Wicked Reunion (Wicked White Series Book 2)

by Michelle A. Valentine

  She walks off, twisting her hips in her too-tight red skirt in the process.

  “I wonder how big the stick up her ass is? Fucker must be huge for her to be a constant bitch.” Luke’s voice pulls me out of the trance I was in watching Jane Ann walk away.

  God, that woman and her little pet, Ace, get under my skin.

  “What did she want this time?” My gaze turns to my redheaded bandmate who stands beside Tyler, the dirty-blond-haired drummer. Both of the men stare at me, waiting on my answer.

  I rub the back of my neck. “She came to tell me that I have a bad attitude and that we better start showing Ace more respect. Oh, and she’s also imposing fines if we’re late.”

  Tyler’s green eyes widen. “Respect him? Is she kidding me?”

  “Afraid not. She told me to make sure we are waiting side stage for Ace because she plans on making him our boss,” I inform them.

  “Our boss?” Luke says so loud he might as well shout it from the rooftop. “Now I know that bitch has lost her mind. They might’ve been able to make Ace the face of the band, but I’ll never follow his lead without a fight. It’s bad enough he tries to order us around every chance he gets when it comes to the way we play.”

  I understand their anger because I share in their feelings, but I’m not sure how much we can actually fight the change. From now on, it looks as though Ace will pretty much own us, and I hate that. I hate the idea of being at his disposal.

  We sit backstage together, waiting for Ace to show up. I find it funny that Wicked White was scheduled for an autograph session with the fans, and yet most of the band isn’t there. Only Ace. It’s complete bullshit how we get treated like Ace’s backup, but it’s becoming clear to me that’s exactly what we are.

  An hour later, I spot Jane Ann making her way toward us with Ace by her side. Ace looks up and catches me staring at him, and it takes every muscle in my body to remain calm and not tell his ass off.

  “I’m glad all you guys are here on time,” Jane Ann says as she approaches Tyler, Luke, and me. “I see my little warning of imposing fines for tardiness has made a difference.”

  “Not all of us have you as our personal fucking wristwatch.” Tyler’s tone makes it clear that he’s not happy, but that doesn’t faze our bitchy manager. He shoves a piece of his hair out of his eyes. “Why don’t the rest of us get the same coddling that Ace gets? You always take it easy on him.”

  Luke glances over at me and smirks before releasing a small laugh. He absolutely loves it when our normally quiet Tyler spouts off at the mouth. He doesn’t say much, but when he’s mad, he’s direct. Sugarcoating things isn’t in Tyler’s nature, and sometimes I’m glad that he speaks up. It’s nice that I’m not the only one showing my utter disdain for the entire situation.

  Ace studies us, and the expression on his face tells me that he’d like nothing more than for us all to go to hell, but he doesn’t have the balls to tell us that. Besides, he knows just as well as anyone that he gets treated far better than we do. I mean, the guy would have to be a fucking moron if he didn’t realize it.

  I sigh heavily. If Jane Ann wants me to treat Ace like he’s above me, I might as well start treating him like he’s royalty. “So what’s our set list like for tonight, Your Highness?”

  Ace’s nostrils flare, and I love that I’m getting to him. Why should he get it so easy? He hasn’t done anything better than we have, and I certainly don’t think he’s more talented that any of us—namely me.

  “Same set as last night, but we’ll be canceling the next couple of shows on the tour,” Ace says, like him making the decision to cancel a few shows is no big deal.

  “What?!” Now the douche bag is messing with my money. That shit isn’t going to fly.

  Ace flinches as his gaze whips between Jane Ann and me. It’s like he’s in shock that we’d be pissed over this.

  “What the fuck do you mean we’re canceling?” Luke asks, his fiery tone matching the color of his hair. “We’ve booked enough dates to be set for a long time. We can’t go canceling shit now.”

  “Look, guys, I’m sorry, but my mother is sick—”

  Oh, I have to stop this fucker right there. I know for a fact that’s a lie. How dare he use an excuse like that when it’s a known fact he grew up in the system.

