I know exactly who she’s referring to. She barely knows anything; she thinks it was a stalker and doesn’t know about the kidnapping and all the other stuff I was forced into doing. I feared forher life, so I kept my mouth shut and made up some story about why I was always on the run and in hiding. Whether she suspects more she never elaborated but comprehends my fear was powerful enough to grasp that my silence was for her safety.

“I got a weird message last night,” I take out my phone and show her the message.

She nods in understanding but then quirks a brow.

“It could be anyone. Maybe someone playing a prank. Maybe someone from the media saw you driving? Maybe one of the guys, while trying to create a small buzz, alerted the media that the old band is back together…. Honestly, it could be a million things, but not necessarily the creeper you suspect.”

I purse my lips together and pocket my phone.

“Honestly, Eden, why on earth would this stalker wait for ten years to contact you again?”

“I don’t know, maybe finding out I’m back here stirred up some shit in the sick fuck’s mind?”

Our coffees arrive, and the steam rising from the cups seems to momentarily diffuse the current conversation.

“I have to go back to San Francisco tomorrow,” Brittney announces as the waitress leaves our table.

She passes me a set of keys.

“You’re welcome to stay at my place. Considering it’s a condominium with a doorman, the security is decent, but I think you should remain at Hazes.”

I stare at her wide-eyed, like a deer caught in unexpected headlights. She can’t be serious with that suggestion.

“Look,” she says upon seeing my surprise. “Keep the keys if you need to escape from those dickheads. But if you want my opinion. Living with those four big dudes is safer than living on your own at mine. The parking is in the basement of my building and while it’s secure, so was your home in Bel Air.”

She knows about the night I fled, about the three men who broke in. She doesn’t know the details or understand why I couldn’t report it to the police. But she’s supported me in not demanding details even though it’s obvious something much more sinister happened to me.

“But living with them isn’t an ideal situation.”

She holds her hands up in submission. “I admit my wrongdoing. Back then, I encouraged you to make a go for it with all four of them. But now I’m the last person who would advise such, but living with four men in a house is stalker-safe. I’ve seen the two boys who have grown into beasts of men, and if the remaining two are just as massive, then who the fuck is going to mess with them? And then there’s Jagger’s army training, and I’m pretty sure he knows how to use a fist and a gun, for that matter.”

“Army?” I stare at her, confused.

“Oh shit,” she says open-mouthed. “When you said they were dead to you and that you didn’t ever want to hear their names again. I literally kept you out of the loop.”

“Go on.” I’m now curious because there’s no point pretending they’re dead when it seems I might end up having to live with them.

At least I should know what the heck I’m getting into.

Brittney leans closer and begins to tell me, one by one, what they’ve been up to the last five years. What shocks me the most is Callum’s drug problem. He used to smoke the odd joint now and again, but who hadn’t? Yet, the hard drugs, cocaine, and ecstasy addiction seem to throw me through a spiral loop of confusion.

Then there’s the falling out between the two brothers. They were the closest thing ever to an unbreakable bond, their relationship a testament to the profound connection that once defined them.

“I’m not sure what shocks me more, Callum’s drug problem or the brothers’ fallout. Haze was always so protective of Callum. I did get a sense recently that there might be some animosity between them.”

“I only know what the media says. I saw him, and he seemed clean. But you can never tell. Callum has two looks, stoned or angry.”

I blush, thinking of his third look. The one he used to give me when he orgasmed. It was always fucking hot.

“No, you’re fucking not!” Brittney blurts out rather loudly, attracting nearby tables to turn.

“What?” I say softly, reminding her to keep her voice down.

“I know you like a sister, you weird freak. You still fancy him.”

“No, I don’t,” although I have doubts about what my mouth is saying.

“You’re fucking blushing, you slut!” she looks at me in shock. “I mean, I don’t blame you. He’s fucking gorgeous. So is Jagger. But that’s beside the point. You can’t get involved with those four fuckers!”