Authors: Emily Snow
Glaring at him, I step backward into my tiny little foyer and motion him inside. “I didn’t even think to ask him. Trust me, you being there is going to mean so much to Sin.” I jerk my head back once more for Lucas to come in, but just like he almost always does when he stops by my place, he shakes his head and chooses to wait at the door. Weirdo. “Suit yourself. Give me a couple of minutes to grab my things.”
“I’m giving you one. One fucking minute and them I’m going by myself,” he calls out after me as I round the corner to go into my tiny, cardboard box of a den. I flip him the bird over my shoulder, which I sincerely doubt he sees or cares about.
It only takes me thirty seconds to gather my belongings—an oversized bag that was a birthday gift from my parents last October and a mustache hoodie—from the spot where I left them on the loveseat. Lucas is scowling when I meet him in my foyer, but I face him with a wide grin on my face. Smiling is the only thing I can do not to kick him in the shin. “Your pessimism is a little gag-worthy today.” I check the time on my phone, ignoring his groan. “We should probably go.” I’m excited to see Sinjin, and despite his grumpy ass attitude and I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude, I know there’s a part of Lucas that’s just as anxious.
Lucas drove his Jeep. After he helps me in, muttering the entire time how he needs to get an Escalade like the rental I chauffeured him around Nashville in, I punch the address to the rehab facility Sin’s been staying at into the GPS. My brother is quiet as we take off, and of course I’m the one to break the awkward silence. “Are you sure the song is ready?”
“Yeah, it is.” It’s not often that Lucas sounds nervous, but I don’t miss how his voice shakes a little when he says this. I nod slowly in understanding.
“Any idea when you’re going to release it.”
“It’ll be the first single sometime in July. Music video. The works.”
Since it’s April, that’s a pretty impressive timeline, but of course everyone at his record company will jump to make it work for Lucas. I’ve seen firsthand how they treat him, and I’ve got to admit it’s a tad overwhelming at times because all it does is make his head bigger. My phone vibrates between my knees, and I lift it up to find a new Facebook alert.
From Sienna Jensen.
Biting the inside of my lip, I consider telling my brother that I’ve been in contact with her for the last two weeks, but then I think better of it. Not today when there’s another broken relationship that Lucas needs to fix. I’ll save talking about Sienna for another day because I’m sure he’ll want to know every detail.
I stare down at my phone and quickly scan over her message:
So I think I’m going to vomit, I put in the notice to my boss. Looks like I’m moving back to Nashville in a couple weeks!
“Good for you,” I mouth.
To her I write: T
hen I can crash at your place the next time I’m there and make you cook for me?
She answers just as Lucas pulls his Jeep into the parking lot of the rehab facility, which is this giant, luxurious place with manicured grounds that I read some actress once called the Hilton for addicts.
I’m a terrible cook, Kylie. But I can order you cheesecake. Or, I don’t know, take you to fondue.
After the disaster of a dinner she and I had back in February that Lucas crashed, she knows how much I loathe fondue, so I’m holding back a smile when my brother comes around to my side of the Jeep to help me down. “You look like you’re going to cry or laugh. Or vomit,” Lucas points out as he locks up the car. “You’re not pregnant are you?” The tone he’s using is one I’d expect from my father, and I don’t have to read between each word to know what his reaction would be to a Kylie/Wyatt baby.
“If I vomit, I’ll make sure to get your feet.” When he turns to face me, I give him a hard look. “And no, I’m not knocked up.”
“Come on,” he growls, splaying his hand out on the center of my back to urge me toward the entrance to the rehab center.
After we go through security, which in my opinion is more stringent than TSA at the LAX, we’re led to a waiting room while Sinjin is being checked out. Lucas sits across from me with his forearms on his knees, wringing his fingers together. My phone buzzes again, this time from inside of my pocket, and I drag my gaze away from my brother to look at my messages.
Sienna Jensen:
Uh oh, you’re quiet. I’m guessing you don’t like Cheesecake Factory either? What the heck do you even eat?
I’m a few letters into letting her know that I don’t know anybody who doesn’t like cheesecake, when I hear a familiar voice drawl my name. “Kylie-Fucking Wolfe.” My gaze pops up to Sin who’s leaned against the door of the waiting room, scratching his head, tousling his light brown hair in the process. His lips pull up into a smirk. “What the fuck did you do to your hair?”
