Suddenly in Love (Lake Haven#1) (23 page)

“Up until the dress incident.” He smiled, then leaned across her and pushed her door open. “Good luck with the rock star.”

Mia slid out of his truck and shut the door. She watched him drive off. Jesse had been so kind to her. That, she thought morosely, might have been the dumbest thing she’d ever done. She wished, with everything she had, that she had managed to summon the feelings she had for Brennan for Jesse instead.
The heart wants what it wants.
Well, her heart was apparently an idiot.

Mia sighed when his taillights disappeared onto Juneberry Road, and she looked down at her dress. “For God’s sake, who
does
that in the middle of a wedding reception?” With a shake of her head, she went inside, annoyed with herself.

Twenty-two

Sitting on the floor of her apartment in her butchered dress, Mia made the mistake of Googling Everett Alden. She saw Brennan’s face looking back at her in hundreds of photos. The list of entries about him was endless—he’d won Grammys, he’d been interviewed by various magazines and news shows, all of which she read or watched with keen interest. She found a list of Tuesday’s End albums and listened to the music. His voice, husky and deep, made her shiver with familiarity. He had such a soulful quality to his voice.

She clicked on a song with a familiar title and felt another wave of disbelief wash over. “Dream Maker.” She hadn’t remembered the title, but she knew the song so well—it had been the only song on the radio a few years ago. God in heaven, that was
him
.

In addition to the music he’d made, he talked a lot about causes that were important to him. Music education. Child poverty. He appeared to be the greatest, kindest rock star on the planet.

But how could the greatest and kindest rock star keep the truth from someone he supposedly cared about? Mia had been so certain he cared about her, that they were developing a thing. And yet, as she perused the images of him taken over the years—with this model, with that singer, and holy hell,
Jenna O’Neil
, who had to be the most famous actress in the world right now—she wondered if Brennan
did
care for her. How could he be with women like that, then be with her? She really was the fling he’d had while he lay low. The joke was definitely on her—she’d felt so connected to him.

Mia eventually made herself shut down her laptop. She couldn’t see all those pictures without everything in her grinding to a halt as she tried to sort out her feelings. She was hurt. She was confused. She was an idiot, so oblivious to fame and pop culture. However, there was a part of Mia that wasn’t all that surprised. She’d been reminding herself all along that it never worked out with summer people, hadn’t she? They all came and went. She’d known from the beginning it was a matter of time.

Her foolishness was in believing she’d be okay. She’d never expected it to hurt so badly.

When Brennan’s call came in on Sunday, Mia let the call roll to her voice mail.

She spent the afternoon working on the dress she’d ruined, hemming it, smoothing out the décolletage, and adding some elements of the fuchsia satin on the outside of the dress. She regretted having butchered the dress at the wedding, but she loved the final outcome. She’d hung it on a clothes rack she’d bought at a bargain store. It hung next to four other pieces she’d made herself.

After that, Mia went to the spin class Drago had been urging her to try. She hadn’t exercised in ages, and had to dig through a box to find sneakers. Unfortunately, the spin class didn’t solve any problems for her, and, in fact, created new ones. Her legs were burning, and it felt as if her lungs had disintegrated.

And then night fell, and there was nothing to distract her, and sleep wouldn’t come. She tossed and turned most of the night, unable to answer any questions and feeling brokenhearted and used. She was miserable. Tortured, bruised, and miserable.

The next morning, Mia got on her bike and went to work as usual, dreading it with the force of a thousand burning suns. The fun she’d had flirting with two men now made her life doubly miserable.

As she neared the Ross house, she saw two cars parked outside the gates. Drago was parked just inside the gate in his Jeep, and for the first time since she’d started working here, the gates were closed.

Mia got off her bike and wheeled it up to the gates, waving at Drago. He got out of his Jeep to open the gate for her. “Hi, Mia.”

“What’s going on?” she said as she wheeled her bike through, looking over her shoulder at the cars.

“Somebody famous lives here,” he said gravely. “Mrs. Yates told me not to let them in.”

Mia rode up to the house. She made her way through the attack dogs and into the kitchen. Nancy was there, dressed in yoga clothes with a mat slung over her shoulder. “Mia, darling, good morning!” she trilled.

“Good morning, Mrs. Yates.” Mia put down her bag.

