TORN: A Rockstar Romance (Wreckage Book 4) Read online

  I glanced back up and looked .

  There was a knot of people, leaning in and laughing. A mass of rounded shapes. And then there was one vertical line, standing apart .

  Hudson. Hanging away from the group. Smiling but not participating. Holding himself back. Taking up his space - standing with his legs hip's width apart and his arms easily at his side, one thumb hooked in the pocket of his jeans - but unwilling to enter the space of others .

  I turned the page and started another sketch, glancing at him furtively as I quickly captured him. I roughed out a few lines, taking special note of how studied his stance was. He was holding himself like someone who was relaxed, I realized. But his muscles were tense, coiled. Like he was ready to bolt from the room at any moment .

  I finished the sketch and leaned back. Tracing my fingers over the lines I had made, I looked back up again, wondering if I was really seeing what I'd drawn on the paper. I glanced back up at him and caught him looking at me .

  Quickly, I closed the book, setting it down on the stairs where I'd remember to grab it before I headed up later tonight. "What's so funny?" I called across the room, coming over to join the group. I leaned over my mother's shoulder .

  "I gotta see this," Hudson said and I looked up in surprise to see him suddenly at my side, and in the group. No longer a tense, vertical line in the corner .

  I narrowed my eyes at him, silently warning him not to get too close. But he just gave me his easy American smile and looked back down at the picture my mother was holding, completely unruffled .

  I looked at him again and wondered. Had I actually seen it? That tension I'd drawn ?

  Or was I fooling myself into thinking that Hudson was feeling anything at all ?

  Chapter Six

  Hudson

  M rs. Penrose was still going strong a half hour later. She had moved on to Niall's orchestra days - lots of shots of him looking uncomfortable in a tux and tails - when I finally drifted away. Tallula was squealing with laughter at something in one of the photographs and didn't notice me .

  Good. There was something I needed to see .

  Glancing back one more time to make sure that Tallula was still caught up in making fun of her brother's haircuts, I casually walked over to the great, sweeping staircase that dominated the huge room .

  The staircase Tallula has left her sketchpad lying on .

  Something about the way she was watching me as she drew her pictures. It was fucking...unsettling. I'd tried not to stare at her, but it was really hard when it seemed like every thought in her head had a corresponding expression on her face .

  And her face when she'd drawn me ....

  I knew she'd been drawing me, though I was pretty sure she thought she was being sneaky. Tallula didn't seem to understand that she broadcasted every feeling she had like it was playing on a movie screen across her forehead .

  But what she was feeling when she was sketching me? That wasn't so apparent. I needed to know. And I wondered if I'd find the answer in the picture she'd drawn .

  I leaned up against the railing and pretended to glance casually at my phone. Turning my body to the side and leaning, I scrolled through my phone with one hand while with the other I reached through the banisters .

  I managed to stretch enough to be able to lift the cover of the sketchpad. I caught a glimpse of an ornate Roman column, a tufted feather, a streetscape obscured with slanting rain ....

  I tucked my phone in my pocket, dispensing with the charade, and grabbed the whole book, sliding it through the banisters and into my arms .

  The pages ruffled through my fingers like a slideshow. I flipped past tantalizing glimpses into the way Tallula Penrose saw things. Some sketches were rough, giant expressive shapes that took up most of the page and some that ran right off of it. Others were tiny, minutely detailed pieces that looked like they were ready to be framed right now .

  I caught my breath when I got to the last page and saw a tense, vertical line. One that looked strangely like something I'd see when I looked in the mirror .

  And then the book snapped closed, catching my finger inside .

  "Oy!" Tallula hissed, grabbing it from me. I snatched my hand away before she torn my finger off by mistake .

  "What?" I asked, sucking at my finger as I blinked down at her fury .

  "That's private," she whisper-screamed. "You don't look at an artist's sketchpad ."

  I shook out my hand and chuckled. "I've actually looked at a few artist's sketchpads before, babe ."

  "Don't call me babe. And fine then, don't look at my sketchbook ."

  I nodded. "Fair enough, I suppose." I touched the brim of an imaginary cowboy hat. "My apologies, ma'am." She hesitated, wavering for a moment like she wanted to ask me something. Her T-shirt was cut low enough for me to see that birthmark above her heart. "You're very good," I went on .

  Her lips fell open and she looked over her shoulder like she was afraid someone was watching us. Like she was afraid we were doing something we shouldn't. When we were just standing here. Just talking. Nothing wrong with that at all .

  She glanced back up at me. "Thanks," she said tightly .

  "I like the way you see things ."

  Her shoulders relaxed a little. "Drawing helps with that ."

  "Seeing things ?"

  "Right."

  I nodded. "Like music does for your brother. And for me too I guess ."

  She looked over her shoulder again at the mention of her brother and I cursed myself for even mentioning him when she was standing so close to me. Even though there was nothing wrong with what we were doing. "Right," she said. "Maybe like that." Several different thoughts flickered across her face before she seemed to settle on one that as safe to speak out loud. "My parents tried, you know," she said. "With music for me. They had dreams of us both being in the London Philharmonic ."

