Twisted Wings Page 2

  Why is it now that he’s offering me an out, I want him to stay? I blow out my cheeks. “Stay. Just don’t give me the evil eye all night.”

  “Sky, you’re on,” the stage manager calls from behind me. Max winks at me and raises his glass.

  I walk toward the stage and hear him murmur, “Go break a leg, or whatever they say.”

  “How about just good luck?” I call out over my shoulder.

  “I’ve heard you sing, you don’t require any luck.”

  Scanning the crowd from backstage, I search for familiar faces or a glimpse of the infamous Jude. When I first started singing at Dusty Rose, it was on amateur night. Graham talked Dusty, the owner, into letting me have a weekend night. There are only three of us that play on Fridays and it’s become the busiest night for the bar. Especially since all three of us sing different genres, it attracts different crowds, but it blends well. Shanna Stellars sings country and Jarod Chavez does a cross between pop and funk. I’m the buffer between the two singing only pop. Before tonight, I did it with no regrets. It’s not that I don’t love pop music, I just imagined myself singing songs with more depth.

  The reflections of my sequin skirt dance across the floor when the spotlight catches it. I cast my eyes down and wonder why I let Graham have the final decisions on what I wear. I’m overdressed. Throw me in some cutoff jean shorts and boots, and I’ll shine more than my sparkly skirt.

  “It’s a packed house,” Jarod says, throwing his arm around me. I note what he’s wearing and sigh with a twinge of envy. He’s wearing jeans paired with combat boots and a simple black t-shirt. The girls go wild over him, which isn’t surprising because he’s gorgeous in a bad boy kind of way. He has a slender frame, naturally tanned skin and a drop-dead smile that can make women’s panties melt. “I heard Jude Stonewall’s coming tonight.”

  “That’s the rumor,” I reply, innocently. A producer showing up is rarely announced. I’m uncertain how the word got out, but I won’t mention my source. “I guess we’ll have to bring our A-game.”

  “Pshhh.” We don’t turn, knowing who’s behind us. “I always bring my best,” Shanna snidely says, standing to our side. My mouth drops open when I notice her. Jarod barks out a laugh and I elbow him in the ribs.

  “Really, Shanna?” I force out, gawking at her outfit. If it weren’t for her dark chocolate hair, I’d think I was looking in a mirror. She’s wearing the same thing I am. Short black sequin skirt with a white lace top over a black tank. The only difference, she’s wearing the boots. Heat blazes up my cheeks.

  “Oh, looky there. We’re twins,” she snickers, flashing her perfect white teeth. This is not a coincidence. She goes on first and considering she’s never tried to sabotage me before, she must’ve also heard that Jude will be here. Though, she’s not very smart showing me before the show starts. It’s still annoying as hell to find something else at the last minute.

  Graham, already out working the crowd, won’t be able to approve another outfit without people seeing me in this one. I grab Jarod’s wrist and glance at his watch. Less than an hour to figure out a new outfit. I glare at Shanna. “You’re goin’ to need a lot more than stealin’ my wardrobe to get noticed. It’s a good thing you can’t steal my voice.” I force a sweet grin back at her before walking away. “I hated this outfit anyway,” I snap. Getting under her skin right before she goes on shouldn’t feel this good, but the way her face twists like she just ate a lemon, makes it better.

  “There’s my southern sweetness,” Jarod croons. I roll my eyes. Anger brings out my southern drawl and Jarod loves it.

  The thin dressing room walls shake from slamming the door. On a mission, I swipe each hanger looking through the options one by one. After finding an outfit that is more me, and one Graham would approve of, I quickly change. I’m slipping on my last shoe when Graham comes storming in. I figured as soon as he saw Shanna, he’d be on a rampage. His red, contorted face confirms my thoughts.

  “Calm down,” I say, spreading my arms out wide. “I like this better anyway.” He has strong opinions about me showing off my legs so I picked something that did. His eyes move up and down my body and he twirls his finger in the air. I chuckle but spin in place for him. “Do I have the Graham approval?” I tease. I’m wearing short metallic silver shorts displaying my tan legs, a tight black tank and I finished the look with four-inch black peep-toe heels.

