Page 5 of Hold Me Closer

He and Lemmy are close, but they're complete opposites in a lot of ways.

Honestly, Jareth is not like any guitarist I've ever met.

His family owns a vineyard in northern California.

He comes from money—a lot of it. He spends most of his time helping out around there.

I honestly don't know how he juggles touring with vineyard life, but he says his family does fine without him while he's away, and he needs the break from their crazy asses.

"Nah." He waves me off. "We've got Samson and Ace to help. You go visit with your sister." He smirks at her the same way he's been doing all night.

She squeaks, looping her arm through mine. I laugh as she practically drags me away, muttering under her breath. I think she calls him a stupid-hot guitarist with a stupid-hot smirk, but I'm not entirely sure.

"Where are we going?" I manage to ask.

"There's a shot of vodka over there with my name on it," she lies. "We need to go get it before someone else does."

"This is a nightclub, Zoya. I'm pretty sure they aren't going to run out of vodka."

"They might. You never know." She peeks over her shoulder and then squeaks again. "Walk faster."

I glance back to find Jareth staring at her ass. "You like my guitarist."

"What? No!"

"Oh my gosh. You do!"

"Filthy lies."

"Great show!" a pretty blonde says as we pass.

"Thank you," I call, throwing a smile her way before refocusing on Zoya, whose cheeks are bright pink. "You do like him."

"Do not," she mumbles, looking everywhere but at me. "He's annoying. And smirky. And he won't stop staring at me."

"He's a good guy. Very interesting."

She huffs wordlessly as we slide onto two barstools at the far edge of the bar, away from most of the crowd. The bartender immediately heads in our direction, grinning.

"Two shots of Stoli, please," I order for us and then glance at Zoya, who is muttering under her breath again. "Better make hers a double."

"Got it," he says and then spins to take care of it.

I turn back to Zoya to find her peeking over her shoulder at Jareth, her brows furrowed as she watches him and Tanner, my keyboardist, break down the equipment on stage. Lemmy is neck-deep in groupies off to the side of the stage.

"Interesting, how?" she finally asks.

"He has a twin, for starters."

She turns back to me, eyes wide. "Seriously?"

"Identical."

"Holy crap."

"And he owns a vineyard."

"He owns a vineyard?" She gapes at me and then shakes her head. "Your friends are not like my friends, Nadia."

I laugh quietly. "Hollywood is a whole different world."

"No kidding. I thought Nashville was glitz and glam when you were first starting out, but this place is…" She shakes her head, glancing around with wide eyes. "I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

"Me either," I admit in a whisper. I've been here for the last three years, and it still feels completely foreign to me sometimes. Even when I started making a name for myself in Nashville, it was still home. It's not like that here.

Maybe that's why I've always found it so soothing.

It doesn't feel like home. It doesn't feel like him .

Until he was traded to the Sabres, there wasn't a single piece of him here. I could go anywhere and do anything, and I didn't have to think about him. The last few months have been hell. He's everywhere all over again, invading every damn space I carved out for myself.

"I sent videos to Mom and Dad," Zoya says. "They're proud of you."

"I miss them so much," I whisper. My family has always been close, but the last few years have been hard. They all understand why I can't be there, and they're patient with me, but I know it breaks their hearts that I avoid coming home.

"You know they'll fly out again soon," Zoya promises, trying to reassure me. "There's no way Dad is going to let you be out here by yourself for more than a few months at a time without showing up to check in."

I smile because she's right. He makes an excuse at least every two or three months for him and Mom to fly out for a few days. We all see right through him, but I keep a guest room ready for them. There's no way I'll ever tell them no.

"Are you happy here?" Zoya asks, slipping her hand into mine.

"Yeah, I'm happy here." As happy as I can be, I guess.

Maybe one day, I'll learn how to be truly happy again.

I'll move on and forget about Teo. Or I'll learn to accept that I'll never move on.

He's had my whole heart since I was a little girl, and I've never quite figured out how to take it back.

Not after he broke it. Not after six years.

Not ever. Someday, that has to stop hurting so much… right?

But for once, my life is finally on the right track. I'm not just stumbling through it, trying to forget him. I'm chasing my dreams, even if they don't look exactly the way I always hoped they might. I'm…content.

That has to count for something.

"Truly happy, Nadia?" Zoya presses, eyes narrowed on me.

The bartender saves me from having to lie to her. He slides our shots across the bar toward us, distracting her from prying for an answer. She immediately scoops hers up, one dark brow arched.

I groan, scooping mine up, too. "You aren't getting me drunk tonight, baby sister."

"We'll see about that," she says, smirking.

"I'm serious! I have to be at the studio early."

Mischief dances in her hazel eyes. "Then you better drink your weight in water because you're about to drink it in vodka." She bats her lashes at me. "Now, drink."

I scowl at her, tipping the shot back. It burns down my throat, making me shiver. Zoya doesn't even flinch as she downs hers.

"Gah!" I shudder, slamming my glass down on the bar. "I don't know how you and Dad drink this!"

"It's not that bad."

"It's awful."

"Don't let him hear you say that," she says, giggling. "You can insult Russia all you want in front of him, but never let him hear you insult their vodka."

I laugh quietly at her accurate assessment. I think his only loyalty to the country that birthed him is the vodka. Everything else just rolls off his back, but God forbid if you insult the vodka. That, he takes personally.

"How are he and Mom doing?"

"Fine." She rolls her eyes. "He's driving her crazy like usual.

I don't know what possessed him to retire.

He's terrible at it. He just follows her around, annoying her all day.

Your He-Man will do that for you, kisa. Kisa, come, let me do that.

