Blur (Changing Colors Book 2) (35 page)

A slow clap draws my attention to the side of the room, and I’m face to face with Alistair. He’s standing beside the black leather couch, eyes scrutinizing the hands locked between Dylan and me. My first instinct is to drop Dylan’s hand, but I force myself to play it cool.

“I didn’t know you were in town.” I gently let go of his hand and walk over towards Alistair.

“Surprised?” He cocks an eyebrow. “That was quite the display in there.”

“It was bloody brilliant!” Nigel chimes in. “You can thank me later, Alistair,” he jokes. “I’m a huge fan of Johnnie Walker and Christmas bonuses.”

Alistair smirks. “This was your idea?”

“Of course it was my idea. I’m the genius behind most of the hit records under Wallace & Wright.” He smiles, winking. “Besides, after hearing these two sing the other night at The Howlin’ Wolf, I knew I needed to get them together on the album. They are magical. I’ve never seen two people so in-tune musically.”

“I’ve noticed.” He glances at Dylan and then back at me. “
My future daughter-in-law
has quite the voice. I’ve been trying to get her on an album for years now. I’m glad someone finally convinced her.”

My spine straightens in anticipation. For what, I’m not sure, but the intensity in Alistair’s stare makes me extremely uncomfortable.

“Let’s take five,” Nigel tells the guys. “I think we’re about done here, and I need to call my wife and make sure everything’s good back home.”

Everyone files out of the room, but Dylan stays back. Even Dean and Thomas left us sans the watchful eyes of their cameras.

Shit.
I wish he would go. I wish he’d leave before the wrath of Alistair begins. Hell, I’d even prefer Dean and Thomas to Dylan at this point. At least they would ensure Alistair being a little more mindful of what he says or does.

I already know what’s coming before he says anything, and since Dylan is still here, standing beside me, I know his presence is only going to make this worse.

“I’m glad you finally got to see the guys in the studio,” I offer, trying to relieve some of the tension.

“I was in the neighborhood signing a new country artist in Nashville.”

“Nashville isn’t exactly down the street from New Orleans, but I’m happy you were able to make the trip.”

He shrugs. “Figured I’d make a surprise appearance. Keep the band, Nigel, and errant fiancées on their toes.”

My jaw gapes. “Excuse me?”

His face hardens. “Just want to make sure my future daughter-in-law knows her place.”

Dylan bristles beside me, but remains silent.

“Knows her place? What are you talking about?”

“I’m just doing what my son doesn’t have the balls to do, sweetheart.” He flashes a cruel smile. “His mother might be a bit of a whore, but she was always a secret whore. Just want to make sure you’re being discreet when fucking around behind Jamie’s back.”

Dylan’s hand grips the nape of my neck. “Careful.”

“Careful?” Alistair lets out a humorless laugh. “You staking claim, Bissette? You might want to be the one considering the term careful. Your band is under contract with my label. I have the power to make or break you.”

Dylan doesn’t back down. “I’m not staking claim.” His eyes turn fierce, voice dropping to a harsh octave. “I’m merely pointing out that you’re way out of line. I won’t tolerate a man speaking to woman like that. It doesn’t matter who the fuck it is.”

Alistair’s attention moves to me. “You’re causing quite the predicament, Brooke. You’ve got the lead singer of my band calling me an asshole.”

“We’re not
your
band. Sure, we’re under contract with you, but you don’t own us. We can walk any time we want.”

Alistair’s brow rises. “You planning on walking?”

“You planning on continuing being an arsehole?” Dylan snaps.

“That’s enough.” I step between them, refusing to let this go any further. The last thing I need is Dylan screwing up his band’s career over me.

I can smell the alcohol permeating from Alistair’s pores. Figures he enjoyed a few cocktails before his visit. It definitely explains his cruel words. Generally, he’s more careful in the way he belittles people, but alcohol tends to make his mouth loose and his words harsh.

“You’re right,” Alistair answers. “It is enough. Brooke, you’ll finish out the US stops in New York and Seattle, and then you’ll come back home to LA instead of going to Europe with them. I shouldn’t have pushed you into this tour while you and Jamie are busy planning a wedding.”

Perplexity scrunches my face. “Huh?”

“I’m doing what I should have done from the beginning. I’m giving you some time off so you can plan the wedding and actually spend time with your fiancé.”

Seriously, I’m so confused. How did we go from me being a whore to him giving me time off work to plan a wedding?

“Camille should be calling you soon about venues. She’s been on quite the wedding warpath the past couple of days.” He chuckles. His mood impersonates a pinball machine, bouncing from one extreme to the next.

But that’s the thing about addicts who refuse to admit they have a problem. Their behavior can move from volatile to happy in a matter of seconds. Believe me, I know this from experience. My parents are textbook drug addicts.

Alistair is an alcoholic. He’ll never admit it though.

“Jamie and his mom sat down and have narrowed down a few wedding spots and dates. I’m sure he’ll be excited to update you. I’ve been partial to a spring wedding.” He winks, grabbing his suit jacket off the couch and slipping it on. “I’m heading out. Tell Nigel to send me over the final cut from this session. I think that song should be the one we capitalize on for the album’s February release.”

As Alistair strides out the door, my feet are frozen to the ground.
What just happened?
I glance at Dylan. His face is still locked in a hardened expression.

His eyes meet mine. “That’s the family you’re marrying into?” he asks, voice incredulous. “Are you fucking kidding me, Brooke?”

