Barbie leaned forward from her spot in the middle. “Oh, so you’re playing chauffeur, huh? I don’t think so. Sitting in the middle where I can’t see shit sucks, and I deserve my own seat.” She unbuckled and hunched over to maneuver herself up and into the front seat.
“Sit down, young lady. We’re getting ready to merge onto the freeway. And don’t get too comfortable. We’ll be picking up Andrew in a moment.”
“Andrew?”
“Yes, he’ll be your manager on the road.”
“Great. Another asshole douchebag giving orders. Just what I wanted.”
“Button it, Ms. Bennett.”
Vicki, from her spot in the backseat between me and Liz, said, “Turn it up!”
I pricked up my ears to hear the song on the radio. I hadn’t heard it before. “Is that to your satisfaction, Ms. Graham?”
“It is, kind sir.” I giggled, glad the vibe in the van was finally chilling. I only hoped this Andrew guy would be cool. She then looked at me and said, “This is the second single off Death Crunch’s album.”
“It is?” And I wondered how the fuck Vicki knew that. I thought I was the one in lust.
“Yeah. There’s a bootleg of the entire album on YouTube.”
We listened to it and I loved how this one was harder than their first. I was patiently waiting for the album to be released—legitimately—so I could buy it for my iPod and listen to it over and over and over again, just like I did all the albums I loved.
When the song was over, Vicki yelled at Peter and told him to turn it back down. She was on her phone then, pulling up YouTube. “Did you see the acoustic song CJ put on YouTube the other day?”
I heard a ringing in my ears. “What?”
“Yeah. It’s on the Death Crunch channel. I figured he showed it to you, ‘cause…well…”
My eyes got wide. “And I thought you were my friend,” I teased and took her phone, waiting patiently for the video to load. CJ sat on the edge of a bed—probably in some hotel room—an acoustic guitar on his lap, and he said, “I’ve been working on this song for a few weeks and I want to share it with you guys now. Huge thanks to all the fans who’ve been supporting us on our tour. You guys are the best.” I couldn’t pull my eyes off his lips, but when I did, they went to his eyes, and I felt then like he was talking to me.
The tune was simple—rocking but mellower than what Death Crunch was already becoming known for—and his voice was strong but sweet. I hadn’t known he had such a great singing voice, and I started to wonder why he didn’t do vocals for his band until I rethought about it, because they did a lot of screaming. I didn’t know that CJ’s voice could do that.
When he started singing, I knew why he hadn’t told me about the song…because I was pretty sure it was about me.
You got me wrapped around your finger.
Yeah, you’re wrapped around my heart.
For what I’m feeling there is no cure.
I just don’t know where to start.
She says she needs me but I have to stay away.
That girl is danger…
The line of the chorus, “That girl is danger,” he repeated three more times before moving into the next verse. I found myself smiling, warm and tingly, because CJ was declaring to the whole damn world that his feelings for me were mutual. His drunken “confession” of doing more than kissing me a year from now had felt silly, like something he’d regret in the light of day and without the aid of alcohol but this? This was thought out, calculated, and then broadcast to…over twenty-thousand people thus far, according to the counter.
At the end of the song, he grinned at me…and I was grateful that my new life started now, that my first night on a huge stage began tomorrow night, because I knew that the only way I could make it that long—an entire year—would be immersing myself fully in my first love, my guitar.
So, as we pulled back off I-25, past businesses and through traffic to a residential area to pick up our new manager, I felt nothing but happiness and positive vibes and wondered what some of the people in my favorite bands had felt like when taking the first steps of their journey. I wondered if it was as awesome as what I was feeling right now…and I couldn’t imagine feeling any higher than this. Not ever.
* * *
Thank you for reading! I hope you loved meeting Kyle and CJ. The next book in the Vagabonds series is ON THE ROAD. Will Kyle ever get her chance with the man of her dreams?
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Love and Lies
Chapter One
So it was a dumb move. Stupid.
The stupidest of moves in a lifetime of them.
I went back home. After barely surviving a nasty divorce with fewer scars than expected, I tucked my tail and ran home to mom and dad. My little minimum wage barista job wasn’t enough to afford the bills on my own.
