"Is all of this true? Did you really hook up with this Mick guy?" she questioned, spitting his name out as if she hadn't liked the taste. "And get caught doing it?"

  I cringed. "Not exactly," I managed, closing my eyes as I prepared for the explosion that was about to ensue. Kole had been the recipient of the dramatic gene in our family. Responsible, yet dramatic.

  "Not exactly? NOT EXACTLY?" she yelled. I shrank away from my phone, pulling it briefly from my ear, as if the actions would somehow save me from her words. "What…in the hell…does that mean?"

  "Well, you see, 'not exactly' means that it's only partially true," I quipped. It was a lie. She knew it. I knew it. The proof was in the pudding…Or, better yet, on the television.

  "Don't be a smartass, Kennedy. I'm not in the mood for one of your games. You have exactly five seconds to begin telling me what you've gotten yourself into."

  I cringed again, realizing that Kole was my Sutter. "Nothing that I can't fix," I responded, not exactly certain that that was true. But I said it anyhow because I wanted it to be, and because I didn't want to disappoint her. She would expect me to mess up - everyone expected me to - but I wanted this time to be different. Hadn't that been the idea behind letting go of all of my crutches and jumping headfirst into my dream?

  "I told you that one of these days your negligence would catch up with you. I told you, Kennedy, to start thinking before you acted. Didn't we discuss this? How many times?"

  "Didn't we discuss you not being so motherly?"

  She sighed into the phone. "Do you need my help?" she questioned, her voice surprisingly soft and subdued.

  "No," I answered…a little too quickly.

  "Kennedy?" she pried gently.

  "I don't know yet," I admitted, rubbing my free hand over my face.

  "Will you let me know when you do?"

  I paused, unable to answer. I wanted her here because I missed her and Trent like crazy, because she'd know what to do and because being around her felt like home, safe and secure. But I couldn't see how making her fly thousands of miles for the simple fact of me wanting her to, seemed relevant or fair. It wasn't her place to be sweeping my indiscretions under the rug or cleaning up another one of my messes. She had her own life to worry about. She had a wedding to plan.

  "Yes, of course," I finally managed.

  "You know I'll be there, right?"

  My heart smiled because I did. Since she had retired from tennis, content to live her life as Trent's mom and Santiago's fiancé, I'd never known her to be so happy. And she had taken the role of being a fulltime Mom head-on. She hadn't been allowed to for so long because of my father, I think she was attempting to overcompensate to make up for the lost time. The problem was, the mothering didn't stop with Trent, it poured over onto me. Sometimes I appreciated it, sometimes I didn't, but I loved her beyond measure nonetheless. She would know what to do - she almost always did. But I needed to figure this out on my own.

  "Yes, I know. But I'll figure it out, Kole. This is my deal, okay?"

  "Okay," she said softly, reluctantly.

  I could hear the worry in her voice and hated myself for putting it there. "Kole, I miss you," I whispered, fighting unexpected emotions.

  "I miss you too. I was planning a trip to the states soon so that we could go over wedding ideas and you could get fitted for your dress. It seems I might need to make it sooner rather than later."

  "Kole-" I began, prepared to deter her, but found myself saying something else entirely. "I can't wait to see you." Soon. Now. The words were silent thoughts, but implications that she wouldn't miss.

  "Same here. I love you, Kenny."

  "Love you too, Kole."

  I ascended the stairs, eager to find something that would bite back the emotions that had me milliseconds away from having another crying fit. Two in twenty-four hours was something that I would not tolerate.

  I spent a good twenty minutes walking around the bar, picking up stray pieces of trash and consolidating liquor bottles. A door to the side of the stage caught my eye and was enough to pique my interest. Clearly, I hadn't learned to keep my nose clear of places that it didn't belong.

  I had to kick the door twice to dislodge it from the doorframe. Upon closer inspection, it had been painted over, the thick lacquer acting as a sturdy glue. The difficulty in which it took me to get into the blasted room, should have been a warning to me that maybe going into it wasn't the best idea. So, naturally I proceeded anyway.

