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CHAPTER ONE

Royal

I fucking hate this shit.

The cameras. The lights. The vapid, plastic celebrities surrounding me on all sides.

It’s fake as shit.

Always.

“Smile,” Briar, my little sister in all but blood, orders from next to me. “The camera’s on you.”

“Fuck the cameras,” I mutter, but I do it from between gritted teeth that are exposed because I’ve forced my mouth into some semblance of a smile.

It feels rusty. Unused.

Because I haven’t had much to smile about over the last couple of years.

“Play the game and they go away,” she says, leaning close and speaking into my ear so that no TikTokkers can play Read Our Lips later today. “You know that I’m right.”

I do.

Hence the reason I’m fucking smiling.

Hence the reason I’m fucking here in the first place.

A godawful way to spend an evening—sitting in uncomfortable chairs while listening to badly produced musical numbers, a host who’s desperate to be funny but is only cringeworthy, and people with far too much power getting thanked for doing nothing.

I grind my teeth together.

Because I’m the one who’s doing nothing now.

Ever since the accident?—

“And the winner for Song of the Year is…”

“Here we go!” Briar says, taking my hand—my fucking hand —and squeezing it.

Even as I process the touch—dulled, wrong—and fight down the urge to recoil from the contact, the presenter continues talking.

“... Forever in Rewind by Jade Cantrell!”

The crowd erupts into applause while Briar squeals and leans into me, “You did it!”

Surreptitiously, I pull my hand from hers, nod at the stage. “No. She did it.”

The tiny slip of a woman in a huge, sparkling ball gown who’s hugging someone next to her then standing. The beautiful female who’s somehow gracefully ascending the stairs that lead up to the stage despite the miles and miles of fabric that are practically dwarfing her petite frame.

Jade Cantrell.

A small-town country girl who was making a name for herself in Nashville?—

At least until the surprise genre-bending crossover hit (that I wrote) topped the Billboard charts and propelled her into worldwide stardom.

And Jade became the biggest musical act in the world right now.

Selling out stadiums.

A huge international tour that sold out in seconds.

And now…

Song of the Year.

The applause begins to die down—though, in fairness, the tepid congratulations from her contemporaries is drowned out by the audience in the balcony behind us, so really, it’s her fans that are quieting.

Because she’s approaching the microphone.

Opening her mouth.

And—

Lightning shoots through my veins.

I’ve heard the song—of course I have. I wrote it. I came up with the melodies. I recorded it. And then I sent it off to be made into magic. And even then, I heard advance copies, made suggestions for tweaks and additions on the production side, listened to it dozens, if not hundreds of times.

But when Jade Cantrell begins talking into that microphone, when her melodic voice echoes out of the huge speakers mounted above the stage, the room fills with…

Music.

Fucking beautiful music that hits me in my soul.

Hard .

I’m frozen into place, watching each minute movement she makes as she adjusts the microphone, smiles, and continues to speak.

Because I haven’t felt like this since…

I had two hands that functioned and I could make music the way I wanted.

It’s captivating. It’s the je ne sais quoi every musician wishes they had. It’s…magic.

And—

“She’s got it,” Briar whispers, her shoulder pressing against mine. “That spark that makes the whole world sit up and pay attention to her.”

I nod.

But don’t look at my sister because I’m still paying attention to Jade’s every word as she thanks her family, her friends, her music teacher, her agent and publicist and assistant. All the usual bullshit.

But done in a way that’s effortless and a pleasure to listen to and doesn’t come across as fake or insincere.

Yup.

She’s fucking got it.

“Without Grandma Louise, I never would have been here.” Her throat works, emotion shimmering through her words. “Thank you for believing in me when I didn’t.”

Christ.

That even makes me feel something.

Clearly, it’s been too long since I’ve gotten laid.

Lost in the pleasure of female curves.

Out of my head so I’m not constantly thinking about?—

“Ready to go?” I mutter to Briar, leaning forward, preparing to stand up and get the hell out of here.

Away from the cameras and the uninspiring, selfish A-listers.

Away from the voice that seems to reach right into my chest and claws at my heart, my soul.

Away from the eyes that come to me as I hear?—

“And thank you to Royal Ewing, who wrote this beautiful song for me and helped me transform it into something extraordinary.”

I jerk, mid-rise from my seat, distantly tracking the gazes turning in my direction, the cameras doing a quick pivot, the attention…

Settling square onto me.

