Dirty Past (3 page)

Wordlessly, she steps back, and I let my hand fall. She nods once, quickly, and yanks on the door handle. She disappears inside the room in a split second, leaving me standing in the middle of the hall, staring at the closed white door.

Wondering why the fuck her annoyed gaze was riddled with fear.

T
he Charleston Stadium is in darkness except for the stage. Silence fills the stands, but the first few rows and stage are, again, a different story. Final practices are always fucking crazy, because there’s always something that needs changing before tomorrow’s sound check.

Like can I
not
eye up the tall girl with bottle-blond hair with the clipboard?

The girl has tits that defy gravity and a top that doesn’t. No, I can’t stop looking at her.

“Tate. Seriously,” Carla, our manager Marc’s assistant, snaps. “Can you focus?”

“Can you get this chick out of here?” I nod toward Tits. “Until then, no, I fuckin’ can’t.”

Carla presses her fingertips to her forehead and turns toward Tits. “Jodie, go backstage to wardrobe and ask them for a damn turtleneck.”

Jodie. Huh. She doesn’t look like a Jodie. Maybe an On My Knees Waiting for Tate, but not a Jodie.

And if that shit isn’t a real name, it should be. For a lot of girls.

Carla looks at me once Jodie’s left and narrows her eyes. “Now can you concentrate?”

I stare at her, not saying a word. Seriously, she should know better by now. It doesn’t take much to distract me—and if a girl has a rack like that, she’s gonna distract the hell out of me.

“Can you think with your fingers and not your penis?”

I smirk. “I can think with them and I can act with them, Carla.”

“Get your head in the game, dickhead, and maybe she’ll let you get your head somewhere else after practice,” Aidan calls to me.

“No one will be getting heads anywhere after this!” Carla shrieks.

“Can we be professional? For five minutes?” Conner groans.

“Sure we can, baby bro. On Saturday, where there are a fuck ton of girls out there begging for my head.” I half-grin.

“Enough!” Carla’s voice rings out through the stadium. She looks at all of us, but her eyes linger on me for a second longer. “Y’all have to perform in twenty-four hours. Tate, if you need a break, I’ll send someone for a
Playboy
, all right? And you,” she turns on Aidan, “stop encouraging him with promises that won’t happen. Jodie is staff. Do you hear that? Staff.” She glares. “Tate?”

“Jodie is staff and off-limits to my cock,” I respond dutifully, setting my guitar on my lap.

“Thank you.” Carla steps back and sits down. “Can we start with ‘Broken Heart’?”

“Yep,” Aidan says before I can argue. Fuck. This isn’t my favorite song.

He knocks his sticks against the side of his drum and counts us in. My fingers move to the strings of my guitar almost automatically. “Broken Heart” is one of our first songs, and no doubt the one that made girls all over the country fall for Conner’s drawl. It’s more country than rock, more emotion than music, one he wrote after Sofie disappeared.

Now, he hates it as much as I do. I hate it because I don’t understand it, and he hates it because it reminds him of the past.

He sings, his voice taking on the same low and husky tone it always does when we play this song, and my eyes half shut. My fingers, my body, they don’t understand my dislike. They understand the vibrations of the music. They understand the humming of the strings, wave after wave of melody.

Each note is a transportation to another place, where only us and the music reside. It’s always been the same, even when there’s thousands of girls screaming at us. As soon as the notes hit, it’s us, at home, in the garage, dreaming of something bigger.

The echo of the stadium doesn’t exist. The endless fucking resonance of the music doesn’t exist.

It’s us, a bunch of young guys with an unattainable dream. Not us, America’s favorite band.

It’s a bunch of fighting brothers, snapping at each other, all battling for the same thing. Now that we’re here, it doesn’t make a difference. We fight like fuck because we care. Because this damn dream isn’t a dream. It’s real, and none of us want to let it go. None of us will let it go.

Because the dream isn’t all lights and freedom and relaxation. It isn’t all fun and fucking laughs like we thought it would be. It’s hard work, it’s long hours, and it’s worth it.

“I got a broken heart because of you, shattered and smashed, it won’t go back,”
Conner sings.
“You broke it good, baby, ripped it apart. But it still beats, boom boom, yeah it still beats, boom boom . . .”

His last word is long and drawn out, fitting with the echoing vibrations of the guitar strings. As we do after every song, we look up at Carla for her approval. It’s an instinctive movement now, because we might have a PA to keep our asses in line, but Carla is the chick that whips them into shape.

And fuck, I shouldn’t have thought about our PA, because now all I can think of is Ella’s long legs disappearing beneath her dress.

