Deep Cuts

Chapter 1

Dani

Ellis was not who I was expecting.

He wasn’t the same Ellis I grew up with—always hiding behind sunglasses indoors, noise-canceling headphones, and statistics instead of conversation.

Thirty-two-year-old Ellis Foley could talk me into anything just by delivering compliments like they were objective facts.

Like telling me my songwriting skills were on par with Alex Turner.

The hot Las Vegas sun beat down on us as we trudged along the crowded sidewalk. I could feel my blonde hair bleaching even brighter in the heat. People always thought I fried it to get it this color, but one look at my brother, Tanner, and they realized it just came from our Cassidy genes.

My best friend and drummer, Gigi, kept skipping ahead, only to loop back whenever Tanner bragged about the award that started this whole sinful road trip. She flicked his ear every time, then sprinted off again. Like… we get it, brother. You won an award. Calm your tits.

I stole the baseball cap off Ellis’s head, put it on, and grabbed the sunglasses off Tanner’s face, sliding them over my gray-green eyes.

“Let’s go to a strip club!” Gigi squealed, doing a little shimmy.

“Ugh!” I groaned. “I don’t want to. They seem so sad.” I did an exaggerated body wave with dead eyes near Ellis. “Doing that on some douche for cash. I feel bad for them.”

Ellis’s back straightened, making his six-foot-something frame look even taller. His circular gold frames—always a little crooked, just like I remembered—highlighted his hazel eyes. He coughed, puffing out his full lips, a nervous tic I’d seen plenty of over the years.

Gigi cackled. “You do? I don’t think they’re victims. They’re in a place of power.” She shot her fist up. “They own their sexuality!”

Her lip twitched, trying not to laugh. “You’re just afraid of falling in love with one, à la T-Pain.”

I rolled my eyes. You crush on one midnight ballerina, and all of a sudden, it’s your thing.

Ellis’s eyes darted between Gigi and me. He tried to hide his are they joking or serious? expression, but I knew that face all too well.

I turned to Ellis. “I am serious. I don’t want to go.”

But maybe Gigi was right, and I was the problem.

Well, it was a Dani Dayes problem.

If I went, I’d have to go up on stage and get on that pole because that’s what people expected of me.

There was no getting around it, because Dani Dayes was a wild child—she was the queen of chaos. You go to a Dani Dayes concert, and you have no idea what will happen. She might trapeze into the audience or start a mosh pit.

But that wasn’t me.

Not the real me.

Since my band got bigger, I had to pretend to be her a lot more than I used to.

Because the public doesn’t get the real me.

That belongs to a select few, and the fewer people who know her, the safer she is.

Ellis was one of the few.

“Actually, over seventy percent of exotic dancers do it out of economic necessity, so it’s less about owning their power and more about survival,” Ellis chimed in. He pushed his chestnut hair back as his eyes darted to me and then away. “So, Dani’s assumption was more accurate.”

I tipped my chin to Ellis, clapping him on the back. “See?” I beamed.

Tanner shrugged, and his bushy blonde hair bounced with the movement. “Oh no!” he said sarcastically. “I really wanted to go!”

He did not, in fact, want to go. I was sure of that. He was head over heels for his girlfriend, Katy, whom I hoped would one day be my sister. Although knowing her, she’d be front row with a wad of twenties if she came on this trip.

She was a lot like me — curated chaos, but in different wrapping paper.

Gigi muttered something under her breath. Her dark bob bounced about a foot shorter than the rest of us as she stubbornly walked ahead, annoyed.

“Don’t be mad, Gigi!” I called to her. “I’ll make it up to you! I’ll strip for you later!” She was at least ten feet ahead of me, but I could see her shoulders bounce as she laughed.

“You better, bitch,” she said, turning around and slowing down.

“You know I can’t go to something like that,” I whispered to her. “Public persona Dani will have to come out, and I don’t want to be her on this trip.”

“You birthed her,” Gigi said for the thousandth time. “You can kill her off, too.”

I snorted. “There are fan pages dedicated to my theatrics. I birthed a monster.”

“Well, I love real Dani so much more,” Gigi said, wrapping her arms around me.

I pecked the top of her head. “You are one of the few who do.”

“Oh my God!” Tanner did a little jig and pointed to a sign.

Open Mic Night.

