The Power to Break Read online

  She laughs. “I’ll leave when I get the answer I want to hear, asshole.”

  I shake my head and chuckle at our standard nicknames for each other. “You’re such a cunt.”

  She grins. “And that’s why you want it so bad.”

  I roll my eyes. “In your dreams, Pen.”

  She gives me a look of terror like it’s her actual worst nightmare, which it probably is considering all she’s seen, and I laugh as she walks out the door.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ETHAN

  I spent the night in, though I will admit to tugging at my dick in the shower while I thought about Maci Dane. I shouldn’t have been thinking about her that way the night before I meet her in person for the first time, but one of her songs happened to come on the radio while I was jerking off.

  As I drive to the office, I try to get my head in the game. It’s not easy since my mind is wandering this morning. Just when I pull into my reserved parking space, the old idea of the thread comes to mind, and I’m not sure why.

  My sister once told me about this theory that every person is connected to another person by a thread. It’s some old legend I thought was stupid, but I couldn’t help thinking the girl from high school held the other end of my thread when I first heard about it. That same thought flashes through my mind once again, but I force it away. It couldn’t have been more than a crush.

  If one person was meant to be with another, they’d have found their way together. It’s been twenty years, so I vow to myself I’ll leave the memories in the car today. It is what it is, and what it is is over.

  It’s over.

  I should’ve moved on decades ago. I’m sure some shrink would tell me this girl is the reason I’m fucked up, my mom is the reason I’m fucked up, whatever. I know the root of all the shit, but I’m not changing the way I run my life.

  I take the elevator up to the top floor. I greet Jami at reception, and she hands me a folder with today’s tasks. “Thanks,” I say, and she grins at me.

  I stop in my office, read through the tasks in my folder, and drop it on my desk, and then I make my way toward the conference room, where I’m sure everyone’s already waiting on me.

  They are, naturally, as they perch on various couches around a small coffee table. The wives are there, too, in a corner gossiping about whatever it is they squawk about. Steve’s in the middle of talking about some guitar riff in one of our songs he wants to change up a bit when I walk in.

  “Nice of me to show up, huh?” I say, interrupting Steve mid-word before anyone can make a snide comment.

  They all ignore me as Steve finishes his sentence.

  “I think we can make that work. We’ll need to run through it once or twice, but we’ve got two more practice sessions before Vegas,” Mark says. He nods to Vick, who takes down a note on a pad of paper. I swear, she keeps us all organized. Without her, we’d be a mess. Even with her some of us still are. Mark glances over at me. “I need to go over a few things with you before Maci gets here.”

  “Didn’t we go over everything yesterday?” I ask.

  He rolls his eyes at my petulance, but I don’t care. He hands me a sheet of paper with a bunch of topics on it, and I notice right away everyone else in the room has a similar paper in front of them. Mark says, “We’ve already been through items one and two, so if you have any comments, I don’t really know what to tell you. Next on the agenda is our collaboration with Maci. I’m going to bring it up to her after our first night, after we see how things go with the encore. Any objections?”

  “We haven’t even met her yet, man. What if we don’t get a good vibe from her?” I ask.

  “We have met her, actually,” he says, motioning between Steve, James, and himself. “Not my fault you realized at the Christmas party you fucked a teenager and went home to sulk about it. She showed up and you missed it.”

  “Fuck off about that shit,” I say. I realize I’m being overly aggressive as I fold my arms over my chest. Even though he’s my best friend, sometimes he can be a real dick. “I didn’t know, all right?”

  “Any objections to a collaboration?” he presses.

  Everyone shakes their heads, so I’m forced into silence. I don’t have an objection, exactly; I’d just like to meet her before I agree to do a song with her.

  “Fine, next on the agenda is when we’ll do the collaboration. If she agrees to it, our week off in Chicago might be the right time to do it. Vick can work with her guy to get studio time on the books.”

  “Can we work out of Studio Seventeen in Wrigleyville?” James asks.

