Sold Out (The Back-Up Series Book 5) Page 3

  Not believing her claim, as my kids could do no wrong in either of our mothers’ eyes, I quirk up a suspicious brow.

  “What? They were. Just ask Barb,” my mom quips, mentioning her partner in crime to validate her point.

  Before I can argue that would be like asking Madden if they behaved, the door intercom buzzes.

  The chatter in the room again becomes deafening, forcing me to yell into the speaker. “Yes?”

  “It’s me,” Hunter’s voice filters through my end. “Buzz me up.”

  “Seriously, do you have a tracking device on my ass? We just got home.”

  “Your point?”

  With a sigh, I press the button to allow him entry before heading out to open the door to our apartment. All our friends have unlimited access with the building’s concierge, which at times has proved to be a mistake. I’ve lost track of how many unannounced visits we’ve endured over the years. Our only line of defense against a complete barge-in is the security access needed to get to the penthouse.

  “It’s about time you’re home, rock star,” Hunter quips as he exits the elevator into our private foyer.

  “We’ve been gone two days. You really need a life,” I say, busting his balls. “Maybe it’s time to knock Mandi up again so you understand one kid is nothing like having multiples.”

  He saunters toward me with a grin before clapping a firm hand on my shoulder. “I don’t need to overpopulate the earth to boost my ego.” It’s a miracle Hunter is a father at all, considering he never wanted to have kids. It just goes to show when you meet the right woman, everything changes. “I have a lot to tell you.”

  I follow him into the apartment and directly into the den. “Hey, everyone,” he says with a wave.

  “Uncle Hunter, guess what?” Shane is the first to monopolize him.

  “What, dude?”

  “The spring pageant is a talent show, and I’m going to play the song Dad wrote for Mom, ‘Reason I Am.’”

  “You are? That’s awesome.” I then allow Madden and Siarra to get in their announcements, watching amused as the blond, spiky-haired drummer, with his piercings and tats, scoots down to their level while nodding repeatedly during their babbling rants. Hunt’s come a long way in his interactions with little people. Now the dad to a newborn, the sun sets and rises with his wife, Mandi, and his daughter, Lexi. I never thought I would see the day, and I’m proud of my friend for the husband and father he is, surprising us all.

  During his powwow, my parents say their goodbyes. It takes a full twenty minutes before the kids become bored with our guest and take off to their rooms in pursuit of a new activity, with Beverly close behind. Thank God for our nanny.

  “Would you like a beer, Hunt?” Leila asks.

  “Yeah, thanks, Lei.”

  Once the three of us are sitting around the kitchen island without munchkins running amok, I ask, “So what do you have to tell us that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

  Hunter smirks but ignores my dig. In all fairness, Hunt is great at what he does. Besides being our kick-ass drummer, he plays the role of manager, partnering with our agent, Jen, in handling all the behind-the-scenes crap I want no part of. All I want to do is write and play my music with my wife… and my pain-in-the-ass friends.

  “Well?” I prod, watching him leisurely sip his beer without a care in the world.

  “We’ve been invited to play a benefit concert this June on the Jersey Shore.”

  My mouth gapes before I force myself to ask, “That is what you absolutely needed to tell us? We’ve played dozens of charity concerts over the years. Big deal.” Was he serious?

  “Ignore him, Hunt. That’s great,” Leila eagerly interjects. If my wife could only perform for charitable organizations for the rest of her life, she’d be very happy doing so.

  “It’s fucking great. You know why?” He folds his arms dramatically, and all I can think is that this better be good. “One word. M.A.N.A.”

  It’s now my wife’s turn to gawk at Hunter in shock. “M.A.N.A.? As in Bruce’s foundation?” Hunter nods at Leila with a smug smile. “We were invited by whom?” she asks so softly we barely hear her.

  “He himself called Jen yesterday. I heard about the concert a few weeks ago and urged Jen to reach out and throw our name in the hat. His people liked what they heard. We will be playing a three-song set, and we’ve also been invited to attend the after-party.” Hunter’s gaze shifts to me as he goes on to list all the rock bands that fill the lineup. “Still wondering why I couldn’t wait to tell you?”

