Wren and I are in the music room. She sits in the big bean bag chair, listening as I mindlessly strum along. We’re waiting for them to get here. My brother, Bishop, Priest, and Angel.
Yeah, they’re bringing her. I told them they didn’t have to if she wasn’t comfortable, but I think they all want to meet Wren. They want to see her for themselves, the girl who can put up with me.
The girl who changed me, made me better.
Reese isn’t here, which is good. I don’t want him here, not when it’s the first time I’ll have seen Bishop and Priest in so long. Don’t want him saying anything super weird, as he tends to do. We might be on better terms now, but sometimes the guy is… well, still a fucking creep.
I don’t know how long Wren and I wait, but it feels like an eternity passes in that room before my phone buzzes and I set down the guitar to check it. When I see that my brother has texted me and said they’re here, my stomach gets hard in a queasy way, so unlike me.
I never used to give a shit before. I blame Wren. But, I have to remind myself, caring isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Not giving a shit is what led me to spiral to begin with, so its opposite has to be something to strive for.
What’s life if you never care about anything?
Standing, I tuck my phone into my pocket and say, “They’re here.” Wren gets up, comes over to me, and rubs my arm in support. I’m so nervous about this. It sucks.
Together, we head downstairs, and Wren hangs back while I go to open the door. My brother is the first person I see approaching the front door from the short sidewalk from the driveway. His long hair is pulled back into a low, semi-messy ponytail, and when he sees me, he gives me a nod.
Behind him is Bishop, Black Sacrament’s main guitarist. Apparently, from what my brother has told me, he actually knew Angel from when they were kids. What were the odds of that? He looks the same as he always did: short brown hair, crisp hazel eyes, and a nonchalant way of holding himself.
And then there’s Priest: Black Sacrament’s new singer. Although, I guess, not so new anymore. The tallest out of them all, completely covered in tattoos. He has the shaggy blond hair and gray eye combo that makes the girls go nuts—and guys sometimes, too, although I doubt he’s been dabbling in any of that since he’s with Angel like the rest of them.
Angel.
She walks next to Priest in the back, wearing a plain pink shirt and a baseball cap over her white hair. She’s a pretty girl; I could understand why they’re currently tangled up in the mess they are. I mean, look at me, Wren, and Reese. I can’t really talk when it comes to messy, atypical relationships.
“Hey,” I say when Deacon finally reaches the front door. I step aside and let him in, and I give a nod to everyone else. “Welcome toCasa deLogan.”
“And Wren,” she chimes in from behind me, grinning ear to ear as she greets everyone. “The brother, I remember you.” Then her gaze shifts to Bishop. “And you must be Bishop. And you, Priest.” And then, finally, “Angel. I’m Wren.”
The guys and Angel all give me questioning looks as I shut the front door, and I say, “Don’t look at me. She figured it out all on her own. I swear I didn’t tell her.” Deacon already knew she knew, but he must not have disclosed that little fact to the others.
“Good to meet you,” Bishop says with a dimpled smile. “I kind of thought you weren’t real.”
Beside him, Priest nods once. “Totally thought you were fake, too. I mean, who the hell would ever want to put up with Logan here? We did it, but you know, we were getting paid big bucks.”
I glare at them, and all they do is shrug, like they didn’t say anything insulting.
Wren takes it all in stride. “He does take some getting used to, but I wouldn’t have him any other way.” The look she gives me after that makes me forget about everything. Even now, those big brown eyes of hers have a way of melting me.
I suddenly feel so awkward with all of them there, especially Angel, even though this is my house and they’re here to visit me. “Who wants a tour?” I want to fucking punch myself. I sound so awkward, I hate it.
“Hell yeah,” Priest says. “Onward!”
I roll my eyes. I see Priest hasn’t changed one bit.
Angel chimes in, “I’ll stay down here with Wren, if that’s okay. You guys get the tour.” She takes off her baseball cap and lets her white hair free. It’s not her natural color; I remember, uh, doing a bit of stalking when she had some salon visits.
Not something I’m proud of, especially now.
I look to Wren, who doesn’t miss a beat when she says, “Sure. You want anything to drink?”
“Nah, I’m good,” Angel says, and I watch as she and Wren head over to the living room, to the couch.
They’ll be fine. I think. I hope.
I show the guys around. It’s not a huge house, but it suits its purpose. I take them upstairs and show them our rooms, and we wind up in the music room, where the guys disperse and take their time in looking at all of the guitars I have lined up. Out of all of the rooms, this one is the messiest.
Bishop runs his hands down my favorite electric guitar, then tosses me a glance over my shoulder. “You playing again?”