My eyes widen. “I’m not engaged to Alistair. I’m engaged to Jamie.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like Jamie was here to defend you from that twat. He’s back in LA planning your wedding with his mum, while you’re here being berated by his arsehole of a father.”

“I doubt he even knows Alistair was making a stop in New Orleans.” Suddenly, I feel defensive. Dylan doesn’t know anything about the type of relationship Jamie and I have. He doesn’t know what Alistair is really like. He doesn’t get it at all.

Because you won’t fucking tell him,
my mind shouts.

“I can bloody guarantee, if that man was my father, he would know he couldn’t talk to my fiancée like that. He insinuated you were a whore, Brooke! The guy that’s going to be
your father-in-law
, called you a
whore
in front of
me
!”

“He’s an alcoholic, Dylan.”

He’s getting angrier by the second. “I don’t give a shite what he is. There’s no excuse for a man talking to a woman like that. None!”

“Dylan, I appreciate the way you defended me, but honestly, this is none of your business. There’s more to it, okay? You don’t know the half of it.”

“Because you won’t let me know.” His tone is venomous. “Because you’re intent on hiding behind your walls and secrets.” He moves towards me, face mere inches from mine. “If you were mine, I guarantee no one would get away with treating you like that. I would never let that happen. And I’d make damn sure you weren’t so bloody sad all the time.” His fingers trail across my cheek. “Seeing you this way, sad and unsure. Witnessing the light dimming in your eyes. It’s breaking my heart, Brooke. Your happy moments are few and far between these days. I know you put on a good front. I know you’re trying to act like everything is okay, but I know it’s really not okay. That much is evident.”

His thumb moves across my bottom lip. “What’s going on?” His voice is a whisper. “Tell me what’s really going on. Let me be here for you.”

“Stop.” I turn my head away from his touch. I can’t do this. It’s too much.
He’s too much.
“This isn’t your place, Dylan. My happiness isn’t your concern.”

He jerks back as if I’ve slapped him. His eyes bore into mine for several uncomfortable seconds. “Fine. Have it your way, Brooke.
Have it your fucking way.
” He steps back, arms opened wide. “I hope you have a wonderful life being married to a coward who lets his dad belittle and disrespect you. I’m sure your holidays and family get-togethers will be bloody cheerful.”

And then he walks away from me without a second glance in my direction.

Who’s Golden Gaze?

Clips from Careless Cockups’ Studio Session Leaked.

EntertainUSDaily.com

Careless Cockups were in New Orleans this past week, and while they did play a gig at The Howlin’ Wolf Saturday night, they also spent time in the studio, finishing up their final track for the untitled debut album.

Live footage was leaked, and it’s more than sparked our interest in this ongoing “Are they or aren’t they?” Brooke and Dylan debate.

Two fifteen-second clips were released to the web late this morning. Both give us an insider’s view of Dylan and Brooke in the booth, singing together on a song called Blur. Apparently, Brooke helped Dylan write the music for the song.

In the span of a few days, they’ve been photographed together quite a bit. Strolling down Bourbon street, grabbing a late lunch together. Singing a duet of Major Lazer’s Powerful on stage at The Howlin’ Wolf. And now the video footage of them working together in the studio.

The lyrics of Blur suggest sentiments about unrequited love and not giving up on that one person that means everything. During one of the clips, you’re able to hear Dylan sing the words, “Baby, that golden gaze.”

Golden gaze?

Considering Brooke Sawyer’s eyes are a very light shade of brown, it’s pretty hard to write this off as a coincidence.

What’s next? A photo catching them in the middle of a passionate kiss? Their cliché “we’re just friends” response wouldn’t work too well in that kind of scenario.

Whether Brooke or Dylan want to admit it, there’s more to this story.

Dylan

We’re backstage getting ready for our gig at the Bowery. The guys are their typical amped-up-selves, practically bouncing off the walls. A few fans—all women with backstage passes, mind you—watch their antics, fawning over my band mates like they’re God’s gift to women.

I’m on the opposite side of the spectrum, more subdued and to myself. You can usually find me tucked away in a corner, working through the set list in my head.

While I’m not the nervous type when it comes to shows, I can get a tad lost in my own mind, harping on minor hiccups we might have come across during rehearsal. But our sound check went as smooth as butter. No mistakes. No glitches. We were focused. Our sound was on point, effortless in its appearance. I’m confident we’re more than ready to put on a brilliant show.

The cameras hover as we down the first shot of our pre-show ritual. One shot of Jack. One shot of Patron. And last but not least, an Absolut Lemon Drop to soothe the sting of the tequila.
Jesse’s idea.
He added the Lemon Drop solely with groupies in mind. The bastard quite enjoys getting creative with the lemon and sugar.

Brooke peeks her head through the doorway. “Got a minute?” She looks hesitant, unsure. We haven’t exactly been on speaking terms since New Orleans. She said things. I said things. But I regret none of it. Alistair was out of line. And Brooke shouldn’t have to stand up for herself to her future father-in-law. Her fiancé should have never let his dad think he can speak to her in such a vile, disgusting way.

“Have a seat.” I pat the couch cushion next to me.

She settles beside me, staring down at the fingers in her lap.

“Everything all right?” I will her to look at me.

Brooke inhales a deep breath, and then finally meets my eyes. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I feel bad for lashing out on you. I know you were just being a good guy. Seems to be the story of your life.” A wry grin covers her pretty lips.

“No apology necessary. I’m not sorry for anything I said to Alistair. He was out of line. You’re my friend. Someone I care a lot about, and there’s no way I’ll ever stand back and let someone disrespect you like that.”