Blur (Changing Colors Book 2) (53 page)

Dylan sits in the front row. He’s watching me—his eyes never leaving mine. And we might as well be alone in this room. I’m on stage, letting him know through this song,
his song
—
Hold Back The River
by James Bay—that I’m sorry.

The song slows briefly until we’re hitting the climax, the power of the words take hold, and I’m sliding my guitar around my back, holding the mic with both hands.

My soul is bared. Heart on the stage. I’m begging him to understand I didn’t mean what I said. That I want to take it all back because he’s everything to me.

He’s all I want.

I’m not hiding this anymore. My love for him flows freely like a river and is plentiful like the ocean. It will always be there. It will always be a part of me. It is a constant. A given. A truth I will never deny.

I don’t realize I’m crying until I finish the last note. Tears run down my cheeks and drip onto my arms.

The crowd is on their feet, clapping and cheering, but I can’t see them through the fog. And even though we’re in the middle of a live awards show, Dylan is walking up the steps of the stage and striding towards me. His smile is brilliant, and his eyes are looking at me in that special way that’s only meant for me.
Bright Eyes.
He’s Bright Eyes again.

And before I can say anything, before I can react to his presence, he’s pulling me into his arms, lifting me up and swinging me around.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper into his neck. “I’m so sorry. I love you, Dylan. You’re my heart. You’ll always be my heart.”

He grips me tighter. “God, I’ve been waiting for what feels like forever to hear you say those words.” Dylan leans back, gazing into my eyes. “I love you too. And yes, Brooke, I want you to come back home.”

I have no idea if the cameras are still on us. And even though, we’re standing on stage with thousands of people watching from their seats, and Lord knows how many people witnessing from the comfort of their homes, I’m pressing my lips to his and kissing him with everything I have.

He chuckles against my mouth when I finally take a breath.

And I’m crying and smiling and laughing.

Jesse is standing beside us. Clapping and wolf whistling, shouting “It’s about bloody time!”

Dylan finally sets me down, tucking me into his side. He leans into the mic, smiling into the crowd. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen my girl. I guess I got a little carried away.”

The crowd’s response is overzealous. I can’t help but smile up at him, love and adoration on my face.
My girl? I’m his? I’m really his?

“That’s right, love. You’re mine. Get used to it,” he whispers into my ear, smiling against my skin.

“Yours.” My smile gets bigger, nearly splitting my face in half. “Oh god, please don’t do anything crazy like get down on one knee,” I tease.

He leans back, smile warm. “Love, I don’t need a ring on your finger to know that we’re forever.”

“Wait a minute.” A hand goes to my hip. “You sayin’ you’re not planning on marrying me someday, Bissette?”

“No, that’s not what I said, sassy.” He laughs, nuzzling my neck. “And you can bet that sweet little arse of yours that one day soon, I
will
get on one knee, and I
will
ask you to marry me, and you
will
say yes. But right now, we’ve got other plans.”

I raise a brow. “We do?”

“Yeah, baby. We’re about to get the fuck out of here so we can really make this official. I’ve been waiting a bloody long time for this.” He slides the guitar off my shoulders, handing it to a stagehand.

Instead of simply walking off stage with me, he goes caveman and throws me over his shoulder, striding towards the nearest exit.

Mine,
my heart whispers.
Home,
my soul agrees.

As we rush out of the venue and towards somewhere much more private, my colors flash before my eyes. Vibrant hues of white and yellow and red and green and pink polka-dots. Colors, that at one point meant pain, no longer hold that power. These colors aren’t my pain, they’re my journey. And it took all of those colors combined to get me here, with Dylan.

If anything, these colors don’t signify pain. They show love.

Love for Jamie.

Love for Millie.

Love for Dylan.

Love for myself.

Somehow, someway, I’ve come full circle. I’m stronger, healthier, and my heart is bursting at the seams. And I know, my grandmother is looking down on me, smiling the biggest smile that’s ever graced her beautiful face.

