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CHAPTER TWO

SAINT

L ooking down at my notebook, I watched almost trancelike as the flow of words appeared on the paper I’d been hunched over for the last thirty minutes.

It was always like this for me: when I wrote a song, my insides turned to mush, and they wouldn’t straighten out until everything came together. It was like I needed to get the music out of me and onto the paper before I could function right again.

The riff Boomer had composed a few hours before echoed through my brain on a loop of notes and arrangements. There was something about it that hooked me, and suddenly, the words floating through my pen seemed to slot into places that made the track pop.

“Guys,” I called out, craning my neck toward where the band was huddled over the mixing desk. “I think I’ve got the chorus down.” Grabbing my guitar, I looped the strap around my neck and began to strum, humming the intro as I went. Then I opened my mouth and sang the lyrics I’d been working on.

I was so engrossed in the song that I hardly noticed Jonny start drumming out a soft backbeat or Sam’s bass guitar play some funky chords that added dimension.

Boomer’s riff accompanied my words until the only thing I could hear was the collective sound echoing through the rehearsal room, enhanced by the built-in acoustics.

My eyes automatically went to Boomer, and a look of understanding passed between us.

I’d met him in a coffee shop the day I got off the bus in LA with a guitar on my back and a thousand bucks in the bank.

He gave up his couch for me—much to the annoyance of his girlfriend at the time—and we’d been best friends ever since.

We were so in tune with each other that it was scary, though our closeness had always stopped at friendship and had never progressed further.

Boom was like the brother I never had. We were tight.

I told him everything, and he did the same with me.

There was nobody in this world I trusted as much as I did him.

We made beautiful music together, though music was as far as it had ever gone.

Would life have been easier if I could have developed romantic feelings for him?

Of course. But it wasn’t something we could or would ever force.

The door to the recording studio opened, and Talia, our manager, walked inside, nodding to Skip, our producer, who was no doubt doing a take of our rehearsal. Her eyes met mine, and she gave me a small nod, indicating it was time to talk.

I glanced at Boomer, who was looking between me and Talia with interest, before I pulled back from the microphone. “Time to take a break, boys,” I called out. “Talia needs to talk with us.”

The music died down, and loud chatter resumed as Sam began to bust our drummer, Jonny J’s chops about missing a beat, even though Jonny never missed shit .

While the guys were bantering loudly, Boomer sidled up to me and, in a quiet but demanding voice, asked, “What the fuck’s goin’ on?”

My gaze darted to Boom, and I grinned.

I never could get anything past him.

“Tally needs to talk to you all about something going on with me,” I admitted. “I don’t want a fuss, but she seems to think it’s important enough to get you all involved.”

My friend’s lips thinned. “I can guess,” he muttered before turning to the other guys. “Get your asses out there and stop fucking around. It’s important. Tally’s here to talk about Saint.”

“What have you done now?” Jonny drawled, eyeing me curiously.

“Nothing,” I replied defensively, punching my hands to my jean-clad hips.

“And you’ve got a nerve even opening your mouth after that reality starlet swore blind that you’d impregnated her.

The one time Talia comes for a meeting to discuss something about me, you automatically think the worse, even though I’m the best-behaved one out of all of us. ”

“I’ll give you that,” Jonny muttered. “But you gotta admit, being the best-behaved doesn’t really mean jack shit in the great scheme of things, seeing as we’re usually the worst-behaved ones in the fuckin’ room.”

My lips twitched. “There is that.”

Sam stalked toward me and placed his hands on my shoulders, staring into my eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I breathed. “It’s probably nothing. We just need to keep you guys briefed about a few things.”

He slid his arm across my shoulders and guided me out of the soundproofed studio. “Best go see what she wants then.”

My eyes strayed up to Sam’s face, and I caught him studying me thoughtfully .

He looked like your typical Cali blond boy next door, though, in reality, he was as far removed from the boy next door as you could get.

Sam was a nepo baby, though we didn’t know that when we hired him to be our bassist. He got the gig through pure talent, even though his dad was a guitar hero from the seventies who now lived on his private estate with his twenty-two-year-old fourth wife.

Incidentally, Sam was someone I’d gone there with just once.