  "Do you still play anything ?"

  She shook her head. "I was very good at memorizing the pieces, but I had no musicality of my own." She smiled fondly in her brother's direction. "No wait, scratch that. I was completely awesome, best musician ever. But rather than hog all the glory, I thought I'd be a good sister and let poor stunted Niall have something he could brag about ."

  I burst out laughing. "That's awfully nice of you ."

  She grinned slyly. "I'm a nice girl," she said .

  "Yes, you are," I told her, resisting the urge to touch her face. Instead I grinned. "You know what would be super nice of you ?"

  "Hmm?"

  "Letting me see that picture you drew of me ."

  She clutched her sketchbook to her chest. "What picture of you ?"

  She looked slightly panicked. I knew I should let it go, but something inside of me insisted. "Come on Tally," I said, moving closer to her. "I know you were drawing me ."

  "No, I was drawing the group ."

  I shook my head. "Fine. Later maybe ."

  She shook her head. "Not a chance ."

  "So you were drawing me." I smiled to have her caught .

  And she knew it to. But instead of blushing, she lifted her chin defiantly. "And what if I was?" she asked. "Do you mind ?"

  I shrugged. "Not at all. You said it helped you see, right ?"

  "Right," she nodded .

  "Well I was just wondering. Do you see anything in me ?"

  Chapter Seven

  Tallula

  T he main dining room at Briscombe Hall seated twenty people. Comfortably. We never used it as a family, preferring to crowd around the little round table in center of the kitchen. Being in the great hall always put me in mind of Christmases
with barely familiar relatives sitting stiffly at the table. The stuffy ones who all wanted to pinch my cheeks while I sweated in my velvet dresses and tried to straighten the satin bow that always slid out of my hair .

  When I got older, my mom would let me retreat after dessert was served. I'd immediately head back to my sketchpad, which even back then I never was without. I have many years' worth of sketches of the Christmas tree in the great room, with our presents all laid out to tempt me, sketched out of boredom while my distant relations droned on around that table .

  I didn't much care for the main dining room. But tonight was different. Tonight the normally stuffy, off-limits room was being pressed into service to feed the lads .

  "Pass the potatoes, you fuck," Jules hissed at Ewan .

  "Fuck off, I'm talking to C! Get them yourself ."

  "You're such a cunt." Jules stood up and grabbed at the serving dish. "Ah! Son of a twatting twat !"

  "Oh my god, did you just grab that without a mitt?" August asked in exasperation. "Serves you right for getting burned." Then her face fell. "Does it hurt?" she murmured, dipping her napkin in her water glass to dab at his palms .

  "And this is Mr. Penrose!" Ewan shouted, holding out his phone so CeCe on video could see around the table. "See how he's a handsome, dashing sort? Must have been quite a shock when his only son turned out to have the face of a prat, yeah ?"

  Celia's tinny, shocked laughter rang out from the speaker. My brother looked like he'd swallowed his tongue. My mother's dazed smile was pasted on her face, and I imagined her brain must have been short circuiting from all the bad language used at once .

  But my dad just roared. "It'll be so nice to finally meet you, Celia," he said, leaning in to address the screen directly. "I do hope you ladies can keep this lot in line ."

  "We try," Reese piped up as Niall leaned over to kiss her. "I mean, the day we met I - "

  "Literally saved my life," Niall finished, kissing her hand. "My guardian angel ."

  "You saved his life so you could kill him yourself later on, right?" I piped up, reaching for the wine bottle .

  "That's right. Nothing gets to murder Niall except me," she cooed, tapping the end of his nose .

  I clapped my hands together. "Bravo. I like you Reese, you know that right ?"

  My future sister in law grinned. "I like you too, Tally ."

  I nodded my thanks and took a sip of the wine I'd just poured. I did like Reese. I liked her toughness and I admired the story of how they'd met - how she'd tackled Niall to the ground before he was crushed by a falling stage light. She intimidated me a little, and I couldn't shake the feeling that she thought I was slightly ridiculous. A bit too spoiled. She'd grown up tough and grown up fast, while I still had this family and this house to fall back on if things ever went tits up for me .

  Like I said. I was lucky .

  "Pass the roast, please?" Hudson drawled, interrupting my thoughts .

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Without looking at him, I reached over and speared a slice of meat and flung it on to his outstretched plate. "Here ."

  "Thank you," he said. Unruffled. Unfailingly polite .

  Under the table, I clenched my fist. He'd pissed me right off with that stunt about my sketchbook. But instead of grabbing it and rushing off in a huff like I'd wanted, I'd stayed and talked with him. Flirted with him? No, that was too dangerous to consider, but I had enjoyed letting him tease me about the sketch I'd done, and I'd definitely enjoyed his frustration when I wouldn't let him see it .

  Do you see anything in me ?

  His question rattled around in my brain for no good reason. I mean, I did, of course. That's why I'd fucked up and kissed him in the first place back when I was in the States visiting Niall. But it had been a mistake. Hudson Grant was definitely not my type. Now that I'd seen him again after a year, I was reminded of this quite forcefully .