Besides, I’d never wanted to fucking live in Denver anyway. That had been Barry’s idea. It all had been his idea.
And, suddenly, I was back home again, like a fool who doesn’t know her ass from a hole in the ground. Here I was, ready and willing to take mom’s never-ending shit again just because I couldn’t make it on my own.
But it was worse than that. I’d moved back to fucking Winchester, Colorado, home of…nothing. There was no bus service—and certainly not a light rail. No huge metropolitan museum. No Botanical Gardens. No Elitch’s. I couldn’t get a cheeseburger at three AM (not that I wanted to, but that was beside the point). I heard they finally had a Starbucks, but no way they’d ever get a Dunkin. Taco Bell but no Chipotle. Walmart but no 16th Street Mall. No airport. No culture. They had a movie theater that had survived digitization but only two screens.
Oh, and charm. Small town charm.
Fuck that shit.
I was in no mood to be back here. I wasn’t supposed to ever come back.
Yet here I was. Twenty-five and no fucking future.
That wasn’t entirely true. I was just sour as hell. Bitter. Defeated. But I had a future—I just had to start from square one.
Again.
Rap. Rap. Rap.
It took me a second to shake myself out of my trance. Who knows how long I’d been sitting in the car like that? “Casey?”
If my nerves hadn’t felt so shot, I might not have jumped half out of my seat. I looked through the driver’s side window at my father. He looked the same as he had the last time I’d seen him—salt and pepper hair (what little he had left on his head) and light blue eyes. He’d joked over the phone a while back that he’d been getting shorter, but he looked as tall as ever. I smiled, seeing my one ally on this planet through the glass, and placed my hand on the door handle, choking back tears.
Where the hell were those coming from?
“Hey, dad.” I opened the door to my little white Versa and hugged my father quickly, hoping he wouldn’t be able to tell my green eyes were glistening. I didn’t know if I was on the verge of crying because I was home or because I felt like a failure—or if it was because my father accepted me and loved me unconditionally.
Maybe all of the above.
I swallowed again.
“How’s my girl?”
I sucked a deep breath through my nose and kept my arms around him while I regained my composure. Plus it was easier to lie if I didn’t have to look him in the eyes. “I’m great. Just need some time to settle in.”
He nodded and let me go, trying to assess me with his eyes. Dad was perceptive, but I’d had lots of practice as a teenager at being deceptive. It was just like getting back on a bike. “Well, we’ve got that, honey. What can I get for you?”
I sighed. “I dunno. I have a lot of sh—crap in here. I guess whatever we can grab will be one less trip later.” Now, rummaging through the hatch to find my suitcase for dad to carry, I picked up a box, wondering why I hadn’t just tossed all this shit before I’d left Denver. Really, what was there I’d needed so badly?
But as I followed dad up the walk to
ward the house, I knew. What was in these boxes was all that was left of myself.
Was any of that worth saving, though?
“Kara’s here.”
Jesus. Family reunion. Lucky me.
With my best unloaded happy voice, I asked, “Oh? What’s she doing here?”
“You know how close she and your mom are. She and the boys come up every weekend.”
Oh, yeah. “I forgot about the baby.”
“Noah’s real cute, Case. You’ll like him.”
“I’m sure I will.”
Dad set the luggage down while he pulled on the screen door, but mom was already opening the bigger one. I forced a smile, ready for the onslaught to begin but hoping to stave it off for a bit. As we entered the house, I looked into mom’s eyes, and it was like gazing into a mirror. I’d often wondered if we’d stood in front of a mirror together if the patterns in our individual orbs would have matched each other fleck by fleck.
But we wouldn’t have had the patience much less the curiosity to do something like that.
“Casey.” I couldn’t read the tone of her voice. Strained? Irritated? Frustrated? And was her emotion tempered by the presence of perfect Kara and her sons?
“Hi, mom.” She took the box out of my grip and placed it on the floor before pulling me into her arms. Not the greeting I’d been expecting. After the strained phone conversations we’d had over the past couple of months, I hadn’t anticipated warm open arms.
