Because of You

“So, what’s she like?! Is she as gorgeous in person as she is on TV? Is she totally cool and approachable? I bet she’s totally cool. Oh my God this is so awesome! I can’t believe you get to spend every day with THE Layla Carlysle!”

Gwen’s been gushing and throwing questions at me nonstop since I walked into the office this morning, still sweaty from my morning run with Layla and still focused on how warm her breath felt against my back as it seeped through my T-shirt while she hung over my shoulder.

She hadn’t been happy when I tried digging into her mother, and that makes me even more curious about the type of person Layla is. Who just lets someone walk all over them like that, even if it is their mother? She has spunk and doesn’t mind telling me where to go, but when it comes to Eve, she just shuts down.

“Okay, enough already with the twenty questions. She’s a normal human being, not some science experiment you stare at through a cage,” I tell Gwen as she bounces up and down on her feet, waiting for me to tell her everything about her favorite singer.

“Well, well, well. Will wonders never cease? Just last week you were calling her a 'no-talent drama queen,'” Gwen reminds me. “And for your information, she is NOT a normal human being, Brady. She is Layla Carlysle. One of the best recording artists and entertainers of the twenty-first century. She is a pop icon.” Judging by her foot tapping and the scowl on her face, clearly she's agitated that I don’t share her same excitement.

How could I? Everything I read about her in the tabloids is false. Which shouldn’t come as a surprise to me since the tabloids also write about movie stars buying land on Mars and a country singer finding a bat child in a cave. It shouldn’t have shocked me that she has a sense of humor or that she's more beautiful that humanly possible when she doesn’t have all that make-up on her face or shellacked hair. What amazes me, though, is the fact that she's allowed a woman that should have been her number one supporter to verbally abuse her.

The real Layla Carlysle intrigues me as much as I hate to admit it.

“Can we get down to business, please,” I beg Gwen as I take a seat at my desk and power up the computer. “Tell me what you’ve found on Eve Carlysle so far.”

Gwen lets out a huge annoyed sigh because I'm not going to give her the goods on Layla. Finally, she walks over to her own desk and grabs a file folder off of the top of it. Flipping it open, she scans the pages as she makes her way to me.

“Well, there isn’t much to be found about Eve. I had to do quite a bit of digging, and even then what I found wasn’t very interesting. Parents were blue collar workers, lower middle class. She wanted more out of life and made sure she got it. After high school, she worked hard and put herself through community college. Her first real job out of college was as a secretary for Hummingbird Records, where she met and married Layla’s father, Jack,” Gwen explains, rounding my chair and putting the file down in front of me so I can flip through it.

“I don’t like how little information there is about this woman. I mean, everyone has SOME kind of skeleton in their closet. She has nothing. And when I say nothing, I mean nada, zero, zip. Not even a parking ticket. Which is weird, right?”

I nod my head in agreement. “No one is that clean.”

“Exactly. Which makes me think she’s got something to hide. As awesome as I am on a computer, I couldn’t find squat. I called your friend Garrett for help, but his wife is on some kind of photo assignment and their daughter has been sick so he doesn’t have time to help. He gave me your friend Austin’s number. Let me tell you, that guy is annoying.”

I chuckle as I watch Gwen go back to her desk and sit down.

“What did Austin have to say?”

I pull up my email and shoot off a quit note of thanks to Austin as Gwen regales me with his charm.

“You mean aside from asking me my bra size, what I was doing for dinner tonight, and whether I preferred eggs or pancakes for breakfast tomorrow morning?”

Oh, that boy is so getting his ass kicked the next time I talk to him.

At the closing of the email, I add a threatening little reminder to Austin: My baby sister is off limits.

“Well, when he isn’t thinking with his dick, he’s actually not too shabby at getting information that I can’t. I really don’t want to know how he got this information. He started to tell me it had something to do with two bottles of wine and a lot of sweet talk, but I cut him off when he mentioned some trick he does with his tongue that always makes women talk. I mean really, Brady. These are the people you worked with in the Navy?”

Same old Austin. He could make a mute talk. He's always been our go-to-guy when the computer had us at a disadvantage. With his good looks and southern boy charm, he could walk us through airport security with a bomb strapped to his chest and no one would pay any attention.

“Sorry, Austin is in a class all his own. What was he able to find out?” I ask, shutting the file folder that has no real useful information in it.