  “Yes.” He sighs, waving his hands around. “But that bitch is on my list. I’ll make it my life mission that she never makes it anywhere near a recording studio.”

  The air crackles with energy, my skin soaking all of it in like a sponge. There is nothing more exhilarating than being in front of hundreds of wired people, waiting on you to captivate them with your voice. Pull them in and give them an experience where they let go of all their daily grind for a night of fun. My body hums with adrenaline as the audience chants my name.

  The lights go down. That’s my cue. The microphone almost slips through my sweaty hand as I take my place on stage, surprising me. I take a few deep breaths trying to calm the nerves running amok. I rarely get nervous. But there are two new sets of eyes watching me. Judging me. It’s my past and future colliding.

  Lights illuminate the stage. “Hey y’all. Thanks for coming out to watch us tonight,” I beam. The whistles and catcalls make me grin. I’m not naïve, I know why Graham has me looking like I’ve stepped out of a Barbie dressing room. Sex sells. The mask I put on, the sexy Sky, has helped me. It’s a camouflage for my scarred and damaged heart. I shine on the surface to hide the darkness on the inside.

  The things we do to survive.

  The lyrics that come out of my mouth are nothing but words. To most people, music provokes thoughts and feelings. Not me. Not anymore. The words I sing are emotionless. All night I’ve tried to avoid Max’s eyes. Yet, I’ve sensed them on me, like they’re burning a hole right through the mask I wear. With a ten second break between songs, I’m thankful the lights go down so I can wipe the sweat dripping down my chest, between my boobs, and take a quick drink of water. They need to turn the air up.

  “Is it me, or is it extra hot in here?” I ask the guys, fanning myself.

  “Not any worse than normal,” Tug, my drummer, responds. He pulls his sweat soaked shirt away from his slender tattooed body. I laugh because he’s right, that is normal for him.

  Taking my place in the front, we start our next song. We have three more songs in our set, so I hype up the crowd to finish strong. A grin spreads across Graham’s face in the front row, and I know he’s proud of me tonight. It’s not until my eyes catch Max’s that I know searching for him was a mistake.

  I wanted him to see I’m doing better.

  I wanted him to see I’m living.

  I wanted to see if he was proud of me too.

  What I didn’t expect was my mind to replay the last time he saw me sing. The intense need to sing a song I swore I’d never sing again burns deep inside of me. Maybe it’s proving to myself that I have moved on. Maybe it’s proving it to him.

  “I’m doing something different tonight,” I say before starting my last song. My voice is on autopilot, my eyes pinned on Max. He quirks his head to the side. Even though I’ve stopped jumping and dancing, my heart picks up, beating erratically. It already knows it’ll be a turbulent ride, but my mind is determined.

  The band waits for me to start, I’m sure confused. I squeeze the mic being held up by the stand and close my eyes. The lyrics come out tender and slow, silencing the crowd. I’m holding still, afraid if I move, I’ll fall to my knees. The fakeness is stripped from my voice, leaving behind naked honesty, and I’m taken back to the day I lost everything.

  My heart is broken. The emotions I thought I would have are non-existent. Can someone feel nothing? I scan the church, filled with Damon’s friends and family. A sea of black wallows across the room, the soft sound of cries floats above.

  Why can’t I cry? I love this man. I told him I would be hi
s wife. And now he’s… gone.

  The extra large gold-framed picture on the stage stares at me, waiting for my words. The pressure of his eyes bearing down on me brings guilt. I wring the Kleenex in my hands. The one I had brought with me just in case the tears came. I glance at the picture again and softly grin.

  Clearing my throat, I step up to the mic. “I’m sorry. I’m struggling with what to say.” I stare down at the ring on my finger. I’ve only been wearing it for three weeks. “Um… Damon was an amazing man.” I squeeze my eyes shut. Oh, that was endearing.

  A small hand sneaks through mine and I look down to caramel eyes gleaming up at me. Lulu. My best friend’s adopted six-year-old daughter who stole all our hearts the second we met her. I take a deep breath in and exhale it out slowly. I manage a small smile and she returns it.

