7. Haunted Melodies
CHAPTER 7
Haunted Melodies
LIAM
TWENTY YEARS LATER…
T he club was packed, the air thick with sweat and perfume and the electric buzz of a Friday night crowd in New York. I could feel the energy from my place on the stage, the piano keys cool and familiar beneath my fingertips as I played.
It was a routine I knew well, a persona I slipped into like a second skin. Corey King, the enigmatic musician with the haunting melodies and the ever-present mask. A mystery, a cypher, a blank slate for the audience to project their own desires and fantasies onto.
But beneath the mask, beneath the stage name and the carefully crafted image, I was still just Liam. Liam, the boy who had loved and lost and been broken in ways that still ached, even twenty years later.
I let the music flow through me, pouring out all the emotions I couldn't express in words. The longing, the grief, the bitter sting of regret. The memories that still haunted me, no matter how hard I tried to outrun them.
As my fingers danced across the keys, I let my mind drift back to that fateful night, the night that had changed everything. The prom, the confrontation, the devastating realization that the world I had built with Caleb was nothing more than a house of cards, ready to tumble at the first gust of wind.
I could still see the shock and betrayal on his face as I ran, could still feel the sickening crunch of metal as the driver lost control of the car, could still taste the coppery tang of blood in my mouth as I lay there on the side of the road, broken and alone.
I had survived, but a part of me had died that night. The part that had believed in love, in happiness, in a future that wasn't shadowed by fear and shame and the suffocating weight of other people's expectations.
I had rebuilt myself, piece by painful piece. Had carved out a new life, a new identity, far away from the small-minded town that had never understood me. But no matter how many stages I played, no matter how many fans screamed my name, I could never quite shake the feeling that something was missing.
Or someone.
I shook my head, trying to banish the thought. It had been twenty years. Caleb had probably moved on, found someone else, built a life that didn't include me. And even if he hadn't, even if some small, secret part of him still remembered, still cared.
"Hey, it's me, the guy who broke your heart and then disappeared for two decades. Want to grab a coffee and catch up?"
I snorted, my fingers faltering on the keys for a moment. Yeah, that would go over well.
Still, I couldn't help but wonder. What if I had stayed? What if I had been braver, stronger, more willing to fight for what we had? Would things have been different?
Would we still be together, growing old and gray and disgustingly happy, the way I had always dreamed we would be?
I would never know. And that, perhaps, was the greatest tragedy of all.
I stepped off the stage to a roar of applause, the sound washing over me like a tidal wave. It was a feeling I knew well, a rush of adrenaline and ego that never quite lost its shine.
But even as I smiled and nodded my thanks, my eyes were already scanning the crowd, searching for something - or someone - to take my mind off the memories that always seemed to lurk just beneath the surface.
And then I saw him.
He was leaning against the bar, all broad shoulders and confident swagger, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle. He was exactly my type - tall, dark, and dangerous, with a look that promised all sorts of delicious trouble.
I felt a familiar heat coil in my gut, a hunger that had nothing to do with food. It had been too long since I'd let myself indulge in this particular vice, too long since I'd lost myself in the oblivion of a stranger's touch.
Maybe it was time to change that.
I made my way through the crowd, brushing off the compliments and propositions with a practiced ease. I had no interest in fawning admirers or starry-eyed groupies. I wanted something real, something raw and primal and unencumbered by expectation.
I wanted to forget, even if just for a little while.
I reached the bar and signaled for my usual, a double shot of whiskey neat. The bartender knew me well, knew that I tipped generously and didn't like to be kept waiting.
As I threw back the drink, letting the burn of the alcohol chase away the ghosts that always seemed to linger, I felt a presence at my side. I turned, already knowing who I would find.
"Nice set," the man said, his voice low and rough, like sandpaper against my skin. "You've got some serious talent."
I smirked, running my eyes over his muscular frame with undisguised appreciation. "Thanks. I've been told I'm good with my hands."
He laughed, a deep, throaty sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "I'll bet you are. I'm Jace, by the way. "
"Corey," I replied, the false name rolling off my tongue with practiced ease. "You from around here?"
He shook his head, his eyes never leaving mine. "Nah, just passing through. But I'm starting to think I might stick around for a while."
I felt a thrill of anticipation, a spark of reckless desire that I knew could only lead to trouble. But trouble was what I craved, what I needed to chase away the emptiness that always seemed to linger, no matter how many crowds I played to or bottles I drained.
