“No. Sarah. I want to know what the hell is going on and if
I should slap a chastity belt on Bret.” Scot had come back from
the scuba trip and regaled the two of them with how the slutty
bridesmaids were all over Bret. Steph and Cheyenne had both
become friendly with Bret’s wife Sarah during Fury’s American
tour, and they exchanged a concerned look. Bret and Sarah had
two kids and had always seemed like they were the couple that
were doing everything right. It was rather heartbreaking to see
them splitting.
“I don’t know, Steph. Maybe you should stay out of it.”
Cheyenne replied.
Steph cocked an eyebrow at her as she waited for an an-
swer. “Are you fucking for real?”
In seconds it was obvious that she’d gone to voicemail.
“Sarah, its Steph. What the fuck? Call me.”
Steph’s tense behavior gave Cheyenne a feeling of forebod-
ing, so when they approached Nathan, she didn’t blink as Steph
went after him like a rabid Rottweiler.
“Relax, Steph. I told your lover boy you were out gallivant-
ing around the jungle like Tarzan. I made sure to tell him Phillip wasn’t with you, so he had nothing to worry his pretty new nose
about.” Nathan exhaled smoke through his nostrils and handed
the cigarette back to Saffron, who chuckled.
“Sometimes I want to backhand you.” Steph folded her
arms and peered intently down the road.
“Sometimes he likes that.” Saffron retorted, without missing
a beat.
“You’re not helping,” Cheyenne snapped at Saffron, who
said nothing. The ride to the club was fairly silent until Steph’s phone rang as they were clambering out of the Land Rover trying to not to flash anyone in their mini-dresses.
“Sarah?” Steph answered, and Cheyenne and Nathan shot
each other surprised glances. With an apprehensive glance at her companions, Steph wandered away from them toward the stun-106
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ning beach. Nathan and Saffron made for the bar, but Cheyenne
anxiously awaited Steph’s return, hanging out by the entrance.
When Steph returned, her eyes looked misty.
“What did she say?” Cheyenne caught herself biting her
nails again and forced her hands to her sides. Steph just shook
her head.
“Let’s get a pitcher.”
By the time they’d downed the first pitcher and were work-
ing on the second, Steph had filled Cheyenne in on the details of the call. Sarah had broken down sobbing on the phone and said
she just couldn’t take the lifestyle anymore. The band constantly acting like children, the late night phone calls that he wouldn’t be coming home, the constant innuendo from friends and family
that Bret screwed around on the road. The continuous insults in
the tabloids about her for being “poorly dressed” or “dumpy
looking.” Stalkers trying to take her kids at the park or attempting to pick them up from school and cameras continuously snap-
ping in their faces. Sarah had seemed devastated when Steph had
argued how much Bret loved her and how much his missed her.
Steph sniffed when she told Cheyenne Sarah had sobbed so bad-
ly she could hardly understand her.
“She said ‘I’ll never love a man like I love Bret. But I can’t
live like this. It’s not good for me. It’s not good for the kids to have their mom be a constant nervous wreck.’” Steph emptied
another glass of beer and filled it from the pitcher. Cheyenne
shuddered like someone had walked on her grave.
“Jesus.” Cheyenne’s empathy for Sarah turned to self-
doubt. She wondered if she’d be in the same predicament five
years down the line. It was a depressing train of thought. She
turned to Saffron and asked for a cigarette. Ten minutes later,
Nathan and Saffron went out onto the dance floor to greet
Cedric, David, and Yara, Cheyenne turned to Steph. “Are you
going to tell me about Phillip and the beach?”
Steph sighed and launched into the details. Cheyenne lis-
107
TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE
tened raptly to Steph’s buzzed and colorful interpretation of
events.
“So that’s the story. And I haven’t called Christopher since.
Any brilliant words of wisdom?” Steph blinked at Cheyenne ex-
pectantly. Cheyenne groaned, but only on the inside. She’d
watched Steph’s mood grow steadily darker all day. Phillip was
playing games with her, and Steph was totally disintegrating into angry punchiness. None of this was surprising—just disappoint-ing. It was Steph’s M.O.—using anger and humor as a defense
mechanism when things got too real or something touched her
too deeply. Cheyenne had spent a great deal of the past couple of years in therapy, so she’d picked up a bit of knowledge along the way. Steph shined at compartmentalization and transference.
Dating Christopher had been great for her. She’d been really lev-el and actually had a serene glow about her. Now, less than sev-
enty-two hours of contact with Phillip had her spiraling the
drain.
Steph took one look at Cheyenne’s facial expression and sat
back. “I’m sorry, Chey. You need my lame-ass problems like
you need a hole in the head. Let’s just get drunk.”
Cheyenne glanced up at her husband who was having a
laugh with Cedric. She shoved her issues aside and downed her
drink.
“Stephanie…you need to call Christopher. Now. And you
need to tell Phillip the truth.”
Phillip turned off his beard trimmer and turned his head
from side to side, appraising the fruits of his labor. Today’s scuba diving excursion had been productive in more ways than one.
He’d finally popped his “diving cherry”—so to speak—and tak-
en the introductory course, aptly named “the baptismo.” In the
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absence of Cedric—who begged off due to his bum leg—the
bridesmaids seemed to have set their sights on him and/or Bret.
Better late than never, he thought. His dalliance with Steph
the day before had yielded…troubling side effects. It had taken
every ounce of willpower he had to walk away from her. He’d
forgotten how good she tasted, like salty caramel or butterscotch.
The way she responded to him had always been atomic. Being
that close to her again had been intoxicating—and excruciating.
However, none of that changed the fact that she’d discarded him
like rubbish and humiliated him by promptly hooking up with
Clive Richards. Richards! That twat was the one person in the
United Kingdom whose grave he’d would cheerfully piss on.
He and Clive had started as friends with a normal rivalry.
The barbs they tossed back and forth were all in good fun. They
continued to trade insults for a year when they