“Tate. Are you listening?”

“Agree with every word, Carla.” I snap my eyes to her.

“You didn’t hear a thing I said, did ya?”

I shake my head slowly. “Not a damn thing.”

She shuts her eyes briefly and jerks her head to the side toward the door. “Lunch is here. Y’all take an hour. . . . Tate, maybe you should take two or I’ma kill you.”

“Carla.” I set my guitar down and clasp my hands to my chest. “I’m hurt, baby. You’d kill me?”

She smirks. “Keep your puppy-dog eyes for Saturday night, Tate Burke. You ain’t charming me. I’m here to make sure y’all don’t mess shit up and that you don’t cause any more media frenzies.” She waves and turns. “If y’all need me for some dumb reason, you have my number.”

With that, she slips past Sofie and Ella in the doorway and disappears.

“Are y’all being pains again?” Sofie sighs, Mila on her hip.

“Us?” Kye snorts. “Just Tate.”

“Tay!” Mila shrieks, pointing a chubby finger at me. “You bad!”

“Me?” I gasp. “No!”

“Lieeeee!” She wriggles, and Sofie puts her down. Mila toddles to the stage and peeks over the edge, again pointing at me. “You lieeeeee! Lieeeeee!”

When she finishes with a giggle, I glance at Conner. “Her new favorite word?”

He nods, his lips twitching. “Watch her, brother. She’s got you pegged.”

“Great.” I rub my hand down my face and walk to her, crouching in front of her. “Okay, I’m bad. Slap my hand?” I hold it out for her, but she shakes her head.

“Tar. My play tar.” She grins.

“Mimi,” I fake-whine.

She giggles again at my nickname for her, then stops, pouting, and gives me puppy-dog eyes. “Peez, Tay. Peez.”

She blinks several times in quick succession, and I stare at her. Fucking damn her cute little ass. I sigh heavily. “Okay. Come on.” I lift her onto the stage and she stomps over to my guitar, laughing wildly. I can’t help my own chuckle—the kid has the charm of I don’t know what. And somehow, she always gets her own damn way.

“Dum dum dum!” She attacks the strings harshly, and my eyes widen.

“No, Mimi!” I sit, grab her onto my lap, and trap her with my arms. “Gently, remember?”

“Ohhhh,” she coos. “Genty. Kay.”

I lift the guitar onto our legs. “Ready?”

“Duuuuum, duuuuum, duuuuum,” she hums slowly, pinging each string softly. “Duuuuuuuuum!”

“Great job!” I clap my hands in front of us.

“Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum!” she gasps, giggling when she catches her breath again. “Good, Tay. Ree good.”

“Real good,” I echo, grabbing my guitar. “Lunch now? Mama has stars.”

Mila gasps and looks toward Sofie. “Mama, sars?” she yells, not caring that Sofie’s deep in conversation. She jumps off of me.

Sofie snaps her head round. “Uh, yes. After a sandwich.”

“No, now. Tay said!” She stomps her little foot.

“I didn’t!” I defend, putting my guitar down. “I just said you had them.”

Sofie looks at me flatly. “You know, Tate, this newfound friendship is about to be shoved in a very uncomfortable part of your body.”

“Sorry, Sof.” I jump off the stage and lift Mila down with an exaggerated swing. “I don’t get things shoved in me. Shoving something somewhere else, however . . .”

Ella wrinkles her face and looks at Kye. “Are you all always so crude?”

“Nope.” He swigs from a bottle of water. “Just him.”

“How do you cope?” she directs that at Sofie.

“I drink a lot of wine.” Sofie bites into her sandwich and looks at her seriously. “Don’t worry. I have a stash of it for situations like this. Ajax is an awesome babysitter. Right, Ajax?” She yells that over her shoulder.

“Babysitter . . . bodyguard . . . does it matter?” he responds from the door.

“Not where Sofie is concerned,” I snigger.

A bread crust promptly hits me in the face.

“Bite me,” she snaps.

“Be nice, princess,” Conner says. “He’s in a good mood today. We don’t want to anger him.”

I click my tongue. “Fancy your ass kicked, little brother?”

“Ass! Ass!”

“Mila!” Sofie gasps. “Tate! I don’t know who to yell at!”

“Tate,” Ella responds, hugging her knees to her chest on her seat. “He said it first.”

“You just took the top spot on my shit list,” I tell her, trying not to focus on the way her shirt pulls her tits together. Because, fuck me, that cleavage is begging for my face to be buried in it.