  Mark nods. “Provided they have an opening for us.”

  “They will,” Steve says. “They always make room for us.”

  “We also have some open time when we’re in New York.” Mark glances at the paper.

  “We’re cutting it close on time, don’t you think?” I ask. I know I sound like the wet blanket on everyone else’s stellar ideas, but I’m trying to throw in the realism here. “That’s only a couple months away. We don’t even have a song.”

  “Actually, we do. That’s the next item on the agenda.” Mark pulls out a small stack of papers from his folder and passes them around. I read the words at the top of the page: “The Best Revenge.”

  I glance through the lyrics and realize he’s telling the story of what happened between his brother, his wife, and him. Mark and Reese have been married over a year now, but they went through a lot to get there.

  “Mark, this is fantastic,” James says once he finishes reading.

  Steve echoes his sentiment, and as usual, I’m the lone differing opinion.

  “The line that reads, ‘Not again’ needs more. Sing me the bridge the way you hear it.”

  Mark shoots me an irritated glance but does it anyway because he knows damn well I can write lyrics just as well as he can. He sings it through: “The best revenge is getting her back, You can’t tempt me into attack, Not again.”

  He carries the final syllable of again for a long time, and I shake my head. “Look at the refrain.”

  We all read through it:

  The best revenge is sweet victory

  When one and one are meant to be

  Where have you been

  “Take the last line, ‘Where have you been’ and repeat ‘you been’ twice more,” I say. I sing it in the same melody Mark used: “Where have you been, you been, you been. You’re rhyming it with again in the bridge, so do the same thing there to balance it.”

  Mark murmurs the words, “Not again, again, again. Where have you been, you been, you been.” He looks up at me and shakes his head in wonder. “You’re a real douchebag, but man, you’ve got an ear for this.”

  I’m about to make a snide comment when Mark’s phone dings with a new text. He checks it. “Maci’s here. Clay’s going to bring her back in a few minutes.”

  My heart rate inexplicably kicks up.

  “I guess we can finish the rest of the agenda items tomorrow before practice. Can everyone meet an hour early?” Mark asks.

  We all nod our consent.

  “In your time, that’s ninety minutes,” Mark says to me, and I give him the finger. He laughs and stands, and we all follow suit. We head near the doors to greet her when she walks in.

  “Oh, before I forget,” I say, “I know it’s last minute, but I want flaming drumsticks for this tour.”

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Mark says.

  “I’m not kidding.”

  “No,” he says, as if he has the final word on the matter.

  He doesn’t. He’s not the boss, and I’m tired of him walking around like he gets the final say in all our band decisions. It’s time for me to fight for what I want, and today, that’s flaming fucking drumsticks.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MACI

  I savor the cooling menthol of my cigarette all the way into my lungs. I wait for the inevitable calming sensation smokes always give me, but it’s not happening to
day. With shaky fingers, I flick the stick onto the ground next to another cigarette butt as I wonder idly if the butt next to mine is Ethan’s. I stub it out with my heel while my heart picks up speed, and then I make my way into the building that houses Ashmark Records.

  I’ve been here lots of times to meet with Clay, my A&R executive, and most recently just last week for the Christmas party. I fight the nerves as the seemingly endless elevator ride carries us to our destination. It feels like we stop on every single floor on our way up, and each time the elevator skids to a stop, my stomach bottoms out and my heart pounds a little harder. I twist my hands together, a nervous habit I need to break. I can’t let Ethan see me sweat.

  The doors finally open to the sixteenth floor. Griffin follows close at my heels.

  “Back off,” I say.

  He sighs, but I don’t want him right on my ass for this meeting. I’m almost considering asking him to wait out in the hall, but I need him here—and not just for moral support. He’ll take note of everything, and he’ll remind me of all the shit I forget.

  He squeezes my shoulder in a show of support and all it serves to do is piss me off. I tear my arm from his grasp. I need to maintain my focus, and having my manager all over me as I walk into this meeting won’t look good.

