Dirty Past Read Online Free Page B

him with promises that won’t happen. Jodie is staff. Do you hear that? Staff.” She glares. “Tate?”
    “Jodie is staff and off-limits to my cock,” I respond dutifully, setting my guitar on my lap.
    “Thank you.” Carla steps back and sits down. “Can we start with ‘Broken Heart’?”
    “Yep,” Aidan says before I can argue. Fuck. This isn’t my favorite song.
    He knocks his sticks against the side of his drum and counts us in. My fingers move to the strings of my guitar almost automatically. “Broken Heart” is one of our first songs, and no doubt the one that made girls all over the country fall for Conner’s drawl. It’s more country than rock, more emotion than music, one he wrote after Sofie disappeared.
    Now, he hates it as much as I do. I hate it because I don’t understand it, and he hates it because it reminds him of the past.
    He sings, his voice taking on the same low and husky tone it always does when we play this song, and my eyes half shut. My fingers, my body, they don’t understand my dislike. They understand the vibrations of the music. They understand the humming of the strings, wave after wave of melody.
    Each note is a transportation to another place, where only us and the music reside. It’s always been the same, even when there’s thousands of girls screaming at us. As soon as the notes hit, it’s us, at home, in the garage, dreaming of something bigger.
    The echo of the stadium doesn’t exist. The endless fucking resonance of the music doesn’t exist.
    It’s us, a bunch of young guys with an unattainable dream. Not us, America’s favorite band.
    It’s a bunch of fighting brothers, snapping at each other, all battling for the same thing. Now that we’re here, it doesn’t make a difference. We fight like fuck because we care. Because this damn dream isn’t a dream. It’s real, and none of us want to let it go. None of us will let it go.
    Because the dream isn’t all lights and freedom and relaxation. It isn’t all fun and fucking laughs like we thought it would be. It’s hard work, it’s long hours, and it’s worth it.
    “I got a broken heart because of you, shattered and smashed, it won’t go back,” Conner sings. “You broke it good, baby, ripped it apart. But it still beats, boom boom, yeah it still beats, boom boom . . .”
    His last word is long and drawn out, fitting with the echoing vibrations of the guitar strings. As we do after every song, we look up at Carla for her approval. It’s an instinctive movement now, because we might have a PA to keep our asses in line, but Carla is the chick that whips them into shape.
    And fuck, I shouldn’t have thought about our PA, because now all I can think of is Ella’s long legs disappearing beneath her dress.
    “Tate. Are you listening?”
    “Agree with every word, Carla.” I snap my eyes to her.
    “You didn’t hear a thing I said, did ya?”
    I shake my head slowly. “Not a damn thing.”
    She shuts her eyes briefly and jerks her head to the side toward the door. “Lunch is here. Y’all take an hour. . . . Tate, maybe you should take two or I’ma kill you.”
    “Carla.” I set my guitar down and clasp my hands to my chest. “I’m hurt, baby. You’d kill me?”
    She smirks. “Keep your puppy-dog eyes for Saturday night, Tate Burke. You ain’t charming me. I’m here to make sure y’all don’t mess shit up and that you don’t cause any more media frenzies.” She waves and turns. “If y’all need me for some dumb reason, you have my number.”
    With that, she slips past Sofie and Ella in the doorway and disappears.
    “Are y’all being pains again?” Sofie sighs, Mila on her hip.
    “Us?” Kye snorts. “Just Tate.”
    “Tay!” Mila shrieks, pointing a chubby finger at me. “You bad!”
    “Me?” I gasp. “No!”
    “Lieeeee!” She wriggles, and Sofie puts her down. Mila toddles to the stage and peeks over the edge, again pointing at me. “You lieeeeee! Lieeeeee!”
    When she