“Did you have any trouble getting in? I hope you weren’t bothered by those people outside the gates. They scared the daylights out of me last night, banging on the door.” She glanced nervously at Mia. “They’re press, you know.”

“I gathered,” Mia said.

Nancy played with an earring as she studied Mia. “He didn’t tell you?”

Mia shook her head.

“Oh my
God
,” Nancy groaned. “I honestly don’t understand that man. I don’t. I know he was afraid of something like this happening,” she said, gesturing in the direction of the front gates. “But I thought he’d surely tell
you
.”

“Me too,” Mia muttered.

“Oh dear,” Nancy said, smiling sympathetically. “Don’t let it get to you. He means well, but, well, he’s a man,” she said dramatically, as if his gender should somehow excuse him. “By the way, he should be back sometime today.”

Mia didn’t know what she was supposed to say to any of that. Don’t let it get to her? Hooray, he was coming back? “I should get to work.”

“Sure, sure,” Nancy said nervously. “I sincerely hope this doesn’t impede progress on the renovations.” She dug in her purse for her keys. “Well, I’m off.” She moved toward the hallway door, but paused next to Mia and put her hand on her arm. She didn’t say anything, but smiled sympathetically and gave Mia a little pat before walking on with the dogs trotting along behind her all the way to the front door.

What was there to do but work?

Jesse’s crew was already busy, cutting beams for the ceiling and a door in the wall. Jesse was helping one of his men mark something on the floor with a tape measure. Mia wanted to disappear, but Jesse looked up, saw her there, and lifted his chin in acknowledgment before turning his back to her.

This had all the markings of being the worst day of Mia’s life thus far.

She spent most of it on pins and needles. Every sound was Brennan coming through the door. Every voice was his. Deliveries of materials arrived, and Mia sorted through the invoices, waiting.

But he didn’t come back.

Maybe he knew about the press and photographers camped outside the gates, waiting for him. She’d read an old news story about his run-in with a Japanese photographer in Tokyo. He didn’t like the press.

Maybe he’d left and had never intended to come back. Maybe he’d just said that so he wouldn’t have to face her. Maybe Mr. Rock Star and Music Education Advocate was a big, fat coward. As the day wore on, Mia began to regret her decision not to respond to his texts or his calls. That might have been her only chance to tell him . . .

To tell him what? What did she say to this betrayal?

At the end of the day, she got on her bike and rolled past the cars parked outside. One of the drivers called out to her, “Is Everett Alden in there?”

She kept peddling.

Safe in her apartment once more, she opened a bottle of wine, picked up her sketchbook, and went out to the little patio below her balcony. The evening was cool; a slight breeze ruffled her hair. Mia opened her sketchbook and tried to capture the shadows on the lake, but it was pointless. She couldn’t concentrate. She couldn’t think of anything but Brennan. She put her sketchbook down and propped her head on her fist, staring wistfully at the lake.

“Mia.”

His voice startled her so badly that Mia whirled around and stood in one movement, knocking her wine onto her sketchbook in the process. It was Brennan; finally, it was him, and he looked every inch the rock star. He had on a sleeveless leather jacket over a T-shirt, tight red pants. His hair was tucked into a knit cap, and his aviator sunglasses dangled from his fingers.

Mia pressed one palm against her abdomen. She was both sick and hopeful, and as he tentatively moved toward her, she felt paralyzed with grief for what might have been and regret for having allowed herself the fantasy. He moved forward, as if he intended to take her in his arms, but Mia stopped him by putting up her hand. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t come near me.”

He winced painfully. “I’m sorry if I surprised you. But I need to talk to you and I’ve gotten nothing but radio silence.”

“That’s because I wasn’t going to have this conversation over the phone,” she said coolly. “This is one that needs to happen in person.”

“I agree.” He put one hand on his waist and looked out at the lake a moment. “So now you know,” he said. “Are you familiar with Tuesday’s End?”

“Of course. The whole world knows who you are.” The magnitude of that statement shook Mia. The whole world knew him, but he hadn’t had the decency to tell her. She suddenly lurched forward and shoved hard against his chest, knocking him back a step. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She shoved again, and he held his ground, but lifted his arms in surrender. “Did you think it was funny to make a fool out of me?”

“I didn’t make a fool of you.”

“Oh,
right
,” she said angrily. “Lying to me, letting me think you were a hobbyist, not telling me that you really
are
a rock star—”

“I know, but we—”

“
We
is not the right word!
You
did it, Brennan.
You
lied.”

