The Rockstar I’ve Loved for So Long (3 page)

She pressed the link that would take her to the website with the latest report on Dylan.

And her heart shattered.

Bree could have forgiven him for not coming, could have forgiven him for making a stupid stand because of his stupid male ego, but she could never forgive him for
this.

Her phone rang.

It was Dylan.

Of course he’d know she’d find out immediately. He was exactly like her that way. Paranoid. A stalker. Obsessed with making sure Bree continued loving him.

She canceled his call. He rang her again. She canceled it again. It was a cycle that went on until Staffan had slowed his SUV to a stop in front of one of the city’s most glamorous restaurants.

Her phone vibrated insistently against the confines of her bag. She took it out and dropped it to the floor before helping Aleksis unclasp his seatbelt.

His tiny fingers touched her wet cheek. “Don’t cry.”

She pressed a kiss to his forehead even as she started to cry harder.

****

“You weren’t just photographed with a woman, Dyl,” Ariadne said in disgust. “Did you really think she’d take it calmly like she usually does all the other crazy stuff you’ve been doing?”

As the only girl in
Minuit Rouge,
she had been exposed to a lot of shitty male stuff, but it was her cousin who was unfortunately the most appalling.

If she wasn’t such a tough chick herself, she’d probably be bawling her eyes out after what she had learned. She wasn’t in love with Dylan Charbonneau and she was
this
devastated. Bree had been the most adorable kid the first time Ariadne had met her. She found it terribly cute, the way Bree had tried so very hard to look at Dylan with puppy eyes
only
when he wasn’t looking her way.

She loved how Bree was the only one who
never
let Dylan get away with anything and everything, forcing him to keep his feet on the ground but also knowing when to give in and soothe his personal devils.

Bree was perfect for him and they all knew it – even Dylan. They all knew it except for Bree herself, because that was how Dylan wanted it.

And now—

It made Ariadne shudder, wondering how Bree had felt when she had seen the video that one of the women Dylan had bedded had secretly taken and then sold to the highest bidder.

It hadn’t been lewd, but it had been torrid. It could’ve passed as artistic porn – if you didn’t happen to be in love with the guy who was busy eating one girl’s pussy while fucking another with his cock and a third one with his hand.

The video was off the web now, of course, but it was too late. The damage had been done.

“Dylan?” She couldn’t stand how
still
he was. 

Dylan didn’t answer. He was seated on the couch, his face inscrutable as he gazed down at his phone, fingers moving across the screen as if he was urging it to come to life.

But it didn’t – it hadn’t since this morning. The phone he held was for a private line that only Bree had the number to. The whole band knew that. Their manager knew that. The roadies knew that. Everyone in the tour knew that but Bree. It had always been like that.

Dylan’s other
phone, however, was ringing madly – had been so since this morning. Everyone wanted to know if it was true – if Dylan had truly spent more than 24 hours lost in a delirium of ménage play.

“Give him a break,” Andre murmured quietly to his sister. Although he, too, did not at all approve of what Dylan had done, he was more inclined to believe that Dylan hadn’t meant to get…caught.

But he
had
been caught, and now he had to pay the price.

It was more than possible the girl who had loved Dylan patiently and faithfully all these years would never forgive him.

“You need to do something soon,
mon ami
.” This was from Elijah, the only married member of their band.

Everyone in his band – his family – kept talking, but Dylan didn’t really hear them. He was still staring at the phone in his hands, unable to stop waiting and just goddamn hoping that she would call. That she would give him one tiny sign all wasn’t lost.

And it wasn’t. It couldn’t. 

Because he finally realized that he had been fighting a losing battle all along. 

Even after everything he had done to prevent it, the fourteen-year-old awkward girl from the past had captured his heart from the very start…and he had never gotten it back.

Chapter Three

“Last shot now, I promise,” Saffi begged, holding her SLR up once more. Behind her, Staffan rolled his eyes. Trust his fangirl wife to have a need to take a thousand photos of Bree in her prom attire – and the younger girl hadn’t even stepped out of the living room yet.

