Rock Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #3) (24 page)

The limo pulls to a stop. The driver's door slams open and shut. A few moments later, he pulls open our door and slides something into the backseat.

A pizza box. That was fast.

Tom pulls it open and tears off a slice and offers it to me. "You really should eat. You need your strength before I exhaust you."

I take the steaming slice. It's topped with broccoli, red peppers, and artichoke hearts. He got the whole pizza the way I like it.

Tom nods goodbye to the driver and takes a bite of a slice. "That's not as bad as I was expecting."

"It's good."

He peels off a piece of broccoli, tosses it in his mouth, chews and swallows. "It's decent."

I dig into my slice. It's better than good. It's fucking amazing. Cheesy and chewy and bursting with the rich flavor of red peppers. I talk with my mouth full. "It's great."

Tom pulls a packet of hot sauce from the box and tosses it to me.

Yes, pizza and hot sauce. I used to love eating pizza with hot sauce. It's been a million years since I've enjoyed a meal this much. It’s been a million years since I've enjoyed anything as much as I enjoy being around him.

I tear open the hot sauce and douse my slice in spice. "Thank you. For the pizza. And—"

"Don't worry about thanking me for the orgasms, kid. More than happy to oblige."

My cheeks flush.

"And there's more where that came from." He nods to my slice. "As soon as you're done eating."

***

I
come four times in the limo. True to his word, Tom gets behind me, in front of me, under me, and on top of me. By the time we arrive at the airport, I'm completely out of energy. Thank goodness we don't have to go through security. Hanging out with a rock stars has its perks. The private jet is a new one.

It's amazing. Room for about ten people, big cushy seats, a widescreen TV with a massive collection of films. It's almost a shame that it's well past by bedtime.

The pilot, a slight man with a charming British accent, introduces himself with an apology for the delay, then gets into the cockpit. We're scheduled to depart in half an hour. Pete is yet to arrive but has sent word he's on his way.

I get cozy in a corner seat, ready to sleep until we land. But there's something about Tom's expression that won't allow me to relax. He's on edge. Worried. About his brother or about something else?

"You okay?" I ask.

"Yeah. Just... should have asked Pete where he was going. He wouldn't have told me, but... I was a little distracted."

"You really love him."

"He's my brother."

"That doesn't have to mean anything." I shift closer to Tom. "I don't love my parents. Not anymore."

His gaze goes to the window.

He must have been through a lot ending up in foster care. I want to know everything there is to know about Tom but I'm not sure either one of us is ready to go back to those dark places.

I change the subject to something easier to discuss. "How did we end up on a private jet?"

"It belongs to the label. We're probably their third or fourth most popular artist. We only get offered it when the VP is in a giving mood."

"Who gets it first?"

Tom shrugs. "Some pop star who sings about being a bad girl."

"All pop stars sing about being bad girls."

"Not Taylor Swift."

"You're a fan?"

He shakes his head. "Not my kind of music. You?"

"If fits a certain
men are shit, they need to stop doing me wrong
mood." The words echo in my head again.
Please don't break my heart.

"The VP and I have had some tense conversations. Don't think he likes anybody in the band except Pete, and that's only cause he wants in Pete's pants."

"Oh. He's gay?"

"Bisexual. In his case, it means he has twice the potential sexual harassment victims. Gives other bisexual people a bad name."

"Did you fight about that?"

Tom shakes his head. "Our manager."

"The asshole?"

His face lights up. "You remembered?"

"Of course."

"A few years back, he was involved in our day to day. Back then Miles partied pretty hard. Mostly slamming vodka shots and fucking a different girl every night. Seemed normal. We were all excited to be playing big enough shows to feel like rock stars."

"I can't imagine you as anything but a rock star."

Tom smirks. "I always had the ego and the drive. But I had those moments during our first tour when we were packed into a van, playing for two-dozen bored people, sleeping on the floor, eating fast food off the dollar menu. Moments where I asked myself if it was worth it."

"Was it?"