“Will you let me talk?” he asked calmly.

“No! Who is Brennan? Why does your mother call you Brennan?”

“I’m Brennan,” he said. “It’s my real name. Brennan Everett Alden Yates.”

She couldn’t quite grasp it. The name was so long. “No it’s not,” she scoffed.

“It is. Yates is the name of the man who adopted me,” he reminded her. “Alden is my biological father’s name, the name I was given when I was born. When I got started in the business there was already a guy named Yates playing with a band we’d compete with for gigs. So one night, Chance and I came up with Everett Alden. It seemed different and sexy to us then. I don’t know, Mia, I was a teenager, I took a stage name and went with it. But Brennan Yates is my true name. It’s who I am.”

“Who you are is a liar,” she snapped.

Brennan shoved his hands in his pocket. “Mia—I’m sorry. I am so desperately sorry. I made a huge fucking mistake. But will you at least talk about it? Or do you only want to yell at me?”

“I want to yell at you. Actually, I’d like to punch you in the mouth.” She swiped up the wine bottle and her sketchbook, and marched for the stairs to the studio without looking back.

Of course the bastard followed her, crowding in behind her on the landing, then reaching around her, his chest to her back, to open the door when she fumbled with it.

Mia was shaking as she deposited the wine in her kitchen. She didn’t know what she was doing—was she going to let him in here to tell her more bullshit? Was she going to
believe
him? She flicked her gaze over him. He stood on the other side of the bar, his head down, his hands braced against it, watching her closely, his expression earnest.

“I Googled you, you know.” She cringed a little at how accusatory she sounded.

“Okay.” He waited as if he expected more. He didn’t seem surprised.

“I know everything about you. I even know your net worth.”

“You’ll have to tell me, because I don’t know.”

“You know what I couldn’t find out? Why you didn’t tell me. Why you let me go on thinking you were someone you’re not.”

“I know it must seem that way, but here’s the ironic thing—the person you know is the person I am. The rest of that is for stage. You’ve seen more of me than most anyone.”

“Bullshit,” she scoffed.

“It’s true. And what else is true is that this isn’t so easy to explain.”

“What’s so hard, Brennan? All you had to say is, I’m a huge fucking rock star, Mia. See how easy that is?”

“I don’t expect you to understand—”

“Good. Because I won’t.”

He shook his head and pushed away from the island. He slid his hand over the top of his head, thinking. “I don’t know how to tell you everything. I came here because I desperately needed anonymity. When I first met you, I thought you were a groupie—”

“A
what
?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time a groupie had managed to get onto one of my properties. I didn’t know you, and I didn’t care what you thought of me. But then . . . then I realized you really had no clue who I was. It was so freeing, Mia,” he said, tapping his fist to his chest. “I was just a guy to you. A guy you didn’t like too much, either. You didn’t look at me like I could do something for you. You didn’t hang on every word I said and wonder how you could parlay it into fame and fortune.”

Mia made a sound of disbelief. “Did you also like the fact that I wasn’t a model or movie star?” she asked skeptically.

“Yeah, actually, I did.”

“So when were you going to tell me, Brennan? When were you going to let me in on your big secret?”

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “I should have told you in Stratford Corners. I should have told you when I met you in my mother’s kitchen. I should have done a lot of things. But I didn’t, and I am so profoundly sorry for it, you can’t begin to know.”

Her pulse was racing. She was so damn angry with him for having deceived her. But she was also confused—she wanted so badly to believe him. She wanted to believe that she really was different to him in some way. That she’d mattered.

Her anger was squeezing the breath from her. She couldn’t catch it. “Shut up. You were just using me, Brennan. I was an easy piece for you, that’s all.”

He smiled ruefully. “Except that if you think about it, you know you weren’t the slightest bit easy, Mia. Do you honestly believe that I couldn’t have invited a model or actress up here if I’d wanted one? I wanted to be with
you.
And I loved every single moment of it.”

“But . . .” she said, gesturing for him to continue.

“But?”

“But it was all temporary. Say it.”

Now he looked slightly exasperated. As if he was annoyed she might have expected more. “Wasn’t it
always
temporary? You said so yourself. You said I’d go and you’d be here. You’ve worried more about how to find your artistic voice than this relationship.”