by Quinn, Cari
Now that I’d seen firsthand how he worked, I got it. I might not love how little free time that left him, but I understood. I also couldn’t say much considering my own insane schedule.
“You all right?”
“Hmm?”
Elle gave me a sly smile. “You’ve got that look.”
I frowned. “What look?”
“Girl, I get it. It’s all good if you aren’t ready to own up to it yet.”
“There’s nothing to own up to.”
Elle laughed. “Okay.”
I needed to get my head in the game tonight. The stage was its own zone. It was my church in so many ways. I didn’t have to think, I just plugged in. But now that the show was over, Nash was back filling my damn head.
Time to put a stop to it.
We climbed the shuttle bus that would take us all back to the hotel. Jamie passed around a flask full of something I didn’t want any part of. Knowing her, it would be some ungodly proofed whiskey. She, Denver, and Jules were passing it back and forth between them.
Elle wasn’t a drinker so I was happy to sit with her until the real partying started.
There was a crowd of fans waiting outside of the hotel. They scattered as the bus pulled around to a side entrance. Not wanting to deal with our relatively low-key security detail, we all rushed off the bus, through the doors, and up a flight of stairs.
I laughed as Jamie’s long legs took the stairs two at a time. That girl hated to be held up with fans. She was great when she had to be, but doing the signature-and-selfie thing was definitely not her preference.
We were all laughing by the time we made it up two floors. Molly peeked inside, then waved us through. We ran for the elevator.
“Who has a key?” Jules tapped the button as if it would make the doors open faster.
“Oh, shit. We didn’t get to the desk. I think Mal had mine.” Elle stole a glance over her shoulder.
“Fuck, does anyone have a damn key?” Jamie kept glancing down the hall, sneaking sips from her flask.
I dropped my bag and started rummaging. I found the little white envelope tucked in one of my side pockets. “Thank you, Darcy.” I kissed the plastic keycard as the doors opened. We all piled in and I shoved it into the slot and pressed the P.
When it came to the penthouse, you always had to have a damn key. Most of them were attached to apps these days, but I always requested an actual key. I didn’t trust technology, especially when it meant I might be trapped.
The elevator doors opened and I heard the whoop of Teagan’s laughter. A thin line of purple neon light framed a doorway from across the elevator. Guns ’n Roses and my bassist’s baritone voice as an accompaniment floated out to us, inviting us closer.
Jamie and Molly raced to the doorway.
Jules and Denver were a little slower, but they were laughing about something. Jamie craned her neck to make sure I was still following. She knew me too well. If I wasn’t already feeling guilty about not telling her about Nash, I’d probably have found my way to our suite.
But nope, I was prepared to pay for my sins tonight.
Not that I should have felt guilty, but not telling Jamie always felt a little wrong. And yet, I’d bitten my damn tongue instead of spilling my guts.
Elle left me to run and jump into the arms of her mountain-sized husband, who was nursing a beer along the side of the room. He didn’t even grunt. Just caught her close and spun her around with a quick, slashing smile. Then their mouths were fused together. I had to look away because dammit, I was jealous.
Even if I was able to tell people about Nash, he didn’t seem the type to allow me to leap into his arms. And to be fair, I wasn’t exactly the kind of woman liked public displays of affection. Still, the green-eyed monster was snapping at my already abused neck.
Remembering that my best friend had too much of an eagle eye even when she was half drunk made me pull my hair down around my shoulders. Jamie was already wondering just what I’d been up to in Winchester Falls. There hadn’t been enough time between getting ready for the show and getting on stage for anyone else to ask me about my trip yet either.
Come to Jesus might as well be the motto on the T-shirt I wore tonight.
The room was decadent, just as promised. Huge chandeliers hung over lush purple velvet circular couches. A wide obsidian colored bar was stationed across the back with more of the purple neon lights lighting up the clear shelves behind our resident bartender, Ethan. It was a private bar, fully stocked.