Oh God.

My stomach dropped. I knew what this would mean.

It seemed inevitable that Dani Dayes would make an appearance.

Before her, I was background noise. The industry ignored me. The crowds were bored. Hell, even to myself, I started to feel like the static stuck between two radio stations.

Archer Anonymous, Tanner’s band, had a hit album, and suddenly he was somebody. Ellis was writing for artists I’d only ever screamed along to in the car. We all grew up going to the same music school, but somewhere along the way, they took off, and Gigi and I…didn’t.

We played open mic nights and festival tents. Hoping someone—anyone—would see us.

No one did until one night, when I got drunk. I climbed the scaffolding and sang my heart out, swinging eight feet above a crowd that normally ignored me. I wasn’t performing. I was pleading. I was begging to be noticed — and I was.

God, it felt good.

The crowd erupted.

The footage went viral.

A manager signed us a few weeks later.

Not long after, we were featured on some beach drama show that blew us up. Our songs were on the radio. Music creators talked about us. We got a tour.

That’s when Dani Dayes was born… and I died a little.

***

We walked into a hole-in-the-wall off the Strip with a sandwich board advertising an open mic night. It was dark inside, despite the bright sun outside. The air smelled of stale cigarettes and day-old beer.

A guy with an acoustic guitar strummed while singing Wonderwall.

Classic.

Before I finished scanning the room, Tanner had already signed us up for the open mic. He paired himself with Gigi in a sort of drum duel, I guess, and he paired me with Ellis.

I rolled my eyes. “C’mon, Tanner. Why? This is our job. It’s like an accountant going on vacation and doing his taxes.”

Tanner tsked me. “Correction: it’s our life’s passion.” He made some very Shakespearean gestures with his hand.

“It’s the reason we breathe!” Gigi added.

“It’s math, and that makes me feel in control,” Ellis said, nodding.

It was kind of adorable how honest and literal he was. Everything that came out of his mouth was precisely what he was thinking, without any pretense.

Maybe that’s why I found him so attractive. He was everything I wasn’t.

Every move I made publicly was carefully planned, while everything he did was 100% pure Ellis.

“Do you like being in control?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. I watched his reaction from beneath my eyelashes.

“Very much so,” he said, shaking his head. “I just told you that.”

“What if you can’t be in control?” I took his glasses off, placing them on my head, and held his wrists in my hands like handcuffs. “You can’t see or move. Now what?” I grinned.

It had probably been a decade since I had last seen him without his glasses. His eyes were innocent-looking, framed by thick lashes. They had more green in them than I’d realized, and for a minute, I forgot to breathe.

His arms were relaxed. “I trust you,” he said softly. He held his arms up, still cuffed by my fingers. “So it’s okay.”

My heart fluttered.

I stood on my tiptoes to place his glasses back on his face—breathlessly, carefully. He bent his knees just a little so I could reach him.

It hit differently when someone who sorts everything and everyone into categories gives you your own.

I don’t count like everyone else.

I count more.

Because in the brain of Ellis,

I’m in a category of one.

Chapter 2

Ellis

Tanner knew I’d been stuck on his sister since I was twelve—since the first time she saw me sitting alone in the band room and pulled up a chair right next to me, asking about scales and music theory.

When no one else could see past my noise-canceling headphones and stimming hands, she saw me. She saw it all, and she liked me for it. After that first time, she kept seeking me out. I wasn’t alone anymore.

I’ve loved her for a long time.

But she has no idea.

Why would Tanner pair us for open mic when he knows all of this?

Dani leaned back in her chair—so far back I thought it might tip. I held it steady, though. She wasn’t going to fall.

“What song do you want to play, El?” she asked.

I don’t like when people shorten my name. But when she did, I didn’t mind. She eyed my hand holding her chair up. Dani lifted her feet completely, ready to free-fall, but I didn’t let her.

She laughed, shaking her head.

And I didn’t understand why she found it funny to fall.

“You’ll hurt yourself,” I scolded. My hand stayed steady on the back of her chair, even though her feet were now planted on the ground.

She smiled. I know all of her smiles. This was the teasing one.

“I knew you’d catch me.” She faced me. “You see? I trust you, too.”

I nodded, understanding her meaning now. “So you don’t have to be in control because I’ll take care of you?”