“Good. That means you’re less likely to try and seduce me.”

“Hey, Mila, let’s go get a juice,” Sofie says wisely, scooping her up. “Conner,” she adds in a firm tone, then glances at the twins.

“Not movin’,” they say together.

The side door to the stage shuts, and Ella swallows. Her apprehension is evident, and I don’t blame her. I can feel this tension between us, the one I felt last night, and it’s going motherfucking batshit banana crazy.

Leaning forward, I lick my lips. “Not necessarily,” I tell her. “Because if there’s anything you need to know about me, darlin’, it’s that I don’t try to do anything. I do it straightaway. So if I was tryin’ to seduce you, you’d be fuckin’ seduced.”

“Should I be honored?” she replies in a small but strong voice.

“That I haven’t seduced you?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe. For all I know, you’re the kind of girl who needs to be pinned against a wall and kissed before you realize you’re seduced to fuck.”

She pauses, or rather, she freezes, her eyes flashing with a hint of that fear I saw last night. “Good luck trying to find out,” she retorts, standing and smoothing her shirt out. Her eyes linger on the floor, then rise to mine. “I can guarantee you won’t, Mr. Burke, so kindly stop assuming you will, because you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

Ella

His eyes blaze at my words. And I know that, inadvertently, I just challenged him. I also know guys like Tate Burke will take a challenge and follow it through. It’s their fire, and I just handed him the fuel to ignite it.

“That right, darlin’?” he speaks slowly, each word drawn out into a stomach-fluttering drawl.

“Our relationship is strictly professional,” I remind him, looping my thumbs through the belt loops on my shorts. “I’d prefer it to stay that way.”

“We’re gonna be buttin’ heads somethin’ crazy, then.” His eyes are still fully on me, and I swear they’re holding me captive. The power of his stare sends a hard shiver down my spine.

“The only things we’ll be butting is schedules.” I grab my water bottle and sandwich packet. I need to do something with my hands because they’re trembling, and it’s obvious. At least to me. “Good-bye, Mr. Burke.”

I take a step forward and he stands, towering over me by several inches. I draw in a sharp breath and keep my eyes down, even though I flinch as my sandwich packet crumbles against me. My muscles are taut, reacting instantly to the shadow settling over me, waiting for a hit.

“Did you get your card before we left? And phone?”

My head moves jerkily in something that vaguely resembles a nod.

“Do they work okay?”

Again, I nod. This time it’s a little more controlled.

“Good.”

He doesn’t move.

Neither do I.

I’m still staring at our feet. The toes of his deep blue Chucks are inches away from mine, and I flex my toes in my sandals. My body is screaming and flitting between fight or flight, but my feet are fully in the “flight” camp.

He still doesn’t move. Why won’t he move?

I can’t until he does. My body isn’t trained to run, no matter how it wants to.

Matthew never let me run. And the one time I was stupid enough to, I “accidentally kicked the solid wood table leg to get to the burning stove and broke two toes.” Which, of course, means I was shoved into it and in my fight to regain my footing, slammed into the thick table leg.

I squeeze my eyes shut tightly at the memory, a shudder racking my body. Fear inches its way from my gut to my heart and clenches it tightly, and at the loud opening of a door, I jolt backward.

“Ella?” Tate’s voice is quieter this time.

My breathing is short and harsh, and it aches. Each inhale burns my lungs, and I swallow. “I have some things to do. Excuse me.”

He steps to the side and I walk around him, trying my hardest not to run. Because I want to. I want to give in to the panic buzzing through my veins and run, run, run.

“Ella?” Sofie’s soft, caring voice makes me pause. “Are you all right?”

I nod, looking up to meet her eyes. “I have a bit of a headache. I’m going to find some Tylenol, then do that thing we talked about earlier.”

Her brow furrows and she frowns at me.

“You know, the . . . the thing.” I glance at Mila.

“Oh! Yeah.
That
thing.” Her forehead smoothes out again, and she smiles. “Oh! Of course. Why don’t you go back to the hotel and take a nap? You might feel better.”

I glance at Conner. “Is—is that okay?”

“Sure,” he replies slowly, his eyes uncomfortably intense. “We’re pretty laid-back. If you’re sick, go sleep it off.”

“Thank you.” I avert my eyes and dart through the door. But not quick enough, because I hear Sofie hiss, “Tate! What the hell did you do to her?” and him reply, “Nothin’!”

I dump my half-eaten sandwich into one of the trash cans outside the arena and lean against the outside wall. The fresh air swirls around me, filling my lungs with a welcome reprieve from the stuffiness inside.