“So get this. According to a few ex-employees from Hummingbird Records, Jack Carlysle married Eve because she was knocked up.”

I stare at Gwen for a few seconds trying to do the math.

“That doesn’t make sense. They got married over a year and a half before Layla was born.”

Gwen nods enthusiastically. “Exactly. According to these employees, Eve faked the pregnancy to get Jack to marry her. He was getting ready to break it off and she needed to do some quick thinking so the money he lavished her with didn’t dry up. She never had any doctor’s appointments at that time or anything confirming the pregnancy, but Jack, being the upstanding guy he was, took her at her word and made her Mrs. Carlysle. Surprise, surprise. A few months later she lost the baby. Once again, no medical records confirming this at all.”

I shake my head in confusion. “So if he was getting ready to end things with her, why the hell didn’t he just divorce her when she supposedly lost the baby?”

Gwen leans forward in her chair, so excited to tell the rest to me I think she might fall right out of it and onto the floor.

“This is where it really gets interesting. Right around that time, like the same week, Jack added Eve as the co-owner of Hummingbird Records. He made her a shareholder, put her on the board of directors—the works. And what do you know, four months later Eve gets pregnant with Layla,” Gwen finishes.

“It’s like he bribed her to have a baby,” I state in awe.

“That’s exactly what it’s like,” Gwen replies, letting out a deep, gratifying sigh.

I sit back in my chair and run my fingers through my hair.

“Jesus, no wonder Eve hates her. She probably never even wanted kids. Jack only kept her around to pop one out for him.”

Gwen looks at me questioningly. “What do you mean Eve hates Layla? Are you serious? How is that possible? Every single interview or news article I’ve seen of the two of them together, they are like two peas in a pod. They look like the best of friends.”

I’m momentarily ashamed at myself for thinking the same thing and for thinking Layla was a princess that enjoyed doing things to make her poor mother worry.

“Looks can be deceiving. They are anything BUT the best of friends. Jesus, Gwen. If you could have seen the way this woman speaks to her daughter. It’s disgusting,” I tell her sadly.

Gwen cocks her head and looks at me in sympathy.

“Kind of like how Dad used to speak to you?” she asks softly.

Even though it’s been ten years since I last spoke to him, I can still hear my father’s booming voice.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that, son? All you care about is yourself. God forbid you ever think about anyone else. You’re pathetic.”

I think back to the day of the sound check and the defeat I saw in Layla, the way she just accepted how her mother spoke to her and the things she forced her to do. It makes me angry, and for the first time since Gwen and Emma, it makes me feel protective. I want to keep her from danger and shame and make sure she knows that doesn’t have to put up with all the shit thrown at her. I know exactly what it feels like to be belittled and made to feel like you're worthless. But I got the hell away from that shit as soon as I turned eighteen and I never looked back. I don’t have to put up with my father’s hatred or general dissatisfaction with the life I’ve chosen for myself. Layla doesn’t have to either, but for some reason, she does. She sticks around and does exactly as Eve says, and by the look on her face the majority of the time, she believes every word that her mother tells her.

I've just met this woman and suddenly I wanted to make sure no one ever speaks to her that way ever again. I want to see her smile more. When she does, I feel a tightening in my gut and an inexplicable need to have her smile at me, to shine that brightness on her face in my direction. The cockiness she aimed at me on our run this morning and the tiny hint of a spark in her eye when she was singing that song her mother put her foot down about—that's just a small fraction of the real Layla Carlysle. I want more. For the first time in a long time, I feel need stirring inside of me, a desire to get to really know someone. Find out what makes them tick. Find out what makes them writhe underneath me, moaning and scratching their fingernails down my back.

“Hello, earth to Brady. Where the hell did you go just now?” Gwen bellows, breaking me from my thoughts. “Oh my God. You have a crush on her don’t you?”

I choke out a laugh at Gwen’s observation. If she only knew what I’d just been thinking, she’d probably smack me upside the head and call me a pervert.

“A crush? What are we, twelve?” I reply, avoiding the question.

“You do, don’t you?! You think she’s pretty and you want to kiss her! Oh my God, Layla Carlysle could be my sister-in-law!” Gwen squeals excitedly, clapping her hands together.

I rest my elbows on my desk and put my head in my hands, the makings of a headache coming on strong.

“You really need to get out more, you know that?” I complain, trying my hardest not to imagine what Layla’s lips would feel like against mine, what her tongue would feel like swirling through my mouth.

