Page 140 of The Bridges I've Burned

“Millie knows,” I blurted out.

“Millie?” Marin choked out, and I found Elena silently staring daggers at me. Well, at least that was some sort of reaction. “You told Millie?”

“No,” I answered quickly. “I didn’t tell her. She just figured it out. Apparently, she has a healthy obsession with celebrity gossip and saw an article about me before my manager was able to pull it.”

“Your manager?” My brother looked up at me.

“Well, the band’s manager, but yeah.”

“You mean the same guy who manages Asher Knight? That manager?”

An amused grin fell across my face. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a Knight Rider, Macon.”

His brows furrowed, and Marin snorted before she whispered, “That’s what they call his fangirls.”

He rolled his eyes, and I laughed.

“I was just trying to point out that even I know who the guy is. This is huge.”

“I know.” I nodded, blowing out a breath.

I looked over at Elena, who still hadn’t said a word. Was she just trying to process it all? Did she hate me?

Could I blame her if she did?

“So, how did all that happen?” Macon pointed toward the front-facing window.

“Pictures of us were leaked from the bachelor party,” I told him. It hadn’t dawned on me until that moment that his photo was also all over the internet—something he definitely hadn’t asked for. “One of those tattoo artists must have recognized me while we were there, and since I used my real name?—”

“You go by a different name?” Marin asked.

“Yeah, Zander Tate. Hendrix’s dad is my manager, and it was something he suggested when I was just starting out, and it turned out to be a good idea—at least for a while.”

Marin was studying her best friend intently and gently patted Macon’s hand. “I think we’re going to give you two some time alone,” she suggested.

“Oh, right,” Macon agreed. “I’m going to go contact everyone that’s coming and give them a heads-up about our unwanted guests.”

Macon gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze, which did little to lighten my mood because as they left, I found that same quiet version of Elena staring up at me.

I decided to give her time, and so I waited, but when I began to wear a path in the carpet, I couldn’t handle the silence anymore.

“Say something,” I begged, my voice barely a whisper.

Her eyes closed for a moment, betraying her emotions. “I don’t know what to say,” she said. “I feel like I’m looking at a stranger.”

“I’m still me,” I tried to assure her.

She scoffed, rising from her chair to turn her back on me. Her posture was rigid and cold.

“And who would that be exactly? Zander Green or Zander Tate?”

I grimaced at the harshness in her tone.

“You know, I actually tried to look you up once. I wanted to see you perform, but I couldn’t find anything when I searched for your name. I just chalked it up to the life of a session guitarist. Never getting any credit for your work and all that. But that’s not the case, is it?”

“No,” I answered.

“Answer me truthfully.” She turned abruptly, stepping forward. “If there had been no contract and you’d been free to tell anyone you liked, would you have? Would you have come down here and announced to your brother that you were going to be a rock star, or would you have done the same damn thing and kept it to yourself?”

---