Because of You (25 page)

June took a minute to ponder my question before finally answering me.

“I’ve known Layla her entire life. I’ve been around for her highs, and I’ve been around for her lows. I never butt in or gave my two cents because I always just assumed she was doing what made her happy, and that was all I’ve ever wanted for her. She’s not the type of person to complain or do the whole ‘woe is me’ bull crap, but I figured if things were really bad, she would tell me. She would tell someone,” June explained, wringing her hands together nervously. “This is the first time I’ve seen her in person in over a year since she’s been on tour, and I’ve got to tell you, something is wrong with that girl. I can see it all over her face, and I can practically feel the misery coming off of her.” I watched the emotions play across June’s face: sadness, worry, and fear. Her eyes got misty and she turned away from me towards the stage. I wanted to reassure June that Layla is okay, but I couldn’t.

I glanced up at Layla as she sang about being broken down and not able to stand. She asked the audience, who listened with rapt attention, if they were strong enough to be her man, and I wanted to run up to that stage, grab her by the shoulders, and tell her that I’m strong enough. Pick me.

I knew that was a lie, though, so I turned my attention back to June.

“You’ve heard about what’s been going on with her and the crazy fan, right? Maybe she’s just overwhelmed by that right now,” I told June, knowing as soon as the words left my mouth that I didn’t believe them. Layla was a fighter, even if she didn’t believe it. Jesus, the night he attacked her she demanded that I teach her how to fight back. Thinking back over all the concert videos I watched of her before I even took this job, I realized now that what I saw on her face wasn’t a diva attitude or the look of someone who was bored with her charmed life. It was the look of someone unhappy and searching for a way out.

“I wondered that myself,” June replied. “But that’s not what it is. She doesn’t look like herself anymore. She doesn’t smile easily and that scares the hell out of me. She’s a beautiful girl, inside and out, with the biggest heart out of anyone I’ve ever known. She’s closed herself off, and I don’t know why. Her father never wanted this life for her. He knew how stressful and demanding it could be, and he always told her that as soon as it became a job, you shouldn’t do it anymore. You should only do it if you love it. If it’s a passion that burns inside of you, and you feel like you’re going to die without it. She doesn’t love what she’s doing, and it makes no sense to me.”

Layla closed out the song to a roar of applause from the bar, and even though I didn’t know that much about this June person, I could tell she really cared about Layla. She was genuinely concerned about her well-being, and it occurred to me that Layla really had no one in her life like that right now.

“I think it’s because of Eve. She treats her like shit, and Layla just takes it all without batting an eye. I tried questioning her about it, but she got really defensive and just shut down,” I explained to June as Layla takes a small bow.

“I always hated that woman. She got her claws into Jack and never let go no matter what he did. He was miserable with Eve, but she didn’t care. She just wanted his money,” June seethed angrily, her eyes narrowing and her lips pursing.

“I don’t mean to be so forward, June, but it’s my job. Mind if I ask how well you knew Layla’s father?”

Her face immediately reddened and she rubbed the back of her neck with one hand nervously.

“Jack was a good friend. He used to come in here a lot to get away from Eve. He’d bring Layla when she was just a little girl, and I took to both of them right quick. What happened to him was shameful, and I will always regret not telling someone about my suspicions.”

June’s words set off warning bells in my head but before I could ask her more about what the hell she was talking about, what she meant about having suspicions, one of the waitresses rushed over and grabbed June’s arm telling her two of the kegs were empty and new ones needed to be tapped immediately. June walked away with a promise to talk to me again soon.

The conversation with June slips away as I hear the click of the bedroom door handle being turned. I hold my breath as I watch the door slowly open revealing Layla, her long, wavy hair wild around her face and shoulders, her body barely covered in a short, white satin nightie. She steps into the room, and I can’t take my eyes away from her full breasts spilling out of the black lace edging of the top. The nightie stops a few inches below her hips, and I lick my lips as my eyes trail down the front of her body and the smooth skin of her legs as I watch them walk towards the bed.

She hesitates shyly at the edge of the bed, and I can see that she’s not sure if she’s doing the right thing. I don’t want her to leave, but I can’t find my voice to tell her that, so I reach over and pull the covers back, holding them up above the bed for her.

She looks at my face and smiles before climbing under the covers and sliding over to me, pressing the front of her body flush against my side, draping her arm over my bare stomach, and pressing her cheek to my chest. I tuck the sheet and blanket over the top of her and wrap my arms around her, pulling her closer and kissing the top of her head before finally speaking.

“Can’t sleep?”

She shakes her head
no
against my chest, and I reach my hand up to press my fingers under her chin and turn her face up to me.

“Your mother is a crabby bitch. Don’t let her get to you.”

She laughs softly at my words, and it makes me smile.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said about her,” she says with another easy smile. “I should be used to it by now. Everything I do pisses her off. I’m just thankful she wasn’t calling to tell me she saw what we did in your truck. That would have been awkward.”

Her dry humor is something I’m quickly growing to love about her, and it frustrates me that I don’t hear enough of it.

I heard most of the conversation she had with Eve earlier. Layla was sitting close enough and her mother was screaming loud enough for me to make out the gist of it. Eve found out from God knows who that Layla went off on her own and sang a few songs and played music on a guitar at a hole-in-the-wall bar. Songs that weren’t “Layla Carlysle” songs and a bar that wasn’t “Layla Carlysle” appropriate. Eve criticized and shouted all sorts of venom at Layla about how she was going to ruin her reputation and that she should be ashamed of herself for her behavior.

