STONED (Wrecked Book 1) (12 page)

“No. Yes. I don’t know, Cora.” With my back turned to her I start chopping potatoes. “He’s so smooth and not in a gross way. He’s gentle and attentive. Joaquin is just different.”

“Different from who?”

Not able to stop the sigh that slips out, “Different from Stone,” I confess. “They couldn’t be more different if they tried and it’s refreshing. You know?” Putting the knife down I turn to face her. “I like him, I’m just scared.”

“Nothing to be scared of. You set the pace, Willow. Take your time and get to know him. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Her motherly tone is soothing.

“It almost feels wrong though, Cora. I know that’s stupid. That I don’t owe Stone anything, but I’ve been with him for so long I feel like I’m cheating.” Spinning around and tackling the potatoes again, I groan, “What is wrong with me? We haven’t been together for ages and yet I don’t know how to be anyone but Stone Lockhart’s girlfriend. How pathetic is that, eh?”

“You’re the furthest thing from pathetic I’ve ever seen and I don’t want to hear that again,” she demands. “It’s natural to feel a little guilty. Hell, when I first started dating Bear, my husband had been dead for three years and I still felt like I was being unfaithful every time Bear took me out. Took me a long time to shake that way of thinking.” The chair scrapes back and she comes to stand at my hip, Lyric leaning her head against Cora’s shoulder sleepily. “When you belong to a man for as long as you did and loved him as hard as you have, you can’t just turn that off. You have to teach yourself to live for you again, and that’s what you’ve been doing. Little by little and day by day you’ve become your own woman. There’s no rush with this guy, Willow. If he’s worth it, he’ll understand that.” I glance at Lyric and then at Cora.

“And if he doesn’t?” I ask softly.

“Then fuck him. He’s a waste of time,” she says, shrugging.

“Simple as that, huh?”

“Simple as that, pretty girl.” Cora beams, walking into the living room with a sleeping Lyric.

“Simple as that,” I murmur.

My phone is ringing, dancing across the top of the piano as I try to jot down the last chorus. I reach over and silence it only for it to start skipping on the shiny surface and again I silence it. I get exactly three words written when there’s a knock at the door and Aidan pops his head in.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but your friend Perry just called the studio and said for me to tell you to answer your damn phone.” His face is bright red as he repeats what my friend said.

“She’s such a pain in my ass,” I grumble. “Thanks, Aidan.” He nods and quickly backs out of the room. No sooner does the door close than my phone is ringing again.

“Oh my God, woman, what in the hell do you want?” I huff.

“You answer the phone when I call, bitch face,” Perry retorts. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all damn day.”

“Sorry, Cora asked if she could take Lyric to see her mom at the nursing home, and I’ve been locked away in the studio all day. What’s up, buttercup? What’s so damn important that has you blowing my shit up?” I chuckle.

“Remember that last-minute assignment I got sent out on?” she asks in a hurried whisper.

“Yeah, LA, right?”

“Right. You’ll never guess who the hell I’m shooting, Willow.” Her voice is muffled a bit like she has her hand cupped over her mouth so nobody else can hear.

“I can barely hear you. Why are you being so damn weird, Perry?”

“I’m in a corner hiding from the rest of the crew because I’m freaking the fuck out a little,” she hisses.

“What? Why? What’s wr—” And then it dawns on me. “Oh fuck. You’re shooting Stone.” My voice trails off and right away Perry fills the silence in a panic-stricken voice.

“What do I do? I feel like he’s going to look at me and know that I know where you are and that you have his baby and aren’t telling him and he’s gonna know, Willow. He’s gonna look right at me and know!” Her words are flying a mile a minute and getting louder and louder the more harried she gets.

“Perry!” I yell. “Shut up! Stop saying my name.”

“Shit. I’m sorry. See? I told you. He’s going to know.”

“He is not going to know as long as you don’t tell him. And Lyric is mine. Now knock it off before you give yourself a damn panic attack.” Standing now I start pacing. She cannot screw this up. He can’t find me now. Not when everything is going so well. I’m not ready to face him. I may never be ready. “Perry, listen to me. He has no clue that we stayed in touch, so he has no reason to think you would have any idea where I am.” Trying to keep my voice as calm as I can, “It’s all going to be fine. Just do what you need to do and don’t tweak. I need you to not tweak out. Please.”

Her breathing has slowed some, “Okay. Okay. He doesn’t realize we stayed in touch so how could he possibly know. Okay. I can do this. Okay.” If she says “okay” one more time
I
might start to tweak.

“Just stay calm, do your job, and get out of there. Easy.” I sound more confident than I am but just barely manage to hold off my own panic attack when I hear them call for her. “They’re calling your name. Break a leg or whatever you tell photographers and just keep your mouth shut. Don’t even mention my name and everything will be fine.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I’m all done here.” Perry disconnects and I exhale a shaky breath. Please don’t let her fuck this up.

Stone

AS THE FIRST SUIT LEAVES
the room I pull my cigarettes out of my pocket and light one. Inhaling deeply, I can literally feel the tension leave my body. Fuck, one day it won’t be this bad I remind myself. We’d been stuck in a meeting with the producers and the studio all morning, hammering out details for the new album, Willow. If I could, I would name every damn track on the thing after her. Maybe she would see. Maybe it would matter. And maybe hell would freeze over and pigs would fucking fly. But music is all I have. It’s my only weapon in my very limited arsenal to reach her.