  I coughed as dust infiltrated my respiratory system. Whoever had closed this room off, hadn't intended on anyone finding it - another indication that I should be turning around and heading straight back out. My hands slid across the wall to my left, looking for and finding a light switch. When the lights came on, I was shocked, surprised. I had half expected an old storage closet with janitor-like findings, certainly not a music studio.

  Why had someone closed something like this off? To my right stood every kind of guitar you could possibly imagine - acoustic, electric, a banjo. Good God, I had stumbled upon my own Atlantis. Straight ahead I found state-of-the art recording equipment, soundboard and all, with a recording booth on the other side.

  Every musicians dream. My dream.

  I walked towards an acoustic guitar, picking up one of three that sat in their stands. My fingers skimmed over strings, playing chords that left sounds in their wake, testing the instrument for tune. I spent ten minutes plucking, twisting and tightening strings, until I was satisfied with the outcome.

  His eyes are like diamonds, glittering in the rough.

  The suddenness in which the words came almost scared me. Months ago, back before the writer's block caused by the demo, clips of phrases would hit me randomly at different points during the day. I'd often type the words into my phone, tucking them away safely. A simple thought would give way to a bigger idea that eventually led to a song.

  But it felt foreign now because my mind had been strangely silent for so long.

  They flash bolts of fury, and I can't get enough.

  Excitement began to percolate, a feeling brewing that caused my fingers to prickle with possibility. I hummed a melody that came to mind, pulling the guitar's strap over my head and adjusting it until it felt comfortable.

  I began translating the melody in my head into chords, taking a few moments before I got it right. It didn't help that my hands trembled like I'd been tasked with giving a presidential address. I was afraid I'd foil the inkling of progress that the random lyrics signified.

  I half hummed, half sang the next words that came to mind:

  Seems I haven't felt something, in quite a long while.

  Seems I'd like to get lost, in hues of blue and that smile.

  I struggled, trying desperately not to focus on what the song was about - ill prepared to go there - but more on the simple fact that I was writing something. Who cared that I had every intention of scrapping the song when I was done? This was just a precursor to the songs that would come afterward. This was me breaking through the wall.

  "Just what do you think you're doing?" Griff questioned from the doorway.

  My eyes bugged open, before dialing back to their normal settings, but the flush that I felt at being caught in a place that I knew I shouldn't be didn't die. How long had he been there watching, listening?

  "I'm-uhhm-singing," I managed. My hands suddenly felt awkward hugging the instrument that didn't belong to me.

  "I meant, what are you doing in here?" he corrected, angry. Go figure.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" I began. Shit. What did I mean? "I shouldn't have…" I sputtered, feeling my palms grow sweaty. "Look, I saw the door when I was cleaning the place up and I was curious."

  "Curious, huh?" he questioned, something flittering into his eyes that I couldn't place recognition to.

  "Yes, curious," I admitted hesitantly.

  I didn't like the way I felt every time he was near, like my soul was crashing in on itself and alive with fire all at once. I didn't like my reactions towards this conversation or this man. Normally, I controlled the situation. I had my fun and then I was done. Simple. Easy. And, most importantly, no one got hurt.

  Love was a myth that we as musicians wrote about, capitalized financially from. Not some grand thing that you fell into. There was no happily ever after as far as I was concerned. Period. End of story. I thought my heart knew that. I thought my brain agreed. Clearly they were on different pages.

  "Play it again," he said gruffly.

  "I-"

  "Do it," he commanded. "Or I'm going to do something I'll regret."

  I played the verse, fearful that the thing he'd regret would be murderous, not sexual as my body so obviously wanted - considering the ridiculous quiver that it couldn't shake. When I finished, I could barely bring myself to look at him.

  "Nice. Who wrote it?" his blue eyes lifted with question, so certain that the words weren't mine.

  "Me, just now," I added, barely able to handle juggling my emotions while trying to figure out his.

  He released a skeptical chuckle that sent my blood boiling.