  “Damon loved you, sweet girl,” I whisper down to her. She nods her head.

  “I loved him too.”

  The sounds of sniffles and cries remind me of where we are. I glance at Addison in the front row and she’s wiping tears from her cheek. Her lips curve up and she sends me a supportive nod. When Lulu begins to sing, the air goes silent and still. Our eyes meet and her pitch rises. I hum the melody.

  The song is perfect.

  The song is Damon.

  Our voices blend in harmony as we sing “Lost Boy” by Ruth B. My voice cracks when we sing about him being home now. My heart breaks open and my emotions surge through me in a fractured instant. I swallow my cries, determined to get through the song. But it’s no use. My heart’s not broken now, I am.

  Goodbye, Lost Boy.

  Emotions ricochet inside my body as I sing the song that broke me over a year ago. I feel the vise around my heart, squeezing it, the pain making it hard to breathe. I gasp for air, hanging onto the mic. Music is no longer my lifeline. Stars float in my vision right before blackness pulls me under.

  Chapter Three

  Sydney

  “Put her down.” Graham’s voice echoes in my head.

  A ball of worry twists in my stomach. I can’t open my eyes and face what happened. Strong arms cradle me, carrying me backstage. Max smells the same as always. Spicy and clean with a mixture of woodsy scents. I lean my head into his chest and his arms tighten.

  “Security! Where the hell is security?” Graham’s voice raises a few octaves. I can imagine how red his face is. “Sky, don’t worry, I won’t let him hurt you.”

  “Who the fuck is this guy?” Max murmurs, rejecting all of Graham’s threats.

  “My manager,” I whisper.

  The crowd cheers in the background when I overhear the MC say my name. Those cheers have kept me going in the past, but I can’t go back out there. I’m mortified I passed out. Max kicks open the door and places me on a couch. It’s not until my head touches a pillow, I open my eyes and notice we’re in my dressing room.

  Graham runs to my side, struggling to get in between me and Max. “Would you move, you big oaf.” He shoulders his way in. “Sky, are you all right?” I cover my face with my arms, tears stain my cheeks. No, I’m not all right. I’m a wreck. “Do I need to get a doctor? What hurts? Are you sick?”

  “Dude, get the hell out of her face and give her a chance to catch her breath.”

  I open my mouth to tell Max it’s okay, but Graham stands up and gets in his face. He’s about the same height as Max, but the similarities stop there. He weighs as much as one of Max’s legs. I sit up, debating if I should get in between them. Max regards him with humor in his eyes and crosses his arms.

  “Dude? Who are you? If you’re expecting money for helping…” He pauses and pulls out his wallet. “Here, this should be enough. Thanks. You can go now.” He shoves a twenty-dollar bill in Max’s hand, whips around and kneels beside me. I pull my lips in to hide my chuckle that he just tried to pay off a millionaire. “Sky, we need to have you examined by a doctor.”

  I glance up at Max and his intense stare makes me fidget. Folding my hands in between my legs, I glance away. Graham sighs and turns, casting his eyes up to Max. “Why are you still here?”

  Max doesn’t take his gaze off me. “Why does he keep calling you Sky?”

  Because I didn’t want to be Sydney. It was exhausting being the person who lost everything. Being someone else was a way to start over. Graham knows my real name, but he’s under contract never to use it again. When he convinced me the sky was the limit with my singing career, Sky was born.

  “It’s just a name.” I keep my eyes down, messing with the edge of my shorts.

  “I’m guessing you two know each other?” Graham says, pushing off the couch to stand. I nod. He lets out a long sigh. “I’ll see if I can find Jude.”

  “I’m sorry, G.”

  “Don’t be. You were already at the end of your set. Everyone stumbles. You just get back up and move on.” He leans down, kisses me on the forehead and leaves the room.

  The first couple months of living with Graham, I would wake to a sticky note on my bathroom mirror with a motivational saying on it. He’s never asked questions nor expected anything from me. Unlike the man staring at me, sucking the air out of the room.

  “Can you just go back and tell her I’m okay?”

  “Is that what you want me to do?”