  “Okay, fine. You were right to barge over,” I concede, knowing he just fulfilled my wife’s mission in life, to finally meet her obsession. More importantly, this concert will open a door for us that we have yet to walk through. M.A.N.A. stands for Musicians and Artists Nourishing America, a group of classic-rock stars, led by my wife’s idol, who have banded together to help with the poverty crisis in our country.

  We may have achieved megastardom over the years, but we’re still considered a new band by most in the industry. There’s nothing wrong with that, except when trying to crack our way into the hearts of the Baby Boomers and Gen X music fans that are hung up on the classics and rarely venture into the new generation of rock stars. And it’s those fans we desperately want to win over.

  When I glance at my wife, she looks like she’s going to be sick. “Lei, what’s wrong?”

  She splays one hand over her belly and reaches for my hand with the other, squeezing it in a death grip. “Jack, I don’t think I can do this.” My chuckle causes her to glare at me. “It’s not funny.”

  Responding for me, Hunter says, “You can do this, Leila. We can do this, and we will.” Hunter and I give each other a knowing glance. He knows it’s her nerves talking. “The event will be nationally televised live on all networks. It’s the perfect way to introduce our new material before next year’s tour,” Hunter announces, always in manager mode. “Being invited will have that demographic finally hearing us, witnessing that we can stand toe-to-toe with all the vintage rockers.”

  This event has nothing to do with gaining more fame and all to do with being accepted into that exclusive rock star club that newer-generation bands such as Devil’s Lair rarely infiltrate. To a fairly new band such as ours, being invited to perform with classic-rock gods who still dominate the music scene is like being asked to sit at the cool kids’ table in high school.

  Yes, this will have my wife’s dream come true, but as a band this will bridge the divide between current rock and classic, showing the world the megastars that came before us accept us into their elite circle.

  “Good job, Hunt,” I admit with a smirk.

  Predictably, he nods in his typical arrogant way. “Yeah… I know.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Jack’s eyes focus on me as I quietly shut the door to our room. “What took you so long?”

  “Just making sure I have all their activities covered. We have a busy week ahead,” I lie. Yes, that was one of the things I did, but I purposely neglect to mention the other tasks that kept me busy for almost an hour.

  The way his eyebrows pinch together means I’m about to get lectured. Before he has a chance, I scoot into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

  I know my husband well, and I know he doesn’t get it. A mother’s work is never done. And as awesome as Jack is at helping with the kids, there is always something that needs to be done.

  Once baths were over, stories were read, and lights had been put out, Jack went to take a shower and I took advantage of the quiet by selecting outfits for the morning, reorganizing a shelf in the kids’ playroom, and listening to voice messages from the weekend.

  It was while I reviewed our upcoming schedule that I lost track of time. My poor assistant, Haven, has been working so hard keeping track of everything going on in my personal and professional life that I intend to give her six weeks off after the baby comes. I don’t plan on working much during that time, and she deserve
s a break.

  Until then, however, my mind will be spinning with all I have on my plate. Besides rehearsals, the new album needs to be recorded. We also need to begin interviewing for another nanny to watch the twins and Shane because our current nanny, Beverly, will switch over to the baby. The benefit concert Hunter booked us for will require resuming rehearsals shortly after the baby is born or we won’t be ready.

  Déjà vu reminds me how busy our lives were the last time I was pregnant. The only difference was that pregnancy was a surprise and this one wasn’t. Yet the dynamics of being successful rock stars while trying to raise a family have my mind spinning. The list of all that needs to happen before the baby comes, and before our tour kicks off next year, has my brain hurting.

  Exhaustion hits when I finally crawl into bed beside Jack. The TV is on a news network, which he mutes the moment my body snuggles against his.

  “Shane’s lunch is made?” I ask with a yawn. It’s only ten, but it feels much later.

  “Yep… and his backpack is cleaned out and ready for tomorrow.”

