Take It Off

  Take It Off

  Book Six in the Exes Series

  Cheryl Douglas

  Copyright © by Cheryl Douglas

  Smashwords Edition

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  Persons, places and other entities represented in this book are deemed to be fictitious. They are not intended to represent actual places or entities currently or previously in existence or any person living or dead. This work is the product of the author’s imagination.

  Any and all inquiries to the author of this book should be directed to: info@cheryldouglasbooks.com

  Take It Off © 2017 Cheryl Douglas

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  Prologue

  Pierce

  “I cheated on you.”

  The words seemed to echo in the spacious hotel suite, making me wish I could snatch them back. This plan sounded viable when my manager suggested it, but standing in front of the love of my life and saying these words to her… they burned like acid on my tongue.

  “You what?” Her face crumpled as she shook her head and took a step back. “No. You wouldn’t do that to me. To us.”

  She thought she knew me so well, but she didn’t know the lengths I’d go to for the sake of my career. I’d been writing music for other artists for years. I was finally getting my big break, and I couldn’t let anything stand in my way.

  Not even a green-eyed angel who claimed to love me enough to follow me anywhere. I could see my lifestyle was making her miserable. She hated the travel, the award shows, and the constant media attention. She resented it when people tried to take pictures of us. She got jealous watching women make a grab for me during concerts. She’d even shut down her social media accounts because she was tired of strangers contacting her.

  “Last month in Atlanta,” I said, trying to speak around the cotton ball feeling in my mouth, “some chick came up to my room after the show—”

  She interrupted my confession with a cry and covered her ears with her hands. “No! You’re lying. You wouldn’t do this. You said you’d never cheat on me.”

  A clean break. That’s what my manager claimed was best for both of us. He’d reminded me that Keira was a sweet small-town girl with a huge family and lots of friends who had all the support she needed to get on with her life once I was gone. It would be better for her in the long run, he assured me. Better for both of us. I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I was tired of hurting her and watching her try so hard to fit into my world when it clearly didn’t make her happy.

  “You need to hear this,” I said, gripping her wrists. “You need to understand what a selfish prick I am.” So you can get over me. Fuck. I didn’t want her to get over me. I didn’t want her to stop loving me. But as my manager liked to remind me, I couldn’t have it all. “I don’t deserve you, Keira. I was never good enough for you.”

  Her preacher father loved to tell me that I was never good enough for his baby girl. Sure, I’d had a drinking problem. I’d passed the toke more times than I cared to remember. I’d smoked cigarettes until I was nineteen, the same year they claimed my old man. I’d slept around, fought, drag raced around our small town, and even stolen a time or two from the local convenience store when I was hard up for a pack of smokes.

  But being with Keira changed all that. I stopped drinking and taking stupid risks. Bypassed the drugs, slowed down, committed to one woman, and started to take my music seriously. She was the reason I was on the verge of something big now. She was the one who believed in me, who encouraged me. And how was I repaying her? By breaking her fucking heart.

  Her old man was right. I didn’t deserve her.

  “You need to know I have no self-control. I thought I did. I thought when a hot woman dropped to her knees and offered to suck me off, I’d be able to say no every time. But I was wrong. I couldn’t. I didn’t.”

  She glared at me, her eyes flashing with hatred and disgust before she slapped me across the face.

  She was a tiny little thing, but fiery. A Southern girl who could be sweet and polite, but cross her and look out. All hell broke loose.

  “You want your whores?” she screamed, shoving me. “Have them! I’m done with you!”

  I was a full foot taller than her and nearly a hundred pounds heavier. Her little outburst didn’t even budge me physically. But emotionally, it brought me to my knees. I was half a second away from telling her it had all been a lie, that I would never touch another woman.

  When she crossed the room to get her suitcase, I thought about following her, crawling after her, begging, crying, anything to make her stay. Instead, I stood there like an idiot and watched her walk out of my life. But not before she threw my engagement ring back in my face.

  ***

  Keira

  “I just can’t believe he would do this to us.” I was crying in my big sister’s arms. The sobs still racking my body. It had been three days and I still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact my fiancé had cheated on me. Why? Hadn’t I been enough for him?

  “Forget about him,” she said, soothing me as she stroked my hair while she held me.

  We were in my bedroom, the same bedroom I’d had since my parents brought me home from the hospital. I’d grown up in this old farmhouse with seven siblings, and it had always felt so full of love, like it could protect and shelter me from anything the world might throw at me. But I was wrong. Nothing could protect me from the havoc he’d wreaked on my life when he pulled the rug out from under me.

  We were supposed to be getting married next year, and I was finally going to be Mrs. Pierce Eason. I wasn’t proud of that name because of how well-known he was with his platinum records and countless awards for his contribution to country music. I was proud because it belonged to the only boy I’d ever loved and it was something he wanted to share with me. His name.

