Page 15 of Perfect Composition
BECKETT
CHAPTER SIX
Beckett Miller opens his mouth and makes people’s dreams come true. When he sang “Life In Sin,” he touched my hand, and I swear I wept. All the parts of me did. His lyrics are pure sin, but when he looks in your eyes and sings them, they’re worth praying to God over. #Boston #hetouchedme #handjob
— Viego Martinez, Celebrity Blogger
“I swear to you, I can’t stop the media from writing what they do about me.” Though inside I’m cracking up at the blogger’s creativity.Freaking hand job. I shift restlessly in my seat. It’s been so long since I’ve sought out female companionship—something I ruthlessly hold back from while we’re on tour because I know without a doubt from previous experience it will end up in the press—the idea of the intimate sexual act has stirred dormant parts of my anatomy to attention.
“I swear to God, Becks, if you don’t keep yourself out of the press, I’m going to actually have to work to defend your honor one of these days.” Another of the few people I explicitly trust in to call my friend, my lawyer, Carys Burke, laughs at me.
“Cut me some slack, Carrie. You and I both know I could be teaching kids to sing their ABCs and the press would find some way to sexualize it.” I slouch even deeper in her tufted leather guest chair. Nibbling on the ankh, the very first tattoo I ever got, which is tattooed on my finger, I lose myself deep in thought. I spend way too much time in this chair doing this very thing.
“One of these days, you’re going to look down and your ink is going to have disappeared.” Carys’s voice has transformed from humor to the care and concern. Our relationship is special, more than just attorney and client. Born from a potential relationship that went nowhere because we became each other’s sanctuary from wounds we both were licking from loving people we couldn’t have, in the end, she got the guy she always wanted, and me? Well, I somehow managed to gain a foothold into a small circle of friends who have never let me down. Outside of my music, they’re the one constant I have.
So it’s with the ease of friendship I use the finger that has wet ink on it to flick her off.
And the blasted woman just laughs.
My lips quirk as I try to explain to one of the few people who understand the real me, not the tattooed bad boy on their favorite social media site. “I honestly don’t know what it is. I’m antsy, anticipatory. I haven’t felt like this since the last time we were preparing to go on tour.”
Carys pushes away from her desk and walks around until she’s leaning against the front of it. “And that won’t be happening for quite a while.”
“No. Once we’re done performing these last few shows locally, I’ll be tied up with composing.” I chew on the ink of a different finger as I contemplate the agreement I came in earlier to sign. Did I make the right decision? For Mick, Carly, and the rest of the band I usually employ? For myself? What kind of impact will this have on all of us for the years to come?
She tips her head. “Do you regret making the decision to score the show? You’ve been given awards for your ability to write music, Becks. I would think this would be the kind of challenge someone of your caliber would be intrigued with.”
I automatically reply, “No, I don’t regret it.” But inwardly, I’m quaking.
She laughs softly before holding out a delicate hand which has a blazing diamond band on it. I take it gratefully, gently, between mine. “Liar,” she chides.
“Of course I’m lying. I’m terrified. I’m about to lay my soul on the line for people to judge me.”
“Haven’t they been doing that for years?” she counters.
Just as I’m about to explain the difference, a door opens and closes behind us. I whip my head around before relaxing. Instead of letting go of Carys’s hand, I squeeze it tighter merely to annoy her husband and senior paralegal, David Lennan. “Not quite in the same way, my delicate goddess,” I drawl.
Carysgiggles, and David—predictably—growls, “Becks,” before he approaches his wife to hand her a file.
Even after all these years of closeness despite their rocky beginning, the home they’ve made, the beautiful son they share, I find David’s unnecessary possessiveness over his wife when I’m in her presence charming. Because the reality is, while I don’t envy him the woman, I covet the relationship they share, the unshakeable bond.
It’s something I deliberately walked away from twenty years ago when I saw nothing but blinding pain instead of blooming roses in my future. I scratch the back of my hand where more ink rests—the only tattoo I’ve never, nor will I ever, explain.
“Well, this is interesting.” Carys’s words interrupt my thoughts. A frown pulls her brows together.
“What’s that?” I ask more out of politeness than anything else. The reality is, I’d rather be at home in my music room with my old upright, trying to pour out some of the emotion I’m feeling into this musical score.
“Apparently, Angie noticed Redemption is trending heavily on the feeds. I wonder why?”
“I asked Ward. He said he was there a few weeks ago. Nothing out of the ordinary.” David props himself next to his wife.
I let out a full-throated laugh. “Your baby brother-in-law should know better, Dave.”
“David,” David impatiently corrects me, not for the first time in the many years we’ve known each other.
Carys ducks her head to the side to hide her amusement. But not before she intercepts the wink I toss her way. Once Carys and I became friends, I promised her I’d annoy David by calling him “Dave” once for every missed opportunity he had to pull his head out his ass about her. I don’t care about the fact they’re now blissfully married. By my count, I’ve got a good four more years of tormenting him to look forward to.
Letting him off the hook for now, I flick my wrist. My Breitling glints in the afternoon sun as I explain, “Marco tells few people about his plans for the club.”