  A gorgeous blonde woman sits at reception. “May I help you, Ms. Dane?”

  “Meeting with the boys at one,” I say, false confidence injected into every single one of my words.

  “Of course. Can I get you anything?” she asks.

  “Do you have some whiskey?” The confidence is gone at my plea.

  She smiles. “Mr. Ashton insists we keep a bottle at reception. Vodka, too. His wife prefers it.”

  “Just a bit of whiskey,” I say.

  She nods and pulls open a cabinet behind her. She pours some amber liquid into a glass and holds it out to me. “Anything mixed? Ice?”

  I shake my head. “Neat’s fine.”

  “That’s how I drink it, too.” She shoots me a conspiratorial smile.

  I press my lips together in a non-smile and nod, and then I suck down the entire glass in two gulps. The liquid burns down my chest, but it’s exactly what I need to calm me down, especially after the cigarette and the deep breath routine didn’t work.

  “Clay will be right up to take you back. They’re all present and ready for you.” They’re all present. That includes Ethan, and my heart rate kicks up a little faster. He’s here in this building. He’s waiting for me.

  She nods to my glass. “Would you like some more?”

  I shake my head and set the glass down on the counter more forcefully than I intend to. “No, thanks.”

  My nerves spike up again when Clay strolls around the corner. He kisses me fully on the mouth in greeting, sort of standard fare for us. I don’t know him well enough yet to call him a friend, but he falls into a category that seems to be more than just a label executive.

  Griff clears his throat behind me, and if we weren’t about to enter one of the biggest meetings of my life, I’d take him out in the hall and put him in his place for trying to stake some kind of claim on me. Fuck him.

  I don’t have the time to do it, though, so as I pull away from Clay, I turn and glare at Griff. He looks at me with wide, innocent brown eyes, and I regret ever allowing him into my bed.

  Clay nods at Griff, and then he spins on his shiny black loafers and motions for me to follow. The whiskey’s effects are working to dull my spiked nerves, but they’re still there. My pulse still races and certainly anyone looking at me can see the beat of my heart in my neck or at my wrist. My knees feel weak as eighteen-year-old Ethan Fuller’s face flashes through my mind, but I won’t be taken down because of a man.

  Weak little Dani Mayne let that happen, and I’m still paying the price. The strong motherfucking lioness Maci Dane won’t allow it.

  We stop outside a door, and I draw in a deep breath. I do it in a way so nobody notices. I don’t want Clay or Griff to know how affected I am by this meeting, but all I can think about is the fact that Ethan Fucking Fuller stands behind that door.

  Clay opens the door and my eyes immediately fall on Ethan. He looks like the boy I knew back then but grown into a man’s body. His ice-blue eyes look onto the lead singer of his band with anger. His dark, dirty blond hair is too long and sticks up awkwardly in a way that totally works for him. Stubble lines his jaw—not stubble in an attempt to look sexy, but stubble as a show he just doesn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks.

  My pulse races even faster and I think I might pass out. I grip the handles of my purse tightly, digging my fingernails into my palms to allow the pain to slice through me.

  “Fuck you, Ashton,” Ethan says.

  “Ethan, be serious,” Mark says. “You’re not drumming with flaming drumsticks.”

  “Why the fuck not?” he challenges Mark. I’m transported back to high school as I watched him challenge Mr. Davison, my math teacher. I’d arrived early to class and he’d apparently been asked to stay after the period before. His tone is exactly the same. “Kiss, Slayer, and Metallica all use fire.”

  “We’re not pyros, you fucking idiot.” Mark looks exasperated, and then he turns toward me. He grins. “Maci, welcome. It’s so good to see you again.”

  “Dude, even fucking Rammstein does it,” Ethan says, still pleading his case to Mark.

  Mark leans in conspiratorially and lowers his voice. “Ignore Fuller. He’s an asshole.”

  I laugh and glance over at Ethan, who’s scowling.

  “Fuck you,” he says to Mark.

