Melody of Truth (Love of a Rockstar Book 3) (10 page)

AN ELECTRIC ENERGY PULSED IN
the air around me as the crowd eagerly awaited the band. I had jostled my way to the very front, otherwise known as the mosh pit—a stray elbow to the eye was worth it for the footage I wanted to capture.

The woman next to me let out a low-pitched scream, which created a domino effect. Looking up, I saw Matthew, Ash, Noah, and—last but not least—Sean filing in.

Overhearing a heated debate about which member was the most fuckable, I refrained from putting in my two cents, though to me there was no contest—Sean won by a landslide.

A ripped t-shirt showed hints of his muscular abdomen and his perfectly tousled white blond hair looked like it had been kissed with ocean water. He caught me staring and a slow grin spread across Sean’s face. I quickly raised my camera and pretended to film the venue as butterflies flapped wildly in my stomach.

“How are you New Orleans?!” Matthew yelled into the microphone.

The audience surged forward. I aimed the lens upward and captured his magnetic presence.

Over the roar, he said, “We have a couple songs we are going to play for you tonight, some old and some new. Now let’s dance!”

The fast-paced tempo of the drums launched the band into their first song of the night, one about chasing your dreams. What amazed me about them was that they never put on the same performance twice and seemed to have an inner intuition for what the audience wanted.

That night, they stepped up their game. It was sweaty, mesmerizing, and downright insane.

Matthew ended the concert by jumping into the crowd, still gripping his mic. The footage of his body surfing the crowd on a sea of hands would be my opening shot.

I pressed the stop button, the record light blinked off, and I returned backstage to dismantle my camera.

Sneakers entered my line of sight. “Excuse me miss?”

I looked up at the hulking bodyguard, his three-hundred-pound figure blocking the entrance to the hallway and the light. “Yes?”

“There is someone outside who claims she knows you.”

“What’s her name?”

“Annie Ludlow.”

Annie the menace, my best friend from high school? I hadn’t hung out with her in almost five years. We occasionally chatted on the phone and caught up, promising to not let another year go by before we did it again, but almost a year and a half had passed since I’d heard her thick Boston accent.

“You can let her in,” I said.

“I’m afraid I shouldn’t. She is a tad…”

“Loud?”

“Extremely.”

Annie didn’t have a volume switch on her voice and hushing her didn’t do any good. She simply laughed as if I were being ridiculous. I hitched the leather strap onto my shoulder as the bodyguard led me to the blaring red exit sign. He pushed open the door and stepped aside.

Annie’s caramel-colored locks curled into soft ringlets and hit her square jaw—the same haircut she’d sported since she was sixteen. A flowy peasant blouse tucked into her high-waisted jeans, elongating Annie’s figure, as did the chunky boots she wore. Besides her boho fashion sense, she hadn’t changed a bit.

She threw her hands in the air, her turquoise bracelets clinking around her wrist. “Melody!”

“Annie!”

I crossed the parking lot and met her in the middle. Due to a weird aversion to hugs, she squeezed my lower arm. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“You too.”

Her eyes creased with worry. “Sorry to show up unannounced. Your sister bragged on Facebook about your film project with Matthew Lee and I saw on their website that their tour stop here in New Orleans matched the dates of my trip."

“No worries. How long are you in town for?”

“Just tonight. You?”

“Two days.”

“Can you grab a drink or a bite to eat? I would love to hear about the latest happenings in the glamorous life of Melody Carmichael.”

Glancing at the tank top I’d worn to bed the night before, I snorted. “Please, ice-cold beer and pizza is as glamorous as it gets on tour, and you know how I despise beer.”

“Then I’ll buy you a proper southern meal. Biscuits, gravy—”

She had me at gravy and I looped my arm through hers. “Where to?”

THE SMELL OF BBQ WAFTED
out from the large smoker situated around the back of the tiny yellow structure. We decided on a smoked collard greens, baked beans, and biscuits smothered in gravy. I’d have to be rolled out of there once the meal was done.

