Reckless Reunion (The Reckless Rockstar Series)

by Samantha Christy

  She holds up her glass. “To making the best of it.”

  The three of us drink.

  Liam and Crew go in back while Iggy stretches out on the couch, watching mindless TV. I sincerely hope it’s not going to be like this the entire tour.

  “It’s not my intention to divide you,” I say.

  “You’re not the one dividing us,” Bria says. “He is. How about you play something to pass the time?”

  I play a few songs from my lineup, then a new one I’ve been working on. Bria looks at me funny. “What?” I ask, putting down the guitar.

  “Your music is fantastic, so don’t take this the wrong way, but a lot of your songs are sad. Did you write them about your ex-husband?”

  “You were married?” Ella says. “How long have you been single? Wait—you weren’t married to Garrett, were you? Liam said you were a thing a long time ago.”

  “Hasn’t Garrett told you about me … us … everything?”

  Bria snorts. “That man’s lips are tighter than Fort Knox.”

  “I’ve been single a while,” I say, wondering why he hasn’t told them. “And no, I wasn’t married to Garrett. I guess he has reasons for keeping his secrets.”

  “We shouldn’t be asking you to break his confidence then,” Bria asks.

  “Probably not.” I pick up my guitar again and strum a random tune.

  “You don’t hate him, do you?” Ella asks.

  “Not any more than I hate myself.”

  Bria raises a brow.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m just being melodramatic. And to answer your question, no, the songs I write are not about my ex-husband.”

  I glance to the back before I close my eyes and play.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Garrett

  Most bands playing a venue like this would stay hidden until they come onstage.

  We’re not most bands.

  “The place is packed,” Bria says, peeking at the audience from the wings while the opening band plays. “How many people do you think are out there?”

  “Eight thousand, four hundred and fifty-three,” Jeremy says. We give him a sideways look. “But who’s counting?”

  “We are,” Liam says. “Eight thousand. Holy shit.”

  Ella rubs Liam’s back when he bends over, clearly stressed.

  “Come on now,” Jeremy says, seeing a lot of green faces. “You’ve done this before and for even larger audiences when you opened for White Poison.”

  “There is no comparison.” I point to the audience. “They’re here for us this time.”

  Crew leans against the wall. “I can’t believe this many people have bought our albums.”

  “Believe it,” Jeremy says. “This is only the tip of the iceberg.”

  “You guys are all pussies,” Iggy shouts. “Look at you. You’re practically shaking.”

  “Why aren’t you?” I say. “You’ve never played in front of eight hundred, let alone eight thousand.”

  He holds out a hand, level with the floor. “See? Not even a quiver.” He glances around. “Where’s Reece?”

  “Still in the bathroom,” Bria says. “Garrett, she’s freaking out more than we are. Ella and I spent an hour trying to calm her down.”

  “So what? You’ll sing the song. No big deal.”

  “We can’t do that to her.”

  “We can if she’s puking.”

  “Like you’ve never thrown up before a performance,” Crew says. “Need I remind you what happened at the first White Poison concert?”

  I give him a frosty look. “Dude, you promised.”

  “I’m just saying cut her a break. This is way more epic than that.”

  “You should talk to her,” Bria says.

  “Me? Hell, no. Why would I waste my time?”

  “Because I get the feeling part of this is because she knows you don’t want her here.”

  “I don’t want her here.”

  “That’s adding to her stress. Maybe if she knew you were okay with this, it would set her at ease.”

  “But I’m not.”

  “So lie.”

  “What could it hurt?” Liam says. “It’s worth a try. The girl is backstage, throwing up a lung, G. If your approval is what she needs, fucking give it to her.”

  They’re staring me down. “You’re making me do this? This is our goddamn debut. One of the best nights of our lives, and I have to babysit pukey?”

  “You have fifteen minutes,” Jeremy says. “Better work quickly.”

  I stomp down the steps and into the back hallway. Bria runs up behind me, hands me a bottle of water, and guides me down another hall. “She’s in there.”