A pleasant surprise.
“How are you, honey?”
“Okay.”
“We moved a bed into your old room.”
“And a dresser,” dad said, heading toward the stairs.
“Thanks.”
“Hey, sis!” Kara, smiling, appeared behind mom. Suddenly, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Kara towered over mom by at least half a foot, but her blonde hair and blue eyes belied the fact that they were mother and daughter. Only her tiny perfect nose gave that away—if you just stared at pictures of their noses, you would have sworn they were sisters.
I’d inherited my dad’s larger version.
“Hey, Kara. So this must be Noah.” The child in her arms—four months old, if my math was right—looked just like her other son, Mason. And both kids looked like a mishmash of their mother and father—light blond hair, brown eyes, olive skin. They could have been models for kids’ clothing or diapers. They were freaking adorable and I couldn’t help but smile.
“Yeah. You wanna hold him?”
“Maybe in a little bit. I’m kinda hot and sweaty.”
“And you reek of smoke.”
“Thanks, mom.” Refusing to look her in the eye, I instead tilted my head to peer into Noah’s giant chocolate ones—so innocent, taking everything in like he never would again. “Hey, buddy. How are you?” The baby grinned at me and stretched his legs as if he had something really important he had to say to me. Already I was talking baby talk to him. “And where’s your brother?”
“He’s being shy,” my sister volunteered. I couldn’t really blame the guy. He hadn’t seen me since the two-hour torture session at Christmas before Barry and I had bailed to go visit his family in Colorado Springs. Kara had been ready to pop then and gave birth to that little guy a couple of days after the new year had begun. “You look good, Casey.”
The smile remained plastered on my face. I did not look good, and I wasn’t stupid enough to buy that.
“No. She’s too thin.”
Mom, I’m right here. “I’m fine.”
“Ladies,” dad said as he descended the stairs. “You want to let her in the house?”
“Of course.” Mom and Kara backed away a bit, but mom didn’t stop talking. “Honey? Would you want to take this box upstairs, too?” She reached down to fetch it.
“I can get it, mom.”
“I wondered if you’d like some coffee.”
It didn’t take long for me to answer. “I’d love some.”
As dad headed back up the stairs, Kara and I headed toward the kitchen. There really was nothing but the separation of tile laminate and carpet delineating one room from the next in this house, but mom loved it that way. When I’d been a teenager bitching about having to load the dishwasher and wipe off the stove, mom had said the open floor plan encouraged cleanliness. When any visitor can see most of the house at any given moment, you’ll want it presentable at all times. I’d argued with her, telling her my friends didn’t give a shit—but they hadn’t really visited anyway. Now that I was older, I could appreciate the beauty of the house, especially the openness after being crammed in a one-bedroom apartment for the past four years, but that didn’t mean I wanted to live there.
“Still want it black—or has the big city changed that for you?”
I let the breath in slowly as I continued walking toward the kitchen area, trying to determine if this was worth bickering over or not. It would be so easy to go full bitch with my mom because we had that history—but what would that accomplish? She and dad had opened their arms and their home back to me, prodigal Casey, and I didn’t want to bite…even if my mother was trying to instigate something.
And, yes, I’d grown to love the sugary, fatty, frothy concoctions Starbucks, Dunkin Donuts, and all the awesome little shops in downtown Denver had dreamed up—but that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate a stout black coffee once in a while. In fact, I lived on it like rocket fuel.
“Black’s fine.”
What I really wanted was a cigarette—but there hadn’t been smoking in this house for years.
Kara and I sat at the table while mom busied herself in front of the coffee pot. It was then that I got a peek at towheaded Mason. He was on the floor surrounded by all kinds of plastic blocks in primary colors, trying to avoid my eyes.
Kara broke the silence. “So what happened, Casey? Tell me about it.”
I stifled a sigh. The question was bound to come sometime, so I might as well get it over with. I’d already practiced this lie, most recently on the highway leading to Winchester. Might as well give it a shot. “Nothing to tell, really. Barry and I went our separate ways. We weren’t meant for each other, so why waste our lives being miserable?” Ah, if only it had been that simple.