“I know. I spend way too much time with a six-year-old. It’s sad when even a proposition from that Austin guy sounds appealing,” Gwen says with an exaggerated sigh. “Speaking of getting out more, I recall Layla mentioning something about having me over for dinner. That would be a great way for me to get out of the house. It would also be a great way to watch you two together.” She wags her eyebrows.

“Oh hell no. There is no way I’m letting that happen if you’re going to act like a fool. And besides, all of this is pointless since she’s supposedly dating that Finn guy,” I tell her, trying to hide the irritation in my voice.

“Ooooooh, Finn Michaelson! I totally forgot about that. Oh my gosh, he is yummy. That man is sex on a stick. You’re totally right. What would she want with you when she’s got a fine specimen like that in her bed whenever she wants?” Gwen states nonchalantly.

“Oh give me a f*cking break! There is nothing even remotely appealing about Finn. What the hell does she even see in him? He was in the Marines for Christ sakes. Everyone knows they’re a bunch of hot-headed Neanderthals. She looks at him like he’s some sort of God. Granted, he’s got some nice pecks and a good head of hair, but come on!” I ramble angrily.

Gwen stares at me with an open mouth and wide eyes, her arm coming up in front of her and her finger pointing straight at me.

“Sweet mother of God. I was kidding about you crushing on her, but I’m right. Oh my God, you are totally jealous of her bodyguard! Oh this is priceless!” Gwen starts laughing.

“This is a job, nothing else. Just like Mrs. Henderson last week was a job. I don’t mix business with pleasure. Ever,” I tell her firmly.

“Mrs. Henderson is ninety-two years old and thought her dog was stealing food out of her fridge. I would hope to God you would never mix that kind of business with pleasure. That’s just gross,” Gwen says with a grimace.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m doing the job I’m being paid to do. Distractions, even the hot, famous singer type, do not have room in my life. End of story,” I remind her, smacking my fingers on the keys of my computer angrily.

“Oh, I get it. So they must have changed the job description without letting me know. If I recall correctly, you were hired to look into a stalker, not the personal life of Miss Carlysle,” Gwen replies sarcastically.

She has me there. I'm definitely not being paid to find out why Eve is such a raging bitch to her daughter. In just a few short days, I'm starting to get too invested in the job with a woman I barely know. I'm letting my personal feelings and opinions get to me, just like in the Dominican. Just like the hostage negotiation.





“Mr. Franklin, just put the gun down and let your wife and daughter go. Whatever problems you’re having, there’s no need to put them in danger,” Eric, my partner, told the man standing just inside the doorway of the house he shared with his family.

Right now he had a semiautomatic weapon aimed on his wife of five years and their three-year-old daughter, who stood right next to him, with fear in their eyes and tears running down their cheeks.

I’d seen the woman and her daughter before. They frequented the coffee shop I stopped at every morning before my shift. On several occasions, I’d spoken to the woman while we waited in line for coffee and even bought a cookie for her little girl a few times. People always trusted a man in uniform, and it was easy to get them to open up to you, even if you never exchanged names.

Now, standing outside of their home, guns drawn, I knew their names from the intel my captain had given me. The wife’s name was Alyssa and the little girl was Lucy. I wished more than anything when I saw her getting coffee two days ago and she mentioned her husband had been behaving awfully towards her—constantly yelling and accusing her of cheating on him—that I would have told her not to go home, to take that precious little girl with the blonde head full of curls and wide blue eyes and go somewhere for a few days.

There were so many things I should be saying to the maniac holding a gun on them right now, things that would reassure him we weren’t out to get him so he would put the gun away and we could charge him, but my mind was blank.

All I could think about was the young, beautiful wife clutching her little girl tightly and how just that morning I had thought about her and wished she wasn’t married. She was sweet and polite, and her little girl was the spitting image of her and had charmed the pants off of me when she called me “Ociffer.” I knew I was too close to the situation and should tell Eric that I needed someone to come in and take my place, but I couldn’t make my mouth open or my feet move. I stared at the woman I’d been daydreaming about for weeks, and I knew that if we got her out of this situation, I would make sure no one ever hurt her or her daughter again.

“Mr. Franklin, how about you let Alyssa and Lucy go?” I finally managed to say softly, my eyes pleading with Alyssa to stay calm and not make any sudden movements. “Just let them walk away. Then we can sit down and talk about what’s bothering you.”

