Three of Hearts (2 page)

Ben and Lucas were my best friends. My family really, since my own family was fucked up and far away. I swallowed as I pushed back my chair and stumbled to the door of my room.

I turned away as Ben entered, followed by Lucas, trying to get control of my emotions. Tears had slipped out and my nose was already running. Since I was not a cute little girly girl with dimples, I was not pretty when I cried. Luckily, I didn’t cry often. My life hadn’t always been easy, but that had taught me the importance of always keeping a happy, smiling face in place no matter how bad things got.

“Aren’t you ready?” Lucas demanded. “C’mon, Haylee.”

“What’re you doing, straightening your hair or something?” Ben liked to tease me about the time our manager was trying to get me to spend on my appearance.

I swiped my index finger back and forth beneath my nose. “I’m ready.” My voice came out all thick. I headed back to my laptop on the desk to close it down.

“What’s wrong?” Trust Ben to be the one to pick up on my mood. Although Lucas might notice something was wrong, he’d ignore it if it even hinted at some kind of display of emotion he would rather not see.

I was tempted to answer
nothing
, which would be so completely female and so completely untrue, but it also was completely not me—and the guys were going to have to know what was going on at some point, because I was actually not sure if I was going to be able to perform that night. It hurt when I swallowed, but I managed to loosen my throat enough to speak. Even so, my voice shook as I gestured at the image on my laptop screen. “Check out what Doug’s been doing while I’ve been on tour.”

Lucas and Ben moved to the desk and bent their heads to study the computer.

Ben was the first to comment. “Fuck.”

“Jesus Christ.” Lucas leaned closer, gaping at the photo. “Who is that . . . Is that Cheyenne Ranger?”

“Yes.” I twisted my fingers together and dug deep for a smile. “Don’t they make a cute couple?”

Lucas’s head whipped around to look at me. “Shit, Haylee, is that for real?”

I shrugged. “It appears to be. There are other pictures. They were having a nice evening at Silver Spurs last night after the game. Which she apparently was at, cheering him on.”

Lucas closed his eyes briefly, but stepped toward me and wrapped me up in a hug, growling into my neck. “What an unbelievable douche bag he is.”

I slid my arms around his waist and pressed my face to his chest. His hug was so warm and solid. My throat closed up again, and I squeezed my eyes shut. As I dragged in a shuddering breath through my nose, the scent of Lucas’s shirt and skin filled my head, comforting and familiar—spicy masculine shower gel and the clean detergent scent of his T-shirt. His arms were strong, his chest hard beneath my cheek. Thank god I had him and Ben.

I have girlfriends back in Nashville, Georgie and Amy, but they don’t get me like Ben and Lucas do. When you spend as much time together as we do—on the road, writing songs together, in the recording studio, even sharing a house—you get to know one another pretty well, and Lucas and Ben probably knew the real me better than anyone in the world.

Lucas stroked my hair. “Asshole,” he muttered. “I’m gonna kick his ass next time I see him.” This was his version of sympathy: a hug and a threat to kick Doug’s ass.

I couldn’t help the smile that tugged my lips. “He’s six foot four, two hundred thirty pounds.” Lucas knew this, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to remind him. “He beats people up for a living.”

That wasn’t true; Doug was a tough player but not a goon. But I
had
seen him fight a couple of times, which had alarmed me to no end, and he was definitely good at it.

“True. But I can take him.”

I lifted my head to look up at him. His scowl was ferocious, and Doug might have a few inches and pounds on him, but Lucas was tall and built too. But I’d still be worried Lucas would get pounded. “No you can’t.”

“Hey!” He directed his displeasure at me, but his eyes were soft. “I’m offended by your lack of confidence in my fighting skills.”

I gave him a shaky smile and drew back from him. “Thank you,” I whispered.

Ben was right behind me. “You okay, Haylee?”

I turned to face him. His eyebrows sloped downward and the corners of his mouth were tight. I could tell he was feeling my pain. Ben was more sensitive and emotional than Lucas. His reaction wouldn’t be to punch Doug—which was a good thing, given that he was just under six feet tall, and leaner than Lucas—but I could see his concern.