Mom placed an off-white mug full of steaming hot coffee in front of me. “Honey, I’m sure you’re too close to the forest right now, but in time I think you’ll see you’re not being realistic.”
Trying not to pounce like a wildcat, I kept my voice calm. “What do you mean?” I brought the mug up to my lips and blew on the surface of the coffee, hoping that act alone would keep my blood pressure down.
“I mean,” she said, sitting down next to me, folding her hands on the table as if to emphasize her fingernails painted like blood-red talons, “you weren’t ready to get married. Neither was Barry. You rushed into it. You were so afraid of having to come—”
“Save it, mom. You got it all wrong.”
Maybe she actually didn’t, but I wasn’t in the mood to discuss it.
“And you’re an artist, Casey. Creative and romantic.” I softened at the assessment, trying to let her words soothe my inner monster. “You live that life to the fullest.” Mom picked up her half-full mug of coffee, making me think at first that she was done talking. “But as a romantic, you fell head-over-heels in love with—well, I think it was with the idea of love. I’m not doubting that you cared about Barry, but I don’t think you loved him enough to make it work. And you expected marriage to be easy, just like everything else in life.”
My fury had built so quickly, I was surprised my pores weren’t popping open, spraying the kitchen with vitriol. How I managed to keep my voice low was beyond my comprehension—but I suspected it was because I could see dad out of the corner of my eye as he approached the table. Part of me wanted to bolt outside right now, run to my car, grab a cigarette, and suck down that sweet, sweet smoke until my nerves were calm again. But I knew I was going to have to have this conversation with my mother
now or later.
Might as well get it over with.
But I wasn’t going to tiptoe. I was going for the jugular right off the bat. “I made a mistake, okay? And I’ll live with the consequences. I, not you. It’s not a reflection on you just because my marriage wasn’t a Cinderella story, mom.” I picked up my coffee cup before delivering the final blow—two birds with one stone. “Besides, you still have perfect Kara and her perfect storybook marriage, complete with two kids, a dog, and a white picket fence.”
I could see the gears turning in mom’s head through her eyes and I sensed my dad’s tension just beside me. Kara, though—her face registered pain and heartache, and as much as I’d thought I wanted to hurt her, I already regretted it. There were no tears in her eyes, but she held the baby slightly closer to her chest. “We do not have a white picket fence.”
Aw, I could’ve kept kicking, forcing her to admit that the rest of what I’d said was true, but I’d already caused damage here. And, unlike teenage Casey, I didn’t like the way it felt.
But I wasn’t ready to admit that to myself yet.
I pushed the chair back from the natural finish wood table. “I need to bring in the rest of my things.”
“Not so fast, Casey.” My mom stood, formidable in her presence, although it had little effect on me. Well, that’s not true. It made the rebel inside rear her ugly head. “You don’t get to pin that nastiness on your family. Kara has a successful marriage because she works at it—and I want what’s best for you as much as I do her.” I raised an eyebrow in defiance, even though my mouth stayed shut. “You chose not to work at it.”
That, though—that pissed me off enough to talk. “It’s easy to put the blame on me not caring enough to try. And even though you might think this makes your argument for you, I’m not going to argue about history with you. We’re just going to have to agree to disagree and—”
“Nice try, Casey.” God, my mother’s voice could be ice cold when she wanted it to be, and no amount of coffee would warm me up, whether it was springtime or not. “Look at yourself, honey, and tell me you really tried. Just look at yourself.” Suddenly, it felt like everyone there—my mother, father, sister, and even my nephew playing with blocks—was judging me. My brows were knitted with anger but my mouth stayed clamped shut. “Your hair is lifeless; your face is pale; you are much too thin; and I know, based on the smell, that you still have that nasty smoking habit.” Before I could confirm or deny, she continued. “You haven’t been taking good care of yourself. Why should anyone else care about you when you obviously don’t care enough about your own self to take care of your health and well-being?”
Dirty Boys: Bad Boy Rock Star Romance Box Set Page 91