I hated the fucking idea.
Storming into the bathroom, I went straight to the basins and braced my hands on the counter. Beads of sweat rolled down my back as I tried to regulate my breathing and focus on anything but the constant scratch under my skin. The scratch that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t quite itch.
My skin was sallow, my cheekbones hollow. I looked like shit, felt like it too. But I knew I was on a shaky ledge. One wrong step, and I would be back in rehab. And I couldn’t go back there.
Not again.
For someone like myself, who fought his demons day in day out, rehab was the worst kind of hell. Even if it had saved my life on more than one occasion.
Turning on the faucet, I splashed some water on my face before rubbing my hands to the back of my neck. The blast of cold helped me focus.
Six months ago, I would have told Letty to go fuck herself. I was Levi fucking Hunter. I did what I wanted, when I wanted, with little regard to the consequences. But things were different now. Eva was on the tour, she was one of us, and we had the endorsement from Masterpiece. I couldn’t just walk out on them, no matter how much I wanted to.
This time, I had to suck it up and go along with the plan.
This time, I had to fall in line.
This time, I had to try to be better.
Eva sang the lyrics again, her soft, sultry voice filling the recording booth. I could just make out Letty standing over the sound engineer, a guy called Brad. We’d been at it for hours. First, Eva had to learn the lyrics and then we had to figure out the arrangement. Once we had that nailed, we’d bring in the guys.
“It’s good,” Letty came over the speaker. “But something is missing.”
She wasn’t wrong.
There was no doubt our voices blended together effortlessly, but it lacked energy and emotion, and I was pretty sure I knew why.
“She’s right.” Eva tore off her headphones and took a deep breath, hitting the microphone button so that no one else could hear us. “Maybe it would help if you told me the meaning behind the lyrics.”
My brow quirked up. “Nice try, Angel. But never gonna happen.”
“Levi, come on. You can trust me. It’s such an amazing song but it’s your song.”
“You cover songs all the time.” They were a staple of her set on the tour.
“Yeah, but that’s different. I’m trying to sing your words, and I know you well enough to know everything you write means something.”
Eva was special. Kind and gentle and so damn intuitive. It wasn’t any wonder her light had burrowed its way into the darkest part of my soul. For a second, I’d wanted her to be mine. I’d wanted to revel in her purity and let it wash away my sins.
But I always knew she was Rafe’s.
Just as I always knew a girl like Eva was too good for a guy like me. I tainted everything I touched, and left to my own devices, I would have tainted her. I would have sucked dry her overflowing well of goodness and turned her soul into nothing more than a black abyss.
Because that’s who I was.
Levi Hunter: stealer of hearts, reaper of souls.
Therapists liked to tell me that I couldn’t expect anyone to love me until I learned to love myself.
So I was shit out of luck… because loving myself?
Yeah, never going to happen.
Phoebe
“You’re late,” my father rose from his chair, a scowl of disapproval etched in the harsh lines of his face.
“Sorry, the traffic was a nightmare.”
“Yes, well, you should have left early enough to account for that.”
My teeth ground together.
Peter Halstead was a hard man to please. Shrewd and cold with little time for pleasantries. Great for the movie industry; not so great for me, his only daughter.
After an awkward kiss, we both sat down.
“This is great, Dad,” I said, pretending to take in the restaurant. The truth was, I hated these places. Rich. Ostentatious. Full of fake conversation and even faker clientele.
He signaled a server and ordered our usual, a bottle of Perrier for me with ice and lemon, and a glass of Jameson eighteen-year-old reserve. “How is at the label?”
“It’s... uh, good.” I swallowed. My dad had gotten me the internship through a friend of a friend.
“I think this could be a good thing for you, Phoebe. After Zephyr, you need to keep busy.”
“Got it, Dad.” My lips pursed.
“You haven’t spoken to him?”
“I promised I wouldn’t.”
“Good.” He gave me a stiff nod. “That man needs help, sweetheart. Professional help.”
“Hmm-mm,” I murmured, too choked to reply.
Thankfully, the server chose that moment to bring our drinks over. I grabbed my bottle of water and added it to the glass, wishing it was something stronger.
“If he does try to contact you, I want you to inform me immediately.”
Zephyr wouldn’t try to contact me. That ship had long sailed. No, it had run aground in after a tumultuous storm.
Ignoring his comment, I mumbled, “And here I thought this was supposed to be lunch with my father because he wanted to actually see me.”
“Oh, save me the dramatics, Phoebe.” He sipped his whisky. “All I’m trying to say is, you can’t save everyone. You need to move on from—”
“Already moved on, Dad. Zephyr who?” My lips twisted into a saccharine smile.
He rolled his eyes. “I see you haven’t lost your sense of sarcasm. You know, it’s the lowest form of wit. It isn’t very becoming of a young woman such as yourself, with so much untapped potential.”
I wanted to disappear. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole, if it meant avoiding this conversation.
When I’d gotten the call from my father’s assistant that he was on business in Memphis and wanted to have lunch, I’d contemplated making an excuse. But Peter Halstead was not the kind of man you turned down. Besides, if I wanted to keep him off my back, I needed to play nice.
He picked up the menu and began scanning it. “So, tell me about Razorsharp. I hope they’ve got you doing something a little more useful than making coffee and filing paperwork?”
“I’m the intern, Dad, that’s kind of par for the course.” The lies rolled off my tongue with ease. I’d spent the better part of the last five years lying to him.
I hadn’t grown up living with my father. He and my mom had separated not long after I turned four. He travelled a lot for work, and she didn’t like being second best to his job. It wasn’t until she died when I was fifteen, that he finally stepped up to the plate. He took me in, and for those first few months, I’d been the center of his world. Mom’s death had hit me hard, and I spiraled into depression. Dad took some time out of work to help me through it all. But the second I was better, he returned to his job, and I was left to fend for myself.
I was at a new school with no friends and a whole heap of grief. It was hardly any surprise when I fell in with the wrong crowd. I was desperate for attention, craving intimacy and comfort. I was a teenager in pain, and it wasn’t long before I found my cure.
Zephyr Marek.
Tortured bad boy with a penchant for broken girls.