"Is that so?" I purred, leaning in close enough to catch the scent of his cologne, a heady mix of musk and spice. "And what exactly did you have in mind?"
But before he could answer, I felt a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back. I turned, ready to snap at whoever had dared to interrupt, only to find myself face to face with Jimmy, my agent and sometimes best friend at this moment.
"Corey," He said, his voice low and urgent. "We need to talk."
I rolled my eyes, shrugging off his hand. "Can't it wait? I'm kind of in the middle of something here."
He shot a pointed look at Jace, who had the good grace to look slightly abashed. "No, it can't. It's important."
I sighed, turning back to Jace with an apologetic smile. "Duty calls, I'm afraid. But don't go too far. I have a feeling we'll be seeing each other again soon."
He grinned, his eyes sparkling with promise. "Count on it."
I let Jimmy lead me away, weaving through the crowd until we reached the relative privacy of the backstage area. As soon as we were alone, he rounded on me, his expression a mix of concern and frustration.
"What the hell are you doing, Liam?" he hissed, using my real name in a way that made me flinch. "You can't keep doing this, drowning yourself in booze and random hookups. It's going to catch up with you eventually."
I shrugged, reaching for the bottle of whiskey I kept stashed in my dressing room. "It's the only thing that keeps the ghosts away, Jimmy. You know that."
He sighed, his eyes softening with a sympathy that made my skin crawl. "I know you've been through a lot, Liam. More than anyone should have to bear. But this isn't the answer. You need to find a healthier way to cope, before it's too late."
I took a long swig from the bottle, relishing the burn as it slid down my throat. "And what exactly would you suggest? Therapy? Meditation? A fucking juice cleanse?"
He crossed his arms, his jaw set with a determination I knew all too well. "How about talking to someone? Actually dealing with your trauma instead of running from it?"
I barked out a laugh, the sound harsh and bitter even to my own ears. "Trauma? Is that what we're calling it now? I prefer to think of it as a learning experience. A reminder that love is a fucking lie and happy endings are for fairy tales."
He shook his head, a sadness in his eyes that made me want to scream. "You don't really believe that, Liam. I know you don't. What happened with Caleb it was awful, and unfair, and it never should have happened. But it doesn't define you. It doesn't have to be the end of your story."
I felt a familiar ache in my chest, a pain that had never really gone away, no matter how much time had passed or how far I'd run. "But it is, Jimmy. It's the only story I have. The only one that matters."
He opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off with a wave of my hand. "Look, I appreciate the concern. Really, I do. But I'm fine. I've got my music, I've got my fans, and I've got a hot piece of ass waiting for me at the bar. What more could a guy ask for?"
He sighed, a sound of resignation and defeat. "Just be careful, okay? I don't want to see you get hurt again."
I smiled, a brittle, broken thing that felt like a lie even as it stretched across my face. "Too late for that, I'm afraid. But thanks for the sentiment."
I turned and walked away, leaving Jimmy and his well- meaning concern behind. I knew he cared, knew he only wanted what was best for me. But he didn't understand, couldn't understand the depth of the pain I carried, the weight of the memories that never seemed to fade.
No one could. Except maybe…
I shook my head, banishing the thought before it could take root. Caleb was gone, lost to me forever. And dwelling on what might have been, on the future we had dreamed of and the love we had shared, would only lead to more heartache.
I had to focus on the present, on the here and now. And right now, that meant losing myself in the arms of a stranger, in the blissful oblivion of skin on skin and pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
I made my way back to the bar, my eyes scanning the crowd for Jace. I found him right where I had left him, his gaze hot and heavy as it raked over my body.
"There you are," he purred, his voice low and rough with desire. "I was starting to think you had forgotten about me."
Leaning in close enough to feel the heat of his breath on my skin. "Never. I just had some business to take care of. But now I'm all yours."
His eyes darkened, a promise of all the filthy things he wanted to do to me. "Is that so? Well then, lead the way."
I didn't need to be told twice. I grabbed his hand and pulled him through the crowd, my heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and reckless abandon. I knew this was a bad idea, knew that using sex and alcohol to numb the pain was a dangerous game. But I didn't care. I needed this, needed the escape, the release, the momentary forgetting.
We reached the hallway leading to my dressing room, the dim lighting and narrow walls adding to the illicit thrill of it all. I could feel Jace's eyes on me, could sense the hunger in his gaze as he watched me fumble with the lock.