  “You better not do shots without me.”

  “We wouldn’t dare. Good luck.”

  I knock on the bathroom door. There’s no answer, so I crack it open. “Reece? It’s Garrett.”

  The toilet flushes. “Come to gloat, have you?”

  I shove the bottle of water through the crack. “I thought you might want this.”

  She takes it. “Thanks.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Why do you care? I’m sure you’d rather I don’t sing.”

  I sit down next to the door. “It’s normal to be scared.”

  “Like you have any idea what I’m going through. You worked your way up to this, Garrett. I’ve never performed for more than a few hundred people.”

  “So pretend it’s a few hundred.”

  “It’s that easy, is it? I suppose you’re going to tell me to picture them in their underwear.”

  “It is that easy, and no, you don’t have to picture them at all. You won’t be able to see them with all the lights on you, especially if you don’t go to the edge of the stage. Remember when we practiced in the warehouse? You complained about the lights and thought they were so bright they’d give you a headache? All you have to do is make sure you’re behind the lights. You can imagine you’re singing at a bar or something.”

  “But I know how many people are out there.” Her voice becomes louder. She must have sat down on the other side of the door. “What if I can’t do it?”

  “Pick up a tambourine or something, and Bria will cover you.”

  The door opens a few inches, and I can see her. “Why are you being nice to me? Did they make you do this?”

  “It doesn’t matter why I’m here. You need to tell yourself whatever it is that you need to tell yourself to get through this.”

  She falls silent, and I wonder if she’s going to be sick again.

  “I puked before a performance once,” I tell her.

  “With Cryptology?”

  “With RA. It was right before our first White Poison gig. Threw up all over my goddamn clothes. I had to bum some off a roadie and then bribe him not to tell White Poison. I thought they wouldn’t let us play again if they knew I hurled all over myself.”

  I hear a faint laugh. “Really? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

  “You think I’m telling you what a pussy I was to make you feel better?”

  The door fully opens. “I’m surprised you’re here at all.”

  “Are you good now?” I say, standing.

  “They did send you, didn’t they?” She sighs. “They think I need your approval or something. That’s why you’re here. Well, you can assure them I don’t. I’m nervous, and I have every right to be. So save your White Poison vomit stories for someone who cares. I’m going to do this, Garrett. I’m not going to let you win.”

  “You tanking onstage would most certainly not be a win for me. And especially not for RA.”

  “But me bailing out altogether would be.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say, Reece. I stole the damn song. I guess you deserve to be here. Go sing it. You don’t need me to tell you how good you are. Everyone who hears you knows that. Could this be your big break? Maybe, so don’t fuck it up.”

  “Gee, thanks. You were on a roll
right up until the end. I think I’ll throw up now.”

  “You could do that.” I walk away and call over my shoulder, “But then I’d win, wouldn’t I?”

  I stop at the end of the hallway and glance back. She’s following me, head high. “I’ll see you out there, Garrett Young.”

  “See you out there, Man—” Damn it, I almost called her Mancini.

  The others are backstage in our private room. The shots are ready. Everyone looks at me when I enter. When Reece comes in behind me, Bria smiles and offers us each a glass.

  “You go ahead,” Reece says, declining hers.

  I’m glad she knows where the boundaries are. She stands in the corner breathing deeply as the rest of us huddle.

  “This is it,” Crew says. “The night we’ve all dreamed about since we were kids. Those fans out there, all eight thousand of them, are here for us. They spent their hard-earned money to see Reckless Alibi. Let’s give them the best damn show they’ve ever seen.” He holds up his glass. “On three.”

  He counts us off, and we all shout “Let’s get reckless!”

  “This way,” a roadie says, guiding us back to the wings.

  The stage is silent, but the audience is boisterous. Their shouts synchronize, and soon they’re all yelling, “Reck-less! Reck-less! Reck-less!”

