She smiled and looked away. But she kept his hand exactly where it was so he could feel the steady beat. The beat that no doubt matched his own.
An hour later, he'd packed up the cat and all the supplies and taken them both home where he made sure they were set up to be the newest and best roommates ever. The shine in Clarke's eyes hadn't diminished even a little. And Walter had been more than pleased with his new digs.
Mike had gone back to his condo feeling good. Feeling... important. Feeling alive.
The original plan had been to stay in Boston after Christmas, but then Harrison let on to Luke that Mike had renewed the lease. So Luke decided it would be a good idea to record the next album in LA. That way, Mike could come back in time for the New Year.
He was fine with that. He wasn't ready to be clear across the country from Clarke. He liked her nearby. Within arms reach, if at all possible.
Chapter 12
She Talks to Angels
Christmas with the O'Neils was always an event. One that Mike could never get out of, nor would he want to. These people were awesome. Loving, open, loud and funny. They always had been. It's probably why the band gravitated to the O'Neils.
Mike opened the door to the garage, balancing his cup of peppermint cocoa precariously on the paper plate of cookies that he'd snagged from the kitchen. He closed the door behind him and settled onto the steps that led out into the parking area. The plate of cookies he rested on the tops of his bent knees, the cocoa he set on the step beside him.
Garages always smelled the same. No matter who they belonged to. Like dirt, oil, gasoline, with just a hint of cat litter. Those smells had aligned themselves to the feelings of hope, excitement, and drive. At least in Mike's head.
The door to the house opened slowly and Harrison joined him on the step with his own plate of cookies. Plus a sandwich.
“When does Sway get back?” Mike asked the guitarist.
“His flight got canceled, so he's stuck in Albany.”
“Sucks,” Mike muttered.
Harrison nodded, his mouth full of sandwich.
Mike's eyes traveled the length of the enormous garage and he could easily picture it without the two Cadillacs and the Ford diesel parked there.
He used to set his kit up right in front of the work bench. That kit was no longer around. He'd parceled it out and given it away a piece at a time to needy bands along the road. He wondered if any of those pieces were still rocking out in someone's garage somewhere. Driving a good mama crazy.
He sure hoped so.
“All those years ago, when we started practicing in this garage, did you ever think we'd get this far?” he asked.
“Not really. I was just having fun, you know?” Harrison chuckled under his breath. “I still kinda can't believe it. I keep thinking it's a really long dream I haven't woke up from yet. Except that I get older every time I look in the mirror.”
Mike nodded. “I hear ya there.” He heaved out a sigh and bit into a cookie. Man, Greta could make a damn good cookie.
“I love coming out here,” Harrison said around a mouthful of sandwich. “It still feels like it's just our space, you know?”
Mike nodded, the nostalgia not an unwelcome friend.
Back in high school, Mike had had a history class with Harrison. He didn't remember the teacher's name, or much of history for that matter. But he remembered the first songs he'd ever written with Harrison in the back row of that classroom.
They were awful. Didn't stop them from thinking they were the absolute shit.
Harrison had had a math class with Luke. Sway had been Luke's neighbor and two years behind them in school. Harrison had volunteered his parents' garage where they practiced together for the first time. None of the rest of them had parents that cared. So when Carl, who had been outside having a smoke while he was supposed to be studying with Miranda, came into the garage and told them to quiet down, he had immediately become their authority figure. Even if he was only a few years ahead of them.
It had snowballed from there.
Their first band name was The Dictator Tots. Why? Because they liked tater tots. And they thought it was funny.
During their first “real” tour, they had opened in this shitty club in the Midwest for a band from LA. That's where they'd met Blake. He was hardcore punk back then, but Harrison had struck up an easy friendship with him, that was Harrison’s way. They'd kept in touch, and a year later when Blake's band dissolved, he'd moved to Boston and right into the O'Neils' house.