Her smile was wider this time, and I knew this one, too. I filed it under: He understands me.

“How about ‘Fantasy’ by Mariah Carey?” I asked. I leaned closer to her. The bar smelled horrendous, but her hair smelled like Eucalyptus.

Her eyes went wide. Her smile was so big I didn’t know how to categorize it. It might have been the biggest one I’d ever seen. “That’s my favorite song!”

I tilted my head. “I know that. You told me in seventh grade. That’s why I suggested it.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “How did you remember that?”

There are a lot of things I don’t understand. But maybe she doesn’t understand this: I remembered because it mattered to her.

I still remember her singing that song on her front porch. It was the first time I heard her sing, and I haven’t heard anything that compares to that sound since.

“I remember everything you say,” I said simply.

“Do you know how to play it?” she asked, pulling it up on her phone.

“I’ve never played it before, but if I hear it, it won’t be a problem.” Music has always been easy for me. If I hear a song, I can play it. Music is simple. It’s numbers and patterns. People are hard.

I replaced my earplugs with AirPods and listened to the song. My eyes closed, and my fingers moved as if I were playing an invisible piano. I could picture each note in my mind’s eye — colors danced with each new sound. I could see them as if my hands had always known them.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

Dani laughed, catching me off guard. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Well, I don’t know how you do it,” I said back.

“Do what?” she asked, tilting her head just so.

“Turn into a completely different person on stage.”

“Next up is Dani Dayes and Ellis Foley!” The MC’s gravelly voice echoed through the mic.

A hint of amusement tilted her lips. “You’re about to see her in action.”

Tanner and Gigi whooped as we walked up to the stage.

I slipped my earplugs back in. They were my favorite because they were clear, and most people didn’t notice them.

Dani wrapped her arm around me as we approached the stage, licking my jaw.

I knew this was “stage Dani.” Not Dani Cassidy—Dani Dayes. The real version of her would never touch me so intimately.

She held her soda water with a lime floating in it up to the audience, toasting them like it was alcohol, then poured it down her throat, letting it slide down her neck and the front of her white tee.

I could see her black bra through it and tried to avert my eyes.

Tried.

But my eyes stayed fixed on the lacy pattern visible through the thin fabric.

I sat at the house piano, running through progressions until she nodded at me.

The opening chords to “Fantasy” rang out from the old piano—and then her voice.

Her voice — always amber.

It came in and melded with the music.

She climbed onto the piano, arching her back as she sang, inching closer and closer to me with every note.

And when she sang, “Mm, baby, I’m so into you. Darling, if you only knew,” it was almost as if she were saying those words to me.

Me.

When she sang them, she looked me directly in the eyes, and while I usually look away, I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Dani writhed on the piano until she sat up in one fluid movement, placing one foot next to my thigh on the piano bench and the other on the other side—trapping me between her legs as I played.

I tried to concentrate. I tried not to look.

But I wanted to look.

I wanted to touch.

I wanted to know what it felt like to have her skin beneath mine.

And on the last chord, she held me by the collar and kissed me.

My fingers froze.

I don’t know if I ever finished the final note. All I could think about was whether her kiss was real — or just another Dani Dayes performance.

Chapter 3

Dani

Stage Dani strikes again.

Why did I do that to him?

I did shit like that all the time. Toss water on Gigi as she’s drumming to watch the droplets bounce as she slams her sticks on the kit. Lick the sweat off my guitarist as he’s grinding out a riff.

To me, it was a checklist of things my fans expected of me.

But Ellis deserved more from me. He’s not a show prop. He’s my person.

As soon as my lips landed on his, my brain spun out. My breath was stuck in my chest.

I kissed him without thinking, but my heart fluttered like I’d been waiting to kiss him my whole life.

I hope I didn’t mess everything up with him.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. My mouth was still mere inches from his.

“Thank you, Dani and Ellis! That was quite the show!” The MC said into his mic. As we walked offstage, he set his mic down and spoke directly to us. “Seriously, great performance. When your friend signed you up, I didn’t realize who you were.”

I gave him a quick smile and nodded, pulling Ellis through the bar, past a very confused Tanner and Gigi, and onto the sun-drenched street. “Please, please forgive me,” I begged. “I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

He cocked his head. “Forgive you? I wanted that kiss.” His eyes went to his feet. He sucked in a breath. “Was it real?”