  His response causes an instant smile to spread over my face. He’s my rock star. “Thank you. You’re the best husband,” I mutter with another yawn. Jack looks down at my face and shakes his head. “What?”

  “You know what, lady. You overdid it today… yet again.” He covers my belly with his hand and begins to rub large circles. “Leila, I want you to slow down.”

  “Yes, dear,” I quip, rolling away from him onto my side before asking, “Can you rub my shoulders?”

  “You’re exhausted,” he scolds as he begins to massage the knots on my neck. “You can’t be superwoman all the time, Lei.”

  “I know. I’ll slow down,” I concede, mainly because he’s not wrong. Really, my life won’t allow me to slow down, but considering the high-blood-pressure scare I had when I was pregnant with the twins, I can’t argue with him.

  In my typical obsessive way, I crammed in as much quality time with the kids as possible after we returned from our romantic weekend. Keeping up with the three of them is more tiresome than playing a concert, even with all the rehearsals and studio time required. But when we’re recording a new album, as we are now, weekdays mean early mornings and late nights at the studio. Therefore, when the weekends come, I insist on family time with just the five of us as often as we can.

  Having a nanny for all the days we aren’t around forces me to overcompensate when we are. During the summer months, we’re able to head to our beach house, take day trips, and even enjoy the city and all it has to offer. Winter days are more challenging for keeping them occupied, and because the boys have different interests than Siarra, I’m often helping to host tea parties or playing with baby dolls while Jack builds monstrous Lego cities.

  There aren’t enough hours in the day or days in the week, and with each blink it seems like time is flying by at rocket speed. Still, I wouldn’t give up any of the chaos we’re inundated with in our lives. We’re blessed.

  Besides my husband, my kids, my friends, and family, the one thing that motivates me to be a good person is gratitude. For whatever reason, the universe has gifted me with this incredible life, and being thankful every moment of every day keeps me grounded with appreciation. My husband, on the other hand, keeps me grounded with his constant reminders to slow down.

  His silence means he’s brooding. “Mmm,” I hum my appreciation as Jack’s firm touch expertly kneads the tension from my shoulders. “Honey, don’t stop.”

  “Feels good?”

  “Very. Almost better than sex.” On my statement, his hands halt. “Oh, relax. I said almost.” With a firm tap on his wrist, I then command, “Resume.”

  “One day, I’ll combine the two and massage your shoulders as I’m fucking you from behind… you know, so you can compare apples to apples.” At the mention of his idea, every part of my body thrums to life. Jack leans over me to kiss the side of my neck. In the process, I can feel the part of his body, the one that’s always willing, come to life as well.

  “How about we test that theory now?” My massage is again forgotten when a simple lift of my ass connects with his groin. I tilt my head, bringing us face-to-face, our eyes tethered in instant lust. “I want you.”

  “Do you now?” That look Jack gets just before he’s about to devour me causes my heart to flip, my libido to pulse—until a sharp pain travels through me, forcing a wince as my hand flies to my stomach. “Ow.”

  Jack flies off me in a flash. “What was that?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine.” I’m not sure if it’s my pathetic acting job, but the expression on his face alters into something else… something like fear. I’ve seen that look a few times before. In the weeks after the Danny tried to kill me, I’d often catch Jack staring off into space, knowing the ordeal had run him through the wringer. Another time that Jack failed to hide his anxiety was after I landed in the hospital from complications because of my pesky high blood pressure.

  As strong as he is, as confident and self-assured as my husband strives to be, there’s one thing that can bring him to his knees—the thought of anything happening to the kids or me.

  This man I married loves us with every fiber of his being. Unapologetically, he puts his family first over our careers, over our obligations. If he thinks something is wrong, he allows his negative thoughts to run our lives. Many arguments have resulted in his impulsive decision-making. He can be as stubborn as I am, but having said that, my track record with overdoing it gives him the upper hand in winning these arguments.

  As we’re staring at each other, I know my husband is trying to find a way to have me home resting this week instead of working on our album.