The guy, Joe, flashed his angry eyes in my direction and his lip curled up in a snarl as he shoved the nose of his gun roughly into Alyssa’s side. She cried out in pain, and I flinched at the sound of fear in her voice.

“How the f*ck do you know my wife and daughter’s name? Is this the guy you’ve been f*cking behind my back, Alyssa?” he shouted angrily at her.

Lucy cried even harder as she hugged her mother’s leg, and I wanted more than anything to just shoot a bullet through his brain and end this once and for all.

“No! Joe, I told you, I’ve never cheated on you. I swear!” Alyssa cried.

“Bullshit! I can see the way this guy is looking at you. You spread your legs for him, I know it.”

Eric inched slowly away from me, closer to the situation, and my hands shook with anger. I should be moving with Eric. We were a team and I was supposed to be sticking to him like glue, but I couldn’t move. All I could think about was pulling the trigger.

“No one can have you but me, do you understand me?!” Joe screamed as he put his face right up to Alyssa, spittle flying from his mouth with each word.

Before I could react, shots flew out, piercing the quiet night with their explosion of light and sound. I didn’t hesitate before jumping into action. I ran past Eric and tackled Joe to the ground, not giving a second thought to the gun in his hand. I only knew I couldn’t let him hurt Alyssa and Lucy.

I hadn't hesitated to jump into the action, but I let myself get distracted. I let myself care too much about the subject I was paid to protect. I was paid by the city of Nashville to protect and serve all of its citizens. I let a few small conversations and a silly connection I thought I felt get in the way of doing my job. I forgot about all of my training and what you should never say and emotions you should never give away during a hostage stand-off. After I tackled Joe to the ground and relieved him of his weapon, I stood back up and looked around to find my partner with a bullet through his chest and a mother and daughter with matching ones through their heads. I was so busy trying not to crumble to the ground in grief that I forgot to cuff Joe. He jumped up from the ground, grabbed my side-arm, and shot himself under the chin, blood and brain matter splattering against my police uniform.





The sound of the phone ringing tears me away from my dark memories of that night. I need to focus on what I’m being paid to do. Who gives a rat’s ass about the relationship Layla has with Eve? Gwen is right. It has absolutely nothing to do with the stalker case. It has nothing to do with me. If this is the way Layla chooses to live her life, I don’t give a flying f*ck.

Pulling up the file on the computer where Gwen stored the scanned copies of the letters Layla has been receiving over the last year, I go over them and take some notes, focusing my mind on what's important, not on what doesn’t matter.

Layla and the choices she makes do not matter. She’s her own person and can do whatever the f*ck she wants. I couldn't care less.





It’s been three weeks since Brady and I went on our run. Three weeks since he's actually acted like a decent human being to me. I have no idea what changed between then and now, but the playful, friendly Brady has been replaced with the stand-offish, all-business Brady. I tell myself that I should be happy about that because it’s not like I need the extra distraction that friendly Brady gives me. I don’t have the time to daydream about kissing the dimples on his cheeks or the warmth I felt as I watched him talking to his niece on the phone.

Then why the hell are you doing it right now?

We’re sitting next to one another at the same conference room table where we met. But this time, I’m not on the opposite side of the table wondering who the hell he is and what he’s doing in my domain. Now, we’re sitting so close that every once in a while his leg brushes up against mine, and I have to fight down the urge to reach over and place my hand on his thigh to see if it’s as muscular as it looks.

I’m still wondering who the hell he is, unfortunately. I’m still questioning if I can trust him and if the two sides of I’ve seen of him so far will be it, or if there’s some other personality lurking under the surface waiting to jump out and confuse me even more.

“So you don’t read all of your fan mail?” he asks distractedly as he sorts through a pile of stationery, unopened envelopes, and torn-off sheets of paper—all with words of praise, thanks, or backhanded compliments from my fans all over the world.

Aside from barely saying two words to me for the last few weeks, and only replying to me with curt answers, Brady has been here at the office every day poring over all of my mail or following me to all of my meetings and practices, making inquiries and taking notes. He had asked me to come in today because he has a few questions. Well, actually, he had sent an email to Finn asking me to come in today, which of course pissed Finn off. I’m still treading lightly with him after the incident in the woods. He feels slighted, like I chose Brady over him. I would never choose anyone over him. It'll take some groveling and sucking up on my part to reassure him that I would never choose Brady over him, but he'll eventually come around. He always does. I tried my best to smooth things over with him when he received the email.