When Eve said that, Layla looked up at me with the phone pressed to her ear, and we shared a secret smile knowing that out of all of the things that happened that night, her behavior in the bar wasn’t even close to being as
shameful
as what we did in the truck.

I wanted to grab the phone from Layla’s hand and tell Eve to fuck off before she made Layla feel worse and took away the spark that was still in her eyes, but Layla beat me to the punch.

“
I’m sorry, you’re breaking up. Must be a bad connection. We’ll talk soon.”

Layla hung up the phone mid-shout from her mother and tossed it onto the dashboard with a bubbling laugh. I started up the truck and headed towards her house, thankful she hadn’t let Eve’s words get to her.

Unfortunately, the twenty-minute drive gave her too much time to think, and by the time we pulled into the driveway, her mood had dropped considerably. She jumped down out of the truck without a word, and after I cleared the house and made sure it was safe, she excused herself to take a shower, never coming back out of her room.

“You should tell your mother off more often. I think she needs a healthy dose of reality,” I tell Layla softly in the dark, quiet of the bedroom.

“I shouldn’t have done that. She’s going to make me regret it, just like she always does.”

The admission from Layla shocks me, and I don’t speak for a minute. Just like June said, Layla isn’t very forthcoming when it comes to her life. I found a book of songs she wrote that have never seen the light of day, and I had hoped she would tell me all about them when I discovered it. She’s best friends with a man who at times seems like he resents her more than supports her, and she lets a woman who obviously hates her control her life. She sings like an angel and plays the guitar like a rock goddess in bar where no one knows who she is. I want her to trust me, and I want her to tell me why she’s made the choices she has.

“You don’t have to put up with her bullshit. You know that, right? You’re an adult. A very successful and talented adult. You’re not a teenage girl who just lost her father and got into something she maybe wasn’t ready for. You can quit anytime,” I tell her with conviction.

“Did you see all of those people out there today who came to see me?” Layla asks quietly, and I wonder if she’s changing the subject or just ignoring what I’ve said to her. “Forget about the insane stalker I have for just a minute. Did you read any of the other letters I get on a daily basis when you were going through all of my fan mail? Little girls who look up to me, brokenhearted women who say I’ve put a smile on their face for the first time in ages, kids who’ve had horrible childhoods that say I give them hope that they can make their dreams come true.”

Layla slides her hand up my stomach and perches her chin on top of it so she can continue looking at me while she explains.

“Did you know I volunteer at a children’s hospital once a month? I go from room to room and sing to the children who are in there for a few days with pneumonia or the ones who are dying from cancer and know they will never get to go outside and swing on a swing set or play tag with their friends. Those are my fans, Brady. They’re real people and they’re the reason I continue doing what I do. There are so many musicians out there who let their fans down because they just don’t care about them. They don’t realize there are people out there all over the world that depend on them, that need them to help forget about their own troubles for just a little while. If getting up on that stage night after night puts a smile on the face of a little girl or encourages her to get up and dance around the room in unadulterated joy, who am I to complain about
my
life?”

I have to swallow back the lump in my throat at her words. I feel like a pussy for getting choked up, but I can’t help it. I’m an ass and I never once thought about any of this from her point of view. It’s easy for me to tell her to just stop doing something that makes her miserable because I’m not in her shoes. My parents made me miserable, so I joined the Navy and left. I eliminated the thing in my life that was ruining me, and the only person I let down was Gwen. Just disappointing that one person was enough to gut me. The idea that Layla feels like she would let billions of people down is a heavy pill to swallow and one I obviously know nothing about.

“I’m sorry. You probably think I’m a dick for always telling you to just quit,” I tell her honestly.

She smiles at me sadly and moves her hand from my chest to cup the side of my face, her thumb sliding back and forth over my cheek bone.

“It would be a hell of a lot easier if I
did
think you were a dick, believe me. This is my life. This is how it has to be; Eve’s made sure of that. It’s legal and it’s binding, and if I go against her, I will let all of those people down. You come in here and you’re strong and confident, and I suddenly want to be a different person because I want to make you proud. I want you to look at me like you did tonight at the edge of that stage. You’re making me question every single thing I’ve ever done. Making me want things I never…”

She pauses, stopping herself before she gives away too much, and I just want to tell her to give me everything. I don’t care about the consequences. Just give me everything you have.

“What the hell are you doing to me, Brady?” she asks brokenly, her voice choked with tears that she tries her hardest to hold back.

There are so many things I want to say to her now, but I know everything will come out wrong. I’m not good with words. I’m not good with the hearts and flowers bullshit. The only thing I know to do is show her what she means to me.

With a roll of my body, I push her onto her back and settle myself between her thighs as she quickly opens them for me. Smoothing her hair off of her face, I study her and silently tell her with my eyes everything I don’t have the guts to speak out loud.

I’ve never wanted anyone as much as you.

I’m falling fast for you, and it scares the fucking shit out of me.

I will do whatever it takes to change this life for you, to make it into something you can enjoy and not have to feel guilty about.

“I need you,” she whispers softly against my lips, and I shift my hips slightly against her, letting her know that the feeling is mutual and that if I get any harder from wanting her, I’m going to explode.

“I’m right here, baby,” I tell her before leaning down and pressing my lips to hers, pushing my tongue past her lips so I can taste her.