Shock coursed through my body. “I haven’t told anyone anything in a long time.”

It was awkward, standing here in the middle of the bare studio, but I didn’t dare ask to change venues. If I did, she might realize she was talking to me (well hell, I was talking to her, too), and call it a night. Though I knew both of us were probably exhausted, I was shocked to realize that I did want to talk to her and have her talk to me.

I led her back to the futon and laid down, tucking her next to me. She rested her head on my chest. Her hair tickled my arm and neck, but it was heaven. She fit perfectly next to me, like she belonged there.

Like she belonged there.

What the hell was happening to me? I didn’t do this.

You’re just friends. You just want to get to know her.

Even as I thought it, I knew I was full of shit.

Bex

I was lying on top of Johnny on the futon at my studio. I was leaving in mere days to go tour for a month, and something bad was happening to me.

I liked him.

Scratch that. I fucking hated him. I hated that he got me to talk. I hated that I even wanted to talk. No one got me to talk about my dad. Not Beau or Natalie. Of course, they knew. But that’s because I’d known them back then. Before I’d become the Bex I am now.

Scratch that again. I hated myself for letting someone make a crack in my composure. I’d never told anyone that my dad played in a rock band and taught me to play. What was happening to me?

Johnny stroked my bare back, his fingertips simultaneously trailing fire and goose bumps as he touched me. Sex with Johnny was beyond my wildest imagination. I’d had some . . . freaks. Some guys that were rough, hot, and talented. But Johnny put all of those words in a totally different category.

“I’m going to ask you something, but you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

My heart rate shot into the sky. What the fuck was he going to ask me? My throat dried out, and I felt panic rising in my chest. I clenched my fist, forcing myself to breathe. He hasn’t even asked anything yet.

When I didn’t say anything, Johnny put his hand in the waistband of my jeans. It was sexual, but neither of us moved. “Why don’t you like me calling you ‘baby’ or ‘princess’ while we fuck? It’s hard as hell to remember because that’s just a norm for me.”

The panic that had been waiting in the wings broke through the dam, taking me over so fast I had no time to stop it. I sat up, my chest heaving and my breath coming out in short spurts. I tried to calm myself using the things that I always tried, but nothing was happening.

Johnny stood too. “Bex. It’s okay. I’m sorry. Forget I asked.”

It was too late. The panic had to come out. Once the box was opened, it didn’t close. I paced the room, fighting the nasty words that threatened. When I was upset, I was nasty. I knew it. Usually, I didn’t care who the victim was. Except this time, I did.

I did.

I cared.

I stopped in my tracks, turning back to look at Johnny. He watched me, his expression guarded. The few people I’d had panic attacks in front of always tried to hold onto me and talk, asking me what they could do with that pitiful look in their eyes that they were so sorry for my version of crazy.

I wasn’t crazy.

Johnny wasn’t looking at me like that. He was waiting for me to work through it even though he didn’t understand it.

It was two fucking words. Two. And they’d wrecked my life for over ten years.

“I can’t talk about it,” I said finally.

Johnny nodded. “Okay. Tell me what you want to talk about and what’s off limits.” He stepped up to me and cupped my face in his hands. “Just know one thing.”

No one had ever done that to me before. He was looking directly into my eyes. “What’s that?” My voice was wobbly and I hated myself for it. Showing weakness was when people got you.

“I’ll never force you to tell me something you aren’t ready for, so all you have to say is no. Believe me, I get that more than you know.”

People tell you that they get it. But with Johnny, I’d been around him enough to know he was hiding things. Maybe even just as many (or more) than I was. So I figured he probably did know.

“Okay. There are things I can’t talk about—ever. There are others I can talk about parts of them. I get panic attacks out of nowhere. Things can trigger them, or something someone says. I have serious trust issues. I trust exactly two people in this world, and that’s Beau and Natalie.”

Johnny nodded, pulling me back to the futon. We sat, and he tucked me under his arm again. I liked it too much when he held me. “I could say every word that you just said for me. I also have panic attacks from certain triggers. I also have serious trust issues. The two people I trust in this world are my sister and her husband. Up until two years ago, my list was only one. When she got married, he made his way in, too. I use sex to work out my demons.”

Wasn’t that the damn truth. “I do, too.”

“You’re fucking good at it,” he teased, kissing my temple.

I laughed, lightening the mood. I cupped him on the outside of his jeans. “Yeah, you’re pretty good, too.”

He feigned shock. “Pretty good? Did you just say pretty good?” Johnny reached over and slid his hand down my unbuttoned jeans and directly to my clit. I rocked against him immediately. He rubbed his thumb over me as he fingered me, fast and hard.

My eyes were just starting to roll in my head when he pulled back, sitting back like we’d been doing a few minutes ago. “Wha . . . ?”

“You said pretty good. Pretty good only does part of the job.”

I stood, shoving my jeans off and straddling him. I put my lips to his ear, rocking my core against his erection. “No one has ever fucked me like you. That dick, those hands, that mouth are beyond pretty good, and you know it. You’re a fucking one man show I want again and again and again. Now stop holding out on me and give it to me, Rock Star.”

“Rock Star.” Johnny’s mouth quirked up. “I like that. Double meaning. You call me that, and I’ll call you Rocker Girl while I’m playing your guitar.”

I helped him shove his jeans down and then I sank onto him, his eyes never leaving mine. Oh, he was playing my guitar all right. Just not the one sitting nicely in the corner watching us.

“Daddy! Daddy! Don’t let them take me! I’m sorry! I’ll be a better girl! Daddy!”

The man pulled me by the arm, hard. I cried out, using my free hand to try to pry his hand off of mine. “Let. Me. GO!”

He stopped, looking back at me. “You have to go with me, sweetie. I’m sorry.”

“NO! You’re a stranger! This is my house! That’s my daddy!”

“Your daddy is going to jail, and no one else is available to take care of you. It’ll be okay. We’re going to take you to a nice house. You can get some clean clothes and a good meal.”

My stomach growled as I thought of food. I didn’t remember the last time I’d eaten. I’d been excited when Daddy sold his guitar for groceries, but I never saw any.

I swung my eyes back, seeing the red and blue lights reflecting off of everything in the dark. The officer was putting my dad in the back, his hands cuffed behind him.

“No! He didn’t do anything! Don’t take him!”

“Is there anything in the house you want, Bexley? My friend can get it.”

I stopped fighting, watching as the police car pulled out of the driveway with my dad in the back of it. His eyes met mine, but he didn’t smile or blow me a kiss. I had a million questions. What did he do? When would I see him again?