Luc and Molly were stationed on the other side, leaning against the slick black surface and helping themselves to a few shots. More of the purple lights shone under the lip of the bar and each of the black stools.
There was a large area to dance in as well as longer lavender couches around the perimeter. The space was made for either a big old bash, or a private party like our two bands hanging out for the night.
Before long, I found myself in the center of a group of my friends, gyrating to some club music. Teagan was dancing on one of the long chaise lounges, shaking her ass and dropping down low enough to make her jeans gap in the back. The tiny red string of her thong was on full display. And I didn’t see a problem with the miniature peep show when I had my third shot glass filled with one of Ethan’s concoctions tipped to my lips.
Maybe fourth? Who even knew.
I’d checked my silent phone some time ago during a genre switch on the music and had gone back for another round. I wasn’t drunk, just pleasantly tipsy. Enough that I didn’t warn Teagan about her near underwear misfire.
Funnily enough, even with all the insanity around us, I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. A quick glance at the velvet couches just outside of the dance area proved that Cooper hadn’t missed a thing. From the way he was lounging like a lazy panther, his gaze glued to Teagan’s ass, he didn’t mind the view either.
Hmm. Interesting.
“Take a picture. It lasts longer,” I called out to him, half expecting him not to hear.
The bar was at maximum decibel right now, between the laughter, talking, and pumping music. But he turned his head and pinned me with his green gaze, his lips curved. He just shrugged and sipped from his beer—much more slowly than I was currently sipping—and went back to watching Teagan’s show.
Most bands were incestuous times seventeen. It was just a natural consequence of spending so much time with people in close quarters, working and playing together and dealing with them 24/7 while we were on the road. Relationships happened. Usually, they fizzled out as quickly as they occurred, although Warning Sign had a few examples of ones that had lasted. Molly and Luc, Warning Sign’s lead singers, were in a committed—and seemingly very happy—threesome with Ethan. Elle and Mal couldn’t go five minutes without groping each other, audience or not. Lo sat in with the band and she and West had just gotten married, for Pete’s sake. Even Denver and Ryan had met on the tour bus while she was driving them from place to place.
Their band was basically a shining example of making it work despite the perils of a music career.
Brooklyn Dawn? Not so much.
We’d had a few changes in personnel over the years, but other than Teagan, we’d been a solid group for quite a while now. I didn’t know why there had never been any serious sparks between any of us, except for the fact we were truly a family in all senses of the word.
Teagan was new blood. And if my spidey senses were right, Cooper had his fin out and was circling.
Which, hey, good for him. Them. Whatever. But the band came first. We couldn’t risk anything fucking up the special chemistry we had together. Everyone knew how bad a bet it was to get involved with a rockstar.
And two rockstars in a relationship? Just begging for trouble.
I sipped the last of my drink and turned, stumbling a little as I caught myself against the edge of the bar. I should know, right? Might as well take out a billboard announcing how very fucked I was. Although Nash wasn’t a typical rockstar
any longer.
Not that it mattered. He had been once, and he still worked with enough of them to be rockstar-adjacent.
His voice had a haunting rasp to it now, different than his old sound, yet even more intriguing. From the bits and pieces I’d heard over the years, his vocal damage from his accident had been part of why he’d dropped out of sight for so long. But the full story had never been fully revealed. It wasn’t as if meeting Kyle had provided any answers either.
Someone passed me another drink, this one pink, and I didn’t even ask what it was. I was with my people. If I couldn’t trust them, who could I trust?
I sipped and laughed as Elle and Jules lured me into dancing with them again. I looked around for Jamie in the madness, but I couldn’t see her blur of dark hair. She wasn’t as willing to dance as I was. Oh, she could, if the mood struck her. Just she wasn’t one to be led by anyone into doing much of anything, including swiveling her hips.
Fuck, I needed to talk to her before I got so trashed that I couldn’t. Especially since I didn’t get trashed. That wasn’t my deal. I was closer to control freak than overindulger-in-training.