Annie studied the dessert specials. “They have banana cream pie.”

“Are you trying to completely destroy our arteries?”

“Come on. We used to eat worse than this on a Saturday night.”

I smiled fondly at the pot-fueled binge sessions Annie was referring to. Her stoner brother used to sell us a joint, which we would have to make last for the entire month. Looking back, there was no way the one hit we’d each take was enough to get us high.

Power of suggestion, huh?

“I’m afraid my metabolism isn’t the same.” I patted my stomach. “A donut adds five pounds to my hips.”

“You’re skinny as a beanstalk.”

“I forgot how generous you are with compliments. You should stand next to me whenever I look in the mirror.

Annie’s wheezing laughter drew stares from the neighboring table. I ignored them and joined in. The bundle of stress at the base of my neck melted. I hadn’t realized how badly I missed quality girl time.

She dabbed at her eyes with the tip of a napkin. “I should become your walking ego. Who needs educators? “

Annie taught second grade at a Montessori elementary school in Portland, Maine. A natural with children, she was the cool teacher you appreciated for sparking your interest in education.

“Your minions would miss you too much,” I said. “Besides, the pay is crap.”

A funny expression crossed her face. Crumpling the napkin, she spoke. “I was fired.” Several seconds of silence passed as she composed herself. “Dating in the workplace is frowned upon. We thought we were careful, but we underestimated the power of cellphones. A student caught us sharing a candlelit smooch at Mario’s Italian restaurant. “

Last I’d checked, Annie was dating a lawyer named Bill—or maybe it was Brad? They had seemed serious and she’d mentioned moving into his loft.

Placing my hand on top of hers, a sympathetic smile tilted my lips. “You will be bounce back on your feet.”

“I formed attachments with those snot-nosed kids. They were the highlight of my week.”

“Can you continue seeing them outside school?”

Annie shook her head, dejected. “No. Their parents have blacklisted me as a slut.”

“Jesus.” I breathed. “Who did you sleep with?”

“John Andrews, the director.”

“Is he married or something?”

“Nope, the mothers are just jealous because I nabbed him first.” Irritation coated her words. “It’s not my fault they are stuck with their fat boring husbands while I get to go home to John, who embodies the deadly combination of smarts and hotness.”

“You’re still together then?”

The fire inside her died to a low flame as stars twinkled in her eyes. “Jobless without a penny to our name, our love hasn’t died.”

“They fired him too?”

“Unfortunately, but it’s their loss. He is the best director they can hope to find on the east coast or in the United States. Andrew is dedicated to his job like very few are these days. Low pay equals low morale.”

I hummed a low murmur of sympathy. “Our pay scale in the United States is completely out of whack.”

“Ain’t that the truth. Your rock stars receive half a million a year to shimmy their hips and jam on their instruments.”

“They are not MY rock stars,” I said.

“You have been following them around for the past couple weeks, I’m sure you’ve gotten to know them pretty intimately.”

“In a sense I have, sure, but it’s not like I follow them into the bathroom.”

Annie laughed. “Damn. I was hoping there would be some steamy shower scenes in the documentary.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“I forgive you.” The thirst for gossip twinkled in her eyes as she added, “Have you seen any of them naked though?”

“I think half of America has seen them naked.”

“Come on Melody,” she whined. “Throw a girl a bone. I’m an out-of-work disgraced schoolteacher who needs a dash of excitement. It would really cheer me up.”

I caved under her pitiful expression. “Fine.” Lowering my voice, I glanced around the restaurant to make sure nobody could hear us and used Annie as my confessional for the guilt that had been eating away at my conscience. “Sean, you know, the drummer?” She nodded. “Well, there is kind of an attraction between us.”

“Ohhhh! On a scale of one to ten, how strong is it?”

“Eight,” I said without hesitation.

“Has anything happened?”

“We fell asleep talking the other night and we almost kissed.”

“Why almost? I would climb him like a tree.”

“It’s complicated.”