  “Fuck, yeah,” Liam says. “Let’s do this.”

  I’m ushered around back and climb up onto the platform that houses my drums. It’s a cage that moves up and down on a hydraulic lift. I get in place, make sure everything is exactly where I need it to be, pick up my sticks, and wait for my cue.

  My heart is beating out of my goddamn chest. I hear the chants of the people out front. This is it. I get my cue and play, pressing the foot pedal to the bass drum, setting an ominous beat as dry ice shoots out and my platform rises. Lights focus on me, and suddenly it’s as if everything in my whole damn life makes sense. This is where I’m meant to be.

  Liam and Iggy run onstage, joining in as I add the cymbals and the snare. Then Crew and Bria appear, and the audience goes wild. We play our hearts out to “Sins on Sunday,” our most popular hard-rock song. Liam shoots me a victorious smile, one that says, “We’ve made it, brother.” I give him a twirl of the drumstick.

  Two songs later, right before Reece’s song, I’m sweating like a mother. I have to keep wiping off my snare and switching out my sticks. The lights are hot. I knew they would be; we practiced this way. But I didn’t expect the adrenaline to kick in like this. I’m a fucking robot when I play. I go on autopilot. I’m a machine. Why am I experiencing this visceral reaction?

  I search the wings for Reece, don’t see her, and miss a goddamn beat. I’m completely stressing out over her. Is she here? Is she going to do it? Will she mess up?

  Crew glances back; he heard my blunder. Shit.

  I tune out the thoughts racing through my head and concentrate on my job. There’s little I can do about anything else at this point.

  The song ends, and I see her, waiting with Jeremy. Crew announces her as a guest singer and co-writer of the song. She shoots me a nervous glance before walking onstage.

  The second she starts singing, I know she’s going to kill it. She moves around like she owns the place. I watch her every move. She looks completely at ease. Her skirt is super short in front but long and translucent in back, and I can see the shape of her legs as she works the stage. She doesn’t even stand behind all the lights, like I told her. At one point, she glances back, and I see her smile like she did when she was eighteen. She’s fucking gorgeous. She belongs here. After tonight, everyone will know it.

  The crowd loves her. She blows them a kiss and runs offstage. Then she leans over and vomits. I smile. She fucking did it.

  The rest of the concert goes off without a hitch. Not one light malfunctions. Not one cue gets missed. Not one word is sung off-key. My one flub on the snare was the only mishap, and I’m sure no one outside of the band noticed. For all intents and purposes, we pulled off a perfect show.

  We run offstage, hugging and high-fiving as we await the cue for the encore. In the meantime, we gaze at each other in complete surprise as the arena comes alive with screams for our return.

  “You were great!” Ella yells.

  She and Reece dance around us excitedly. This night. The concert. And she’s here. I always thought she would be. When I was nineteen, somehow I knew she’d be here. I even knew she’d be part of it in some way.

  “Thank you,” she says, wrapping her arms around me. “I’m not sure I could have done it without you.”

  I reluctantly hug her back. “You were good.”

  “So were you.”

  My bandmates stare at us. I pull away.

  We get the cue to go back out. We play. The encore ends. The lights go down. We walk offstage.

  “One down, thirty-four to go,” Liam says on our way to the backstage after-party.

  I’m disappointed, and it must show, because he gives me a look as we enter a room full of roadies, entertainment reps, and pass holders.

  “I just realized I want to do this every day for the rest of my goddamn life. I don’t want it to ever end.”

  He slaps me on the back and hands me a bottle of whiskey from the fully stocked bar.

  Iggy races across the room, picks up Reece, and twirls her around. She giggles like a schoolgirl.

  “We nailed it,” he says, kissing her on the lips.

  She sure as hell doesn’t seem to mind.

  “We did it!” she squeals and removes herself from his arms. She can’t stop talking about how she felt sick but sang anyway. She’s happier than I’ve ever seen her. She turns to me. “Thanks again.”