  The moment I see his lips part, I blurt out, “Jack, I’m fine.” I flip onto my back, palming his cheek before gently kissing his lips. Past experience has my tone soft and cautious, because becoming defiant backfires more times than not. “I think it was just the position I was in.” His eyes focus on my belly as he molds his hands over it. “Or it could be Braxton Hicks. Whatever it was, it’s gone now.”

  He stubbornly shakes his head. “We’ll call Dr. Rand in the morning.”

  “Stop. Okay? I can’t live in a bubble from fear the same thing will happen this time as it did with the twins.”

  “I don’t trust you to…” My hand covers his mouth before he can finish his sentence.

  “I said stop. My appointment is next week. If I keep feeling it, I’ll call Dr. Rand. I promise.” The way the muscles in his jaw clench means he’s about to unleash on me. “I love you,” I add as an olive branch.

  All anguish fades away at my words. “Leila, I love you so goddamn much, it hurts.”

  “I know.” I nod before pressing my lips to his. Lost in the silver flecks of his eyes, lost in the way he possessively hovers over my body, I feel weightless, cherished. How can I ever be annoyed at his unreasonable behavior when it stems from his intense love for me?

  CHAPTER 5

  “Crap, we’re late,” Tara says before slipping out of bed. The taste of her is still on my tongue, the evidence of her orgasm on my pierced cock. My eyes track her like a lion watching his prey. Despite her harried state, she strolls into the bathroom with a satisfied smirk on her gorgeous face.

  There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t wonder how I got here. Being one of the hottest rock stars on the planet doesn’t surprise me. All those years ago, I knew playing dive bars in LA was temporary, because my talent is undeniable. And being in New York, living an ideal life, with more money than I’d ever be able to spend, doesn’t surprise me either.

  Nope, none of that shocks me, as it was all a matter of time before I became Trey Taylor, rock god extraordinaire.

  But being happily married, well, that shocks the shit out of me.

  Love, commitment, and marriage were the very last things I ever considered. Besides my wife, there was one other… Taylor Rappaport. We grew up together, and I believed our bond was impenetrable
.

  I may have been born Trestan Barton, but who I am now is exactly who I’m meant to be. Cursed with asshole parents who abused me through their religious beliefs, my father is no doubt rotting in hell for what he did to Taylor, to Tara, and to me.

  His actions had me living in my own hell when, without warning, he took Taylor when we were just eighteen. At his hand, she died because he hated me so much, and that was enough to set my ass on a path of solitude for the rest of my life.

  I was only a kid. What the hell did I know from love? That tragedy changed me forever. It gave birth to this new and improved version of me—Trey Taylor, the loner with a heart of stone.

  After losing Taylor, I wanted no part of a serious, monogamous relationship. Sure, I’d dated, in the Trey Taylor kind of way… a few weeks, maybe a month or two, then off to another before they got attached. I thought I was hot shit when it came to keeping my walls up, arrogantly believing I controlled my own heart. Ha, what a fucking joke.

  I managed to avoid feelings for years… until I met Tara. There was a time when I felt meeting her was nothing but a curse. Yeah, yeah, I experienced that fucking electric zip that everyone claims happens when you just know. But who the fuck asked for it? Definitely not me, and I fought it with all I had, pushing her away, pretending I could live without her.

  Truth was, I couldn’t. When my past caught up with me, and for the second time in my life my father almost took away yet another woman I was stupid enough to fall for, a switch flipped on inside my heart and I haven’t been able to flip it off since.

  It’s true, opposites absolutely attract. Tara is a brilliant author who is also kind and warm and loves with her whole heart. And then there’s me, the bad-boy rock star who couldn’t keep it in his pants and couldn’t fathom the concept of happily ever after.

  But if there’s one thing I have learned in my ripe old age of thirty-two, fate doesn’t give a flying fuck if you’re carrying emotional baggage. Fate has balls. It laughs in your face, throws dart after dart at your heart, and walks away without any regret, leaving your emotions in a shambles. And the only thing you can do once fate sets its sights on you?