Heroin abuse, cocaine, two stints in rehab, arrest for the assault of a security guard.
My stomach plummeted. It wasn’t fair that he had this all over the internet, that a person could make a snap judgment based off these pictures.
And I refused to do that, but a part of me needed to know what my heart was getting into.
After another few minutes, I clicked out of my search and decided to get some fresh air.
I opened the sliding glass door and sat on one of my favorite chairs. Drew’s voice startled me out of my thoughtful silence.
Where was he?
I glanced from left to right and then stood and looked over the balcony. He was right beneath me.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know, I know, I need it, though. Nah, man, that should be good enough. Great, you always got my back. Appreciate that. The usual spot?” He barked out a laugh. “I’m not going to get caught, all right? Cool. Later.”
He hung up and exhaled with a giant grin.
While I felt my entire body go cold.
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” I muttered to myself as he made his way back in the house.
Quietly, I entered through the sliding glass door and moved back to the table. He rounded the corner a few minutes later, a mask of calm in place of the grin he’d just been wearing.
What was he hiding?
And what made me think I had any right to know?
He didn’t say anything, just pulled me into his arms and kissed me, then said, “I’m going to eat really quick, and then we can go, yeah?”
He kissed my nose.
Then he nuzzled my neck.
My heart had no problem thumping wildly against my ribs. My pulse pounded in my head as if to remind me that was why I had a right to know, that was why I was worried, because if he took the last of those beats without taking special care…
He would only leave devastation in his wake.
“Sounds good,” I found myself saying as he gripped my ass with both hands and held me close.
I exhaled a worried breath and clung to him, all the while trying not to get sucked farther into his vortex.
But that was what made Drew famous, what made people idolize him; at the end of the day, even with all his sins laid out on the table — every fault, every mistake — you still wanted him to want you.
And I was stupid to think I was any different.
Stupid to think that I wasn’t already halfway in love with him and had been for some time.
“I’m not letting you go,” he whispered into my hair. “I hope you know that.”
“If you’re going to keep me…” I clung to him. “…just make sure you remember that I may as well be a box labeled Fragile.”
“That’s okay since my box is labeled Broken.”
I sucked in a sharp breath and said, “I’m good at fixing things.”
He stiffened. “I wouldn’t want your fragile heart anywhere near my sharp edges, Bronte.”
That was what I was afraid of.
CHAPTER 17
Andrew
“You’re literally bouncing up and down on your feet,” I joked, while Bronte listened to the last track we’d just laid in the studio. We were all spread out in different states of disarray.
Most of us had weird traditions when we recorded.
I wore the same red bracelet on my left hand that served as a reminder never to touch drugs again; it was right next to the tattoo on my forearm that had the date of my overdose. I stared it down often and reminded myself that I was here for a reason, and that reason was not to get high and ruin my life a second time.
Will typically wore his black glasses that made him look more sexy-professor nerd than rockstar.
Trevor had a shirt that stated I’m with the band that was at least a decade old; it was his go-to.
And Ty usually recorded shirtless because… Ty.
And even though Zane wasn’t recording with us, he was producing the track and was playing with a few of the background vocals, overlaying my voice with Will’s, only to take Will’s out. Now if only he’d put on a damn shirt.
“I have an idea.” He pressed pause.
“That’s dangerous,” I muttered, earning a glare from Zane, who looked past me to Bronte.
So yeah, it was rare to bring a wife or a date into our sanctum, but I didn’t want to leave her side. Ergo, she was invited into the fold, and other than a few sideways glances, the guys had no reaction.
“I think you should sing the second verse,” Zane said. “Your voice has…” He hesitated and looked away. “Let’s just say you do a better job sounding as if you’re still so raw with pain and heartache. It’s more believable than Will— No offense, man…” He waved over at Will. “…but you sound way too damn happy.”
Will grinned. “I would say sorry, but…”
“So, what will it be, Eeyore?” Zane leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Extra points if you make someone in here cry.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m going to destroy you bitches.”
“That’s the spirit.” Trevor chuckled.
“You fools are gonna have mascara streaking down your cheeks.”
Zane scoffed. “Lie. Mine’s waterproof.”
“Damn it, the ONE TIME I use regular,” Ty bemoaned.
“I’ve never been so disappointed in you.” I shook my head, then got up and entered the booth amidst Bronte’s huge grin and the guys’ continuous talk of makeup.
We all used to have horrible skin — thus the Will Thermos picture — from all the makeup and sweating on stage. At least now, we could joke about it since our manager no longer made us wear friggin’ eyeliner “to make your eyes pop” and lip tint so the girls could “see your mouths from the cheap seats.”
Don’t even get me started on the piles of foundation and powder that had graced our faces; it was the stuff of nightmares for a teen.
I put on the
