A warm smile spread over her face. “I’m glad, Trey.” Those words held so much meaning. Spiraling out of control had hurt the guys badly, but I’d hurt Leila more. She was one of the most loving people I’d ever met… and since day one she’d never hidden her love for me.
After Tara and I got together, Leila and my wife had become close friends. One year, three months, fifteen days, and three hours ago I’d lost the love of my life. I know the exact measurement of time because my life came to a screeching halt that day. My life was now divided into two parts: pre–meeting Tara and post–getting clean. I considered the long weeks between her death and the day I hit rock bottom as my black hole bridging the two eras of my life.
I had met Tara when she’d been commissioned to write articles about Devil’s Lair for her magazine. Mind you, it definitely wasn’t all love at first sight with us. I did the lust thing, not love. As I had with the other relationships that lasted more than a week, which I could count on one hand, the closer she got the more I pushed her away, with little remorse. I truly believed I was better off alone. Undeterred of my prick ways, she wore me down. Letting Tara into my heart and marrying her had created a level of happiness I’d never experienced in my life.
We had so many years ahead of us. So, we thought. The universe had other plans.
There was nothing I could do to stop that deer that ran across the road. Regardless, I blamed myself, became my own judge and jury. If I hadn’t suggested taking that motorcycle ride, if we had left ten minutes later, if the road hadn’t been slick, none of it would’ve happened.
I should’ve died that day with my wife.
Think about that for a second.
I’d escaped death by the skin of my teeth, and because of where I’d landed on that pavement in comparison to Tara, my life had been spared.
The motorcycle accident that claimed my wife’s life claimed me as a victim in other ways. Besides my extensive injuries, Tara’s death had shattered my heart in a million tiny pieces that couldn’t be reassembled. Comparable to dropping a glass and having it hit the ground so forcibly most of the fragments are pulverized into dust. That kind of shattering.
My deep love for Tara forced the need to anesthetize—and on some days the desire to kill myself. Alcohol helped until it didn’t. The pain meds they gave me for breaking almost every bone on the right side of my body did the trick for a bit, until they wore off. But the combination of the two, mixed with some cocaine for good measure, now that was my winning ticket into numbness.
I’d never forget the day of my intervention, when Leila admitted, It felt like I lost both of you in that crash. Yet, as was proven by my overdose shortly thereafter, I wasn’t ready to hear her words, any of their words. I wasn’t ready to live without my wife.
Distractedly, I ran my thumb over the tattoo of my wife’s name on my ring finger. Sure, my girl had it going on with her baby blue eyes, blonde silky hair, and body that could make me hard anytime and anywhere. But it was her kindness, her intelligence, her ability to see me, the real me, that had won me over… very similar to the way Leila had won me over as a friend.
“Do you need another drink?” Leila asked, bringing me out of my reverie.
“No, I’m good. How was spa day?”
“Amazing. The girls are still there, wanting to milk it,” she said with an adorable smile.
“Speaking of milk, what do you call a herd of cows masturbating?” Her eye roll prompted me to say, “Beef strokin’ off.” It was her heavy sigh that forced a chuckle. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. So why aren’t you still there with the girls, milking it?”
“I guess I didn’t trust you men to keep the troops occupied without injury.”
I motioned toward the mayhem. “I think you should be more worried about the men escaping injury.”
“Either way,” she conceded.
We settled into a comfortable silence, watching the rest of our band playing beach soccer with all the kids. Every so often Scott would throw a scathing look my way. “Good kick, Scott!” I yelled with a cheesy thumbs-up, to which he looked over his shoulder to be sure the little ones weren’t watching before flipping me the bird.
“Stop goading him,” Leila scolded, but the grin on her face negated the reprimand.
“But it’s so much fun,” I whined.
“You haven’t changed one bit,” she said with a narrowed gaze and then added with another warm smile, “I’m glad.”
“Oh, admit it. Things were a snooze fest while I was gone.” Funny how I made it sound like rehab was a vacation in the Caribbean. The entire time I was away, thinking of my sweet wife being so disappointed in my epic collapse was what had kept me breathing. During detox, it wasn’t coming off the drugs that caused the most agony. It was the memories that always brought a stabbing pain smack in the center of my chest. I’d come a long way over the last year, and I knew this version of myself was as close to being back to normal as I’d ever get.
“Not quite,” Leila said tiredly. “You gave me gray hair and wrinkles while you were gone.”
“Liar. You’re as pretty as the day you came to audition for us,” I said, trying to inject humor to erase the sadness I saw in her eyes. “Not as clumsy as you were back then, thank God.”
“Shut it. I was nervous. You were Devil’s Lair.”
“Yeah, we were gods… at least Jack and I were. Hunt and Scott were more like cherubs.”
A giggle erupted before she could stop it. Leila Lair always wore her emotions on her sleeve, yet as sappy as she was, you could add strength and resilience to the mix. The woman would fight a grizzly to protect those she loved, me being one of them.
That was a major breakthrough for me. Other than the gorgeous woman I’d married, I’d finally accepted that others loved me. And I wasn’t referring to the millions of fans who worshipped us, obsessed over us. Leila and the guys loved me. Her oldest son, Shane, adored me. They were my family. It had taken me a long time to accept that. The day I’d joined Devil’s Lair, whether I wanted it or not, I’d been adopted.
Regardless, I still struggled. My physical scars healed but my internal scars remained. Through therapy I was learning how to accept support. Despite pushing people away my entire life, I needed to depend on those who loved me, use them on bad days, enjoy them on good days.
Seemed like ages ago when Hunter and Jack found me at that dive bar where I had been performing in New York City. The moment I stepped off the stage, they had the balls to approach and offer me a place in their band. No questions of who I was or where I came from. There was no need to divulge all the crap that had me running from Utah to LA to New York. They didn’t care.
Running was something I’d done since turning eighteen. Lying about my past while creating a new version of myself was something I’d perfected. Yet there were these two men who recognized my talent and took a chance on me.
They’d all put up with a lot of my shit and waited through the storm for my return. And despite my death wish, I’d miraculously survived. From then on, they tended to meddle in my life a bit more than would be considered normal.
Oscar, the head of our security company, employed about a dozen men who rotated driving the members of Devil’s Lair and their families. Jack, however, had arranged for Alec to be assigned strictly to me. If Alec wasn’t available, I had Ryan at my disposal, giving me twenty-four-seven access to a bodyguard.