I looked up at him — really looked. The softness in his gaze left me speechless. The way he moved his fingers, like he still had a piano beneath them, showed the nerves still simmering under the surface.

After a long moment, I asked, “Why have you never kissed me, then?”

“I didn’t think you’d want me.” He shrugged. “I can be a lot for people.”

How could he think that? He’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.

I smirked. “Have you met me? I’m a lot. You are just right.”

He brushed a finger over my cheek. “You’re just right for me. You always have been.”

And there it was again—stupid, fluttering want.

Ellis bent down — slowly, timidly — and kissed me, softly at first. His lips brushed across mine. When I didn’t pull away, his second kiss became more sure. His fingers scraped through my hair, pulling me closer. Each kiss grew more confident. More curious. His tongue slid against mine, igniting a burst of butterflies in my belly. Before I knew it, my hands were in his hair, pulling through his chestnut strands. He gasped for air, wrapping the crook of his elbow around my waist, pulling me closer.

A door clicked closed behind us, and Ellis’s eyes darted to the door. A smile curved his lips. I pulled away to see what he was looking at, and there was my brother, giving him two thumbs up.

“Finally,” Tanner said, smirking. “Am I getting a new brother?”

Gigi clapped her hands. “I get to be the Maid of Honor, right?”

“So funny, Gi,” I said, reaching out to smack her, but she hopped out of my way.

Ellis looked from Gigi to Tanner, confusion coloring his face. He always struggled with jokes. “I would marry her.”

I thought my stomach would drop, but instead, it flipped. I don’t want to get married. Not to anyone, but if I did, I’d choose this caring, thoughtful man. A man who remembers everything I say, just because I am the person who said it. When we were little, I’d play this game, which seems mean and attention-seeking now. We had a swimming pond in our neighborhood, and I’d pretend to drown. Ellis would run in and rescue me, always thinking it was real. I was maybe thirteen or fourteen at the time, but I loved how worried he was for me, how he’d bound into the water and pull me to him. My skin pressed to his, concern in his eyes.

He must still think I’m a terrible swimmer.

I squeezed his hand, locking away that little fact.

He said he’d marry me.

Not as a joke, but a fact, the only way Ellis knows how to communicate — complete, earnest honesty.

I was way too sober for this very real revelation. “Let’s go to the bar.”

Ten minutes later, we were in a sleek hotel bar with shiny counters, leather stools, and lighting so dim it was meant for bad decisions.

“A round of shots for my friends! Gotta celebrate their engagement!” Tanner said, wrapping an arm around Ellis and me.

Fucking Tanner.

“Oh, congratulations!” The bartender said, with his eyes on my tits. A smirk lingered beneath his manicured mustache as he eyed Ellis’ earplugs and crooked glasses. His eyes tore apart Ellis without saying a word.

I hopped off my stool and walked to Ellis’ side, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and tucking myself into him. Ellis’ fingers curled into my shirt, pulling me in closer. He looked down, watching me with this look I couldn’t quite describe. I’d say “longing,” but that wasn’t quite right. It was more like… reverence.

I brushed my thumb over his jaw, guiding him down to me, kissing him in a whole different way than on the piano or on the sidewalk after open mic. This kiss was slow, lingering. Goosebumps rose all over my body. As I pulled away, I nipped his bottom lip, licking it before turning to the bartender, glaring at him.

But Ellis didn’t notice. His eyes never left me. Not for a second.

“Inside joke,” I said to the bartender. “We’re not engaged, but I’d be lucky if I were.”

I hooked my fingers on the waistband of his jeans, pulling him a little closer. And suddenly, it hit me: I wasn’t lying. I wasn’t joking. I wasn’t doing a bit.

I would be lucky to have him.

He would love me without reservation.

He’d pay attention and anticipate my needs.

And I had no idea how Ellis would be sexually.

But if I had to bet?

He’d probably ask a hundred silent questions with his hands before I even realized he was studying me.

He’d memorize the way I gasped, take mental notes on every place I shivered.

And when he finally made a move, I’d know he had memorized the map of my body.

It would be the kind of slow, desperate aching physical manifestation of love that would inspire me to write albums about the texture of his calluses.

Because Ellis Foley didn’t do anything halfway.