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“Jesus fucking Christ, I knew I’d heard your voice before!” He slid off the counter. “I had that CD. I used to have the hots for the one with the pink hair.”
“Brianna,” Oakley supplied, smirking. “You and the rest of the male population.”
“Shit, sorry. That was the wrong thing to say. But—God, I’m trying to remember what you looked like.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Easy to miss me. My voice sounded too old to sing lead in any of the teen pop songs, and I got tall and awkward fast so I stayed mostly in the background.”
Pike still looked stunned. Then he snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Wait—that song about broken butterflies.”
“‘Wings.’”
“Yes, that one. The bridge was you, wasn’t it?”
She glanced down. “Yeah. Brianna sang that part in the video, so everyone assumed it was her.”
“But it was you. I can hear it now. Your voice was sick on that part—throaty and edgy. It was my favorite song of the record.”
His praise and the fact that he remembered the one song they’d actually given her a lead vocal on pleased her more than it should. “Thanks.”
His exuberant expression at remembering faltered a bit. “But the group had a few big hits. What happened? I mean—”
“Why am I living in suburbia, working two jobs to make ends meet?”
“I didn’t mean it like—”
“I was kicked out when I got pregnant.” That wasn’t the total truth. She’d been told to go home and get an abortion then to come back. “That kind of behavior was breach of contract because it would mess with the image. We were supposed to be young and sexy and available. They replaced me. I didn’t own rights to anything—crap contract that favored the guy who put the group together. So I moved to Texas with my brother, had Reagan, and started a new life.”
Pike raked a hand through his hair and sagged against the counter. “Wow. That’s—why didn’t you tell me before now?”
She rubbed her lips together. “I don’t want people to know. I—Rae’s father is out of the picture, and I need to keep it that way. I don’t want any press or any of the shit that comes along with being a has-been. Those years were some of the worst of my life. It’s a chapter I’ve happily closed.”
“Does Reagan know?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ll tell her one day. She’ll romanticize it if I tell her now. I tried hard early on to lead her in any direction but music because of it, but she found her way to it anyway.”
The corners of his mouth dipped down. “Is that why you don’t like her to sing?”
“What?”
“This afternoon she was singing while we were cleaning up. She has a gorgeous voice, Oakley. But she said you don’t like her to use it.”
Her chest squeezed. “God, is that what she thinks?”
“Seems so.”
She sighed. “I don’t want her to think that. It’s just—I was that kid with the outstanding voice. It got me all kinds of attention growing up. Then it ruined everything. I’m terrified she’s going to want to follow in my footsteps. It’s an ugly, soul-sucking business. My baby doesn’t need to be exposed to any of that.”
Pike braced his hands on the counter in front of her and nodded. “I totally get that. But even I can see how much she loves music. I know that no one would’ve been able to talk me out of it once I got the bug. And no one should’ve. What kind of life do we have if we can’t chase our passion?”
She pushed away her bowl, the conversation making her lose her appetite. “You can take a different path and be happy. Just because you’re passionate or good at something doesn’t mean it has to be your destiny. I managed to give it up and not look back.”
His eyes held hers, evaluating. “Have you? You don’t crave that high of being on stage and creating music? I mean, I don’t know what I’d do if I wasn’t making music. You were just able to drop it all?”
She traced a line in the granite countertop with her fingertip, his words prodding deep. Did she miss it? She rarely let her mind go fully there. When she’d gotten pregnant, she’d shut that door without looking back. It had hurt too much to think about what-ifs because that would mean she was regretting Reagan—and she never regretted having her daughter. The circumstances, yes, but not her baby girl. Rae was her world. And God knows where Oakley would’ve ended up if she’d gotten rid of the pregnancy and stayed with the group. The rest of the girls hadn’t fared very well. But making music …
“I don’t miss the stage. Honestly, I would’ve been happier singing on a stool in a coffee shop, playing my guitar. The joy I got was in the song creation—the writing. I loved that process.”
“Based on what I heard at your house that night you sang to Reagan, you’re good at it, too,” Pike said, no bullshit in his tone. “Do you still write?”