Panic dislodges the bewitching voice, digging deeper, slicing my insides to ribbons.

It’s hard to breathe, to think, to?—

Briar settles her hand on my leg.

“Smile,” she orders softly, leaning in and waving at the camera positioned what feels like all of three inches away from my face.

I do something that might approximate a smile.

“This is for you,” Jade says and my gaze jerks back to the tiny, sparkle-covered woman. I see her lift the award in my direction for a moment before she smiles, waves, and turns to exit the stage, disappearing between the curtains as the music rises to a crescendo and the host steps toward the microphone to send the television broadcast to commercial.

“Get me the fuck out of here,” I hiss at Briar, already feeling the walls closing in, knowing that people are going to come socialize, going to come ask questions, going to come and try to maneuver favors out of me.

“On it,” she says.

And to her credit, she is.

Then again, Briar is one of the most capable people I know.

Certainly more so than a former rock star with a bum hand who’s a second away from having a panic attack over something I used to live for, revel in, demand?—

Attention.

It’s stifling now.

My lungs are struggling to draw in air.

Black intrudes on the edges of my vision.

“Royal!”

Briar grips my arm and hauls me up to my feet, stepping between the man—an agent who I want absolutely nothing to fucking do with—and myself, guiding me to the aisle and out of his slimy, grimy crosshairs.

“Hey, bud, long time no see,” says a man I recognize (as in a creep who’s trying to make a comeback but seems to be doing his level best to undermine his career with dumbass racist tweets). “Let’s chat, huh?”

“Never going to fucking happen,” Briar mutters, though her smile stays in place.

Something I track because I’m not looking at the crowd.

Because I’m not looking at the cameras.

My gaze is glued to Briar as she gets me out of the auditorium and into the wings of the theater.

“Stay there,” she whispers, tucking me into a shadowy alcove, my body almost completely hidden behind a billowing navy velvet curtain.

“Bri—”

A squeeze of my shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

Panic makes me want to shake my head, to yank her back against me and hold tight until everything inside me calms?—

But I’m not a fucking pussy, okay?

I shove that down, slap a lid on it.

“I’m fine,” I rasp, not sounding the least bit fine .

“Of course you are,” she says, not calling me on my bullshit. Another squeeze before she drops her hand. “I’ll be right back.”

I nod.

Her expression is far too gentle for my comfort but I don’t have to sit in that because then she’s disappearing down the hall, leaving me in the shadows, the rest of the world moving around me.

That’s a familiar feeling, and it settles me until she comes back a couple of minutes later and guides me down a narrow, dimly lit hallway.

“Where are we going?” Okay, that sounds less settled and more…hanging on by a thread.

“Somewhere quiet,” she says, thankfully ignoring my tone as she leads me into a nondescript green room and closes the door behind us. There’s a mirror surrounded with lights, a vanity for makeup, a couch on the far wall, and a table loaded with snacks plunked in front of it. “I got the all-clear to put you here for a few minutes,” Briar explains. “You’ll be left alone while I call Quentin”—my head of security—“and get your car pulled around.”

“Thanks, Thorny,” I tell her.

A light swat to my chest in response to the nickname before she says quietly, “Being helpful is what I do best.”

“You’re more than just that.”

She gives a soft shake of her head, always discounting herself, never seeing how fucking great she is, but I know now’s not the time to try to change her mind.

I need to get the fuck out of here before I have a full-blown panic attack in front of these assholes.

“Sit tight,” she orders softly.

I nod, drop onto the couch. “Sitting.”

Her mouth twitches.

Then she’s gone, the door clicking closed softly behind her.

I exhale, rolling my shoulders, my neck, willing the rest of the tension to just go the fuck away.

This time, thankfully, as the seconds pass, those twisted emotions inside me loosen their vice-like grip on my insides and begin to fade away.

So much so, that I feel almost normal by the time the handle turns less than three minutes later, the door swinging inward.

“That was fast,” I start to say, anticipating the red flash of Briar’s hair.

Instead, I get…

Blond curls.

Miles and miles of sparkle-covered fabric.

Soulful gray eyes.

A tiny country-pop dynamo.

Jade Cantrell freezes in the open door, her mouth dropping open, shock ricocheting across her gorgeous face.

But her surprise only lasts for a moment.

Because then she smiles…

And the bottom falls out of my world.