Nobody Knows (Razes Hell 1)

The ten minutes before Drew entered the dressing room dragged on forever. When he stepped through the door sweat glistened on his face from the studio lights. My glare stopped him in his tracks. “I can’t believe you went through with that.”

“If I don’t do as I’m told, I don’t get paid.” Drew gave a half-hearted attempt at a grin. My lips remained in a tight, thin line, and he sighed. “Come on, Ellie. What was I supposed to do? Go on TV and admit this is all a lie?”

“It’s not all a lie, this stuff happened! This is your life. You can’t blurt out years’ worth of Jason’s issues as if they didn’t hurt you. This is dangerous, Drew.”

“You’re reading too much into it.” Drew tugged a towel out of his bag and wiped the sweat from his face with slightly more vigour than necessary. “You knew I’d be asked about him tonight. That was the plan, remember?”

“The plan is for Derek to get rich by using your past as entertainment.”

“If this works, we’ll all benefit. Derek will finally get paid for putting up with us, and we’ll get a real chance at making it in the music business.”

Razes Hell’s manager, Derek Richmond, was everything I hated. Not content with securing a much coveted spot on TV on New Year’s Eve for the boys, he had to take it a step further and create controversy. “You’re in a rock band,” he’d said. “People expect this kind of explosive behaviour, and you have to give the people what they want.” Instead of letting them make their mark on the music industry through their talent, he’d dragged them down to his sleazy, get-rich-quick level.

Bloody stupid Derek.

“I don’t care about Derek. I care about what this might do to you. When you were talking tonight… you didn’t make that stuff up. Do you honestly think Jason won’t see what I saw?”

“Why do you assume he watched?”

The the note of bitterness in Drew’s voice didn’t pass me by, and his tone only proved my point. Whether he realised or not, after one week of Derek’s scheme, Drew’s well-buried resentment about always being the one to clean up Jason’s messes had already risen to the surface. Although the New Year incident was as fake as a Page 3 model’s boobs, the Brooks brothers had more than their fair share of crap to throw at each other, and Drew had just flung his first handful.

“It was still a risk,” I said. “A stupid risk.”

“Well, maybe it’s my turn to be stupid. Maybe it’s my turn to be selfish.”

He shrugged off his shirt and pulled on a clean one. He’d actually dressed up for the occasion; he’d swapped his usual black t-shirts and jeans for… well… a black button-up shirt and jeans, but still, he’d made an effort.

My eyes lingered on his bare torso for a second. I tore my gaze away before I had chance to take in the light scattering of hair across his chest; his strong arms and his soft, slightly pudgy stomach that made his hugs infinitely more comfortable than being pressed against hard, ripped abs.

Okay, I took it all in and it annoyed me. There’s nothing worse than swooning over someone you’re angry with.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” I asked, banishing those thoughts to the little compartment of my brain I’d kept especially for those thoughts since they first fluttered into my consciousness. Developing feelings for one of my oldest friends was right up there with moonwalking on the sun on my list of things I thought were Never. Gonna. Happen.

Yet there I stood, shamelessly ogling him with his shirt off.

“How would you feel about watching a movie in my hotel room?” Drew’s question shook me from my thoughts.

“You promised to buy me dinner.”

“I will buy you dinner, but in my room, not at a restaurant. Unless you really want to go out?”

His deep brown eyes flickered; a silent plea I wouldn’t make him face the journalists who’d followed us around since we arrived in London. He wasn’t used to the craziness of the spotlight yet, and I had more experience of being shunted out of the way by crazy fan girls than blinded by camera flashes.

“No. Room service and a bottle of wine is enough for me.”

Actually, room service and wine was better. London had plenty of fantastic restaurants, but for a country girl like me, none of them compared to the quirky cafes back home in Cornwall. Plus, I didn’t have to get dressed up to spend the evening in Drew’s room. I could take off my one pair of trendy shoes that squished the life out of my toes, and slip into my trackie bottoms and a hoodie. Drew had seen me at various levels of disgustingness over the years; he wouldn’t judge me for drinking wine in my lazy clothes.

Mainly because he still viewed me as the scabby-kneed kid who dropped into his life when I was seven years old, instead of the twenty-four-year-old woman who stood in front of him now.

Drew pulled me into a one-armed hug; a gesture of thanks for not pushing him to deal with his issues. I tilted my head to look up into his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

A small, appreciative smile crossed his lips. “Come on, Ells. Let’s get out of here.”

Flashy London hotel rooms shouldn’t have been allowed to reach such low temperatures. With the heater on, and wearing a t-shirt, a baggy jumper, jeans and thick socks, I still couldn’t get warm. Drew added to the frosty atmosphere, pacing around while he waited for Jason to join us… once he’d finished his drink in the bar, of course.

While we waited, I pulled out my sketchpad and some pencils from my bag.

I made my living as an artist, a job that gave me satisfaction in every way. My need to be creative made me too restless for a desk job, and the idea of a nine to five caused me to break out in a cold sweat. Once I gained my degree, I began to sell my work to art galleries in and around St. Ives. Shivers still broke out on my skin when I spotted my art in the window of harbour-side galleries, and my small amount of local success allowed me the luxury of taking a step back to work at my own pace.