Annie rolled her eyes as if she had heard that excuse a million times. “Please, take it from me: that kind of connection doesn’t come around often, which is why instead of fighting for my job, I fought to save my relationship instead.”

“I don’t like to get involved with my subjects.”

“Your subjects in the past weren’t Sean freaking Dallis.”

She had a point there, considering the last documentary I’d filmed had been on location in a remote jungle where the only available men wore loincloths.

The waitress dropped off our food along with hand wipes and Annie’s extra-large cocktail, a blue and red concoction.

“You looked like you swallowed the canary. Is there a component I’m missing?” Annie sipped her alcoholic monstrosity and winced. “Hoo-wee!”

“I’m engaged.”

“Oh.” Judgment radiated off of her like toxic fumes.

“Sean and I haven’t sleep together. For the most part, it’s been completely innocent.”

“It’s none of my business Melody.”

Her rigid demeanor caused a stirring of panic. She had to believe me. “I swear on my mother’s grave, Sean and I are just friends, nothing more.”

Annie served herself half the collard greens. “Okay.” She licked sauce off her fingers and then picked up her fork. “How’s your sister?”

The rest of dinner our conversation was filled with small talk, a swift departure from the fun and easy time we were previously having. Annie didn’t have to express what she thought of me, it was written on her face, and I didn’t blame her—not one bit.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” I FLIPPED
to the second of the hundred-page legal document that had been sent over to me that morning. “Eight grand in alimony? I thought she wanted to fucking find her inner peace and discard material possessions. Money grabbing…” I muttered the rest of the damning sentence under my breath.

Noah wandered in from the back of the bus in a cloud of steam. Wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, he grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and sat across from me.

“Look at this!” I turned the document toward him and angrily jabbed my finger at a line of text. “She wants my house on the lake, the house I bought way before she was a blip on my radar, the house she hates! God, what else is she going to take next? This bullshit has been going on for eight months already. I’m sick of it.”

“Some divorces can drag on for years.” At my raised brow, he changed his tune. “But I’m sure yours won’t.”

“I sure as fuck hope not. She is bat shit crazy if she thinks I have eight grand a month to pay her.”

“Did you get a prenup?”

My fingers pinched the bridge of my nose as a headache throbbed behind my eyes. “No, we were married three weeks after we met. It was a whirlwind romance and honestly, I didn’t think she was like this.”

“Materialistic? A cheater?”

“All of the above.”

“Divorce brings out the ugly in people.

“There wouldn’t be a divorce if she had kept her legs closed.” Noah palmed the bottle, clearly wanting to say something but afraid to overstep his boundaries. “What? You can say whatever you want to say.”

“I figured your eyes had been opened to the other side of the coin since you met Melody.”

“Speak in plain English.”

“Your ex-wife probably wasn’t planning on having sex with her yoga teacher. They probably tried to resist their attraction as much as you Melody and are.”

I regarded him coolly. “Are you justifying her actions? She brought another man into our bed while I was gone.”

“Not at all, but who knows what factors went into that decision? Maybe she was lonely and he filled a void, or maybe he brought something into her life she hadn’t known she needed. Would you call Melody a cheating whore if she decided to sleep with you?” Catching the tick in my jaw, he got his answer. “Exactly, you wouldn’t. There are million paths to choose in life, and your ex-wife chose one you didn’t see coming, but that doesn’t necessarily make her a bad person.”

“I’m sensing you’re trying to say I shouldn’t hold a grudge?”

“Bingo. It only hinders your trajectory going forward and keeps you stuck in the past.”

“Were you a monk before you were a musician? Is that where all this zen wisdom came from?”

Noah laughed. “Not even close. I was a steel worker.” As private as Matthew, he didn’t reveal the rest of the story and slid out of the booth. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I’m beat.”

“Night.”

Returning to the stack of papers, I called it quits after three seconds and stretched my arms above my head. With all my bandmates busy, I wandered to the rooftop pool at Melody’s hotel to find some peace.

