AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Tell me about your career. I saw some Grammys earlier,” I suggest. Levi and I are long past thegetting to know youstage, but there are some things you can only hear from the person instead of reading them online.
Levi smiles shyly. “Instant stardom,” he says. “My mother taught me to play the guitar when I was younger and always insisted that I sing in the choir. Then one day, I’m down on Broadway singing a cover song, and I get noticed. By then, Iris already had Stormy, so I signed the contract. I won Best Country Song and Album my first year. I got a lot of hate, but I’ve been on top ever since.”
“That’s amazing. My dream really, but the band has never had that monumental breakout hit. We’re always at the top of the charts, but never number one.”
“Have you ever thought about having a solo career?”
His question gives me pause. Truth is, it’s always been the guys and me. I don’t know how to do what I do without Darian. I shake my head. “I haven’t, at least not until you just mentioned it. The band is made up of my brother, two friends from high school, and Van. Darian, that’s my brother, Hayden, Freddie, and I have known each other for so long. I told them one day I wanted to be in a rock band so Darian bought all this foam for our garage and covered the walls so the neighbors wouldn’t complain and we’d play.
“For our first garage gig, my mom made food for everyone. It was great. By the time I was seventeen Van walked into the garage and said he could play drums better than Freddie. He was right, but now. . .”
“Things are strained.”
I shrug. “More or less. The record label loves him, but it’s my band ya know? And I don’t want him taking it from me.”
Levi pulls me into his arms and soothes away the despair I was starting to feel. “You know if you ever want to record while you’re here, you can use my studio.”
“Where is it?” I ask after pulling away from him.
He nods over his shoulder. “Go past the bathroom and through the door. It’s in there.”
“This house. . . it is absolutely amazing, Levi.”
“Thank you,” he says, pausing. “I have to go back to L.A. Willow. . . She wants to come home, and I promised her that she could. Stormy too, but she’s doing so reluctantly. I have to spend some time finding her a dance teacher who either lives out here or an instructor willing to move. I don’t want to take that away from her.” He swallows hard, and I can see the agony in his eyes, but for the life of me, I don’t understand why.
“I don’t want you to think you have to leave or that the girls will bug you. They won’t. You still have free reign over the house, the land—”
“Your body?” I hedge.
“My body,” he says with a grin so wide that I can’t help but giggle. “But they’re my babies, and I need them here.”
“I understand, Levi. Honestly, I’d like to be around your family for a while. I miss mine, and lately all Darian wants to do is talk about Van and the group.”
“Oh, I hope you don’t regret those words in a few days.”
Never, but I don’t tell him that. Instead, I snuggle into him and close my eyes, letting the scent of the both of us carry me off to sleep.
levi
Twenty-Two
I finally understandwhat it means to be on cloud nine. Still, it’s hard to describe how I’m feeling as Zara and I walk hand-in-hand down the streets of Nashville. Each look we receive has me wondering what that person is thinking. Here I am in my cowboy boots, jeans, and a t-shirt while she’s dressed in combat boots, fishnet stockings, denim shorts with my flannel tied around her waist, and a tank top. If we aren’t polar opposites, I don’t know what you’d call us. But, from the moment we got out of my truck, she reached for my hand and hasn’t let it go, unless it’s been so I can open the door for her, or if she’s trying on some clothes.
Yes, that’s right. Rocker chick Zara Phillips has tried on some countrified clothes today and even allowed me to purchase her a shirt or two. She drew that line at boots, but I still have time to get her to change her mind. I told her if anything, they’re a fashion statement and someone like her could bring them back in full force. She, however, didn’t buy a single word I was trying to sell her.
Now, we’re sitting in a quaint little bistro, not far off the Row. It’s quiet, the staff recognized me but hasn’t said anything, which is why I love Nashville so much. Although I have to say after being in Los Angeles for a month and not being hounded by the media, the quiet was nice as well, except I know they can be relentless.
Zara and I spent the better half of our morning surfing through gossip sites, looking for articles about her. I told her I didn’t think we’d find much of anything, but she assured me otherwise. She was right, and each article we clicked on and read, my heart broke a bit more for her. The media is demanding to know where she is, and what she’s been doing. They’re invasive, interviewing anyone who might know her whereabouts and whether or not she’s with Van. One site even went as far as to call the rehab center her ex is in to get a comment from him. Of course, he didn’t have any idea where Zara was, and that has really spurred the “Where’s Zara Phillips?” frenzy.
She’s with me, and I couldn’t be happier. I try not to think about the fact that I’ve only known her a week because it feels like she’s been in my life for years. Zara just fits. Watching her walk around my house this morning, I could easily see her there, every day, helping me get the kids off to school. My only concern is Stormy, and how she’s going to feel once she finds out that Zara and I aren’t content with being just friends. The last thing I want to do is upset her, to make her feel uncomfortable around Zara, or to think I used her in any way whatsoever.
“Do you know what you want?” I ask, looking at her from over the top of my menu. Her hair is hidden under her knit beanie, something she was insistent upon doing before we left the house. Truth be told, I like her hair. I like the way it stands out against her creamy skin.
“I don’t know. What’s good?” she asks, taking a sip of her water.
“I’m a meat guy.” I found out quickly during breakfast that Zara rarely eats meat if she can help it. I admire her for sticking to her convictions and not giving in to the temptation of bacon that I was waving in her face this morning. “I’m going to go with the turkey club.”
She scrunches her nose and shakes her head. “Salad?”