“Not really.” My lips trembled. “It’s all over the internet! How am I supposed to get up on stage tonight in front of all those people after being humiliated like that?”

They each gave me a bleak look. I loved them, but hey, they weren’t always the best at dealing with tears and emotional females. Ben was better at it than Lucas, but his moods vacillated more and sometimes he ended up all broody too. I’m not usually a temperamental female, but in all honesty, I get wicked PMS about every third month and they still get fidgety about it. Not that I had PMS just then. But getting dumped so publicly and so . . . treacherously was enough to make even me tear up. It really did hurt.

Lucas finally came up with, “You can do it.” He pulled me in for another hug.

“This sucks, Haylee,” Ben said in his quiet way. “He’s a dickhead. Forget about him. He’s not worth it. We got your back, sweetheart.”

My heart expanded hard against my breastbone at their staunch support. I moved away from Lucas, dropped back into the chair at the desk, and slumped down. Ben and Lucas exchanged concerned glances.

“Haylee. You gotta get your shit together for the concert.” Lucas’s golden eyebrows drew together. I knew he was concerned, but as always, he was also focused on the goal.

“I know. I will. I’m fine.”

“Did you really care that much about him?” Ben leaned on the desk near me.

“Well, sure.” I thought about that for a second. “Of course I did. He’s . . . I mean, I
thought
he was a great guy.” I made a face, then sighed. “It figures he’d go for someone like Cheyenne.”

Once again I caught their exchange of eye contact. “Why’s that, babe?” Lucas asked.

My head jerked back a little at such a stupid question. “Because she’s gorgeous,” I said. “Blonde and pretty and sexy.”

“So are you.” This from Ben.

I snorted. “Riiiight.” It was sweet of him to say, though.

“You’re blonde,” Lucas pointed out. My eyebrows flew up, and he realized how that had sounded. “And pretty and sexy,” he added hastily. Then he muttered, “Fuck.”

“No, I’m not.” They both opened their mouths, and I held up a hand. “Don’t even say it. You know I’m not. And the only reason I’m blonde is thanks to Salon Giorgio.” My hair had been blonde when I was a little girl, especially in summers when I practically lived outside, but over the years it had darkened to mousy brown. Our manager, Brandon, had sent me to Salon Giorgio earlier in the year for a makeover, and now every six to eight weeks I had to endure a couple of hours in a chair looking like a space alien with my hair all wrapped up in tin foil. “Cheyenne Ranger probably looks like that every day of her life.” I threw my hand out toward the picture on my computer screen. “Even when she gets out of bed in the morning.” And then thinking about her getting out of bed with Doug made my heart hurt again.

Ben snorted. “Okay, she’s cute and sexy, but come on. It takes major effort to look like that.”

“Not to mention surgery,” Lucas added, no doubt alluding to the suspected implants.

I grinned. “I love you guys.”

“Look.” Ben dropped to a crouch in front of me and grabbed my hands. “You’re gorgeous and talented. Doug’s a dumb fuck. We need you on that stage tonight focused on the music. Are you gonna be able to do that?”

I pressed my lips together. “Of course I can.” I wasn’t as confident as my words sounded but there was no way in hell I’d let the guys down.

“You’re a professional,” Lucas added. “You’ll be fine.”

I nodded. I
was
a professional. But my chest was aching, my stomach was churning, and my throat was tightening up again; only a whisper came out when I spoke. “Shit. That asswipe.”

“Channel it into your music.” Ben’s eyes met mine. “You can put all that emotion into the songs. It’s a great way to let it out.”

I smiled and squeezed his hands. “Thanks. I’ll try.” I lifted my chin and straightened my shoulders, then snapped the lid of my laptop down forcefully as if shutting Doug Brandt out of my life.

It was good advice. Because as we say in the biz, the show must go on.