Another look around the penthouse bar made my head spin a bit. I spotted Jamie deep in conversation with Zane on one of the circular couches near the doorway, their heads bent together as they looked at something. Zane’s chaotic blondish-brown curls and Jamie’s lush dark hair contrasted as much as their personalities.
Zane, the steady one, always so relaxed and Zen except for those moments his sly sense of humor peeked out. His only form of chasing danger was riding the waves, no matter how choppy, and he was an expert. And Jamie…
Jamie was just Jamie. No other explanation needed.
“Be right back,” I said to the girls, holding my drink over my head as I swayed my way across the room. It didn’t feel as if I was walking completely upright. I plopped down beside Jamie and reached out for the magazine they held. “What’s that?” I extended the word that about five syllables more than necessary.
“Nothing.” Jamie closed the magazine over my grabby fingers.
I frowned. “Meanie.”
So I didn’t say anything else ridiculous, I tipped back my drink. It was far emptier than it had just been.
“Wow, Lindz, you’re crispy.” Zane cocked his head, his shaggy hair dipping into his perceptive blue eyes. “Love troubles?”
“What? No. Not crisped—crisp—crispy.” The hiccup I tacked on the end didn’t exactly plead my case.
Jamie and Zane exchanged a look. But Jamie didn’t meet my gaze.
Why was I keeping the secret about Nash anyway? He wasn’t even returning my text. Which, hi, wasn’t a garden variety slew of emojis or something.
“Z, if a woman texted you a damn near boob shot—without the boobs—would you leave her hanging?”
His brow furrowed. “So, like a shoulders shot? It’s hard to have a cleavage shot without, you know, cleavage.”
Jamie poked my arm. “You did not.”
I drank more to avoid going to confession. Yet.
“You did? Are you crazy? You know that’s dangerous. I don’t care who the guy is.”
There was no mistaking the hurt note in her tone. Hurt I’d put there trying to protect something that might or might not even exist outside of Winchester Falls.
Even there, we’d been on borrowed ground.
“It wasn’t my breasts. It was my neck and yes, shoulders and décolletage.”
Zane’s eyes danced, but he only pressed a fingertip to his mouth as if he was thinking. Jamie just shook her head.
“I can’t even say that dopey word while sober, yet you rock it while drunk off your ass.”
“Jamie, what’s in the magazine?” I kept my voice quiet. Serious. So she knew I wasn’t playing around.
With a shrug, she tossed it in my lap. “Just the typical gossip rag. Z mentioned it had stuff from your little Christmas camp adventure so I checked it out. That Nash guy looks a little rough under his clothes, doesn’t he?”
In an instant, my temples started throbbing. I set my nearly empty cup on the floor between my feet—and nearly tipped forward—then flipped through the magazine, my vision growing hazier with every page I turned.
Pictures of Nash with his back bared at Winchester Falls meant they had been taken on one particular day.
A day I would never forget.
Fuck, we’d been spied on. By who? No wonder Nash had been on edge when he’d heard noises in the underbrush.
Not me, because I’d been all about getting him naked.
Nice, Lindz.
Was this why Nash wasn’t contacting me? Were we front page news? Or back page news, since I’d flipped a damn long time.
But no, when I found the photos in question, I wasn’t even featured in them. Not recognizably anyway. We were standing on my yoga mat, but the two pictures were tightly cropped on Nash’s powerfully muscled back. Scars marred one side, the flesh rough and ruined in spots. Yet right beside it, his smooth tanned skin appeared flawless. More light and dark. A balancing act between safety and destruction.
He was clearly talking to someone. I swallowed hard. The person in front of him—me—was revealed by only the slightest sliver of long blond hair beyond the scope of Nash’s biceps.
“Angel Martin, huh?” Jamie sounded skeptical as she nodded at the magazine. “At least that’s who they think is in that picture with him. Funny, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that precise shade of honey before.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is she banging him too?”
