When my security system tells me the front gate to the property is opening, I’m stunned still for a moment. My sister and her husband are on vacation with their kids. Mom is right in front of me.
“Expecting company?” Mom asks.
“Maybe Ria is back early? No one else knows the gate code.”
“Apart from those rock stars you let stay here over Christmas.”
Dread sinks and lands in my gut. “Those fuckers sold me out.”
Theoretically, it could be Cash or maybe Thorne. When the band stayed here over winter, Thorne, Cash’s manager, and I kinda bonded. He or Cash might be back to catch up. Though, why wouldn’t they call first? It could be Cameron, but each time he has visited me out here, he’s used the buzzer. He doesn’t have the gate code.
Deep down, I know who it is. I’ve been waiting for it.
I knew trusting Cash to keep my location a secret was a mistake, but he already seemed to know I was in Montana, and if he’d told the guys from Eleven, they’d know exactly where to find me thanks to Denver. Cameron has known since I moved home, so I doubt he’d sell me out now. Unless he was getting too impatient about me coming back.
The sound of a car pulling up outside gets me out of my chair and moving toward the front closet where I keep my father’s old hunting rifle. It’s not loaded, but whoever’s outside doesn’t know that.
I throw open the front door and stomp outside into the frigid spring air, raising the rifle to point at the car.
As suspected, Harley tumbles out with his hands up. Someone tries to pull him back, but he swats them away.
“Whoa,” he says. “I’m Harley Valentine. I’m looking for Mason Nash.”
Ugh. Another person who doesn’t realize I’m me. In a way, it’s been great because I’ve been able to go to the store without being recognized. In other ways, it makes me self-conscious about how much I’ve “let myself go.”
“Why do you think I haven’t lowered my gun?” I snark.
His face morphs from confusion to surprise. “Mase? Is that … you? What—” His mouth slams shut, and I know what he was going to ask.
What happened?
Oh, you know, moved home to be close to my mom, have lived off home-cooked meals and brownies and all the delicious food that took away my hurt. I might have put on forty or so pounds since moving home. I’ve also grown out a beard, stopped trimming my thick black hair, and traded in my designer clothes for flannel.
And I like it. Because like this, I’m not Mason Nash.
I lower the rifle. “What are you doing here, Harley?”
“We came to get you back.”
“What makes you think I’d want to come back? I don’t even know why you’d want to. You had your own career—your own success.” Then his words register, and it hits me all at once. “What do you mean by we?”
Another guy gets out of the car, someone I don’t recognize. He’s built like a tank. He takes a protective stance next to Harley, and I’d have to guess he’s a bodyguard. I would say bringing a bodyguard is overkill, but I guess I did just point a weapon at him, so yeah, valid.
As the next body climbs out of the car, I hold my breath because out of everyone in this world, there’s only one person I’m desperate to see yet want him to go to hell at the very same time. My heart plummets when I see a head of blond hair.
Not my Denny, then.
It’s Blake.
“Plenty of boy bands have moved from five members to four. You don’t need me.” And I sure as fuck need none of them.
“Nope,” Harley says. “It’s all or nothing. That’s what we’ve all agreed to.”
“Then it’s nothing. Sorry you wasted a trip, but you can turn around and go right back to the airport.”
I spin on my heel and go to march inside, when I hear a voice. A distinct, croaky, upset voice. My back stiffens. I know exactly who it is without needing to turn around.
“Mase? Please hear Harley out.”
I look back over my shoulder. Denver stands there looking nothing like the guy who abandoned me in a hotel room and hasn’t spoken to me since. His hair is no longer shaggy like it once was. It’s cut short and styled on top. His baby face is still young-looking, though the bags under his eyes and his tired expression age him some.
“So you’re the one who sold me out,” I say. It wasn’t Cash at all.
“I …” Denver’s mouth closes.
“I don’t want to hear what Harley has to say. The only person I need an explanation from is you.” I spin back around, and this time I get to the door before that damn voice stops me again.
“I’m sorry,” Denver calls out.
What for? For running away after he kissed me, for fucking up our friendship, or for ignoring my calls for months, and then not being there for me when I actually needed someone.
I remember sitting in my mansion in Palos Verdes, overlooking the water, and thinking, This is how my career in Hollywood ends. And who was there for me? Absolutely no one.
With Harley, Ryder, and Blake, it stung. From the person who had been my best friend for seven years, it was soul-crushing.
And because why? Why did he ghost me? Because he was going through an identity crisis? Did he really think I would hate him for kissing me? I want him to be happy and comfortable in his own skin. I would’ve been there for him to work through it all, but no. He didn’t want me there. Apparently, rejecting his kiss and wanting to talk about it was too much for him.
I haven’t decided if I actually want to hear him out or not when I sense him behind me.
“I know this has been a long time coming,” he says, his voice low. “And if Harley hadn’t dragged me here, I’d probably still be ignoring it.”
I scoff. “Good to know you’re only doing this because Harley forced you to.”
“No, that’s not what I meant. Please, can I … can we come in?”
I make the mistake of turning and looking into his unnaturally aqua eyes. I don’t want to give in—I’m mad at each and every one of them—but for the first time in over two years, Denver is in front of me, and I have always been ridiculously bad at saying no to him.
He’s the youngest of us all, and I’m the oldest. I’ve always felt protectiveness toward him.
“We’re going to go get hangover food,” Harley calls out where he still waits by the car. I get the sense he wanted to move closer, but his bodyguard’s beefy hand is wrapped around his arm, stopping him. “You two talk your shit out, and when we get back, we’re all having a serious conversation.”
Maybe it’s time we bury the hatchet, but I don’t know if I’m ready.
Harley takes it out of our hands by getting in the car and backing out the drive, leaving a terrified Denver on my doorstep.
“Come inside.” If I don’t take this opportunity, I might not get another one.
Chapter Five
Denver
Mason looks … insanely different. Gone is the smooth square jaw and cleft chin. Gone is the short hair. Gone is the lanky, skinny guy I once knew, replaced by this huge mountainous man with a dark beard and hair that sits below his chin. His arms are thick, his chest is bigger, and his face and stomach are rounder. If it weren’t for his expressive brown eyes, I would’ve thought some random man was pretending to be my best friend.