  “Meh. You needed a pep talk. No biggie.”

  “No, thank you for stealing the song. I can’t believe I’m saying it, but Maddox was right. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. Look at all this! Do you remember the night we wrote it?”

  “You mean the night you wrote it,” I say. “Not really.”

  It’s a lie. Ever since I saw her again, every detail of that night has come back to me with blinding clarity.

  Iggy drapes an arm over her shoulder. She doesn’t protest. Are they together? Nobody has said anything.

  A fan with a backstage pass around her neck butts in, wanting pictures and autographs. She’s hot. I whisper something dirty in her ear. She giggles and adjusts her top to show more cleavage.

  Reece looks pissed when I sit down with the girl in my lap.

  “You have something to say?” I ask her.

  “I …” Her eyes spit hatred at the blonde sitting on me. “I thought we had a moment earlier.”

  “Why don’t you have a fucking moment with Iggy?” I say and kiss the blonde.

  Reece rips the bottle of whiskey from my hands, takes a swig, then beelines to Iggy and kisses him. With tongue.

  I pull the girl into the next room, and we rip our clothes off. She draws back in surprise. “Is something wrong?”

  Shit. I’m so flaccid I might as well be a goddamn girl. “What’s wrong is you don’t have your mouth on it.”

  She gets on her knees. And for the next five minutes, I try like hell not to think about the night we wrote that song.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Reece

  Six years ago …

  Missy follows me to the bathroom. “Thank you so much for introducing me to Rob. He’s cute, and a lawyer, too. Means he’ll be rich.”

  I glare at her in the mirror as she touches up her lipstick. “He’s not a lawyer yet. He has to pass the bar exam in July. I swear Missy, if you lead him on because you’re after his money, I’ll kill you.”

  “Relax, girl. I would never be with a guy just for the money. But it sure would be a bonus.”

  When we return to the table, I scrutinize her every move. In the three months I’ve known Garrett, I’ve become protective of his older brother. Rob was dumped by the woman he loved and had to watch his little brother i
n a new relationship. He became tired of being a third wheel, so I’ve been fixing him up on dates. First there was Lindsay. I’m pretty sure they had sex, but she didn’t last past the one night. Then Monica—he kept her around for three weeks, until her ex threatened to beat him up. Now Missy.

  I’m kind of surprised Rob doesn’t seem to mind dating waitresses. Not that I think he’s better than we are. Okay, maybe I do think that, but apparently he doesn’t.

  It amazes me how far the apples fell from the tree in their family. It’s clear both Garrett and Rob take after Sandy. She’s kind and compassionate and doesn’t think less of me for having a blue-collar job. Luckily, most of the times I’ve been at their house, their dad has been working. When he’s not at the office, he hides in his study. I’ve often wondered what Sandy sees in him. How can a person like her be in love with such a narcissist?

  Love. I stare across the table at Garrett as he chats with Rob. It’s been three months, and I haven’t said the words. I swore this time would be different. I promised myself I wouldn’t be the first one to say it. But I love him. I love him more than anything. I only hope he feels the same way and doesn’t let his father get in the way of his happiness.

  “You guys want to go back to the house and get drunk?” Rob asks.

  “You buying?” Garrett asks.

  “Hell, no. I’m not risking my career with a contributing to the delinquency of a minor charge. Use your fake ID.”

  “Oh, so you’ll throw me under the bus to save yourself?”

  “Gare, you’re a drummer. A criminal record won’t matter to you. Don’t chicks dig musicians with a rap sheet?”

  “They do. Much more so than a law-abiding attorney. It’s a good thing you have money, bro, because with that ugly mug, good luck attracting the ladies.”

  They continue to poke fun at each other. It makes me happy to know they’re so close. They couldn’t be more different, yet I get the feeling they’d each take a bullet for the other.

  We leave the restaurant and find a liquor store on the way to their house. When we pull up to their estate, Missy can’t contain her enthusiasm. “You live here?”