“Too?” The pain in the question sliced through me and came out through my vocal cords. Even though no, she wasn’t fucking him. I knew that. I was the only one who’d gotten that honor, at least at Logan’s.
And yes, we were a secret. Hidden by choice. But dammit, I couldn’t even have this piece of Nash for myself. Some other woman had gotten the credit of being at his side. Well, in front of him. Despite it being patently ridiculous, considering what had gone down with her before I’d arrived.
I couldn’t even share a headline with him.
A uniformed manager-type showed up at the mouth of the bar and Oz crossed to meet him. The man motioned for him to come out where it was quieter. A heated discussion took place with the hotel employee in the hall, although I couldn’t tell what was being said.
Ethan turned down the music from behind the bar.
A moment later, Oz returned, obviously disgusted.
“Guess what? The prick on the seventeenth floor bitched about the noise. I say we send him a calling card. Who’s in?” Oz raised his hands above his head, his massive arms vibrating. “We’ll invite him to a show in a way he’ll never forget.”
Wide-eyed Teagan stopped dancing on the chaise and plopped down on her ass. Poor thing was constantly surrounded by people so much taller than her. “I don’t want to get arrested.”
“You’re too cute to put behind bars.” Cooper sat beside her and slung his arm around her shoulders. “In handcuffs, however…”
Jamie snorted at that one. “Girl, get out your firehose. That dog’s sniffing around.”
Mal detangled himself from his wife and walked over to Oz. He was about the only guy in the room who could go toe to toe with him, size-wise. “What exactly do you have in mind?”
“Just my version of sending flowers. Don’t get your tresses in a tangle, brother.” He patted Mal on the arm.
The very bald Mal, who only arched a brow.
Oz dragged out his double case from where he’d stashed it in the corner. Evidently, he hadn’t even made it to his suite before the partying began. Inside, he had two of his oldest bass guitars, the ones he brought with him to impromptu jam sessions. He tugged out big Bertha, a dark green one he’d had since our first tour and turned to Jamie. “Gimme your Plump Passionfruit or whatever that girl paint is called.”
She did her own Mal impression and arched both her brows. “Excuse me, son? I don’t need any plumping, thanks.” But she fished
a lipstick out of her bustier top and handed it over with a shrug. “Never know when you’ll have an emergency.”
He examined the tube and uncapped it. “Kiss-proof?”
Jamie smacked her lips. “Wanna try it out, big boy?”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“If you change your mind…” Jamie stuck out her tongue and wiggled it.
Oz flipped her a middle finger and started to write on the back of the bass with the lipstick.
Mal crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “Whatever you’re planning on, I wouldn’t advise it.”
“Normally, I call him a high school principal disguised as a rockstar,” Elle stepped up beside him, “but in this case, I have to agree. It’s late. Let’s just—”
“Dude, we paid for the penthouse floor. We’re not the first to do a private party. Time for the hotel to upgrade the soundproofing.” Satisfied with his artwork—a crudely drawn middle finger—Oz capped the lipstick and handed it back to Jamie, who tucked it back in her top. “Anyone got a piece of paper?”
At once, five pieces were shoved in Oz’s face. He had to laugh. “Gee, you guys bored?”
“No, just smart enough to take out the binoculars when a train wreck is about to happen.” Cooper coughed into his fist when Oz shot him a look.
“We can’t lose our edge. If this gets in the paps, even better.” Oz scribbled something on the piece of paper and attached it to the bass. “Comped the fuckers some tickets for the next show. Told them to give their name at will call and ask for me. Let’s see what kind of balls they’ve got.”
Jamie crossed her arms and cocked her hip. “Shriveled, most likely. What are you going to do with that? Deliver it to their door?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Oz stood and grinned, his devilish eyes telling me I should step in and remind him of our sterling rep in the business.
But I didn’t feel like playing anyone’s mommy tonight. Not even my own.