Bree glanced at her date, Rob Cramer, and he returned her long-suffering look with a grin. But he gamely posed anyway, and with a shake of her head, Bree did the same, repositioning herself next to him.

“One, two—”

The doorbell of the main entrance rang, its chiming melody blaring through the house’s speakers and cutting Saffi off.

“Are you expecting anyone?” Saffi asked. Both of them lived in an exclusive community, and security didn’t just let anyone in. 

Bree knew Saffi was referring to her alcoholic aunt, Christy Wyle, who also happened to be her legal guardian – or at least she had been until Bree had turned eighteen.

She shook her head. “I don’t think she’ll go against the TRO.”

“I’ll get it.” Staffan went to the door and used the peephole to check their unexpected caller’s identity. His eyebrows shot up in surprise at what – who – he saw.

He looked at Bree. “It’s Ariadne.”

Bree was stunned. “
Ariadne
?” She hated how her voice shook just because Ariadne was connected to Dylan. That part of her life was completely finished and she shouldn’t go back to it again.

“Shall I handle this?” Staffan asked quietly. He had no quarrel with Ariadne, but his loyalty was where his wife’s loyalties lay, and that was with Bree.

Bree said slowly, “No, I think I better talk to her.” She looked at Rob. “Could you excuse me for a moment?”

He nodded. “Take as much time as you need.” The understanding in his eyes almost made her wince. It was clear he knew about her and Dylan.

But then, why should that be a surprise? Neither of them had ever attempted to hide they…knew each other. Dylan had been photographed numerous times with her and to his credit, he had never denied her presence in his life.

She’s special.
That had always been his answer. 

And she believed him, not realizing that other women could be more special than she was.

Excusing herself with a mumble, she opened the door and mustered a smile for Dylan’s cousin, the drummer of Minuit Rouge.

The incandescent light from the antique lamp post behind Ariadne made her look like an angel on fire, with her long auburn hair making a nice contrast against her tanned skin and white tank top paired with cropped shorts.

Ariadne’s eyes widened when she saw Bree’s attire. “Oh God. It’s
prom night
?”
Dylan knew about this
, she realized.

Despite everything, Bree couldn’t stop herself from grinning at the appalled tone. It was one of the reasons they enjoyed each other’s company. Normally, Ariadne hated anyone Andre or Dylan dated.

“I know,” she said wryly. “But it’s my last year in high school so I figured I should attend this.”

Ariadne was beginning to think her coming here was a bad idea. It just wasn’t fair to argue Dylan’s case when Bree was clearly doing her best to move on. In the less than two weeks that Dylan and Bree had been apart, the younger girl had noticeably lost weight and had dark bags under her eyes attesting to sleepless nights.

“You know what? I totally think this is the worst time for me to visit. Forget I came here.” 

Bree grabbed the other girl’s hand as Ariadne turned away. “Why did you come?” Just asking the question made her feel anxious and she couldn’t understand why.

Ariadne shook her head. “It’s nothing. I was just really going to say I think Dylan’s a bastard for what he did, that’s all.”

But the other girl couldn’t look at her in the eye as she spoke. Bree said baldly, “You’re a horrible liar.”

“Look, just forget I said anything—” The look in Bree’s eyes made Ariadne squeeze hers shut. No, no, hell no. She wasn’t going to let Bree’s puppy brown eyes get to her—

“
Ariadne
, please.”

Hell. 

Without opening her eyes, Ariadne said, “I wanted to say that…”

Bree held her breath.

Ariadne’s fingers clenched. “If you’re waiting for Dylan to come running to ask for forgiveness, he won’t.”

Before Bree could say anything about it, Ariadne raised her hand, a sick feeling on her face. “There’s something you have to know about Dyl – something he’d never tell you…”

****

Dylan tossed back his fourth shot of whiskey, the liquor burning its way down his throat. But its heat couldn’t compare to the fiery sensation residing in the pit of stomach – a sick sensation that had stayed with him since he had learned Bree hated his guts.

