I throw up my hands. “Nothing! I wrote the song. I have handwritten proof.”
“What happens now?” Bria asks. “Until Garrett can prove it?”
“Essentially, nothing. The burden of proof lies with Ms. Mancini. But if her claim holds water, she can halt all sales of the song, which includes stopping sales of the album it’s on.”
There are disappointed sighs around the table.
“That’s not all,” Joe says. “She can sue for royalties.”
“There can’t be many yet,” Liam says. “It’s only been out a week.”
“And damages,” Joe says.
“Damages?” Bria asks.
“That’s where they really get you. If she can prove the lyrics are hers, you could take a huge financial hit.”
“You meaning all of us?” Liam asks.
“You’re all part of Reckless Alibi and IRL, so yes. And with your recent success, I would expect the amount to be large.”
Crew rubs his jaw. “You don’t know what it is?”
“Not yet. We have a meeting with Ms. Mancini and her lawyer tomorrow. I’d like you all to attend.”
Ronni and Joe leave. I lean back in my chair. “I would have preferred a fucking paternity suit.”
“Who is she?” Bria asks.
“A girl I dated a long time ago.”
“Is she a musician?”
I shrug. “Not professionally. She played guitar, but I’ve never heard of it going anywhere.”
“That doesn’t mean she couldn’t have written the song,” Crew says.
“I told you I wrote it. I mean, yeah, she was there, and she might have offered suggestions, but it’s mine.”
“Suggestions?” Bria says. “How many suggestions? If you co-wrote the song, she’s entitled to something.”
My forehead meets the table. “Fuck.”
Liam pulls a chair up next to mine. “Be straight with us, G. Does she have a leg to stand on?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I was drunk—we were drunk. She was talking about how different we were and somehow it turned into lyrics.”
Bria puts a hand on my shoulder. “I sing it, Garrett. It does sound like it might have been written by a woman.”
“It only sounds like that because you sing it. If Crew sang it, maybe you’d think otherwise.”
“It’s about a man who rides a motorcycle. A man who’s not the singer.”
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t write it. I told you, she was the one talking about how different we were. It makes sense we’d write it from her point of view.”
“We?” Liam asks. “You just said we.”
“I meant me.”
“But you can’t be absolutely sure.”
I shake my head. Bile rises in my throat. What the hell have I done? “Damn it. It’s only some measly lyrics. Something we scribbled down ages ago. Obviously she never did anything with her music. I looked her up once several years ago and found nothing.”
“None of that matters if she wrote it. Or even co-wrote it,” Crew says. “Fuck, G, why didn’t you say anything? You’ve put us in one hell of a position.”
“Because I really thought I wrote it.” I run a hand through my hair, pissed at myself. “I’m sorry.”
Brad sits. “Right now it’s your word against hers, and you say you have handwritten lyrics. I wonder if there’s any way for them to tell how long ago you wrote them.”
“You mean like forensics and shit?” Liam asks.
“Yeah.”
“Who knows?” Crew says. “Maybe she’s lying. Who’s to say she’s not just a woman scorned?”
“Did you have a bad breakup?” Bria asks.
I snort. “You could say that.”
“There you go,” Crew says. “I’ll bet you tossing her to the curb will work in our favor.”
I gaze out the window, not wanting to think about that time in my life. “Except I wasn’t the one who left.”
Chapter Four
Reece
Six years ago …
I gaze at a stranger in my bed. Well, not my bed. A bed. In my hotel room.
Quietly and carefully, I scoot up against the headboard, hoping to find clues. I peek under the covers. Naked. My dress is on the floor next to a crumpled blue suit. There’s a condom on top of the jacket—and it leaked. Gross. I close my eyes and sigh.
At eighteen, I’m no lily-white virgin. I’ve had my share of one-nighters. But waking up with someone I have no recollection of sleeping with—I might have hit an all-time low.
A noise coming from his side of the bed has my eyes flying open. He’s still sleeping, he only turned over. My eyebrows shoot up at his tight derriere, and I shamefully applaud my choice of partners. His arm appears from under the sheet. Oh, yeah—that guy. Five tattoos grace his right arm. I study them and try to remember his name. I think we danced. Gage maybe? Jerry?
My mouth is bone dry. It tastes like something died in it. I need a toothbrush, and Tylenol. Lots of Tylenol.
I’m trying to sneak out of bed when he speaks. “Uh … hello.” His hesitancy makes me think he’s as confused by this as I am.
I hastily pull the covers around me as if he hasn’t already seen me naked. In doing so, I pull the sheet off him, exposing him entirely. He doesn’t seem to care. And he’s got serious morning wood. I try to avert my eyes but fail miserably.
He chuckles as my cheeks burn.
“Morning,” I say, taking the sheet with me when I stand.
He rises on an elbow, still not covering himself. “Some wedding, huh?”
I turn away. “Would you mind putting a pillow or something over that thing?”
The bed creaks. “Sorry, I know how distracting it can be for the ladies. Better?”
A snide laugh bubbles out of me when I turn around to see he’s put on boxer briefs. “Cocky much?”
He grabs his crotch. “Well, when you’ve got this much cock …”
I roll my eyes. “You think a lot of yourself, don’t you?”
“No more than you thought of me last night.” He pounds the mattress. “Twice.”
Twice? I want to give him a rude comeback, but I haven’t the slightest idea what happened in this bed. “I … uh …, need to take a shower. I have to deliver the wedding gifts to Sheila’s place.”
“Who’s Sheila?”
“The bride. Seriously?”
He shrugs. “I only went for the free booze. Those Jell-O shots they started handing out around midnight really did me in though.”
I eye him suspiciously. “You crashed the wedding?”
“I know Kurt, the groom. Not well. Friend of the family.”
I try hard to remember Jell-O shots. I can’t. I recall the toast, the cake, the dancing. Dancing with him. After that it gets fuzzy. I race to the bathroom before pausing apprehensively. “Did you drug me?”
He laughs, gets out of bed, and pulls on his pants. “Believe me, I don’t need to slip a girl a pill to get her to sleep with me.” He gazes at me, then the bed. “Oh, shit—you don’t remember last night, do you?”