Dylan

We didn’t waste time at the awards show.

And we didn’t attend any after parties.

Brooke and I threw our own ‘after party’ inside my hotel suite, where she’s currently wrapped around me like a blanket. Her naked body is draped across mine. Blonde curls are a mess from three rounds of superb make-up sex. A few strands lie across my face, tickling my nose.

I’m in heaven. Real life heaven.

“Love, I’d like to congratulate you on the fantastic performance tonight.”

Her head perks up, chin resting on my chest. “You liked it?”

“Are you kidding me? I fucking loved it.”

She smiles. “I was so nervous.”

“Really? You didn’t seem all that nervous when you were doing that brilliant little move with your tongue. I think you sucked my soul straight through my cock during that last round.”

Brooke giggles, slapping my bare chest. “You’re such a dick.”

Laughing, I wrap my arms around her back, holding her tight. “You were amazing on stage tonight. You belong up there, Little Wing.” My lips are near her ear. “Thank you for putting yourself out there. Thank you for giving me that. Thank you for making me the luckiest bastard on the planet. I love you, my sweet, gorgeous, perfect Brooke.”

“Thank you for giving me a second chance. I love you.”

“Say it again,” I whisper.

“I love you.” Her voice is soft.

“Oh, c’mon. That wasn’t very convincing.” I grin against her skin. “Do you love me, Brooke?”

She leans back, eyeing me with sass. “You know I do, smartass.”

My grin grows wider. “You love me?”

Her nose brushes mine. “I. Love. You.”

“Like you love me a little bit, or you love me a—”

Brooke cuts me off, grabbing my face and pressing her mouth to mine. Her pretty lips kiss the daylights out of me. Christ, I’m breathless and ready for round four by the time she pulls away.

“The Beatles got it wrong,” she states.

“They did?”

“Yep.” She nods, grinning. “Love isn’t all I need—
Dylan’s love
is all I need.”

I laugh, flipping her over and pressing her back into the mattress. “Did you just manage to pull the Beatles into our odd compliments?”

“Uh huh.” She bites her bottom lip.

“Christ, you’re adorable. And you’re all mine, love.”

“Yes. Yours.”

I nip her bottom lip, gently tugging it away from her teeth. “Me and you, we’re forever. No cliffhangers like Sophia and Philippe in
Memories of Suffocation
. No unrequited love like William Miller and Penny Lane in
Almost Famous
. This is it, pretty baby. We’re the real-life H-E-A.”

She giggles. “Oh god, I think you’re odd compliment was far more cheesy than mine.” Her eyes turn soft. “But still, so true. You’re stuck with me now, Bright Eyes. Better get used to sassy attitudes and never being on time and forgetting where I put my sunglasses and—”

I chime in. “Good morning blow jobs and an amazing woman sleeping naked in my bed every night—”

“Good morning blow jobs?”

“Morning…Noon…Night…I’m flexible, love.”

“Hmmm…that sounds nice.” That smile of hers turns devilish as long legs wrap around my hips. “Wanna see how flexible I can be?”

“Are you bloody kidding me?” I kneel on the bed, running my hands up her smooth thighs. “My cock was hard before you even finished the question.”

“Round four? Already?”

My mouth waters at the vision of her perfect body spread out beneath me. “Brooke, go ahead and grab ahold of the headboard. This round might make your teeth rattle a bit.”

“This feels like a challenge…”

“Oh, believe me, it is.” I rub the head of my cock through her arousal. “This is a challenge to see who can hold out the longest.”

“Wait…whoever can hold off—” Her words turn to moans when I grip her thighs and slide inside, pushing myself to the hilt.

She starts to finish her original thought, but my cock pumping in and out of her perfect pussy distracts her again. Brooke’s eyes fall closed, a whimper slipping from her mouth.

Christ, her tits look glorious, bouncing with each hard thrust.

I pick up the pace. “Love, you’re not doing a very good job of trying to win this one.”

