son. My brother adopted you. I’m your uncle legally and otherwise.”
My face contorts. “Otherwise? As if you’ve ever acted like family. I’ve had enemies who were more compassionate than you.”
“Look around,” Dirk says. “You’d do well to remember everything I’ve done for you.”
I laugh gruffly. “Everything you’ve done for me? You’re delusional. You think putting a roof over my head, over Mom’s head, somehow exonerates you from all the shit you’ve done?”
“Careful,” Dirk warns. “Best not to air dirty laundry in mixed company. It might make your friends view you a whole lot differently.”
“Go to hell, Dirk.”
“Get your shit and get out then. And leave the keys to the Mazda.” He leaves.
No one knows what to say. The silence is deafening.
I view the boxes on the floor. “You brought tape, right?” I ask Garrett.
He holds up a thick roll.
“Let’s get going. I don’t want to be here a second longer than I have to.”
Crew starts filling a box. “You can crash on my couch if you want.”
“I can stay at a hotel.”
“Don’t waste your money,” he says. “I’m at Bria’s half the time anyway.” He turns to her. “Babe, you mind if I stay at your place? That way Liam can use mine.”
Bria tries to mask her excitement. They’ve been together since last year. I’m surprised they haven’t already shacked up, given that Crew hates where she lives. “I suppose I could put up with you for a few days.”
He wraps his arms around her and whispers something that makes her cheeks flame.
I throw the tape at him.
We carry the boxes into the hall. Dirk waits in the hallway, presumably to make sure I don’t take anything that’s not mine. He doesn’t have to worry. I want none of it.
I stop in front of Mom’s door, wondering what Dirk will do with her stuff. It occurs to me I might want some of it. “Give me a minute,” I say to my friends.
“We’ll take these to the car,” Brad says. “Take your time.”
I open the door and stare into her room. I haven’t been in here since she died, but Helen obviously has. It’s as clean as the day we moved in, with the exception of several boxes stacked against one wall. All her things have been packed.
“Didn’t take you long, did it?” I ask Dirk, who’s standing behind me.
“Her things are being donated to charity.”
I step inside her room and close the door in Dirk’s face to keep myself from throwing a punch. Leave it to him not to tell me.
I examine the boxes until I find the one I’m looking for. I drag it over next to the chair by the window and remove the tape. Inside are framed photos. There are far too many for me to take. There’s really only one I want anyway. I dig until I find it.
A knock startles me. Crew pokes his head inside. “We’re ready when you are.”
I raise my chin in acknowledgement. He shuts the door.
I trace the faces of the two people in the picture with me—Mom and Luke—and my throat thickens when it occurs to me that of the three of us, I’m the only one still alive.
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