She said if he doesn't find a hobby soon, she's going to strangle him. "

"Taking care of her is his hobby."

"No, that's his purpose," Zoya says, motioning for the bartender. "Chasing her around is his hobby."

I giggle because she's not wrong.

"Hey, ladies."

I glance over my shoulder, biting back a groan as a man with bloodshot green eyes and a wrinkled suit steps a little too close for comfort, two of his friends trailing behind him. The smell of alcohol and too much cologne practically hangs in the air around him.

"Heard you up on stage," he says, smirking at me. "You've got pipes."

"Thanks," I mutter, unease drifting through me.

It's the way he looks at me like I'm a prize to win.

He isn't complimenting me because he means it.

He says it because he thinks it'll get him what he wants.

I can practically see the impatience in his eyes as he steps closer, crowding me on the barstool.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"Thank you, but no." I smile politely and lean away from him. "I've already ordered one, and that's my limit."

"Ah, come on," he tries to cajole, leaning down over me. Jesus. How much cologne did he douse himself with tonight? "You entertained us for the last hour. It's our turn to entertain you."

"How?" Zoya asks, a bite to the question that tells me she's as annoyed by him as I am. "Are you going to dance for us? Stand on your head? Juggle?"

He flicks his gaze in her direction and then back to me, his smirk growing as his gaze flicks up and down my body, lingering on my tits. "Oh, I can think of a few ways."

His friends snicker.

Oh. Gross.

"Yeah, no thanks," I mutter. "I'm not interested."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not. I wasn't aware I needed to explain myself to you." I narrow my eyes on him, my temper flaring. "I know this might not register in your current state, but no is a complete sentence."

"So is watch your fucking mouth, you fat bitch," he snaps, immediately flipping from trying to be charming to insults and threats. Typical. Guys like him never handle rejection well, especially from girls my size.

Two minutes ago, I was just the right size. Now, I'm not good enough because of my weight, simply because he can't handle the word "no ." It's a tale as old as time for women, even ones like me who have our faces splashed everywhere.

When we see through the fake charm and gross innuendo, they immediately slide to the threatening end of the spectrum.

It's never their fault that they've been rejected.

It's always a failing with us. They never wanted us anyway.

They were just trying to be nice. And we're bitches.

We're stuck up. We're rude. We're whatever it takes to keep them from looking in the mirror and doing a hard assessment.

Guys like him are everywhere. Doesn't matter how famous you are.

It doesn't protect you. They still think you owe them your time, your attention, a smile, and whatever else they're after, simply because you're female and they asked.

And if you're plus- size? Well, as far as they're concerned, you should be on your knees, thanking your lucky stars they even deigned to speak to you.

It's exhausting.

"I suggest you get out of her face before we call her security team over," Zoya lies calmly.

I don't have security. I never do at small shows like this.

Maybe I should because this happens a little too often these days.

"The three of you look like you've been drinking all night. I doubt you'd last a single round."

"Call them over," one of his buddies says. "We'll see who can last."

Crap.

"Yeah, bitch," the one looming over me says. "Call your little security guard over. See if he can protect you from what I'm going to do to you and your little friend when I get you alone."

I lift my gaze, hoping like hell that Jareth or Lemmy is paying enough attention to realize I need help. Instead, the breath gets sucked out of my lungs when I look up…directly into Teo's piercing blue eyes.

They lock on mine, rage and something else—something vast and as hot as the sun—burning in the depths, and I'm sucked into a maelstrom I haven't felt in six years. It cracks me wide open and splits me apart, leaving me trembling.

"Mateo," I whisper, his name shaking on my lips.

He's here. He's really standing in front of me. Why?

He doesn't say a word to me. Not one. He simply grabs the jackass who told Zoya to call security by the collar and flings him like a ragdoll. I cry out as the man goes flying, only to crash into a table a few feet away.

His friend doesn't fare any better.

Teo yanks that one up by his throat, tossing him aside with a growl. He lands on his ass beside his buddy.

"You," he snarls at the jerk in the wrinkled suit. "Apologize. Now."

The man stares at him blankly.

"You threatened her," Teo says, hauling himself up to his full height. And God, he's grown since I last saw him. Back then, he was big and handsome but boyish. Now, he's a giant, every inch of him carved from granite. There's nothing boyish or immature about him. He's intimidating as hell.

The five o'clock shadow on his sharp jawline gives him a wicked, dangerous edge I like a little too much.

The tattoos running up his corded forearms are striking.

The way his suit jacket clings to every single muscle in his shoulders is just unfair.

God, he didn't just grow up. He grew so damn beautiful I want to cry.

"Apologize. Now," he grits out, his hands clenched.

"Fuck you and the bitch."

"Wrong choice."

Teo snaps his arm back, smashing his fist into the man's face once. It happens so fast that I don't even see it coming. The drunk guy definitely doesn't. Bone crunches, his nose breaking on impact.

Another soft cry escapes my lips as he crumples like a paper doll at Teo's feet, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

"I called the police," the bartender says, hurrying over to us. He eyes Teo warily. "They're on the way."

Teo ignores him, his eyes locked on my face. "You okay, butterfly?" he asks me, his voice soft.

I jerk my chin in a nod, too stunned to speak.

"Zoya?" he asks, checking on my sister.

"I'm fine."

He stares at me for a long moment, shaking out his hand, but he doesn't say anything else. He just watches my face, staring like he's trying to imprint the vision in his memory.

"Thank yo–"

"Hire security. You need it," he interrupts before turning abruptly and walking away.

I gape after him, shocked silent.

What the hell just happened?