"Yeah. Didn't really have much to go home to. Just my mom. She would have told me to suck it up and get back to chasing my dreams. Not to be cruel but because she knew I'd never forgive myself if I quit."

"She sounds amazing."

"She is." His expression hardens. Back to someplace ugly.

I clear my throat. We can't go there yet. "So, you were partying like rock stars and..."

"It became pretty obvious that Miles had a problem. And it only got worse once the label rented us this mansion in Hollywood and Miles got caught up in the party scene. Aiden was always pulling Miles out of meetings for some BS reason or another. One day I caught them doing coke. Aiden's, of course. Miles was never really into being up but then he'd do anything to not be in his head."

"How come I've never read a tabloid story about Miles using? Or going to rehab?"

"You follow gossip?"

"There could be something about Drew. I'd be a bad sister not to follow it."

Tom laughs. "You won't believe me."

"Try me."

"A few almost popped up but I persuaded the journalists to change the conversation."

"To?"

"Those leaked nude pictures."

"You leaked them to keep your friend's addiction a secret?"

"And to fuel my massive ego. Turned out to be a great move."

"I never looked at them."

He raises a brow. "We have wifi on the plane."

"I'll keep that in mind."

He smiles. "After I dealt with the press, I asked Aiden, very nicely—"

"I don't buy that for a second."

"Threatening to break someone's legs when you want to kill them is nice."

I laugh.

"Asked him nicely to stop with the coke. When he didn't, I pulled strings—"

"Was that more fighting and threats of violence?"

"Mostly. Might have involved some blackmail too."

"Might have?"

"I owe it to the blackmailed to keep that a secret," he teases. "Nothing could get him fired. He's somebody's fuck up nephew. So I had a polite conversation with Aiden—"

"Polite conversation?"

"Very polite."

"Did you hit him?"

"Just once. I know you hate violence—"

"The asshole was enabling your friend. You were upset. It happens."

"You shouldn't cut me slack, kid. I like that you stick to your principles. Won't forgive myself if you sacrifice them for me." Tom looks into my eyes. "Told him he could keep the title and the money, but I would take over his job. And that if I saw him again his nose would be broken so bad he'd never snort shit again. Coward got lost right away. Only shows up when it's strictly necessary."

"That must be a lot of work."

Tom shrugs. "He never did it right anyway."

"Why don't you take credit for running the band?"

"What's it matter who takes credit? Miles would have done the same thing for me. Once he got clean and got his head out of his ass." Tom runs a hand through his hair. "I should have confronted him sooner. I let him go on using for ever."

"He's an adult. You didn't let him do anything."

"Knowing someone needs help and doing nothing is just as bad as being the asshole pushing drugs on him. I knew Miles was gonna die, sooner or later, if nobody stepped up."

"You really believe that?"

He looks at me like I have two heads. "Of course."

"Not many people think that way."

"It's nothing. Should have given him an ultimatum a lot sooner. Truth is, I didn't want to threaten him with expulsion from the band. Miles is the face of Sinful Serenade. We wouldn't be where we are if girls didn't go apeshit for his tortured voice and his pretty blue eyes."

"But you did give him an ultimatum."

"Eventually. He still hates me for it. But that's better than him dying in some hotel room by himself." Tom's expression hardens.

He has no idea how much he's willing to sacrifice for his friends.

"You are a good guy," I whisper in his ear.

"Just getting shit done."

He really believes that.

But I don't. "When Miles was using, who was the person who pushed him to get clean? Was it Drew or Pete or was it you?"

"They wanted it too."

"But were they willing to let Miles hate them for it?"

"We were all in agreement. When he was fucking shit up with Meg too. We all agreed we couldn't watch him destroy himself. It was nothing. Selfish even."

"Do you really believe that?"

Tom shrugs.

But he's not selfish. Selfish guys don't make sure you come three times for every one time they do. Selfish guys don't order pizza they don't like to make you happy.

And selfish guys don't risk their livelihoods to help a friend in need.

I try to think up some way to convince him but I'm interrupted by Pete's arrival. I cross my fingers that he'll be perfect evidence of how much Tom does for the band, for his friends.