  “That’s horseshit. You don’t even have a mother. You were a fucking orphan.”

  He narrows his eyes, and it’s obvious that he doesn’t like being called out on his bullshit.

  “Shut your damn mouth before I shut it for you,” Ace fires back at me, which only pisses me off further.

  I don’t take threats well. My pulse races as I take a step closer to Ace, closing the distance between us. I’ve got him by at least two inches and probably twenty-five or so pounds. Ace doesn’t work out like I do. It’s clear from his puny muscles. I lock my gaze onto his and dare him to hit me, begging him to give me a reason to fuck him up.

  Ace’s toe bumps into mine, and I’m instantly taken aback by his bravery to stand up to me. He usually just storms off and sulks, avoiding confrontation. It still doesn’t change the fact that I will end him if he tests me, because he doesn’t scare me one damn bit.

  Ace looks directly into my eyes. “That sounds like a threat.”

  “You bet your ass it is,” I reply coolly.

  Jane Ann wedges her petite frame between us. This is her worst nightmare realized: someone like me who has already been chomping at the bit to get my hands on this guy and prove he isn’t all that. “Both of you knock this shit off right now. I won’t tolerate physical violence of any kind. This isn’t going to happen if you want to stay on Mopar’s payroll.”

  Jane Ann knows that’s the one thing that will reel me back in—the money. I have nothing else in my life but music, and I’m pretty damn lucky to be able to make a living doing it, so I don’t want to fuck that up.

  I take a step back and raise my hands in surrender. “Fine. Just keep Boy Wonder here out of my face.”

  That hits a nerve, because Ace tenses, and Jane Ann shoves her hand into his chest to keep him from lunging forward. “Cool it, Ace. This is neither the time nor place.” She turns back around to face us with one of the meanest scowls I’ve ever seen. “You three, go wait side stage.”

  Luke rolls his eyes, and Tyler stalks off toward the stage with drumsticks in hand—both doing what they were told. Before I go, I overhear Jane Ann scold Ace for telling us that he’s canceling shows. Seems as though he doesn’t have as much authority as he thought.

  That last little bit causes me to smile as I pick up my guitar.

  “Wicked White. You’re up,” the stage manager for Summerfest tells the three of us. “Go ahead and take the stage.”

  I turn back to where we left Jane Ann and Ace. Jane Ann is throwing her hands around wildly, and Ace is leaning forward, pointing his finger at her. Looks like things aren’t so rosy on the other side of the fence right now.

  Tyler is the first to walk out on stage, and the crowd goes insane while Luke and I follow.

  We stand on stage with the fans chanting “Wicked White,” and I glance back at the other two guys and shrug. It’s not like Ace to keep fans waiting. He knows that’s bad for business, and Jane Ann certainly does, but from the looks of it, Ace is having second thoughts about performing. It appears that he doesn’t want to come on stage, and Jane Ann is physically shoving him in our direction.

  Ace’s jaw hangs open like he’s shocked that Jane Ann just forced him out here. He continues to stare at her as if he’s trying to process exactly what has just gone down.

  I nod at Tyler and Luke, and we all begin to play, hoping to get this show on the road so we don’t look clueless in front of the crowd. Tyler taps out the opening song—which is the same one we opened with last night, just like Ace wants. The three of us look to one another because Ace misses his cue to start singing. The fucker hasn’t even picked up the mic yet.

  What in the hell is he doing? Is he tr
ying to make us all look like dumbasses who don’t know what we’re doing? I think he’s doing this shit on purpose over the little exchange we had only moments ago.

  Finally, Ace turns to face us. He takes the time to stare at each one of us individually with an unreadable face. I knew the guy was an asshole, but now we can add certifiably insane after this show. No wonder Jane Ann gives him his way most of the time.

  When he points his gaze on me, his brow furrows like he’s trying to figure me out, and then he jams his fingers into his bronze hair.