Lawson jabs me in the ribs. When I turn to look at him, he lifts his chin indicating the end of the table. The rest of the guys stand and Arrow just kind of gives me his disapproving look. The one he saves just for me lately. I let him; we both know what I threw away. He’s not shy about reminding me. I think at one time he would have gladly taken Willow from me if he thought he’d get away with it. Judge is close behind him, a tilt of his head with a glint of warning in his eyes. I can’t fuck up anymore or the label will be all over our asses.

“Hey, Stone,” the woman standing in the boardroom, fake tits pushed out in pride, says coyly, familiarly. “Did you want to hang out for a bit before you guys hit the road?” I spare her a quick glance and shake my head no.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Oh, come on,” she whines. When I shake my head no again, she says, “You used to be a lot more fun,” with a pout any porn star would be proud of.

“Oh yeah? When was that? Back when I would already have my cock out and down your throat because I was too high to give a fuck about anything but my own pleasure? Certainly not about the fact that my girlfriend was waiting for me. Maybe even in the hall. Back when, even with your mouth full of my come, I still wouldn’t remember your name, or care? Is that the ‘used to be’ you mean . . . Melissa?”

“It’s Megan,” she hisses, dumfounded and more than a little pissed.

“Guess I still don’t care about that then.” The smoke swirls in between us as I peer through the haze at her and take another lazy drag. “I can see why you’d miss that guy. You still want to fuck me?” I deadpan on an exhale.

“No wonder she left you.” Not-Melissa sneers, shaking her head.

Now that one hurt. I didn’t have to wonder. I knew. One of the reasons was standing right in front of me, disdain dripping from her every word, which is ironic. Didn’t matter that half the time I was so God damn high I would have bet money that it was Willow I was fucking only to come down from that nirvana and realize it wasn’t. No, I didn’t wonder shit. I was well aware of all my shortcomings. I wake up to an empty bed every morning to remind me. Tugging in agitation at the gauge in my ear, I take another drag from my cigarette, making little circles of smoke as I think of a response. I’m beyond over this fucking conversation.

“You wanna keep on this trip down memory lane or are we done here?” Flicking ashes into the ashtray I look up at her, eyebrows raised in question.

“So done.” Flicking her bleached hair over her shoulder she pivots and storms out.

My eyes close for a beat—that was almost exhausting. Bending at the waist, I rest my forearms on my legs and stare at the carpet beneath my feet. What I wouldn’t give for a bump right now. Hell, a beer even. Maybe I should’ve taken her up on the offer of pussy. I haven’t had any since Wills left me. Haven’t wanted to look at another woman, let alone fuck one. The irony isn’t lost on me. I couldn’t keep my dick in my pants when I had a good woman in my bed, now that she’s gone, she’s all I want. It’s every fucking sad song ever written.

On a deep sigh, I snub out my smoke and contemplate lighting another when Law sticks his head in and flashes me a smug smile. “Well, that was quicker than I expected.” He chuckles when I flip him off and opens the door all the way. “You want to hit up a meeting, bro? You’re looking wicked on edge today. We can grab Koa from the hotel and head out.”

I shake my head no, then raise my shoulders in a shrug, “Maybe.” These guys, Lawson, Arrow, and Judge, are the only reason I’ve been sober this long. They aren’t just my band mates, my manager . . . they’re my friends, my family. We’ve been playing together since high school when we were just young and reckless punks, rocking out in their garage for the love of music and pussy because they go hand in hand. Judge is the most unmusical fucker on the planet so he became management before we even hit college. With Willow being our biggest supporter and so much a part of the music.

They had all seen what I was slowly becoming. Like me they tried to just ignore it, pretend it wasn’t as bad as it was. Well, except for Arrow who threatened to kick my ass on a daily basis for what my actions were doing to Willow. He still threatened me, but never turned his back on me. He never would. Ro was the king of tough fucking love.

“We can find one on our way out of town, Stone. We have to be in LA by morning, but there’s time,” Law says, reminding me of his solid presence. “We have to be at the studio for the shoot and then the next day the P.I. flies in.”

I perk up at that. I’ve been out of rehab for almost three months. Clean as fuck and still no Wills. I guess I thought it would be easier to find her. Like because I was clean, she would magically fucking appear. Not the case. Clearly. “What did he say when he called?” I ask even though we’ve talked it to fucking death since he told me about it two days ago.

Law knowing what all this shit was doing to me rehashes it like he hasn’t told me already. “I didn’t talk to him since we were in the studio, but Addy did and he said he’s almost certain that he found her in Canada. Said if it was her, it would explain why he had such a hard time finding her because of their laws. Addy answered a couple of his questions about her aunt and her parents, and he said we should meet, and she set up a flight for him to meet us in Lala land. That’s it, bro.” He taps out a beat on the desk, “So we hitting a meeting or what? I need to get the hell out of this building. I can feel their disdain seeping through the walls and shit.”

I laugh at that. “They fucking hate us.”

“Fucking A right they do. But they love that money, so they can suck a dick.”

Scooping up my pack of smokes and lighter, I stand. “And that’s the fucking truth.”