The past few months had been a long, dragged-out war I didn’t see ending any time soon. Noah was right—I needed to free myself from the toxic emotions I felt toward my ex-wife—but that was easier said than done.

She had cheated, had stolen my dog, and was now demanding large sums of money as if she deserved it. I may have been on the road a lot, but as far as good husbands go, I took the entire fucking cake: never missed a birthday, sent flowers on each anniversary, and supported her dreams, which changed on a dime. One minute she wanted to open a cupcake shop for dogs, the next a pillow fort themed bar.

Dammit. I bent over backward for her and what did I get in return? A divorce.

Plopping down on the lounge chair, I kicked my feet up and stared at the inky black sky. Jazz music played softly from down below on the street. My lungs drank in the humid night air as I closed my eyes.

Melody’s situation was different. She was marrying Marco out of obligation and if she broke her vows to remain faithful to him, it would be considered a Hail Mary.

“Sean?”

My gaze landed on none other than the woman I was currently dreaming about. Melody wore a pensive expression, as if she was considering bolting.

“Hey. What are you doing up here?” I wondered.

“I could ask you the same.”

“The bus got too stifling and I needed some fresh air. You?”

She shuffled her feet. “Same.”

“Do you want to sit and stay a while? It would be nice to have the company.”

“I shouldn’t. I have tons of work to do.”

I held up the banana cream pie I’d snagged from the bakery on the corner after the concert. “I’ll share my dessert with you.”

“Why does everything that comes of your mouth sound dirty?”

“I’m a rock star. Rock stars have to scream sex and danger.”

With a grin, she said, “I haven’t seen the danger part.” Seeing the wicked gleam in my eye, Melody laughed. “Don’t get any ideas. It wasn’t a challenge.”

“It sounded like one.”

“Well it wasn’t.” She smoothed down her jeans and perched on the edge of the lounge chair. “You guys sounded brilliant tonight. I’ve never seen a band put their heart and soul into the music like you guys do. It’s no wonder the audience goes wild.”

“Did you have fun being part of the action?”

“I did, and the best part is I got a killer opening scene that practically makes the movie.”

Her enthusiasm was infectious. Sitting upright, I crossed my legs. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“It will be a while before you do.”

“How long?”

“Six months to a year. The footage has to be edited, sound corrected, color corrected, and so forth. There are tons of moving parts when it comes to making a movie.”

“What’s your favorite part of the process?”

Melody chewed her bottom lip, evoking R-rated images that flooded my mind. I chased them away, but not without a struggle, and focused on the conversation instead of the fantasies I wanted to act out with her.

“That first moment when I’m scribbling ideas in my notebook, planning out the shot list and crunching numbers for the always painfully small budget,” she said wistfully. “The beginning is my favorite part because after that you’re running off coffee and exhaustion, stressed to the max.”

“Sounds like how it is when we are in the recording studio.”

“Do you have any plans to lay a record down?”

While the creative freedom we got from signing with a small independent label had its perks—as did the fact our boss was one of our closest friends—we had to pour every last cent from this tour back into the band. “Luke said we had to build buzz before we dropped a couple grand on studio space.”

“Ah. Smart businessman.” Melody hitched her thumb over her shoulder. “My laptop is waiting for me. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“You sure you don’t want to stay? The stars are brilliant tonight.”

A teasing smile hitched up her lips. “Are you also an astronomer?”

“My phone is. Come on, working or eating pie while staring at the stars?”

“When you put it that way…” Settling back onto the lounge chair, she pinned me with a look. “No funny business though. Promise.”

“Cross my heart, hope to die.”

“I mean it Sean. We’re friends, which means none of your body parts can touch any of mine.”

“Is that another one of your rules? Because if so, then you already broke one by wearing that tank top.” Her brows pulled together as she frowned. “You said long sleeves and pants are required if we hang out.”

“It’s almost a hundred degrees out. Just keep your eyes trained on my face and we should be fine.”

Melody underestimated her sex appeal. She could be wearing a paper bag or wrapped in duct tape and I would still want to fuck her.