  I narrowed my eyes. "What? Didn't think strays could write a song?"

  "Surprised, that's all." His voice had turned soft and toe-curling.

  Fuck! Now he was giving me his case of Highs and Lows. And what the hell was he trying to do? Be nice? I didn't need him going soft on me. It was too distracting and in light of recent events, he was off limits according to the press…and Mick. At least until the news and Mick and management got through sorting out what I was to him.

  I froze, surprised that I had allowed my thoughts to go there. I needed to grab the reigns, quickly, and the only way that I could see doing that was by making a hasty retreat.

  "Yeah, well believe it," I said because it was the only thing that I could come up with at the moment. I marched in his direction, shoving the guitar towards him, surprised when I felt his hand wrap around mine, pressing the skin around the neck, the strings cutting indentions into my palms.

  "You have an amazing voice," he said, the huskiness in his voice almost knocking me to my knees. "But I'm sure my brother's already told you that."

  "No, actually he hasn't," I confessed, ignoring the jab that he had used to lessen the compliment. Mick had admitted to noticing me after the concert, but he hadn't actually heard. He'd been using it as a way to get into my pants. Apparently, telling me that I had a nice voice worked on me…Like it was working now.

  "Well he should've."

  I brought a steadying hand to my somersaulting heart. "I think you're putting more stock into Mick and I than there really is." My eyes diverted from his chest up to his eyes. Mistake.

  "Am I?" he questioned.

  "Look, I know what you think," I said, frustrated at how breathless I sounded. I really needed to get on a treadmill and work on my stamina…soon.

  "How could you possibly know what I think? You don't, I assure you." He pulled the guitar towards his chest, pulling me with it, our toes touching.

  "You're right I don't."

  "You slept with him, didn't you?"

  He stepped closer, eyeing me like I hadn't been stared at in some time. I felt naked, exposed and this time, I wasn't wearing a thin, silk robe. How was I supposed to answer that question when I didn't know the answer? I mean, yes, I was fairly certain that I had. All signs seemed to lead me to that conclusion -that I'd fallen into bed with Mick as easily as everyone else did.

  "I-yes," I mumbled. "I don't know," I said, feeling like no answer sounded right. Besides, hadn't he already come to that conclusion the night before with what he'd insinuated? Why were we rehashing this now if he already knew?

  His eyes narrowed. "Which is it?"

  "I don't know," I reiterated.

  "Which do you want it to be?" he questioned. He set the guitar to the side, but didn't move to place any distance between us.

  "I don't want it to be anything. I can't-"

  "What, Kennedy?" he questioned. "You can't what?"

  I wasn't sure if the tingling on my sides was a figment of my imagination or actually his fingers sliding from hip to ribs, but it was beyond distracting. "I can't think when all I want to do is kiss you," I blurted out.

  What had I done? What had I just said? I did the thing I was second best at - I ran. I hightailed it all the way up to the condo and didn't stop until my back was pressed firmly against the locked door.

  Chapter Nine

  I'm thinking of doing something irrational. Or rational. Or whatever the hell you'd call dying your hair from bleached blonde back to natural red when your record label specifically asked you not to.

  Frustrated, I tapped the pen on the paper, my mind drawing nothing but blanks. Who the hell cared what they thought anyway? I hadn't heard from them or Trevor since the incident.

  "Shit, fuck it," I groaned, throwing the piece of paper across the room that I'd tri-folded in an effort to fashion it into a diary. Writing down your thoughts and feelings was only meant to happen when you wrote a song. This little therapy session had just proven it.

  Dying my hair was just the start of it. I was getting antsy, looking to do something irrational. I needed to breathe fresh air, to feel a breeze on my face and rejoin the masses. I needed human contact beyond the employees at the bar, who'd been sworn to secrecy.

  I needed to get my mind off Griff.

  I was smitten with a man who thought I was a slut. His brother's slut, I corrected¸ which only served to make it worse. I hadn't helped matters by throwing myself at him. I'd probably only furthered his opinions of me.

