She laughed. “Well, Jet’s not allowed here. He makes you act like a jerk.”
“He’s the guy onstage, babe.”
“Fine. Leave him there.”
Clay grinned as he began leading her toward the bus. “He’s the one with the golden tongue…and he’s been missing you…”
“Well, when you put it that way…”
Clay, as both himself and Jet, was relieved that Emily was with him on tour and felt so much better about their relationship. From here on out, he vowed to toughen up. This woman deserved him at his best—and that was all she’d get from here on out.
* * *
Thank you for reading more of Clay and Emily’s story! I hope you love them even more now. The next book in the Feverish series is SCORCHED. If you think Sam doesn’t have a story after all you’ve read about him, you’d be wrong!
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Turn the page for an excerpt from Scorched…
Excerpt from SCORCHED
GRACE SIPPED ON the root beer, enjoying the view of Pikes Peak from Sam’s front porch. Yes, it was the same view she had from her own front door, but it somehow seemed better here. No way in a million years would she admit it, but the backhoe hadn’t been noisy enough to distract her from her homework. Whenever she needed to concentrate and block out random noise, she’d play an old favorite album or playlist, one full of songs she knew well so they were easy to tune out so she could focus.
But she’d peeked out her window to see what the noise was because she had most definitely heard it (even if not distracting) and spied Sam sitting on his back patio. She hadn’t seen or talked to him since he’d eaten lunch with the family a few weeks ago—and this was the perfect opportunity. She knew it was stupid on her part—he had a girlfriend, for one thing, and, for another, Sam was too old for her. If she remembered correctly from things she’d read online (she’d have to confirm on Wikipedia tonight), he was in his early thirties—more than a decade older than she was.
Seeing him just below outside her bedroom window proved too difficult for her to resist, however…and, since there was no one else home that afternoon, she used that as an excuse to chat with the neighbor.
But now she was giddy—because her excuse to have a small conversation with him had turned into an actual visit. He’d invited her to hang with him for a while. She knew that meant they could easily become friends.
Well, they were already friends. They could become better friends.
Except they were sitting on his porch, enjoying the view…but not talking. Grace felt a little anxious and that feeling grew the longer she sat there. They should say something, right?
As if he could sense her unease, he tilted his head forward and asked, “That’s Pikes Peak, right?”
She nodded. “Right.” After a few seconds, she added, “Wait a couple of months. It’s beautiful when it’s covered in snow.”
“I’ll bet.”
The silence returned as they let their eyes rest on the scenery. For some reason, Grace felt like she needed to keep the conversation going. “So how long before we get a new album?”
“Clay—Jet has been working on a few tunes, but we all have to kind of get together to make the songs coalesce. Knowing Jet and the gang, I imagine they’ll be bugging me soon enough.”
He’d piqued her curiosity. “Is that how you guys usually come up with songs?”
“Yeah. Once or twice, I wrote words and then tried to write a tune around them and it felt awkward. I wound up changing the words to fit the tune. It works better for us to write the music first—and then the words just kind of come afterward.”
Grace could feel herself becoming more smitten with the man—even though that seemed almost impossible. He was a singer, and she’d seen him play an acoustic guitar once or twice, so she knew he was a full-fledged musician; she also knew he wrote almost all the lyrics for Last Five Seconds by himself…but to find out that he’d written some of their music, too? She could feel a chill crawling down her spine just thinking about it.
This was silly, though. There was the age difference and the girlfriend—but she could still dream, right? And being his friend only didn’t violate any morals that she could think of. She was too shy when it came to the opposite sex to even suggest anything untoward, so it was fine.
Fine. So relax.
“Wow. That’s really cool. What songs did you write? The music, I mean.”
“Do you remember ‘Casting Your Spell’ off our first album?” Grace could only nod in response. “That’s the only song where I wrote the whole thing—not just the words but the tune, too. The other few songs were tweaked as a band…kind of like we do all our music.”