As soon as the door was open, he was on me, his hands rough and demanding as they roamed over my body. I let him push me inside, let him slam me up against the wall and claim my mouth in a bruising kiss.
It was exactly what I needed, exactly what I craved. The physicality of it, the raw, animal passion, the way it drowned out everything else until there was nothing but sensation, nothing but the press of his body against mine and the heat of his skin under my hands.
We tore at each other's clothes, a frantic tangle of limbs and fabric as we stumbled towards the couch. I didn't care that this was wrong, didn't care that I was using him, using the sex to chase away the demons that haunted me. All I cared about was the pleasure, the rush, the blessed, blessed escape.
But even as I lost myself in the moment, even as I let the desire consume me, I could feel the memories lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to drag me back down into the darkness.
And then, just as I was teetering on the brink of oblivion, just as I was about to let go and surrender to the ecstasy it happened.
Jace's grip on me tightened, his fingers digging into my hips as he pulled me closer. And suddenly, I was back there, on that terrible, terrible night. I could feel the crash, could hear the shattering of glass and the sickening crunch of metal. I could taste the blood in my mouth, could feel the pain exploding through every inch of my body.
I gasped, pulling away from Jace as if I had been burned. My heart was pounding, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I fought to shake off the sudden wave of panic.
"Whoa, hey, what's wrong?" Jace asked, his voice laced with confusion and concern. "Did I hurt you?"
I shook my head, forcing a smile that felt like it might crack my face in two. "No, no, I'm fine. Just got a little dizzy for a second there."
He frowned, his eyes searching mine for the truth. "Are you sure? We can stop if you want, take a break…"
"No!" The word came out harsher than I intended, sharp with an edge of desperation. "No, I don't want to stop. "
He hesitated for a moment, but then his desire won out over his doubts. He nodded, pulling me back into his arms and picking up where we had left off.
But it wasn't the same. The spell was broken, the magic gone. Even as my body responded to his touch, even as the pleasure built and crested and broke over me in shuddering waves I couldn't escape the memories, couldn't outrun the ghosts that haunted me.
Afterwards, as we lay there in a tangle of sweat-soaked limbs, I felt a crushing sense of emptiness, a hollow ache in my chest that no amount of sex or alcohol could fill. I knew I should say something, should thank Jace for the distraction or apologize for my erratic behavior.
But I couldn't find the words, couldn't summon the energy to care. So I just lay there, staring up at the ceiling as the numbness crept back in, as the familiar weight of despair settled over me like a shroud.
Jace shifted beside me, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at me. "Hey," he said softly, his voice tinged with a tenderness that made my throat ache. "Are you okay?"
I wanted to laugh, wanted to scream, wanted to tell him that no, I was not okay, that I hadn't been okay in twenty fucking years and I probably never would be again.
But I didn't. I couldn't. So I just nodded, forcing another smile that felt like a lie. "Yeah, I'm good. Just tired, you know? It's been a long night."
He nodded, pressing a soft kiss to my shoulder before standing up and reaching for his clothes. "I should probably get going. Early day tomorrow."
I watched him dress, a strange mix of relief and regret churning in my gut. Part of me wanted him to stay, wanted to beg him not to leave me alone with my thoughts and my memories and my endless, aching grief.
But I didn't. I couldn't. So I just lay there, watching him walk out the door and out of my life, taking with him the brief, fleeting respite from the pain.
And then I was alone again, alone with the ghosts and the regrets and the knowledge that no matter how far I ran, no matter how many strangers I fucked or bottles I drained I would never be free.
The sound of the door clicking shut behind Jace seemed to echo in the sudden stillness of the dressing room. I sat there for a long moment, staring at nothing, the emptiness inside me yawning wider with every passing second.
I reached for the bottle again, my fingers curling around the neck with a familiarity that should have scared me. But before I could bring it to my lips, Jimmy's words drifted through my mind, his voice soft but insistent.
"You need to find a healthier way to cope, before it's too late."
I hesitated, the bottle hovering halfway to my mouth. He was right, I knew he was. But the thought of facing the pain without the numbing haze of alcohol, without the distraction of nameless, faceless men it was terrifying.
Still, something made me put the bottle down, made me run a shaky hand through my hair instead of drowning myself in another drink. Maybe it was the memory of Caleb's face, the way he had looked at me with such love, such tenderness. Maybe it was the knowledge that he would be disappointed in me, heartbroken to see what I had become.
Or maybe I was just tired. Tired of running, tired of hiding, tired of pretending that I wasn't broken beyond repair.