  I nod so I don’t have to lie. It would hurt too much to say it out loud. The place where Addison resides is already digging its way out of my heart.

  “You can’t keep hiding. She knows you’re in California now.”

  I jerk my head up, my eyebrows creased. “Hiding? You didn’t tell her?” When he shakes his head, I hop up. Whoa. Too soon. Getting lightheaded, I sit back down. This entire time I assumed she was too busy with her new life to reach out to me. The pity party of one thrown frequently where I was always the drunk girl attending was unnecessary.

  “I don’t understand. Why now?”

  Max straightens, running his hand behind his neck. “She sort of found out I’ve been keeping track of you.”

  I do a double take. “You’ve been keeping track of me? What does that even mean?”

  “I’m not sorry, let’s get that straight,” he states unapologetically yet shoves his hands in his pockets looking embarrassed. “I had Stone find you every couple months to make sure you were okay.” My lips twitch, lifting to a small smile and I relax my shoulders. He shrugs. “I needed to know.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Addie?”

  “I figured you’d work your stuff out and come back when you were ready.”

  I let out a sarcastic laugh. “I’m great at working my stuff out, huh?” Max sits down next to me and I lean my head against him.

  “Tink, you were amazing up there.”

  “She sure was,” Graham boasts, walking into the room. “Better than amazing! Jude wants to sign you. He wants you in the studio A-SAP.”

  My eyes widen and I bolt off the couch into Graham’s arms. “Really?”

  “Really! Sweet cheeks, you did it!”

  “I was a mess out there. I can’t believe he still wants me.”

  “He liked the mess. He wants that part of you.” I stare up at him, not sure I can give him the real me. It’s raw and painful and it ended with me blacking out. Not the desired outcome I want every time I sing. I step back.

  “I don’t know, Graham.”

  His arms fly out. “What do you mean, you don’t know? Sky, you sang with grit and passion. I’ve never heard you sing like that. It was phenomenal.”

  “Would you quit calling her Sky?” Max interrupts, standing.

  Graham puts his hands on his narrow hips. “You called her Tink. What’s the difference?”

  Max chuckles. “That’s like a pet name, it’s not her real name.”

  I don’t know if the shock of everything that’s happened tonight caught up to me, but that comment just pushed me over the edge. I slap Max across the face. “I am not your pet, nor will I ever be.” I catch a glimpse of Max’s stunned expression as I stomp past him in
to the bathroom, slamming the door shut. My back slides down the door, memories flash from the night Max changed me forever.

  Anger pushes me into the dark room, only lit up by the moon outside the window. “I can’t believe you did that,” I spit out, slamming the door behind me. I could have died from hypothermia from how cold that pool was. It’s freaking almost winter. Max pushes off the bed, his large muscular body only covered with athletic shorts. He looks larger than life with the soft glow behind him. I swallow as he approaches me, the air turning still. “I’m still freezing because of—”

  I gasp as he slams me against the door and welds his mouth to mine. My body submits before my brain can catch up to what’s happening. The raw emotions from hearing Addison’s story tonight rages inside me and I practically crawl up his body. My fingers scrape against his back as his tongue assaults my mouth. He growls, grabbing my hands and pins them above my head.

  He breaks the kiss but keeps his lips close. The heat of his breath tickles my lips, the heave of his chest rubs against my breasts. “Don’t stop,” I say, desperation grabbing hold. I need to feel something besides pain. My best friend’s torture clasps around my heart, and it freaking hurts. Max shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please, Max.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking, Tink.” His voice deep and raspy. I nod. Yes, I do. He smirks over his thunderous expression. “I’m not like other guys who will give you what you want. Treat you with white gloves like you’re a princess. I take. What. Ever. The. Fuck. I want.” The sharp staccato of his words, strikes a different chord inside my body, turning me on more than I expected.

  “Then take, Max.” The words fall out of my mouth, surprising even me.

  With a low rumbling chuckle, he shakes his head again, holding on to whatever restraint is holding him back. He mutters a curse under his breath, pinning me with his stare. His tongue darts out to lick his lower lip. I try to release one of my hands still pinned above my head so I can touch him. He shakes his head.