  He was wholly the opposite of the bespectacled poets I usually went in for. I enjoyed dating wispy guys who liked to incorporate the color of my eyes into their latest sonnets. I enjoyed men who listened to me with a worshipful expression on their face. I especially liked it when they wore that expression while I told them what to do and who to do it with .

  Yeah, some guys had called me a ball buster. A few more had accused me of emasculating them .

  But there can only be one person running the show. And I liked it to be me .

  No. Hudson was too ...

  Too much .

  He had this big, broad body that he slung around, taking up way more space than he deserved. He splayed out his legs under the table, so that my thigh kept touching his, no matter how many times I shifted in my chair. His eyes were way too blue, his smile was way too white. His blond hair, longer the last time I'd seen him, was now chopped short and styled in a sharp undercut that made his jaw too jutting and angled. His hands were too big, his biceps were too big, his smile was too knowing, and also...too big .

  No. Not my type. But I wasn't blind. For a certain kind of girl, he probably ticked off all the boxes of aggressive masculinity. For the kind of girl who wanted to lose herself in a man, he was the exact right type of man to get lost in .

  His laughter was usually big too, big and booming, and easy to come by. But tonight he seemed quieter. "You tired?" I asked him suddenly .

  He glanced up from his plate. "Jet-lag," he sighed, not really looking me in the eye .

  I shifted for a second. I wanted to draw out that crinkled smile, get him to throw back his head and make the muscles in his neck flare out as he laughed. Ever since I'd sketched him, I'd been noticing signs of his underlying tension. Tension he clearly wanted to keep hidden. It would have made me feel a lot less ill at ease if he'd only pretend a little harder to look relaxed. "You should be used to it by now, right?" I asked. "Being tired ?"

  He set his fork down. "Mrs. Penrose, I've got that," he suddenly called across the table .

  My mother was gathering plates in her hands, playing hostess, and looked at Hudson with no small amount of surprise. "Really Hudson, it's not trouble ."

  "I hate feeling like a freeloader," he explained with a grin, sliding his chair back and throwing down his napkin. "I'll clear the table." He looked down at me. "Will you excuse me please, Tallula ?"

  "Uh, sure," I stammered, completely baffled .

  He nodded and loped to the kitchen. And everything seemed normal. The lads resumed giving Niall shit and I picked at my roast, trying not to think about the tension I'd seen in Hudson's walk. The way he was trying to look like he wasn't rushing away from me. But he absolutely was .

  His voice floated out from the kitchen, freer now, his laughter the same kind of twangy music that filled the blue albums my brother had listened to over and over in his bedroom growing up. It sounded just like a home I'd never even seen, but still somehow missed terribly .

  Hudson was definitely too much. And a week spent this close to him was going to be way, way too long .

  Chapter Eight

  Tallula

  "O h they're here!" Reese had these super light blue eyes that made her look like some illustration in a fairy tale, and they were shining with full force right now. She clapped her hands together as my mother drew the bridesmaids' dresses out of the garment bags. "Is it... oh I love that fabric ."

  She'd chosen to put us all in black rather than force us into some pastel monstrosity we'd never wear again. Practical. That kind of consideration was another reason I liked Reese. But my mother had stepped in and vetoed the idea of just letting us all wear something out of our closets. "You want a uniform look," she'd explained, and immediately offered to have her tailor do something custo
m. It said a lot about Reese that she let my mother go ahead and handle that .

  Actually, it said one of three things. Either she trusted my mother, she was afraid of my mother, or she really didn't give a shit about bridesmaids' dresses .

  But that apathy was nowhere to be seen right now. She stood in the great room, petting the matte black silk with a dreamy expression on her face. I felt like my heart squeezed out a lump that then got caught in my throat as I watched her envisioning her big day. How we'd look lined up at her side. Reese didn't have much by way of a support network, but she was marrying into a pretty fucking big one. "Want me to put it on?" I asked her. "So you can see how it'll look ?"

  She widened her eyes. "Do you mind ?"

  "Absolutely not," I promised, rifling through the hangers until I found the one with my name. "Niall never played dress-up with me. It's about time I had a sister I could do this girly shit with ."

  "Language, Tally ."

  But my mother was laughing, and laughed harder as I kissed her cheek. "Don't go crying now," I told her. "It's just a bridesmaid's dress ."

  She blinked rapidly. "I'm not doing anything of the sort ."

  "Your eyes are shiny ."

  "It's the fish oil capsules I'm taking ."

  "You're full of it, Mum," I teased her, wiping away her tears before they started falling. "Be right back ."

  I grabbed the dress, holding it carefully to my chest, then took the stairs two at a time up to my room. But as I skidded down the long hallway, I slowed a little .

  The door to the guest room where Hudson was staying was still closed. He hadn't been kidding about jet lag. He'd been asleep for almost thirteen hours now. I tiptoed past the door, not wanting to wake him up, but also hoping I would .