Of course, Grace knew that song. It was a haunting melody with an ethereal feel, and it was interesting knowing he’d written it alone (she could have kicked herself for not knowing that). His voice was one of the reasons why the band seemed hardcore and ultra heavy, but “Casting Your Spell” was one of the softest, lightest songs LFS had ever recorded. It didn’t get airplay (again, surprising because it could have potentially been a crossover song—until Grace remembered how the song at the very end turned hard and loud, reminding listeners that it was an LFS song), but Grace listened to their albums from beginning to end over and over and over again. Not only did she know the song, but she could sing it to Sam if he’d asked.
Not that she’d have the guts to sing out loud.
“I love that song—‘Casting Your Spell.’ It’s really different compared to the rest of your stuff.”
“Yeah…the guys accused me of pussing out.”
Grace pursed her lips. She could feel a smile forming but fought it, because she didn’t want him to think she found the song lame. The reasons she loved the song were far too numerous to mention—and she knew she’d be gushing if she tried, so she decided not to say anything else. Fortunately, after he took another swig of beer, Sam continued talking. “I haven’t been inspired to write something on my own for a long time anyway, but that’s not how we do it anymore. We have a process now—and it works. It depends mostly on Jet, but there’s no stopping the guy anyway. There’s music in the man’s soul—and he has to get it out. Once he does, the rest of us work on it, molding it into a Seconds song.” Sam’s eyes continued to gaze upon the mountain range and he took another sip of beer. It was silent for so long that Grace thought the subject was over and started trying to think of something else to say—but then he started talking again. “I know it’s been a year and a half since the last album, which probably feels like forever to fans—but we just got off the road a few months ago. I feel like I’ve barely had any rest. That’s how we do it, though. I imagine we’ll be back in the studio come spring—maybe even sooner.”
“That’s a lot of time off, though. Lots of people never get that kind of time away from their jobs.”
Sam cocked an eyebrow and looked over at her. “Lots of people aren’t gone for months on end. Yeah, the road can be fun. Validating. Inspiring. Overwhelmingly satisfying. But it can also be exhausting. It’s not all fun and games. There’s shitty food—and too damn much of it. Rude people. Crappy beds. Tension among the guys I consider brothers. The constant motion. The never-ending interviews with the same damn unoriginal questions. Too much dirty laundry. It’s not glamorous. Not by a long shot.”
Grace nodded. Her voice was too quiet when she asked, “Have you ever thought about retiring?” She could have kicked herself as soon as the words escaped her mouth. Shame on her for suggesting it. What if he wound up thinking it was a great idea?
Sam half smiled and emptied the bottle of beer, then bent his neck backwards and looked at the ceiling of the porch as if contemplating all of life’s mysteries. But then he lowered his head again and looked over at Grace. “I’ve thought about it a few times. Even thought about doin
g something else, but I have no idea what I’d do.” He let a long slow breath out of his lungs before returning his eyes to the scenery, and then Grace felt herself relax. She’d been tense under his gaze. “Music is my soul. I belong to it, and there’s nothing else I really could do—nothing else I’d really want to do when I think about it. I just…need breaks now and again and sometimes I feel sorry for myself, wishing I had more.” He stood and stretched. “So I guess it’s good to have reminders that I have it a lot better than most.”
Grace felt her stomach knot up but she fought to keep her voice calm. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Nah. Don’t worry, little girl. It’s fine.” He started walking to the door. “I’m gonna get another beer. Can I get you anything?”
Geez…he could help pick her trampled heart up off the concrete porch. He’d called her little girl. Was that what he really thought of her? And here she’d been fantasizing a smidge—but how stupid that had been. Of course, she couldn’t compare to women his age.
But that was a good reminder that she really did have homework to do. “No, thanks. I really should be going.” He had such a weird look on his face. She couldn’t translate it, so she had to take his words at face value, no matter how they made her feel. She forced a smile and said, “Well, I for one am glad you’re still making music. So much of my life has revolved around metal and your band in particular.”