  I didn’t care about the money or the awards. I didn’t care about the fame or that his songs seemed to be on every time I turned on the radio. I didn’t even care that he’d introduced me to a bunch of famous people over the past couple of years. I only cared about him. Making him happy. Helping him see his dreams come true.

  God, what an idiot I’d been.

  I reached for a tissue and blew my nose, disgusted with myself for crying over a man who’d had so little regard for me and our relationship. “You know what? Fuck him!”

  “Sssh,” Connie whispered, darting a glance at the closed bedroom door. “Daddy’s home. You don’t want him to hear you.”

  I was twenty-three years old and still wasn’t allowed to swear. Sometimes being a preacher’s daughter really sucked. Like when you needed to vent.

  “I’m done!” I reached for another tissue, swiping it roughly over my face. “I am done crying over that man. I hate him. I hate what he did to me—to us—but I refuse to let him break me.”

  “Good for you,” Connie said, gripping my shoulders. “You’re beautiful and smart.” She winked. “You could even be sexy with a little help from me. There are dozens of men in this town who would love to help you forget him.”

&n
bsp; She was right. That’s all I needed. Just a little help to forget him.

  Chapter One

  Pierce

  “You’ve got a lot of work to do, Son.”

  I wasn’t his son, and I was done taking his shitty advice. A year ago, he’d told me to break up with my girl, and now he was telling me to rework the album I wrote to help me get over the pain of losing her? Fuck him. I wasn’t changing a single word on that album.

  “I disagree.” I reached for my bottled water. I was sick of tasteless shit that did nothing to soothe the beast raging inside of me, but I knew if I slipped back inside another brown bottle I’d never crawl out. Then I’d have thrown away the best thing that ever happened to me for nothing.

  Music was all I had left. I woke up every morning telling myself it still mattered, but every night I fell asleep convinced it didn’t. Nothing mattered to me anymore. So much so that I’d even written a song about it. Another sad country song about a dumbass guy who fucks everything up and watches the woman he loves walk out the door.

  I usually didn’t write shit like that. My music was sexy, edgy. It was that cross between talking and singing to my audience that country music fans had been eating up ever since they heard my unique sound.

  “Well, the label wants you to change it. And you know we got to make them happy.”

  I didn’t care about making anyone happy. Except for Keira. I’d do just about anything for a chance to make her happy again. As soon as I’d realized what a huge mistake I’d made, I tried calling. Texted a dozen times a day. Sent her emails with attachments of the songs I’d written for her. I’d even been stupid enough to hop on a plane and show up at her house. Her big brother—the cop—came out wielding a billy club and told me to get off their property before he hauled my ass downtown. But for all my efforts, I never heard a word from her.

  “I make the music I want to make or I find another label.” A few years ago, I wouldn’t have thought of pushing my label, but now I was the hottest ticket in Music City and had labels beating a path to my door. I wasn’t being arrogant, but I knew the deal. They pushed and I pushed back.

  “Why’re you so hard to get along with lately?” my manager asked, rubbing the back of his neck while sweat beaded on his forehead. “This music ain’t you, man. You got famous off those party tunes. Not this depressing shit.”

  My new music reflected my state of mind and being depressed pretty much summed it up. I’d never understood it before when people complained about being down. I thought it was a choice. I used to believe you decided how you felt, whether you were up or down, but I was wrong. I had no control over the darkness. I’d tried to step into the light dozens of times, but the darkness always lured me back.

  “I’m an artist,” I said, between gritted teeth. “I write from the heart, Len. This is the way I’m feeling now, what I’m going through. If the label doesn’t want to put this out, well, they ain’t gonna get anything else from me.” I was done—emotionally and physically exhausted.

  “If I’d known it was gonna affect you like this, I never woulda told you to break up with that little girl.” He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and cut the tip off over his empty take-out coffee cup. He gripped it between his teeth before lighting it and taking a deep pull. “I really thought I was doin’ ya both a favor. I been around this business a long time, seen too many couples break up ‘cause the spouse wasn’t cut out for this life. I was just tryin’ ta save y’all from that.”

  I believed Len’s heart had been in the right place when he told me to put my career first and to break up with Keira. Now I had no one else to blame for this mess and my depressed state. This was all on me.

  “Hey Pierce, I—” My younger brother, Trevor, who was one of my song-writing partners and my lead guitarist, stopped short when he saw my manager sitting on my back patio with me. “Sorry, didn’t know you guys were in a meeting.”

  “No problem,” Len said, waving off his concern. “Maybe you can talk some sense into your thick-headed brother. He’s determined to put this album out the way it is, and I’m tellin’ him we need to swap out some of the songs. Put in a few more upbeat ones—the kind people will wanna dance to at your concerts.”