Instinctively, I lift my hand to my shock of red and blond hair, even as I jump to my feet and throw myself into Sin’s arms. He’s visibly gained weight since I last saw him, but it’s the most obvious when he hugs me tightly, knocking the wind out of my lungs. “I dyed it just for you,” I say when he loosens his grip.
Grasping me by the shoulders, he leans back to stare down at me, his gray eyes full of emotions that I haven’t seen from him in a long time. He drops his gaze to the tips of my hair and twists a few strands between his fingertips. “Then dye that shit back,” he teases. “I already miss the blue.”
I’m not even aware that Lucas has gotten up to stand beside me until Sin directs his stare over my shoulder. The look that he gives my brother rips at my chest. It’s apologetic and sincere—and I hope like hell that it’s these emotions that will keep him the hell out of places like this. “You let her go out like this, mother fucker?”
Lucas’s laugh starts out forced, but by the time I glance back at him to offer him a pleading look, it’s genuine. “I can’t tell Kylie shit.”
I turn back to Sinjin. “I’ve got to use the bathroom, but it’ll only take a minute, okay?”
He nods, and as I head toward the restroom on the other side of the waiting room, I hear Sinjin speak to my brother in a hushed voice. “I’ve got to know if she left you because of me. Because of the shit I said.”
I’m all the way to the restroom door by the time Lucas responds, but I hear it loud and clear. “Not because of you. Because of me. But I’m going to get her back.”
And for the second time today, I find myself whispering, "Good for you."
Lucas Wolfe
For the next couple of weeks, things are touch and go as the band readjusts to having Sinjin back around. He bitches and moans about leaving rehab just to go back to work—rehearsing is unavoidable since we our tour launches in a little over four months—but I haven’t seen him this relaxed and happy in years. I don’t realize what’s going on with him until one night during rehearsal at the studio. He gets a call in the middle of one of our songs. Though he quickly silences his phone and mutters an apology, the moment that Cal strums the final note of “Tumble’s Down”, Sinjin is on his way out. I catch the first part of his conversation as he leaves:
“God, where’ve you been? I’ve been thinking—” The door to the soundproof room thuds shut, cancelling out whatever the hell it is Sinjin is saying.
Cal sets his guitar to the side and sits backwards on one of the uncomfortable rolling chairs our label places around these rooms. The look on his face matches the one I’m sure is on my own—worry. “You don’t think he’s trying to get fucked up do you?”
Wyatt’s digging around in the mini-fridge, but when his head comes up, he’s shaking it from side to side. Cal and I both look over at him, waiting impatiently for clarification. At last Wyatt shrugs. “He made a friend in rehab.”
“A friend?” I ask. Wyatt hurls a bottle of water at me, but I reach up and catch it. His aim is just as shitty as Kylie’s. Staring at him darkly, I unscrew the top from the water. I lean my shoulder against the wall. “I’m assuming a female friend.”
Wyatt nods and takes a swig of the Bud Light he found in the fridge. He makes a face at it, turning the bottle to the side to check the date. “That’s what I heard. Fuck, that’s all I know. Ky’ll be able to tell you her whole life story if you ask.”
Kylie. No shit she’ll be able to tell me about Sinjin’s mystery woman. Cal groans before I have a chance. “Goddamn, Kylie knows everything. She’s been all over my ass for months about Heidi, but I can’t—”
The door cracks open, and all three of us look like we’ve been caught in the act as Sinjin comes back into the studio. Wyatt downs the rest of his beer and Cal gets up from that lousy ass chair as Sin walks a little more aggressively than normal to his drums.
“Everything okay?” I demand, and he shrugs.
“Been a lot better and so much worse, so it’s good.” He sits down behind his drums and shoots an edgy look around the room at the rest of us. “Just wanted to throw this out there, I’d like to get this done so I can go on home for the night.” He drags the drumsticks out of his back pocket and stretches his arms, managing a forced smile. “Shit to do.”
I’m worried about Sinjin long after our rehearsal is finished. I feel like a nag for texting him later that night and like a fucking pussy for getting anxious when he doesn’t respond. As soon as Kylie comes into work the next day, I turn her back around to take her to lunch. She’s suspicious, and rightly so because as soon as we’re seated at the restaurant of her choice—the Cheesecake Factory of all places—I start up on the questions.
