Page 29 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

“Yes, I live in fear of the day you actually cash them in.”

Jacob shook his hand and hauled him in for a man-hug. Easy as you please with each other. I just didn’t understand that.

I didn’t have that with anyone. Not even Kyle—and he was my best mate on the planet.

The niggle between my shoulder blades made me grit my teeth. Things had changed, because of me. But we were still close.

Still trying to be.

We loaded materials into Logan’s truck. Something about plumbing the door with a new frame. Whatever. All that building crap was lost on me. I paid people to do it. Logan liked this shit. I didn’t know the story of the blueprints and Logan’s house, but I’d inferred enough by spending the evening with them. Listening to their stories and seeing the love that flowed so freely between them.

But I didn’t care about the specifics. Didn’t need them to feel the strange ache in my chest. I usually didn’t let such things bother me. I liked my life the way it was—mostly.

The twinge was just annoying.

I climbed into Logan’s truck while the two men said their goodbyes and made plans for a future meal. Christ. So much neighborly nonsense in this town. How did Lo stand it?

Logan hopped into his truck. “Iz left a pot of sauce on for us. At least we can eat.”

“Not like there’s a sushi place around the corner here.”

“Put your hostile Irish asshole back in his trunk. You’re the one who pounded on the studio door enough to crack it, not me.”

I flexed my fingers but didn’t say a word. I’d been worried that I’d actually broken my damn hand for an hour before the swelling had subsided.

The rage had even scared the fuck out of me. The fact that Angel had basically spit in my face like that—

Fuck. Now I had an album nearly complete with her and it had to be scrapped.

I wouldn’t have my name on it. Not now, not ever.

The ride back to Logan’s house was filled with shop talk. We chatted about the possibility of rearranging some of the songs on the album. I tried to convince him we didn’t need Angel or another female vocalist, but Logan wouldn’t be swayed. Sure, it was a male vocal heavy record now, but we were running out of options.

When I made any move to call in a few favors of my own for a few bigger artists, Logan kept pushing me off. Some bullshit about not wanting it to get around that Angel had melted down in the studio.

I understood his stance on not letting gossip getting out. Lo had his own issues with the press and killing a reputation, but Jesus. It was already all over the entertainment papers. She’d created quite the spectacle at the airport. I hated the paparazzi and their soulless information streams, but I needed to be in the know. Just for my own curiosity.

I took on very few artists to work with. I didn’t have to do another goddamn thing in my life thanks to my technical know-how. I’d patented a few tools that were used in nearly every studio in the damn world. I’d made enough to retire seven times over.

I couldn’t let music go. It was as simple as that.

Even if my past had done an insidious job of trying to steal every part of it from me. I deserved it.

But I was a right selfish bastard. I craved the building of a song and watching it bloom or burn. It was my singular drug these days.

The luxury cabin at the top of the steep, winding road was dark save for the porch light and one I could see inside from the window. Logan jumped down. “Lucky you, we’ll be working on putting in the door in the morning. Jacob’s going to deliver the door when it’s dried tomorrow.”

“Goody.”

“Such a dick.” Logan slapped my back. “Let’s put some food into us and maybe I might be able to sleep in my bed and not the guest room.”

“How many times have you actually slept in the guest room?”

“More than you’d think.”

I was fairly certain that was a lie, but again… I didn’t care. They were tight, that was all that mattered. Domestic squabbles were definitely not in my wheelhouse.

The scent of tomato sauce hit us the moment we entered the house and reminded me how hungry I was. I’d devoured three meatballs and a quarter loaf of Italian bread before Logan had finished making pasta.

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