  “You’ll hear that a lot out of his mouth,” Mark says, jabbing a thumb in Ethan’s direction, “but honestly, I’m not interested.”

  Clay laughs. “If he’s offering...”

  Ethan shakes his head in disgust and I’m certain I hear a sharp breath of relief behind me from Griff at Clay’s admission.

  “I’m not offering,” Ethan says. He walks toward a table filled with refreshments and grabs a cookie while he pouts, and I recognize the little boy inside him—the one who didn’t get his way when he was a teenager because his mom didn’t have the money to pay for his private drum lessons, the one who didn’t get to play on the football team because his parents didn’t have insurance for him, the one who turned to music outside of school and doing whatever he could to buy weed and alcohol at an early age.

  I almost feel sorry for him until his words come back to me, until my entire purpose washes back over me. It doesn’t matter that I’m still attracted to him. I fucking hate him and how he made me feel like a worthless piece of shit once upon a time, for being the base point when my life began to spiral out of control.

  Mark reintroduces me to James and Steve, the bassist and guitarist, respectively, and their wives, Morgan and Angelique, all people I met at the Christmas party, but I appreciate him going over the names again. They’re polite and much more reserved than their drummer. He reintroduces me to his wife and then the band’s assistant, and I reintroduce Griffin.

  “Ethan, come play nice with Maci,” Mark says.

  My heart stutters in my chest.

  Ethan glances over at me and then returns his gaze to the table of food. “Hey,” he says.

  “It’s nice to see all of you again,” I say. “I’m excited about this tour.” I sound like a fucking moron. Of course I’m excited. Who wouldn’t be? I get the chance to tour with one of the top bands in the world. How many people can say they’ve done that?

  Mark motions to some couches and chairs set in a circle around a coffee table. “Ready to get to work?” he asks. I nod. “Help yourself to refreshments first.”

  I glance over at the table. “Griff?” I say. His eyes fall onto me. “Whiskey.”

  He presses his lips together and nods once, and Mark grins at me. “Now that’s the kind of girl I can get behind.”

  I choose a seat on the couch, and Ethan plops down on the opposite end. We talk business and logistics and I try not to
stare at the two boys I went to high school with. I try to act normal, but that’s exactly what it is—an act.

  “I know we’ve been over most of this already. You’ll be responsible for your own bus and crew,” Mark says. “But we’re pretty easy going. If you need anything, we can usually find someone to help. Or we’ll send Ethan over.”

  He’s badgering his best friend, and I can’t help my giggle when I glance over to see Ethan give Mark the middle finger.

  “Excuse him,” Mark says. “He woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning.”

  “You’d know,” Ethan mutters.

  “Mark woke up right next to me, and you sure as hell weren’t there,” Reese says. They’re funny, and I can sense I’ll have a lot of fun with this group—or, rather, I could have a lot of fun with them if I’d allow myself to let go of the past. Instead, I’m focused on my mission. I decide to start in right away. If I’m going to get him to fall for me, the sympathy card just might work as the first step to working my way in.

  “Are they always this mean to you?” I ask Ethan.

  He shrugs and looks out the window. “It is what it is.”

  I hate that phrase. It’s literally meaningless, and my response is always the same. “And it isn’t what it isn’t,” I reply. I suppress a laugh because Ethan really does look pissed.

  Ethan glances over at me, his brow furrowed, and Mark gives me a curious glance, too.

  “It’s all out of love,” Reese says. I look away from Ethan at her, and she winks at me.

  “Can we get this shit over with?” Ethan asks.

  Mark leads us through the rest of our logistics. I’m expected to be in Vegas in two days. Since it’s the kickoff of our tour, we need two days for setup and equipment testing plus a practice or two.

  We’re done with the business portion of our meeting, and Reese pulls me aside.

  “If you don’t want to sleep on your bus in Vegas, we have a place and you’re welcome to stay with us,” Reese says.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I booked a suite at MGM.”