“So what do you know about her? And don’t give me that confidentiality bullshit because you know how important this is.”
Her dark brown eyes widen, and she runs her fingers nervously through her short hair. She drinks almost half a glass of water before responding. “Look, I’d planned on telling you everything once Sin got settled in and you all got over that hump. Sorry for being secretive, but trust me we haven’t been talking as long as you think. It feels like it took me forever to get back into her life, so I’ve been taking it slowly—”
“Kylie,” I say, but she continues.
“She doesn’t talk about you. She doesn’t mention you, but I know it’s just a matter of time before she does. And when she does, I think you have a good chance. I know she loves you.”
I plunk my elbows down on the table, and Kylie jumps. This restaurant is jam-packed, and I don’t want someone else witnessing this conversation, so I lean forward. “I’m assuming this isn’t about what’s going on with Sin.”
This time, instead of going wide-eyed, her face furrows into a deep frown. I watch her carefully as she breathes in and out of her nose before finally cocking her head to one side. “Ah, shit.” She mimics my position, placing her elbows on the table and bringing her head closer to mine. “Well, I can tell you about that, too.”
“Nah, I think we should finish what you started first. You’ve been talking to Sienna.” There’s no anger in my voice, no pain or hurt, but something else. Eagerness. I dial that emotion back before I add, “How long?”
“Nearly a month now,” she says in a tiny voice.
Okay, that one stings, but I force my head into an awkward ass nod. “Thanks for letting me know.”
Kylie releases a breath, blowing a strand of that fire-engine red and blond catastrophe out of her face. “It’s not even like that Lucas. You were working on the song, and then Sinjin got out. When I contacted her, I didn’t even know if she’d get back to me.”
The waitress comes over to ask me if I want another beer and after I wave her off and Kylie orders a bloody Mary, I ask, “How’d you do it?”
My sister smiles sheepishly, and I groan as I wait for it. “I sent her this big ass check for all the hours she worked for you and threatened bodily harm if she refused it. She called to thank me, the rest is awkward history in the love story of Kylie and Sienna.”
The love story of Kylie and Sienna. I stare at her for a long time, trying to figure out if she’s serious or fucking with me, but then she sits straight on her side of the booth. “And yes, I’m telling the truth. She’s back in Nashville, just in case you were wondering.”
This catches me off guard more than learning that Kylie’s been in frequent touch with a woman who consumes most of my thoughts. My eyebrows drag together. “Why?” She loved Los Angeles. Loved working in wardrobe, even if it was on the set of a show I can’t stomach watching for longer than the opening credits. “Does she have plans on what she’ll do there?”
My sister looks at me like I’m a dumbass. She waits until after the waitress places her bloody Mary in front of her and she’s taken a healthy drink of it before responding. “Wardrobe. Same thing she done here. She’ll be amazing—I’m sure of it.” It sounds like Kylie’s trying to convince me, but I have no doubt. Sienna will be amazing at anything she does, but I’d sure as hell prefer that she was doing it with me in her life.
We talk about Sienna for another few minutes before Kylie steers the conversation to something new—an idea she has for the tour late this summer. We talk about the tour for the rest of lunch, but right before we leave, she places her hand on mine.
“And the answer to your original question about Sinjin—it’s complicated. She’s a lot younger.”
A cold chill runs through me, and I ease back down in the booth. “How much younger?” I ask in a voice so soft that I’m not sure it’s my own. “Tell me he’s not doing something fucking stupid.”
Kylie is shaking her head wildly before she even speaks. “No! God Lucas, I’m loyal to Sinjin, but even that has limits. She’s 20.”
That’s not too bad. I’ve seen worse. In this industry, some of the age gaps have left me scratching my head and wondering what the fuck. “Then how the hell is it complicated?”
“She’s his therapist’s daughter.”
Kylie Wolfe
The rest of the day working for Lucas passes by at an agonizingly slow pace. When it’s finally over, and I’m ready to go back to my apartment for the night, I run downstairs and poke my head in his music room. He’s deep in concentration, with his guitar sitting on his lap and holding a guitar pick and a pen in the same hand. I feel bad for disturbing him when he’s in the zone like this, but since I won’t be around tomorrow or the next day on official band business, I feel the need to remind him.