No luck.

Pete's got a black eye and bruised knuckles.

The plane is silent. Pete and Tom stare at each other but say nothing.

We taxi, take off, and get all the way to cruising altitude before either of the Steele brothers breaks the silence.

"I'm going to sleep. Do whatever you want to do, just keep it on that side of the plane." Pete brandishes a pair of noise-canceling headphones.

"Three questions," Tom says.

"Fine."

"You kill anyone?"

"No." Pete untangles his headphones.

"Assault?"

"He threw the first punch. He won't press charges and nobody took a picture. Shit won't end up online. You can back off."

"I don't care about the gossip."

Pete shakes his head like he finds this implausible.

Tom looks his brother in the eyes. "Who was it?"

"Kyle."

Tom's brow screws in confusion. "Thought you guys were still tight."

"Things change."

Tom's voice softens. "What happened?"

"She's been fucking him."

"What?"

"For six months, give or take." Pete's expression goes cold. "He met to beg me for forgiveness."

Clarity fills Tom's eyes. "That's bullshit."

"Why is that bullshit?" I immediately regret the words. I shouldn't get involved. This is personal and I'm not part of the family.

Pete looks at me. "Anyone ever do you wrong?"

That's an understatement. I nod. "Yeah."

"Man or woman?" Pete asks.

"Man," I say.

"Did he ask you to forgive him?" Pete asks.

I nod.

"How did you feel? Like he was really sorry and hoped his apology would help you move on? Or like he was full of shit and wanted you to absolve his guilt?"

I've never thought about it that way, but no one has every apologized to me like they really wanted me to move on. It's always an attempt to absolve their guilt. "The latter."

"Did you forgive him?"

"No, but I told him I did."

"You shouldn't have. You should have let the guilt eat away at him until he couldn't fucking breathe." Pete directs his gaze to the window. "You earn forgiveness. You don't get engaged."

Concern creeps into Tom's expression. "You're fucking with me."

Pete's voice is flat and lifeless. "Nope."

"What could she possibly see in Kyle?" Tom asks. "You're richer, hotter, funnier, smarter—"

"They're in love." Pete's voice fills with disdain. "They couldn't help it."

"She cheated on you?" I ask.

He nods.

"I'm sorry," I say.

Pete expression is blank. "Should have ended it a while ago."

"She doesn't deserve you," Tom says.

But that's not what Pete needs.

I shift into the seat next to Tom and whisper into his ear. "Reminding him of that is only going to make it hurt worse."

Tom swallows hard. He brings his mouth to my ear. "Gotta do something."

"You should leave him alone," I say.

"You guys know I can see you, right?" Pete shakes his head. "If you're gonna whisper, whisper about the things you want to do to each other. I'm fine. Tom, you should worry about yourself for once."

"I don't worry," Tom says.

Pete rolls his eyes. "Hope you're taking this seriously. Cause Denton will fucking kill you if you're just playing around."

"I know."

"One hundred percent chance he leaves the band if you fuck this up," Pete says.

"I'm not a possession or a child. Why don't I get a say in this?" I fold my arms over my chest. I hate that I'm pouting, but I've had enough of being protected.

"You want a say, talk to your brother. How would you like him fucking your best friend and keeping it a secret from you?" Pete asks.

A fair counter-argument.

"Pete." Tom's voice wavers.

"It's fine."

"You were with her six years. How can it be fine?"

"I don't need your help, Sticks." Pete pulls his hoodie over his head and turns to face away from us.

It's about as final as it gets.

Tom gets out of his seat and goes back to pacing. He can't stand doing nothing. That much is obvious.

The feeling spreads to me. It sucks having your heart broken. It's worse when you can't admit it, to yourself or to someone else. I look around the small plane for something I can do to help. I find a set of pillows and blankets. It's not much but it's something.

I sit next to Pete and offer him one of each.

He nods a thank you. "Do me a favor and keep Tom busy. Even if it means fucking him. I've got a massive headache and his voice is driving me bonkers."