But being a fucking masochist, here he was, in the same hotel hosting the senior prom for Bree’s school. Thinking about Bree in the arms of a boy from her class – some fresh-faced jerk who would do his best to take her virginity in his backseat – made him clench his teeth hard.

With a muttered curse, he swung away from the one-way window of his VIP suite which overlooked the entire lobby of the hotel.

He lowered himself to the couch and grabbed the pen and paper from the coffee table. Closing his eyes, he tried to concentrate on making more music, but nothing came to him.

He heard the door open. “You went to Bree, didn’t you?” He had known just by looking at Ariadne’s face earlier that she had planned to plead his case with her. He had also known it wouldn’t make a fucking difference. 

No girl would willingly take someone back when that same person couldn’t even say sorry—

“Yes, she did.” The voice, shaky but beautiful and familiar, made Dylan suck his breath in. He twisted around in his seat, wondering if missing Bree so much had made him start hearing things.

But it really was her.

She looked like a goddess of seduction in her red silk and lace dress. It had a full skirt at the back and an extremely short layered skirt in front. Combined with her lipstick-red stilettos, it looked like she had her entire legs on display.

Bree looked exquisite, but what made him feel like someone had sucker-punched him was her eyes.

She looked like she still loved him.

When Dylan’s face whitened, Bree knew that he understood what she was unable to say. Terror – the paralyzing fear of rejection – had negated her ability to speak and all she could do was look at him and plead with her eyes.

After what she had learned from Ariadne, she didn’t care about what she had seen – what millions of people had seen. They thought they knew and understood what was going on, but they didn’t. Even
she
didn’t – hadn’t – known the truth. And now that she did, Bree no longer cared that he still hadn’t said sorry or that - if it was up to Dylan – he would never ask her to take him back.

When he didn’t speak, tension apparent in his profile, Bree knew it was up to her to take the next step. There was no guarantee that he wouldn’t say no. Now that she understood where he was coming from, she knew that all these years he had been trying his hardest to distance himself from her.

Swallowing, she whispered, “Dylan, could you please—”

When he swore, it was like a knife in her heart and she was unable to speak. He was going to rebuff her. He didn’t want her. She lowered her head, not wanting him to see how his refusal was killing her.

She struggled to breathe, struggled to be strong and figure out how to survive.

“Bree?”

Oh God, he was standing right in front of her!

What did he want now? To twist the knife in deeper? Wanted her to see up close how unwilling he was to take a risk on her—

“Bree, please.”

She shook her head without raising her gaze to meet his. “No.”

“Bree—” His voice broke.

It undid her, the way he sounded like he needed her
more
than she needed him. Slowly, she lifted her gaze—

In the next second, he was kissing her. 

Dylan was kissing her.

The rock star she had loved so long was kissing her.

With a shaky sob, Bree wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. 

Chapter Four

Her first kiss.

It seemed ironic that in the four years she had been in the company of the world’s most promiscuous rock star, Bree was only having her first kiss now.

But she wasn’t complaining – not when it was Dylan giving Bree her first kiss.

His hands cupped her face like she was the most precious thing he had ever held. His lips were warm as they covered hers again and again, each kiss deeper and lovelier than the rest.

Dylan was still shaking, a part of him still reeling from the reality of having Bree in his arms. After everything he had done, she was still here. After everything, she had come to him—

He lifted his head to look down at her. “Bree…”

She looked up at him like he was everything she had wished for, and it made Dylan want to curse again – wanted to curse himself because, goddammit, he wanted that to be true.

But it wasn’t.

“I love you.”

She started to cry.

He wanted to wipe the tears from her eyes, wanted to kiss them away, wanted to promise that everything was going to be all right again. But he did not. Because he was a bastard, would always be a bastard, and he needed her to understand that.

“Dylan, I—”

“No. I need to…”

“I know.”

The words rendered him immobile, the meaning behind it throwing Dylan into an abyss of the darkest memories – the kind that he had spent so many years trying to bury into obscurity.