Sway had been only seventeen and still in high school while Mike, Luke and Harrison were in their second year of college. Sway's frequent trips to the campus had proved to be his undoing, but it got them a new band name.
Sway's weakness for women was legendary. His reputation had played hugely into Mike and Ilsa's abrogation. It wasn't Sway's fault at all. He'd been an easy target to use. Looking back, Mike wished he'd seen the beginnings of that—to protect not only himself, but his friend.
For some reason having a new name, and Blake's intensity, bolstered them to commit to making this a life, instead of a seriously expensive hobby. Then Luke bought a van, Sway graduated, and Carl appointed himself as their manager.
They never looked back.
Dropping out of college might have been a mistake. But considering how far they had come, maybe not.
“Do you think we would have gotten this far if we'd stayed The Dictator Tots?” Harrison asked, interrupting his thoughts.
Mike barked out a laugh. “Probably not.” He shook his head in amusement. “But who knows?”
“Yeah,” Harrison agreed with a sigh. “You and Clarke are sure getting close.”
Mike smiled despite the knowledge that it would give him away. “Yeah.”
Harrison ate another cookie before speaking again.
“I like her. She seems smart.”
Mike's smile deepened and he looked down at his feet. “She is smart.”
“And pretty.”
“That too,” Mike concurred, starting to see where this was going.
“It's a good thing we're so successful. What with Lenny and Luke having to have their own bus, then Blake and Lucy. Do you think you'll close the deal before the next tour?”
Mike's eyebrows rose into his hairline. “Close the deal?” he repeated. Harrison shrugged and waited. Mike clasped his hands together and braced his elbows on his knees.
“I guess it's not a huge secret that I have feelings for Clarke,” Mike admitted. Damn, it felt good to say out loud. “But I'm taking it slow.” He turned to Harrison earnestly. “You know that I have to. It's important that I don't rush anything.”
Harrison's expression of mild curiously melted into sober agreement. “I know. I think she'd be good for you, but I agree with taking it slow. Not everyone can be Luke Casey.” His mouth twitched with humor, and Mike returned the look. “Friends first.”
“Friends first,” Mike echoed. He chewed his bottom lip at the reminder.
In high school, Mike and Harrison had talked about what they would do if they ever became huge rock stars. Of course the money, cars, and women were discussed in great detail. But they had both agreed with each other that when the time came to settle down and actually start a family, they would only marry women who they were friends with first. Because friends were your only true anchor in reality. They kept you grounded, encouraged you when you felt lame, confronted you in your bad choices, watched out for the greater good of the other person, and loved unconditionally. Friends first.
Because what happens when you get old and the bloom has fallen off the rose? You want someone around who's gonna make you laugh. Remind you of who you are. Be a companion.
Mike couldn't take much more heavy shit, so he changed the subject. “Is it just me, or are Shane and Greta perfect together?”
Harrison rolled his eyes. “Those two...” he scoffed under his breath. “It's a wonder they didn't find each other sooner.”
Mike let that filter through the stale air. He'd been all over this world, had seen and met more people than he could possibly remember. But there were definitely times when the world felt especially small. Maybe the people you met, you were just supposed to meet. And the ones who stayed ended up being the most spectacular of all.
“Think we can get Greta to sing a few rounds tonight? I'm feeling inclined to play your ma's piano.”
Harrison coughed out a laugh around his last cookie. “Ma had it tuned last week with the hope you would have that inclination.”
Mike grinned. “Wise woman, your ma.”
“Tell me about it,” Harrison agreed, his lip twitching. “Though she keeps asking me when it's my turn to find a lady.”
“The woman wants grandbabies, Harry, you can hardly blame her. She's gonna be a kick-ass grandma.”
“I know, but you know the rule...”
“Friends first.”
***
The flames grew higher and licked towards the dusky blues of late evening. Clarke put both hands on the back of her hips and stretched her back as she looked up into the night sky.
Today had been a very good day.