“Why the hell is he emailing me for? And why does he need to bother you with this shit? If he has questions, he should just ask me,” Finn angrily complained as he scanned through his emails on his phone.

“Finn, he’s doing his job. You know there is no use fighting this. Eve hired him and we just have to live with it for a little while. He’ll see that there’s no claim to these stalking allegations Eve has insisted on, and he’ll go back to his life and let us get back to our normal routine,” I explained, softening my voice and trying not to get frustrated with his constant resentment towards Brady.

I really had no idea where it was coming from. Eve had hired plenty of outside consultants over the years to check that our security was top-notch and to make sure things ran as smoothly as possible. Finn had never been this irritated and outright rude with anyone before.

“You and I both know you are amazing at your job and know what you’re doing. Please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

The pleading in my voice must have gotten to Finn. His features softened; the furrowing of his brow smoothed out and a small smile curled up the corners of his mouth.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make things harder on anyone, especially you. I’m just frustrated.”

I walked over to him and slid my arms around his waist and press my cheek to his chest. He wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on the top of my head.

“Thank you, Finn. He’ll be gone before you know it, you’ll see.”





Thankfully, Finn’s kept his attitude in check since that conversation. Brady still isn’t gone, though, and it looks like he has no intention of leaving until he finds something to validate Eve’s claims.

“I don’t open any of my mail,” I answer, getting back to his question and scooting as far away from him on my chair as I can without falling off the other side. “We have assistants here who open all incoming mail, and they enter all of the sender’s information into a database and scan a copy of the original letter. They hand-pick a few a week for me to personally respond to.”

Brady nods in response as he picks up a few letters and looks at the return address before placing them in a pile to his left.

“So, did they bring the letters from this Ray guy to your attention when they came in?”

I shake my head, leaning forward and placing my elbows on the table. “No. I get threats and weird letters all the time from people, so when the first few came in, they just filed them away like usual. But after the fifth one, the program we use to keep track of the letters flagged them, letting us there was a pattern with the same sender. That’s when they took the letters to Eve. And that’s when she called you. I’ve only seen two of the letters in person.”

Brady starts gathering the hundred or so letters from this week into a pile before shoving them into a canvas bag he brought with him. When they are all put away, he stands up and slings the bag over his shoulder.

“I told the admins that from now on I want all mail to come straight to me before they open it. If this guy sends something else, I want to be able to dust it for fingerprints. The old letters have been handled by too many damn people for me to get anything off of them.”

He turns his back and starts walking towards the door.

Jesus, he couldn’t even crack a smile or say one word to me that isn’t about business. What the hell is his problem?

“How’s your niece? Did she like the signed poster I gave you for her?” I ask, forcing him to stop before he can escape.

Maybe reminding him of that small piece of his life he shared with me will lighten him up a bit so I can see if that man was real.

“Yeah. She said thanks,” he replies gruffly, his hand hovering over the door handle.

“I was thinking of going for a run later today before I have that appearance at the new club opening,” I throw out there.

Desperate much, Layla?

I’m practically begging him to be alone with me. I just want to see if what happened in the woods was real or just my imagination. He was a real person then, not this robotic business man. He smiled and he laughed and he made jokes. He wanted me to be honest with him and trust him to do this job, but I can’t do that if he's going to shut down like this and pretend like he hadn’t sung one of my songs to his niece while I stood right there listening or thrown me over his shoulder like a caveman, smacking my ass and making me laugh with stories about his niece the whole drive home. As much as I hate admitting it, I’m attracted to him. There was a spark that day in the woods. I miss that spark—that first initial attraction to someone where all you can think about is what their kisses will taste like and what their hands will feel like on your bare skin. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt those butterflies in my stomach. Hell, who knows if I ever have? We’re both consenting adults. If there is a mutual attraction, why not scratch an itch? It’s not like it will be a conflict of interest. Sure, Eve hired him, but it's obviously a sham. I'm sure Brady won't find any further proof to her stalker claims, and before I know it, I’ll never see this man again.

“Finn’s down the hall waiting for you. I’ll tell him you need to get a run in.”

And with that, he is out the door without another word.

Maybe it is be best if I never see him again. Obviously, that spark I felt isn’t mutual, and now he probably thinks I’m just pathetic and desperate. I must be if I thought a guy like that would let his guard down long enough to have some fun.