Jesus. I have nothing to be afraid of. Except my own fears and my memories. Those I fear, even if he can’t touch me anymore.

It’s still too real and raw to consider for a second that no one else will either, not the way Matt did.

Note to self: work on the scared little girl routine. She isn’t the girl inside. She’s the girl the outside has been molded into. She’s the perfect, smiling, charming trophy-wife-to-be.

Inside, she’s different. I’m different. Maybe I don’t know exactly who I am yet, but I know I’m not afraid.

Fear is a habit.

And I will break it.

A
soft knock at the door jolts me from my mindless staring at the TV set mounted on the wall of my suite. After the showdown with Tate—which I’ve definitely made more frightening in my mind since—I’ve felt nothing but fear pumping through my body. Every voice outside my door was Matthew coming to find me, and every knock at the door was him
finding
me. So for all my bravado, the past has crept in.

I’ve been sitting curled in a ball, watching reruns of sitcoms and game shows, attempting to remind myself that the voices outside the door were Dirty B. and Co., and the knock on the door was just room service with my nachos.

“Ella? Are you there?” Sofie calls, knocking again.

I swallow, swing my feet down from the sofa, and cross the room quickly. I pause, my hand hovering just above the handle. Dammit, I wish there was a peephole.

Opening the door, I offer a small smile. “Hi. Sorry. I was just getting dressed.”

Sofie glances at my yoga pants–clad legs. “Into yoga pants?”

“Err . . . I was half out of them. It was easier to put them back on.” I shrug sheepishly and step to the side. “Is everything okay?”

Sofie nods, smiles, and drops onto the sofa. “I was just coming to tell you we’re leaving in thirty minutes.”

“Oh, all right. I’ll just get ready.”

“Um, are you okay? I know you were sick yesterday, and I didn’t want to bother you then, but, well, my mama instincts are coming out here, and I’m kind of worried because I didn’t hear from you.” Her smile turns hesitant.

“Oh—oh, yes, I’m fine, thank you.” I tuck some hair behind my ear and look down. “I took it easy when I came back here.” Note to self: whenever a “thing” needs doing and you fake sickness, text Sofie.

“Oh, good! If your headache comes back today, let me know and you can take ten.” She smiles. “I’ll let you get ready.”

“Thanks.” I turn back to my room.

“Shorts! Shorts,” she calls after me. “And tie your hair up. They’re crazy on these days, and all the runnin’ around makes you hot.”

“Got it.” Now to find the clothes I was supposedly just getting changed into.

Thankfully my suitcase is open, because I’m too lazy to keep zipping and unzipping it—and I’m reveling in the newfound freedom of everything not having to be completely perfect like before.

And, yes, that is yesterday’s shirt peeking out from beneath the desk. It’s invigorating.

I flip the top of the suitcase and push my things around inside until I find some denim cutoffs. Grabbing a loose, light pink shirt and underwear, I straighten and change quickly. I keep Sofie’s words in mind as I brush my hair and tie it in a scruffy bun.

“Hey, are you good?” Sofie peeks her head around my bedroom door.

“Oh, yeah.” I look across the room at her with my mascara wand in my hand. “What’s up?”

“I . . . um.” She walks through and perches on the edge of my bed. “Look, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, because Tate is a giant asshat, okay?”

“Uh, okay?”

“I got your ‘that thing we spoke about’ cue yesterday, and I’ve noticed that whenever you’re around him you get kind of . . . skittish.” She frowns. “That might not be the right word, but whatever. Anyway,” she meets my eyes, “and after he’s pulled his ‘me macho man’ crap, you’re the same around the rest of the guys. If Tate is makin’ you uncomfortable in any way, tell me, and I’ll talk to him.”

“Oh.” My cheeks flush. “It’s okay.”

“Ella, seriously. Y’all have to work together and be comfortable around each other, and you definitely shouldn’t be uncomfortable enough that you have to leave.”

“It’s not Tate.” I replace my mascara into my makeup bag. “I just . . . I’m not a guy kind of girl.”

“Oh!” Sofie claps her hands over her mouth. “Well, I just put my foot in my mouth, didn’t I? I’m so sorry! Wait—no, I’m sorry, I’m an ass, not that . . . you know.”

My eyes widen as the implications of my words settle in. “Crap! I don’t mean—oh hell.” I cover my face with my hands. “Well, this is awkward. I’m not into girls. Like, I don’t mean it like that.” My eyes are seriously doing some kind of shifty dance right now. “I mean I’m not looking for a relationship. With a guy. Right now. I like guys. Oh God. I should probably stop talking right now.”