Sam’s expression still wasn’t making sense for her, so she didn’t know what to expect him to say—but she couldn’t have predicted it. “Yeah? How so?”
“Well…I discovered hard rock when I was in the eighth grade. Till then, I was listening to a lot of pop and alternative—the stuff my friends were listening to—and even though I liked some of it, there was a lot of it I hated. It was stupid. Stupid tunes that sounded like they should have been on commercials. I didn’t even bother paying attention to the words—but when I did, they were dumb, too. Songs about dancing and girl fights and other things that just didn’t make sense…like they were just trying to find words that rhymed. But hard rock and metal songs—I could name one song after another where the words really mean something to me. They made me think…and they made me feel.” And then, because of a tiny twinkle in Sam’s eye, Grace could see that maybe, even if he thought she was a “little girl,” he could at least understand. “People don’t get it. They think that just because my parents have always been married and just because we have a nice house that my life is perfect. And I guess maybe in some ways it is. But I…” Oh, no…she was saying too much but she couldn’t stop herself from talking. “I don’t feel like myself and I don’t feel like I’m real until I’m listening to the music I love. And...your band might not have been the first metal band I discovered and fell in love with, but you’re one of my favorites.”
And then it felt like the air had completely escaped her lungs. Sam let the front door fall closed, no longer interested in fetching another drink, and he said, “Really?”
“Yeah.”
His smile grew wide and Grace thought she was going to faint. One of the things she’d always loved about this man was how devilishly handsome he looked when he was brooding or angry looking—but she thought she was going to keel over from the beauty of his rare smile. It lit up his whole face and his eyes were more captivating than ever. So when he asked, “One of your favorites?” she couldn’t help but be honest.
“In my top five.”
But she couldn’t recall what she said after that; it was as if she’d blacked out, because the next thing she could remember was sitting at her desk in her room again, staring at the LFS poster on her wall, dreaming once more.
* * *
“Motherfucker.” Sam was pacing in the living room, waiting for his lawyer to call back. It was close to four in the afternoon, though, so he was doubtful the guy would get in touch with him today.
As for the state of his life, he should have known. He was actually starting to feel halfway human again, closer to normal than he’d felt in a long time, but leave it to fucking Debbie to go and ruin it. Just like when they’d been together, if things were going too smoothly, she’d have to introduce drama into the mix. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but when the process server came to the door an hour ago, he’d expected it to be one of his new neighbors serving him with papers for the noise or for the mess his backyard had been in while the pool was being constructed.
“What the hell’s this?” he’d demanded.
The guy standing in front of him was half bald and holding a toothpick in the corner of his mouth like it made him look bad ass. Sam had felt like snatching it out of his mouth and throwing it on the porch to make him stop fucking smirking. Didn’t he know his attitude with the wrong person could get his face bashed in? “I dunno, man. I just find the people and give ‘em the paperwork. Have a good day.”
Sam bit his tongue to stop himself from shouting, “Fuck you!” Over the past several weeks, the neighbors had seemed to settle to his presence. No glares in at least ten days. Yelling obscenities down the street wouldn’t earn him any favors. So he instead took the papers inside the house and started reading them. It took him a few minutes to realize that his ex was suing him for alimony. But that didn’t make any damn sense. They’d never been married.
Stupid bitch.
He looked at the clock again. His lawyer’s secretary had told him to expect a call sometime later in the afternoon, and it was almost one o’clock. He was growing angrier by the minute.
The Bowflex. Yeah…that would be a great way to work out his aggression while he waited for his overpaid attorney to get around to calling. Working out had been his saving grace. He’d kind of withered for a long time and just buried all the anger and hate and aggression, because writing songs about it wouldn’t help. At least he didn’t think so. But putting all his furious energy into lifting weights had enabled him to let go of a lot of toxicity—toxicity that came from his ex.
