Revolt (Legends and Love)

“Shit. I mean, shit, Reign, this is good,” Jack remarks.

He’s the only person I feel bad about leaving months ago. I would call him a true friend. Despite being one of the most successful songwriters and producers in the business, he never let it get to his head, and when he first heard me, he instantly aligned himself with me. Throughout the years, we created magic, until my lyrics dried up.

It pained him when I would come into the studio drunk or angry and I couldn’t even get anything out. It led to more than one argument, and when I disappeared, we weren’t even speaking. He only wanted the best for me, and he told me more than once that he saw the industry swallowing me up and he hated it. I thought about him a lot when I was gone, about how I treated him, and I knew when I came back, he was the only one I could trust with my new music. More than that, I want to prove to him that I’m okay.

When I turned up this morning, I was nervous and prepared to apologize, but he hugged me like no time had passed and without waiting, he told me to show him what I had been working on. That’s Jack for you. You can go five months without talking, but once you are together again, it’s like no time has passed at all. No excuses or apologies are necessary; there is just understanding.

Eight hours later, I’ve sung every song twice and explained the arrangements and my ideas.

He leans back on the sofa in the room opposite the recording studio. “This shit is . . .”

I wait silently because his opinion is the only one I care about. He’s a genius, an actual genius who belongs in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. His way with words can rip you apart or put you back together again, and I know I wouldn’t be where I am without him. I silently promise to get him where he belongs—up on those walls with the greats.

“The best shit you have ever written.”

“Really?” I almost leap to my feet.

He grins and rubs his head shyly. “Shit, Rey, it’s better than my stuff.”

“Not a chance.” I laugh, and then he sobers.

“I’m glad you’re back. Don’t get me wrong, kid, I’m even happier to see your excitement for music again, but are you okay? I’m your friend above everything else, Rey. Fuck the producers and the label. Are you okay?”

“I am.” It’s true. “I wasn’t before. I’m sorry about leaving without a trace—”

“We do what we have to do to protect ourselves. I’ll admit I was hurt, but I was also proud of you.”

“Proud?” I repeat, picking up my Chinese food once more and crossing my legs under me.

“Very.” He grins. “You fought back and stopped letting them walk all over you. Jesus, Rey, in the last year, I could tell I was losing you. You were so lost. You weren’t Rey anymore. You were going through the motions, but seeing you alone in here, grinning and excited, is better than any music you could ever compose. You’re alive again, Rey, and I’m so glad.”

My heart melts. “Soft bastard.” I chuck an egg roll at him, and he laughs as he catches it and shoves it into his mouth.

“You know it! Now, let’s produce the best album of all time, shall we?”

“Let’s.”

I changed inside the studio, making Jack laugh. Over the six years I’ve known him, he’s become like a brother to me, thank God, so he’s used to my shenanigans, but as I’m leaving, he calls my name—my real name. He’s the only person I have ever given it to since that dark night ten years ago.

“Give them hell,” he says.

“Oh, I plan to.” I can’t help but laugh. Wearing my red, eight-inch stilettos, laced-up leather pants, and a bustier, I walk out to the waiting cameras, ready to play the part.

Gone is the soft, innocent girl.

Gone is the up-and-coming rocker.

Gone is the worldwide crush.

Gone is the heartbroken girl.

In her place is a woman on a mission, with music in her veins and purpose in her step. I slide into my brand-new Bugatti La Voiture Noire with personalized plates.

I laugh as I wind around the traffic in the city, heading out to the hills above and the mansion where the party is being hosted. At the opened gates, I wave at the security guards and park outside, tossing my keys to a drooling attendant before stepping inside to a different world.

I am crashing the rock and roll party of the week.

I have no doubt my ex and all my old friends are here.

Taking a flute of champagne off a passing server’s tray, I down it and put it back as she grins at me. I wink then run my eyes down her body and she blushes. I take another and toast her before plunging back into the life I walked away from.

The music is loud as I wander through the mansion, noticing the looks and whispers and ignoring them. Outside, the pool is filled with partygoers, as are the areas around it, with people fucking, drinking, or doing drugs. There are no cameras here, or so they think, but everyone here has sold someone else out for fame. Nothing is ever truly safe or a secret in Hollywood, and it comes out eventually.

“Reign.” The dark, sensual timbre used to bring me to my knees. The first time I met Tucker, I was starstruck. He was famous and one of the sexiest men in the world, and he wanted me, craved me. He made me feel like I was his everything. He blew me away with dates in Paris and dinners in Italy. He gushed about me, displayed me proudly on his arm, and worshiped me, or so I thought.

Once, that voice would have been enough to rip apart my defenses, but now, I feel nothing.

Turning, I sip my champagne as I look him over. He looks good, as good as always, wearing nothing but low-slung black jeans and boots, which are no doubt more expensive than this whole party. Every inch of his skin is covered in tattoos, and his black hair is shaved on one side to show more. His bright blue eyes are still showstoppers, and he still has a ring pierced through his lip. His hands are decorated with his usual rings, but it’s the one on the chain around his neck that almost makes me falter.

Almost.

It’s my ring.

“Reign, it is you.” He steps closer, and I see others bring out their phones as they text and send pictures around the world. They want gossip.

I simply smile. “Tucker, nice to see you again.” I sip my champagne like I have no care in the world, even though I almost choke on the bubbles under all the scrutiny. “You look good.”

“You look incredible. God, babe, where have you been?” he asks, almost sounding contrite and wounded. I swallow my snort. He’s a good actor. I’ll give him that.

“I know I do,” I reply, “and I had some shit to do, but I’m back now.”

“I heard you were back, but I almost didn’t believe it. I didn’t hear a word from you for four months. God, I was so worried, babe.” When he used to call me that, it made my knees weak and my pussy flutter, but now? Nothing. I almost pity him.

Almost.

“Why?” I cock my head.

His jaw hangs open before it snaps shut. “Because I love you. I was planning our lives together.”

I can’t resist. I know everyone is listening, but I don’t care. He doesn’t get to act like the heartbroken, abandoned lover. Not after what he did. He isn’t an innocent victim, even though he wants to paint me as the villain.

“Between her thighs? That’s an odd place to plan a wedding.” I laugh, and his face turns beet red. “Don’t worry, babe,” I mock, “it’s all in the past. Now, I better mingle. We wouldn’t want gossip columns to start spreading lies, would we?” I kiss his cheek, seeing the flashes of cameras and hearing his sharp inhale. For a moment, his familiar scent calls me home before it’s twisted by all the pain he caused.

He used to smell like home, but now his scent is just bitter and painful and makes me sad.

“It’s good to see you, Tucker. Enjoy your night.”

I leave him staring after me, calling my name as I step into the crowd.