Sofie laughs loudly. “Oh shit, now I really am sorry!” She gets up, still giggling. “Okay. I got it. But if Tate does make you uncomfortable, you’ll tell me, right?”

I want to join her in her laughter, because since the second I met Tate Burke’s eyes, I’ve been uncomfortable. “He’s okay. He just has a distinct lack of understanding about personal space.”

We share a smile at that.

“That’s because no one generally complains when Tate encroaches on their personal space. He’s invited in most times.” She holds open my room door and passes me the key card. “Here. I need to go back to my room to get Conner and Mila. Could you just knock on Aidan’s and Kye’s doors and tell them we’re ready to go? They’re the next two rooms. Tate’s at the end, but I’ll get his lazy ass.”

“Oh. Sure.” I ignore the flutter of uncertainty. “Just knock and tell them it’s time to go?”

“Yep. They need a ten-minute warning because they’re a bunch of girls.” She smiles and opens her room door.

“Who you callin’ a bunch of girls?” Conner appears in my line of sight, Mila clinging to his back like a sea snail.

“Your brothers,” Sofie replies without missing a beat. “Ella’s about to get Kye and Ads, then I’ll get Tate in a minute. Can you take Mila down and strap her in to the car?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Conner winks at me and drops Mila on the sofa.

“Idiot.” Sofie rolls her eyes, then turns to me with a wide, reassuring smile. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in five minutes.”

“Sure.” I smile, but it’s weak. Lame. Pathetic.

Sweet hell, she only wants me to knock on doors and tell them it’s time to go. Not rub myself against them like a cat. I don’t even have to have a conversation, right? Just, “Hi, we’re going in ten. Bye!”

Simple, right?

Yeah. Simple. I just . . . ugh.
This is so dumb.
I should not fear knocking on a door, for the love of all nachos and wine!

The door to Sofie’s room closes and I lean against the wall. With my purse by my feet, I drop my head back and close my eyes as an overwhelming sense of apprehension floods me.

Was I really this weak with Matthew?

Am I really so afraid and run-down that knocking on a door is fear-inducing?

Dammit all to hell.

I slap my hands against my cheeks hard. “Pull yourself together, Ella!” I whisper.

“Talkin’ to yourself is the first sign of insanity,” a voice behind me says.

I turn and look at Kye. Or is it Aidan? Dammit, they look so alike. I drop my eyes to his left arm. A pocket-watch tattoo peeks out from beneath the sleeve of his tight-fitting shirt. Kye.

“Then I’m probably already halfway there.” My lips twitch.

“Did you just work out who I am by my tattoo?” He points to his inner bicep.

My cheeks heat. “Um. Yes.”

Kye’s lips form a wide grin, and his eyes glimmer with amusement. “Smart. It’s kinda awkward when a girl can’t tell you apart from your twin.”

My face gets even warmer at his insinuation. “I didn’t want to be rude and ask, but I guess that was kind of rude anyway.”

“It was cute.” He winks. “For the record, I’m the better lookin’ one.”

“I plead the Fifth.” I offer a soft smile. “Sofie said to tell you we’re leaving in ten minutes. Which is more like five now,” I add apologetically. “I just need to get Aidan.”

“Got it. Meet in the lobby?”

“Yes.” I nod unnecessarily and, actually, kinda awkwardly, then pass him. I approach Aidan’s door and knock lightly three times after Kye has disappeared. If one person seeing me make an idiot of myself is one person too many, then two people is definitely overkill.

“Ella.” Aidan pulls the door open and—
sweet baby Jesus where is his shirt?

My eyes widen. “Oh. Aidan. Hi. Um.” And now my eyes are flitting over his chest and stomach. Still wide.

Awesome.

“Are you okay, Ella?”

“Yes! I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to be, um, shirtless.” I cough and meet his eyes. “Sofie said to be in the lobby in five minutes.”

“Sure.” He smiles charmingly. “And you’re livin’ with a bunch of guys for the next couple months. You should probably get used to the no-shirt thing.”

“Got it.” I smile awkwardly and turn, hugging my purse to myself.

“Put a fuckin’ shirt on, Casanova.” Tate’s gravelly, annoyed voice follows me down the hallway. “Ain’t nobody around here that wants to see you naked.”

Aidan laughs. “You feelin’ threatened, bro?”

I pause by the elevator and glance over my shoulder.

“By what? Your weak ass? Fuck off.” Tate looks up and catches my eye. “What d’ya reckon, Els? Is this prick hotter than me?”