And his body looked better than ever, too. He wouldn’t complain about that kind of side effect. He’d never been in horrible shape, but he’d never worried too much about the way he looked. It wasn’t that he cared today, either, but working out regularly didn’t only help how calm he felt; it gave him strength and musculature. And he wasn’t just toned now—he was buff. Hell, he began to wonder, between the shorter hair, the longer beard, and the muscles if any of his fans would recognize him.
Well, Grace had.
He was now standing in what he thought of as his workout space, a back room on the house that had windows from ceiling to floor. The view looked out on his backyard, and his new fence was high enough to keep any nosy neighbor from seeing him work out. He knew already that anyone upstairs on either side could see the yard but he also knew that they couldn’t see inside the room. If anyone ever bought the land behind his property, that could change, but it was all prairie right now. He walked over to the Bowflex, the machine he preferred a thousand times over the treadmill, and began pressing the bars together. Instead of watching his biceps flex, he instead looked out on the landscaping that was now complete. Because the weather was growing cold, he wouldn’t be able to enjoy the lush beauty of the plants until spring, but between the dormant vegetation and the new pool on his acre of land, he was able to find a serene place in his brain. He thought some of turning on some music but decided instead to let his brain try to compose something new while he pumped out a beat, giving a rhythm to create with.
The sound of the doorbell, however, broke that cadence. He stopped and stretched his neck, then let go of the bars he’d been pushing against. He stood and began to head to the front of the house, not needing to towel off because he hadn’t yet broken a sweat.
If it was that damned process server again after he’d finally calmed down, he would have to restrain himself. He wasn’t a violent guy by nature, but this shit could bring it out in him.
Under a cloud once more, Sam strode through the house toward the front door. He was ag
ain flooded with an onslaught of feelings about his ex, emotions that threatened to consume him for the rest of the day, if not longer. It didn’t help that his damned lawyer hadn’t called back.
Feeling a scowl on his face that he couldn’t suppress, he pulled the front door open.
But it was no process server. It was Grace from next door. Only…she was different. She wore a long black velvet cape with a hood covering her head. Her makeup seemed darker than she usually wore it and her mouth seemed almost swollen.
Sam was still shifting gears from being angry to a lighter feeling when she pulled plastic vampire fangs out of her mouth and said, “Happy Halloween!”
He couldn’t help but smile. “It’s not Halloween till next week.”
“Yeah, but I’m going to a costume party tonight.”
“As a vampire?”
“Yeah. What do you think?” She twirled once, forcing him to look her over from head to toe, but her clothes were also black, so it was hard to make out what she was wearing underneath the cape.
It was chilly outside, too, and now that Sam had calmed down a little bit, he could feel the air on his arms. “You look like you’re definitely ready for a party. Want to come in for a minute?”
Oh, hell. He shouldn’t have done that, but he could hardly help himself. And it wasn’t like he was a pedophile. She was an adult, even though she was lots younger than he was. But the way she’d twirled and smiled expectantly at him had changed his mood in a second, helping him forget about Debbie. Grace’s face and attitude had none of the baggage Debbie had lugged around for as long as he’d known her. No…Grace felt like a butterfly, floating on the air, happy to be alive. And even though it wasn’t freezing outside, her nose and cheeks had a pink tint to them. She looked so damn cute.
What the hell was wrong with him? She’s too young—and probably not interested in an old man like you anyway.
“Thanks, Sam, but I have to go soon. The party I’m going to is a Halloween party, and I’m leaving in a little bit, but I wondered…” Her voice trailed and she bit the side of her bottom lip, but her eyes were twinkling with mischief and glee. He could tell she was struggling with something and he could have helped her out by saying something encouraging, but he was enjoying watching her too much. He cocked his head to the side, smiling, amused, and just waiting for her to spit out whatever she was going to say. Finally, she cleared her throat and said, “Actually, never mind. I just wanted to wish you a happy Halloween.” She started to turn on her heel.
Boiling Point (Feverish #1.5) Page 6