Lia was the kind of hostess where the guest never wanted for anything, but didn't even realize that all their needs had been provided for. It happened subtly, quietly. Drinks arriving, food easily available, towels provided for the mid-afternoon skirmish that drenched half of the house's occupants.
All Steve's fault on that one, Clarke amended in her head. Of course, since Lia had been with them for a few days, she had obviously picked up on some of their more annoying habits. Weirdly, she didn't seem to mind. Even stranger still, the boys appeared to give her a wide berth. They were cautiously exuberant; having fun, without pissing her off.
Clarke had taken to the waves early in the day and finally felt exhausted enough to feel accomplished.
It was a good feeling.
“Merry Christmas, Clarke.”
Kip sidled up next to her and handed her a cookie shaped like a snowman.
“I didn't get you anything,” she replied coyly, taking a bite from the cookie.
“Good, I wouldn't have accepted it anyway.” Kip shoved his hands into the pockets of his long shorts.
Kip, with his thinning hair, laid-back surfer-boy persona. Not a gym rat like his friends. Lean and fit, with an appreciation for cannabis. He was one of her oldest friends. He had been more Paul's friend when they were kids, but that had shifted after Paul was gone. Not to mention he'd been there for all of the major events in Clarke's life. Peacefully supporting her, quietly offering his shoulder and sage advice.
Clarke crossed her feet, one over the other, and sat down right where she was standing. Kip sat down beside her with a touch less flourish.
“Paul would have liked this,” she murmured.
“Yeah,” Kip cleared his throat. “He always did love a good bonfire.”
“Not just that,” Clarke clarified, “surfing on Christmas Eve, s'mores and cookies for dinner. He was always such a child around the holidays.” Not just the holidays.
“You feeling okay, Clarke?” Kip asked, and she could hear the apprehension he attempted to mask.
“Yeah,” she answered truthfully with a touch of wistfulness. “I just miss him, is all.”
Kip's arm came around her shoulders and pulled her to his side. “I do too.”
Bo's deep laughter came from somewhere down the beach and Clarke smiled. They had played all day. Like little kids. Surfing, wrestling, eating. Tomorrow Bo and Brady had to drive to Newport for a big family gathering. Adam's family lived in Beverly Hills, and Steve was going to Santa Monica, so Kip was the only guy they would have around tomorrow.
“Remember that time Paul tried to help me build the fire, but he went wholesale on the lighter fluid?” Kip asked quietly.
Clarke burst out a laugh. “Yeah, it took months for his eyebrows to grow back. And his hairline was never really the same.”
“That kid,” Kip murmured with fond regard. “Neither one of you have ever had a musical bone in your body. I spent four months trying to teach him how to play guitar. I finally gave up.”
Clarke smiled wanly. She wondered if it would ever get easier. If she would ever miss him any less. Or if she would simply get used to the hole that existed right through the middle of her.
“But could he surf, or what?” Kip went on. “To see that guy on a board was a thing of beauty. Both of you have that, you know.” He flexed his fingers into her shoulder to get her attention. It was needless, since he already had it.
“Have what?” she asked, staring into the fire, images of her brother's happy face floating through her mind.
“That ease on the water. Like you were born to be fish, but masquerade as people to better showcase your beauty. I love watching you on the water. Especially recently. You look...” he took a deep breath in and hummed low in his throat. “You look content.”
Clarke didn't know what to make of that.
Content.
She could live with that.
“Wow, that's an impressive bonfire.”
The familiar female voice that came from behind them sent a shiver through Clarke and made Kip stiffen.
Clarke turned her head, knowing who she was going to see, but still surprised that she was there at all.
“Who invited you, Harmony?” Kip asked curtly.
Harmony ignored Kip entirely; instead she let her measuring gaze linger far too long on Clarke. “I'm looking for Shane, I need to talk to him.”