  It had been weeks since I'd seen him. Two? Maybe three total? I wrinkled my nose up, disgusted with myself that I was wasting moments of my life counting, moments that I'd never get back.

  I had settled into a routine at the bar. I found myself volunteering to work, even on days that I was supposed to be off, finding comfort in the endless amount of musical acts that came through the bar. I had made some good contacts, met some really amazing people who were even more amazing musicians. And, I had come to realize, I had a knack for picking out talented acts, scheduling the best ones on night's when Callahan's would benefit the most from it.

  The buzz around town that Callahan's was the new place to find talent was the only thing that the employees could talk about. We'd even attracted a big name talent scout the night prior. Too bad I was busy trying to make myself blend in.

  Not only had I found success as a Callahan employee, my musical abilities were returning. The words were coming more often, the melodies to couple them springing forward too. Gradually, with each passing day, I was becoming more and more confident in my abilities again.

  I should've been celebrating small victories. I should've been over the moon about breaking through that creative wall, but I wasn't. Far from it, actually. Instead, I'd work the nights to keep my mind off of Griff and spent my days trying to solve the Griff Rubik's cube.

  That and I'd watch my horrible nightmare play out on television. I knew that I shouldn't, that it was some kind of self-inflicted, sick torture method. But it just didn't seem real. I couldn't quite wrap my brain around the interest that the media had in this man…and me.

  Beyond worrying about my relationship troubles and working, I'd sleep. The solace I found behind closed eyelids was staggering. It couldn't have been healthy the way that I looked forward to sleep.

  That's why I was getting antsy. That's why I wanted to try my hand at journal keeping.

  "Fuck it," I grumbled again, standing from the couch suddenly. This bird had been caged for entirely too long.

  I was going to cash in on my off day. Since I had already met with a band earlier in the afternoon, I didn't feel altogether bad about it. I showered, dressed in my favorite pair of worn blue jeans and a lacy, cream colored tank top, finding enough mundane things to do to allow my hair to dry before checking myself in the mirror. After calling a cab, I added a dab of nude lip gloss over my chapstick and all but skipped through the door.

  "4101 Hillsboro Pike," I said from heart, settling into the worn backseat.

  The driver eyeballed me in his rearview, a smile shifting onto his face. "Ahh, The Bluebird Café," he noted.

  I nodded to confirm, just the sound of the words coming from his lips was enough to garner excitement. "Yes, exactly." There was only one way I knew to get my head out of the funk that it was in and that was in the form of musical therapy. "What day is it?" I questioned, realizing that I didn't know. All of my days had begun to fuse together.

  He eyed me, confused. "It's Monday, Miss."

  When we arrived at our destination, I paid the fare and threw in an extra twenty because of my enthusiasm and because I had it, something that felt both good and rewarding. I made my way to the entrance, smiling when I saw a familiar face. It was always good practice to become friends with the bouncers in the off-chance that there was a wait to get in. It also helped that Jimmy was as loveable as he was robust.

  "Kennedy," Jimmy noted, a grin spreading across his round face. He looked mean as hell, much closer to a biker than a bouncer, but he was as soft and gentle as a puppy. "Haven't seen you around here in a while."

  I nodded knowingly, falling into the bear hug that he offered. "It has been a while."

  "Well, why don't you come on in? Celebrate being on Mick's tour." Too bad it wasn't my own. Too bad I'm no longer on it. "I always knew that you'd make it big. Somehow, someway," he added as I passed by him.

  Certainly not how I planned on doing that. I forced a smile instead, hoping that it seemed convincing. The crowd waiting in line outside groaned behind me as I crossed over the threshold. They had been standing in line for possibly hours and I had taken a spot that they had been told wasn't available.

  I almost felt a twinge of guilt. Almost. But I rushed to remind myself that I had been one of them a few years prior. Everyone had to pay their dues in this town, no matter what level you were at in the fame game.

  Seeking obscurity, I made my way to the back of the place, finding a piece of standing-room-only real estate and perching my backside against the small expanse of wall.