I took Ben’s advice and put everything I had into our music. The disappointment and humiliation and even anger all came out. These were emotions I’d experienced before. I had to fight the rush of memories these feelings brought back: memories of that horrendous Christmas when I’d been seventeen and feeling like this on stage. Only this time I wasn’t alone, like I’d felt back then. Now I had Lucas and Ben.

Lucas and I sang to each other on stage with a passion and intensity I don’t think we’d ever had, and the crowd loved it. When we sang “All of You,” staring into each other’s eyes, full of angst and yearning, the audience hushed and then exploded. I needed a moment after that song, and Lucas had to improvise with the crowd as I composed myself.

I wanted to kill out there. The short, skintight, gold-sequined dress was the sexiest one I owned. I’d let the makeup artist polish my arms and legs, and I was wearing gold satin platform pumps with five-inch heels. I owned those shoes and how powerful they made me feel, strutting and planting my feet as I sang into the mike. I shook my hair back, let my entire body get into the music, and laid it all down there on the stage.

I knew it was ridiculous—that Doug wasn’t there and would never see the concert—but I wanted to show him what he was missing. And somehow, because of those old memories, I was also showing my dad who I’d become.

I love performing. Seriously, all that attention on me just makes me come alive. Most of the time, I’m energized by it. It’s what I live for: entertaining, pleasing a crowd, singing. But tonight, by the time we’d finished our second encore and left the stage, I was exhausted and filled with a whole storm of emotions I had a hard time sorting out. All I wanted to do was go back to my hotel room and curl into the fetal position in my bed for about a year.

But somehow Lucas and Ben pushed me along once we returned to the hotel, and there we were at the after-party in Clayton’s suite. It was packed with people—some music biz people, our agent, our manager, our producer, Clayton’s people, and a whole lot of groupie girls. Jason Aldean’s “My Kinda Party” played loudly enough that hotel security had probably needed a bribe to ignore it.

Lucas and Ben filled plates from the extravagant buffet set up in the suite, handed me one, and proceeded to devour meatballs, shrimp, and smoked salmon. I picked at a few things, not really hungry, but guzzled down glass after glass of champagne. Beer was usually my drink of choice, but the champagne tasted pretty damn good and was giving me a pleasant buzz.

I became aware that the music playing in the background had changed to Rascal Flatts’s “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.”
Blergh
. My skin crawled and my stomach twisted into knots at the familiar yet dreaded Christmas song. Now I really didn’t feel like eating.

“Are you gonna eat that?” Ben pointed at an untouched skewer of chicken on my plate.

“Nah.” I offered him the plate.

“Shut the fuck up.” Lucas elbowed in between us to snag the skewer. “I want it.”

“You just ate ten of those!” Ben tried to grab it back. “And there are more on the table.”

“Suck my dick.” Lucas gave him the look, the one he was so good at: one corner of his mouth lifted and the opposite eyebrow raised. It was super sexy and wicked, and he was famous for it.

“In your dreams,” Ben said.

“Yeah right. As if I’m that desperate.”

Which was undoubtedly true. Both guys had girls following them around constantly. Groupies lined up at the front of the stage, trying to get their attention. In fact, there were lots here at the party giving them the eye. I sighed. “I’ll go get you more.”

“No.” Ben stopped me. “Lucas is just being an asshole.”

This banter went on all the time between Lucas and Ben. And me, when I was on my game. But tonight, I’d noticed an edge to it.

“I need another drink.” I moved to the bar that had been set up on a table. The suite was luxurious―well, as luxurious as you could get in Sioux City, Iowa. Far nicer than my room, anyway. I surveyed the selections. I was feeling the effects of all the champagne, and another glass probably wouldn’t be smart. Another drink
period
probably wasn’t smart, but I was also not in a mood to be smart. I was exhausted and sad and kinda . . . pissy.

I went for a beer. My feet were killing me in my heels, so I turned and tried not to limp as I carried my beer over to a couch. I sat, tugging my short dress down on my thighs, now not so comfortable showing that much. On stage I was finally learning not to constantly do that—it just drew attention to my awkwardness in such girly clothing. But now, I couldn’t stop myself from adjusting the drapey neckline, checking my cleavage, and pulling on the hem.