Clarke felt her eyes narrow. “He's in Boston with his girlfriend. Maybe you remember her. Dark hair, decent person, has a lot of friends, dating the guy you won't stop stalking.”
It was a little more catty than Clarke tended to get. But this was getting ridiculous. It was Christmas Eve, for crying out loud, and Harmony had taken her clinginess to a whole new level.
“I heard he was here, is all.” Harmony tried to hide her irritation, but she failed. “I would leave a message for him at his office, but the help he's hired is so incompetent I doubt he would receive it.”
“Why are you even here? Can't you just leave us alone?” Clarke stood quickly and faced the blonde full on. Harmony was a little taller than she, but Clarke had her beat in muscle mass. She was actually kind of hoping she could prove that.
The firelight flared in Harmony's eyes and she took a step forward, signaling something snapping in her already misguided judgment. Her face twisted into a sneer and she looked down her nose at Clarke. “I never liked you, you know. You and that brother of yours were always living in the wrong zip code, latching onto people of finer quality, hoping they'd hide your inferiority if you stood close enough. At least he took care of his unfortunate existence himself by doing what degenerates do best: roll over and die.”
Clarke sucked in a sharp breath and was stopped in mid-lunge by Kip's strong arm cutting across her chest and pulling her back towards him. “She's baiting you,” he murmured low in her ear. Clarke knew he was right, but she didn't care. She wanted to throat-punch Harmony with everything she had.
Suddenly Harmony's smug sneer was replaced with surprise and pain as she dropped to her knees and her head was yanked back with a sharp jerk. A long, slim blade glinted in the light of the fire as it lined up perfectly with Harmony's throat and hovered there.
Clarke wasn't sure what was happening, but she was instantly freed as Kip took a cautious step toward Lia, who had materialized from out of the dark and was holding Harmony in a death grip. Her eyes flicked up to him and he stopped moving.
Then Lia said something that sounded like Russian before she switched to English. “I told you to stay gone. This is trespassing and your last warning.” She released Harmony, who scrambled to her feet, her hands frantically touching her throat to be sure she hadn't been injured.
“You're all crazy!” she shrieked as she backed away from them quickly. Then she spun and sprinted down the beach until th
ey couldn't see her anymore.
“Okay, Lia,” Kip sighed, “we've talked about the knife. You can't just threaten people with it like that.”
Lia's blue eyes slid to Clarke and she shrugged. “I wasn't gonna cut her, I just wanted to scare her a little bit.”
“That's what we call overkill,” Kip reprimanded gently.
Lia smirked and raised an eyebrow, as if she had a secret she wasn't going to share.
“I thought it was kind of awesome,” Clarke interjected. Kip turned to frown at her in disapproval and she mimicked Lia's shrug. “What? Harmony sucks. And you know just as well as I do that she doesn't listen to words people say to her. She hears what she wants to hear. I wouldn't be surprised if this wears off in a few hours and she comes sniffing around again.”
Kip looked down at the sand while rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, muttering to himself. She couldn't really understand him, but she picked up on a few choice curse words, something about females and just wanting to bake. He finally settled on a coherent sentence. “I need more cookies.”
“I could go for some more cookies,” Clarke agreed with a smile.
Lia's knife disappeared under her pant leg and Clarke walked beside her as Kip led the way back to the beach house.
“What was that, Krav Maga?” she whispered once they were close enough.
“Maybe,” Lia muttered back noncommittally, eyeing Kip walking in front of them.
“Could you teach me some things?” Clarke asked, hardly bothering to disguise her awe.
Lia snickered under her breath. “Okay, but this doesn't mean we're friends.”
Clarke smiled down at the sand.
***
Mike tapped out a Merry Christmas on his phone and sent it to Clarke.
The night before, he'd received a couple of pictures from her of the bonfire and Kip trying to shove four snowman cookies in his mouth at once. It looked like it had been a good time. He had sent some similar replies with pictures of the O'Neils and one of Shane and Greta getting cozy off by themselves.
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