  I stand still on the stage but continue to play, hoping that whatever it is he’s going through, he figures this shit out fast. In front of a sold-out festival isn’t the time or place to have a breakdown of some sort.

  He squeezes his eyes shut and then opens them to stare at us while we wait on him to sing. Ace raises both of his hands and flips his middle finger in our direction before he turns on his heel and storms off stage without uttering a single word.

  Jane Ann’s jaw drops as he stalks past her, completely ignoring her orders to get back on stage.

  With wide eyes I watch as our band’s front man walks away from everything he’s worked for, and in an odd way, I relate to him.

  NOW

  LONDON

  I stare, lost in thought, at the box of chocolates from Julie’s shop, which sits next to a dozen roses on my desk. Today was exhausting, and all I want to do is go home and put my feet up. A glass of wine thrown in there wouldn’t hurt. The kids were really hyper in class today for some reason, and it makes me wonder if tonight will be a full moon or something.

  Peyton’s little voice singing “The Wheels on the Bus” while he draws a picture with crayons pulls me out of the trance.

  I push myself up from my desk and walk around behind him. He’s drawn a picture of himself holding hands with his mom and dad while baby Brody stands in front of him. Stick people drawings by children are the best. They speak volumes about what the child is feeling.

  “That’s really good, Peyton,” I tell him.

  “Thank you,” he replies as he begins adding another stick figure to the picture.

  “Who are you adding in there?” I ask, curious as to who else he pictures in his family.

  “You,” he tells me but stays hard at work.

  “Me?” I ask, completely surprised. “Why are you adding me to your family picture?”

  He stares up at me with his hazel eyes. “Mommy says you don’t have your own family, so I’m making you a part of ours because you and Mommy are friends.”

  Warmth envelops my heart and I smile. The sweet words from this small boy truly touch me. Sam is certainly raising this little guy right by teaching him to care about others.

  I pull out the chair next to him and sit down as we wait for Sam to show up. “That’s very nice of you, Peyton. I really appreciate that.”

  “You’re welcome,” he says as he draws a purple dress on the stick figure that’s supposed to represent me. He grows quiet for a minute, but then he looks up at me. “Mrs. Kraft, will you always be sad?”

  I chew on the inside of my lower lip. “Who said I was sad?”

  “Mommy. I heard her tell Daddy on the phone that you were still sad. I figured if I made you a part of my family you wouldn’t be sad anymore.”

  I squat down beside him and pat his little arm. “You are such a sweet kid, and you know what else? I would love to be a part of your family. I already think of your mommy as my sister.”

  That makes him smile. “Good. I’m glad I’ve made you not sad now.”

  Peyton happily returns to coloring his picture, and I wish with all my might that it could only be so simple to not be sad anymore. If there was some sort of switch to instantly turn off heartbreak, I would’ve used that a long time ago.

  Maybe it is time to let Jared go. If even a kid can see that I’m sad, I’m not doing a very good job of hiding it.

  I have to find a way to let go.

  “You probably hate me for always making you late, huh?”

  I glance up to find Sam walking into my classroom, holding Brody.

  “Stop being ridiculous. It’s impossible to be mad at you.” I push myself up to my feet. “How was your day?”

  “Ugh. Long, but I didn’t get thrown up on, so that’s always a good day in my book.” She smiles.

  I laugh, and even though I don’t have any children of my own, I can fully relate, seeing as how I have a classroom full of little ones who tend to get sick a lot. “Agreed.”

  Sam adjusts Brody on her hip as he twirls her necklace around his chubby little fingers before she points to my desk. “More gifts?”

  I nod. “It’s the fifth arrangement this week, and if he keeps sending all the candy, I’ll weigh five million pounds before long.”

  She shakes her head. “I’ll say one thing for Wes, he makes it impossible for you to not think about him, even when the two of you are on a break.”

  I run my fingers through my dark hair. “We might as well not be on a break as much as he texts and sends me things.”

  “Give the guy a break,” Sam says. “He doesn’t want to lose you after how much work he put in to get you in the first place.”