A couple of years ago, I’d had a crisis of confidence and decided to drink it out of my system.

Sam joined me, and we ended up in bed together.

There was a window of time when things were awkward between us because he wanted more than I could give.

He was a nice guy, but I didn’t want to shit where I ate.

Luckily, we’d gotten over our awkwardness and were friends again now.

Talia sat on one of the couches and leaned over the huge coffee table, where she was setting out various glossy photographs.

My heart sank because I’d seen them before, many times.

It wasn’t that I’d meant to hide shit from the boys.

It was more that I didn’t take it too seriously.

Weird fans came with the territory, as did dirty online trolls and anonymous abuse from cowardly, envious little individuals who were so heartsick with self-hate that they projected it onto us.

I was the only female in the band, and although I’d seen other women in the entertainment industry get it worse than I did, I still got trolled relentlessly.

Was it right? No, of course not, but it was part of the job, and I refused to let a faceless coward who only had the balls to spout their boring drivel under a fake name and profile picture affect me.

I didn’t concern myself with critical reviews, and I didn’t seek out other people’s opinions. I just did what I loved. Whoever wanted to come on board for the ride was welcome; the rest could eat shit for all I cared because, really, what the fuck did I have to feel bad about? My successful career?

Yeah… No.

I’d learned many years before that the only person in life I needed to please was myself. If I didn’t give the first shit about what my morally demanding God-fearing father thought about me, then why the hell would I be bothered about what a complete stranger said?

Except one stranger in particular was beginning to make Talia nervous, and the thing about our manager was that she had balls of steel.

She’d come from humble beginnings to make it to the top of her game in a world ruled by men.

There wasn’t much that fazed her, so if Tally got nervous, I tended to get nervous too.

Hence the meeting.

Talia looked up at us as we took our seats and sat straight.

“Three months ago, Saint started getting letters from a fan.” She waved her hand nonchalantly.

“I know, I know, pretty run-of-the-mill stuff, which is why nobody questioned it. At first, they were sent to the PMB, and the fan club department dealt with them, but six weeks ago, they began to arrive at Saint’s house along with flowers and those weird assed gifts.

” She nodded down at the photographs she’d laid out on the table.

Boomer glanced at the photographs and did a double-take. “Is that a butt plug?”

Talia stiffed. “That one was delivered to Saint’s house four days ago, along with a fan letter explaining in detail exactly how they were going to use it on her.”

Boomer’s entire body locked, and he bit out, “What the fuck?”

“Yeah,” Talia replied, her mouth going tight. “There’s a new state-of-the-art security system going into Saint’s house as we speak. The problem is that the stretch of beach she lives on isn’t private. Also, whoever’s sending them has got resources. The diamonds on that butt plug are real.”

Boom let out a low whistle, and then his face turned toward me. “You’ve gotta move house. Now!”

I laughed. “I’m not moving. It took me months to find my beach house. I’m not giving it up for some lunatic who doesn’t understand the concept of boundaries.”

“It’ll just be for a couple of months until we find out who’s doing this,” he urged. “Rent an apartment or something where there’s a doorman and better security.”

“It’s already been suggested,” Talia interjected. “The record company has a couple of places they have for visiting VIPs that Saint could use, so we’re going over all the options.”

“Stay with me,” Boomer offered.

“Or me,” Sam suggested with a casual wave of his hand. “Though I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about. It’s probably just some sad, googly-eyed, ugly little motherfucker, who still lives with mother and is angry about their lonely, pathetic life. These weirdo stalkers usually are.”

I let out a snort.

“Well, you’re not staying with me,” Jonny J muttered. “You whine too much.”

“I don’t whine,” I argued, my tone affronted.

“You’re like my second mom,” he pointed out. “Every time I light a joint, you nag.”

“Hello. Newsflash. It’s because I care,” I said sarcastically. “I don’t want you to fall into the sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll fame trap and lose everything like we’ve seen so many fucking times before.”

“She’s gotta point, dude,” Sam stated .

I sighed. “Thank you for the kind offers, but I’m not staying with anyone. Talia’s got another proposal, one that affects all of us.”

Every eye turned expectantly to our manager.