Beneath the Stars (Falling Stars 4)

Still, I shrugged and said, “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

Tipping the beer up, I gave it a good guzzle.

“Yeah, right. I see those dodgy eyes, and believe me, I’ve seen those dodgy-ass eyes enough times to know when you’ve gone and gotten yourself into a load of trouble. Now what did you do?”

Wasn’t really the question of if I’d gotten myself into somethin’. It was which somethin’ I was gonna fess up to.

In this case, I was going for deflection.

“Um… you were here for the whole showdown. Thanks to Leif and Richey-Poo, I now have to write an epic song that goes on the album or I have to ditch my hashtag that I’ve built up with nothing but years of TLC. The pressure,” I whined, playin’ it up.

During practice, my online ‘antics’ had once again been called into question.

I had a little tradition that after each show, I’d do the crowd a solid and strip off my shirt and toss the sweaty mess out into the mayhem. Girls would go nuts. Clamoring to get it, fighting over it like it was their own personal version of MMA.

Tradition had it that whoever finally managed to take it home would take a picture of themselves in it and post it with the hashtag, #IGotWetWithRhys. Usually, they didn’t have anything on underneath.

Most of the time, I’d be waitin’ on the sidelines. Doing another honor of helping them out of said shirt.

It made for a great distraction.

Easy sex. Easy smiles. Easy fun.

Both parties more than satisfied.

For a little while, it kept my mind from wandering to places I didn’t want it to go and let the tension I carried around bleed free.

For a moment, that lonely, vacant space didn’t gape so wide.

Turns out, the rest of the band didn’t like it all that much, and they thought it’d become unfitting for the type of music we were putting out into the world. They’d gone and challenged me to write a song that would blow Sebastian Stone’s rock ‘n’ roll mind.

It would be the first time a song I had personally written would be included on an album.

If I failed? I had to put that whole hashtag biz to rest.

Unease squeezed my rib cage.

Thing was, I wasn’t so sure I liked the whole hashtag thing all that much these days, either.

Tried to snuff my thoughts from racing toward the reason for that.

The girl who was gettin’ under my skin.

Far too deep.

“Bullshit. You think I don’t know you’re salivatin’ all over that challenge? A chance to show how great you are? Come on.” Ponytail swishing around her shoulders, Mel rolled her light-brown eyes before they sharpened again. “Now fess up.”

I blew out a sigh. Might as well go for gold. “So, I might have gone back to Tennessee and snuck in to see her.” I hem-hawed the confession out, like maybe there was a chance I hadn’t actually done it and I was contemplating the viridity of the statement, head bobbing before I was chugging the second half of the beer.

I turned my back on her and went for another.

I might as well have opened the freezer side with the artic chill that suddenly iced over the room.

“You did what?” she hissed.

Shutting the door, I moved over a fraction and leaned against the counter. “Went to see her.”

Mel sighed. It was sympathy and disbelief. “Jesus, Rhys. Do you have a death wish?”

Looking to the ceiling, I blew out a strained breath before I dropped my attention back to her. “I know.”

Her head barely shook. “You’re just askin’ for it. He finds out and—”

“He already did.” I cut her off before she could finish the thought. I sipped the beer and then crossed my arms over my chest, still clutching the bottle in one hand.

Her eyes snapped to mine. “What do you mean?”

“Got a text…a picture of my mama. Someone was in Dalton…watching her in the distance.”

Worry filled her expression, and she inched closer. Her voice dropped to a whisper, even though there wasn’t a soul around to hear her. “What did it say?”

I shrugged. “Same shit as always. More money. More threats.”

And he wouldn’t stop until he had my head on a plate.

“Rhys…you’ve got to let it go. Stop goin’ there. He seems content to swindle you out of your money, but one day, I’m afraid he’s gonna take it farther. He hates you.”

I tipped up the beer and sucked it down like I could suck the regrets down with it. Erase the anger and the grief. Make it better.

But it never was gonna be.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Melanie shook her head. “Seriously? All this blackmailin’ is just fine?”

“Owe her,” I grated, barely able to force out the words.

She touched my arm, and her voice slipped into a plea. “You’ve got to take back control. You don’t know the lengths he might go to when he realizes you’re willing to give into whatever he demands.”