  I furrow my brow. “You think he put in that much effort after . . . well, after what happened?”

  Sam tilts her head and gives me the “you’ve got to be kidding me” face. “London, I’ve never seen a man put in that much work to land a girl. The guy spent nearly four years being your shoulder to cry on after his asshole brother left you without so much as a good-bye. I would call that a mammoth undertaking. No man works that hard for nothing.”

  “That’s what sucks about this whole situation. I feel like such a”—I mouth the word “bitch” to Sam to avoid little ears overhearing—“for putting him through all this. I wish I could love him back the way he seems to love me.”

  “Aww, Mommy said a dirty word,” Peyton chimes in.

  “It’s okay, Peyt. Adults are allowed to say them if they want,” Sam tells him.

  I can see the little wheels turning in his brain. “So when I become a man, I can say them too?”

  I cover my mouth to hide my snicker, and Sam immediately smacks my arm in response before addressing his question. “Yes. When you become a grown-up, you can say whatever words you want.”

  Peyton’s little hand draws into a fist, and he draws his elbow back to do a fist pump. “All right! I can’t wait to be a man.”

  Sam rolls her eyes. “Lord help me when he gets older. I’m going to be in so much trouble. Josh will not be allowed to remain in the service once these two become teens. I’ll need him around to help me wrangle them in.”

  I nod. “You’ll most definitely have your hands full.”

  “Okay, Peyton, get your book bag,” Sam orders and then turns to me. “Want to go grab an early dinner with me and the boys? I so don’t feel like cooking today.”

  I smile, loving the fact that I really do feel like a part of their family.

  THEN

  LONDON

  All night long, I comb the streets of Knoxville, desperate to find Jared. Clearly he’s not in the right frame of mind, and I don’t want him to get hurt. I’ve visited every possible place where Jared might be. I even went to our old high school on the off chance that he might be there running the track like he used to do back in the day when he got upset over something.

  Jared isn’t hotheaded. I’ve never seen him blow up like the way he did tonight, but it’s not like I can fault him for it. How a person reacts to the news of the death of someone they love is a very individual thing.

  When my mother died, I was devastated, but I kept most of my emotions to myself. I wasn’t able to hide the tears at times, but just how much I missed her was something I rarely spoke about with anyone.

  Time is what Jared needs to heal. When something bothers him, he usually throws himself into baseball—training harder and putting in longer hours in the gym. It’s like playin
g baseball is his form of meditation—a place where he can mull over all the things that bother him.

  I turn back into our subdivision, and part of me fully expects Jared’s truck to be parked in his mother’s driveway, but sadly, he’s still missing.

  I worry my bottom lip back and forth between my teeth as I park the car. The headlights shining through the living room windows must’ve caught Wes’s attention, because before I’ve even had a chance to get out of the car, he is opening the front door.

  His blond hair is a disheveled mess, like he’s run his fingers through it over and over, something I’ve noticed he does when he’s anxious. The second his brown eyes scan my face, he frowns. I know the expression on my face is one showing nothing but disappointment. “No luck?”

  I shake my head. “I’ve checked everywhere I can think of, and I didn’t find a sign of him.”

  Wes sighs. “He’s so selfish. I’m pretty pissed at him for making Mom worry about him. She doesn’t need this right now. She’s already going through hell.”

  He’s right. Julie doesn’t need to be here worrying about Jared. I understand he’s hurting, but so are his mom and brother—and even me. I haven’t even really had time to sit down and process my own emotions because I’ve been so wrapped up in how Jared feels.

  “I’m sure he’ll turn up,” I reassure Wes. “He just needs some time.”

  Wes glances back to the door. “Do you want to come in and wait? I made some tea for Mom while you were gone, and there’s enough for a few more cups.”

  “That sounds nice. Thank you.”

  He gives me a tight-lipped smile. “Anytime, London.”

  When I step up beside him, he wraps his arm around my shoulders and leads me into the house.