“I don’t care who wins.” Her legs tighten around my waist, hips thrusting up towards mine. “Just don’t stop doing this. Don’t ever stop.”

“Like I said, H-E-motherfuckin-A. Happily ever afters and happy endings all around, pretty baby.”

She starts to giggle, but they’re quickly cut off by more moans.

Then, she’s urging me to go harder, deeper.

And then, Brooke is screaming my name through not one, not two, but three glorious orgasms.

Bonus Track

Brooke

One year later…

‘Just landed. Bloody hell, tell me you’re here.’

‘So demanding.’

‘You know it, love. I miss my Little Wing. Where is she?’

‘Waiting at your baggage claim, Bright Eyes.’

‘I hope you’re ready to not wear clothes for the next 3 days.

We’ve got 21 orgasms to make up for.’

’21?’

‘Yeah, baby. 21 motherfucking orgasms. We’ve been apart for 7 days.’

‘That’s 3 orgasms a day.

You’re awfully confident in that cock of yours, Mr. Bissette.’

‘Don’t forget my mouth, Mrs. Bissette.’

My thumb taps away another text as a woman’s voice buzzes over the speaker, announcing the arrival of Dylan’s flight from New York.

‘Get your ass off the plan and come kiss me.’

He flew home a day early from London, the last stop on the band’s international tour. They hit twenty cities in two months. I was there for most of it, even managed to sing
Blur
with Dylan on stage a few times, until my body just couldn’t handle it anymore. I came home over a week early from our originally planned departure. Dylan wasn’t happy, but understood. Honestly, I think if he could have canceled the last few shows, he would have. Crazy bastard. Lord, do I love him though.

‘So bossy.’

I snort, adjusting in the plastic airport seat. God, they should make these things more comfortable. My back is damn near throbbing. But my aching feet trump the back, that’s why I’ve settled my ass right in this seat, not moving until I lock onto one perfect green gaze. People start to file out of Dylan’s gate. I search through the crowd, and decide to send another message, desperate for him to get his ass out here.

‘Less texting and more walking. I’ve missed you.’

While I’m waiting for Dylan to appear, I try to find my happy place. It’s somewhere warm, somewhere beachy, and the exact location of where Dylan and I got married.

It only took three months after my big gesture on the EMAs to decide we wanted to make it official. We ended up flying to this tiny island in the Maldives and getting hitched. It was last minute, just the two of us, and it was perfect.

Of course, Lindsay, Ember, and Jamie would all disagree with that sentiment. We got a lot of flack for not having a big hoopla of a wedding, but it doesn’t matter, because we had the wedding
we
wanted.

We managed to unruffle some feathers by throwing a big reception shindig in LA. All of our family and friends—Dylan’s family flew in from London and Paris, plus everyone from Truth Records—
mine and Jamie’s record label
— were there to celebrate the big occasion.

To say we’re lucky would be putting it mildly.

Both my sister and Lindsay eventually got over the secrets I had been hiding from them for all of those years. Neither was happy, but they understood my reasons. And our bonds have only grown stronger because of it.

And Alistair Wallace agreed to all of Jamie’s terms. He let us out of our non-compete clause and gave our top ten bands the option to leave their contracts and come to our label. Careless Cockups was one of the bands, and I’m happy to say my husband made the right decision.

All nine other bands? Well, they came too.

Needless to say, business is thriving. I’ve even managed to start working on my own album. It’ll be a slow and steady process, but I’m really excited to pave my own music path.

A bag drops with a loud thud on the linoleum, drawing my attention to the black biker boots standing before me. My eyes move upwards, and my heart practically jumps out of my chest.
Dylan.
My cheeks strain from the giant smile consuming my face.

His smile mimics mine. Dylan leans forward, grabbing my hands and pulling me to my feet. Strong arms wrap around me, pulling me close—well, as close as physically possible, which isn’t very. “Brooke,” he whispers into my hair, his face nuzzling my neck. “Oh, Little Wing, I’ve missed you.”