  I had plenty of “dance tunes” in my catalog. But I didn’t want to watch happy people dancing in the aisles while I was miserable. I didn’t want to see couples grinding on each other. Ugh! I fucking hated happy couples.

  “He might have a point there,” my brother said, smoothing a hand over his beard. “Couldn’t hurt to see what else we can come up with.”

  He hadn’t had a hand in writing the songs for this album and I knew it stung, but I told him this was something I needed to do on my own. My way of working through my shit. Not that it had helped. Nothing helped.

  “That’s the spirit,” Len said, standing and slapping my brother on the back. “Hey, I have an idea. What don’t you boys go away somewhere for a few weeks, get a change of scenery, see if you can’t knock this out?”

  “Len, I already told you,” I said, tightening my grip on the water bottle, hearing the crackle of plastic under the weight of my death grip. “I am not swapping out those songs.”

  “I’m not sayin’ they’re bad,” he said, taking a long pull of his cigar. “They’re good. Every last one of ‘em. But you can’t put that many ballads on an album. It just doesn’t work.”

  Logically I knew he was right. I could see where the label was coming from. They wanted the music my fans wanted to hear, the stuff that had gotten me to the top of the charts. But I’d gotten there being real with people—writing and singing the songs that felt authentic to me. And that’s what I was trying to do now. Whether they liked it or not.

  “Save some of ‘em for your next album, Pierce. That’ll save you some work down the line.”

  “Let me talk to him,” Trevor said, gripping Len’s shoulder. “I think I’ve got an idea that might change his mind.”

  “All right,” he said, patting his beer belly after tipping his cowboy hat back. “But I expect you to call me with good news,” he said, pointing at Trevor.

  I waited until Len was gone before I said, “I don’t care what he says. I don’t care what you say. And I don’t care what the fucking label says. I’m not changin’ it.”

  “Len was right about one thing,” Trev said, rocking back on the heels of his worn cowboy boots. “Change of scenery might do you some good.”

  A vacation was the last thing I needed. I traveled all over the world. I’d visited every continent on the planet. And it didn’t matter where I was. I always thought of her.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Mama’s been on us about payin’ her a visit for a while now,” he said, shooting me a meaningful look.

  Mama lived in our hometown. In Kiera’s hometown. This was my chance to right my wrongs and talk to Keira. Yeah, I could get on board with a vacation. “Okay, just let me jump in the shower.”

  He laughed. “You mean you want to go now?”

  “Why not?” I’d already wasted enough time.

  ***

  Keira

  I was dead on my feet, but it was a Friday night and tips were good, so I wasn’t going home anytime soon. My parents hated that I was working at the local watering hole, but I reasoned it had live music and some of the folks from church even liked to come in and unwind after a long week working the fields. That seemed to appease them a little bit.

  I was taking online college classes so I could be a bookkeeper for some of the local businesses. I’d always found numbers soothing. Numbers didn’t lie. Numbers didn’t cheat. Numbers were transparent. They always made sense. You just had to know how to manipulate them. Manipulation. Something he’d been a master at. Ugh! Even numbers made me think about that lying, cheating sack of shit!

  It had been a year and my sister had been wrong. I’d gone out with plenty of men—even slept with a couple—but they hadn’t helped me forget him. I was beginning to think nothing
and no one ever would.

  “Oh my God, I love this song!” My best friend Carolyn shrieked and ran to the sound system to turn it up. The band had taken a break, and the old-school jukebox was on the fritz again, so Carolyn offered to bring in her portable speaker and stream music from her iPod.

  “You little bitch.” I glared at her, one hand on my hip, the other clutching a tray. “I thought you said you deleted all of his songs!”

  “Except for this one,” she said, pouting. “I couldn’t delete this one. He wrote it for you, remember? The night y’all…” Her voice drifted off as her gaze looked away from me.

  I was pretty sure there was fire coming out of my ears when I shouted, “You think I need you to remind me—”

  “Hey now,” Roy said, interrupting my rant and putting a finger to his lips. “Simmer down. This is a place of business. Save the bickerin’ for your breaks when you aren’t around the customers.”

  I knew I’d regret working with my best friend. Her Uncle Roy and Aunt Agnes owned the place, and Carolyn had been working there since she turned twenty-one, claiming it was a stepping stone on her way to stardom. She thought she was going to get a big recording contract just like Pierce had. He’d fooled a lot of people into believing it was smart to chase your dreams. Me included. The asshole.

  “Sorry,” Carolyn muttered to her uncle as she dashed to the iPod to select another song. “You too,” she said, lifting her chin in apology to me. “I just keep thinkin’ one day it’ll get easier, ya know? You’ll hear one of his songs and not get this look on your face like someone’s trying to cut your heart out with broken glass.”

  I kept waiting for that day too. But so far it hadn’t come, and I wasn’t sure it would anytime soon.