Notes of the Past (Lightning Strikes Book 2)

by Jodie Larson

  Adrienne’s cheeks pink up and she bites her lip. “We’re pregnant.”

  Oh, there’s a big shock. Those two fuck more than rabbits. I’m surprised it took Kade this long to plant his seed. Regardless, I plaster a smile on my face because he’s still my friend and I’m happy for him.

  Brecken and Pax jump up first to hug both of them. I hang back, shoving my hands into my pockets. Part of me wonders what this is going to do to the band. Will Kade even want to go on tour anymore? And if he does, will his head be with us or back at home? I’m an asshole for even thinking that.

  I walk over and hug him, slapping his back hard. “Congrats, bro. That’s awesome.”

  Kade slaps me back. “Thanks, Myles.”

  Adrienne steps forward and I awkwardly hug her too. “Congrats.”

  She smiles up at me and nods. “Thanks.”

  Talk soon turns to all things baby, which I tune out instantly. I want nothing to do with that shit. Marriage, babies, houses. Soon we’re going to be swapping recipes and learning how to decoupage.

  Fuck my life.

  We need to focus on tonight and what we’re getting paid to do. Now is not the time to get distracted. So much is riding on these concerts. Basically our entire careers. If we have one bad concert, people will start talking and stop showing up. Word of mouth is better than any paid advertising you can do. “Is everything set for tonight? All the miscues from last night cleared up and the lighting situation fixed?”

  Kade stops rubbing the nonexistent bump on Adrienne’s stomach and looks up at me. “Tommy said he’d take care of it.”

  I roll my eyes. Tommy is the lighting coordinator Don hired a few cities ago since he had experience with other bands. If you ask me, he’s worthless. His sole job is working with the venue employees to make sure everything runs smoothly. And he sucks at it. Probably the reason he was available. “Yeah, but is he actually going to do it? He said that when we were in Sacramento and shit still got messed up.”

  Pax leans forward on his elbows. “I’ll make sure it’s taken care of. That damn spotlight nearly blinded me last time and I almost dropped a stick.”

  I point at Pax. “See! We can’t have stuff like that happen again.”

  “Whoa,” Kade says, leaning back. “What the fuck is wrong with you? It’s not that big of a deal. It’ll get taken care of. Relax. Go out and find some chick to bang before the concert so you can relax.”

  Adrienne slaps his stomach with a frown. “Not helpful.”

  He gives her a sheepish look. “For him it’s helpful. A less tense Myles is a happy Myles.”

  “What if he gets a finger cramp beforehand? That wouldn’t be good,” Breck says with a laugh.

  Here we go. Myles, the butt of everyone’s jokes. Oh, Myles is a huge whore. Ignore what Myles says, he’s an idiot. Don’t worry, he’s a dick to everyone. Okay, the last one is true. But certain things happen in life and you have to harden yourself to everything around you so it can’t get to you again.

  Adrienne looks like she’s going to be sick; her skin taking on a green pallor. Pax laughs while standing. “True. We need his fingers more than he needs to place them–”

  “Okay,” Adrienne says, drawing the word out. “I’ve had enough of this conversation. How about all of you go down to the stage and start helping things along? The faster you get set up, the more time you have to relax in the back room before the concert.”

  Kade pulls Adrienne into him and indecently kisses her. I think he’s trying to swallow her whole head. At least I’ve grown accustomed to this over the past year and a half. Them sucking face isn’t anything new. In fact, it gives you lots of time to check your phone for messages or carry on a full Twitter conversation with a random stranger.

  “You’re so smart,” Kade says when they finally break for air. “Come on, guys. Let’s head down and get this over with.”

  The crowd is electric tonight. Their energy floats through the air and I ride each and every wave that hits us. This is what I’ve been living for lately, the high of being on stage, listening to the crowd chant our name, singing along to our songs. I can even hear my name called out from the screaming girls in front of me. All dressed like the girls back in Kansas City used to: tight dresses that barely cover their assets, big fuck-me eyes, and luscious full lips that scream “I want to suck you off”. The redhead right in front is exceptionally appealing. She keeps licking her lips and dragging her hand down her neck every time I look at her.

  Yeah, security needs to find her later.

  An hour into our set and I’m still running on adrenaline. I should be tired, especially since I never got to rest up after our morning meeting. Who needs sleep anyway?

  Kade’s singing the song he wrote for Adrienne before they got married. It’s slower than our usual songs, but it’s what catapulted us to the top of the charts when our album debuted. Once everyone had our album, each single released made the charts. Our demand was so high, the label decided to give us a tour before they normally would have. Typically they wait a year, really get people interested in the band. But when the album skyrocketed to the top and stayed there for weeks, they upped the timeline. Our last TV performance sealed the deal. Everyone wanted us. We weren’t the opening act anymore. The Lightning Strikes were the main show.

  I look over to the left where security is sitting, waiting for my cue to pick a girl from the crowd. They know the drill. I nod with my head and tap once for blond, twice for brunette, three times for redhead. I always pick girls right in front of me so they don’t get it wrong. And even if they grab a bunch of them and bring them backstage, they’re bound to get who I was aiming for. The others are thrilled to be back there so they don’t notice or realize they were second best.

  The crowd erupts and I ready my hand to tap my leg, but stop before I even raise it. A blond about fifteen rows back catches my eye. It’s hard to see much more than her hair, but with the lights swirling over the crowd, I catch a glimpse of a face and a smile that I swear I know.

  My heart does a weird skip before falling into my stomach. It’s as if the lighting guys knew I needed a better look and the lights stall above her. Pale, milky skin glows in the darkness. Her smile fades when our eyes connect. It can’t be. There’s no way it’s…

  I can’t breathe. It’s like I’m stuck in a vacuum, not a lick of air in the room. Blinking again, I frantically search the crowd, but she’s sitting now, lost in the sea of screaming girls. She may look older, but I’d know that face anywhere. It belongs to the person I foolishly gave my damn heart to years ago, who then threw it back to me without a reason why.

  Pax counts us in and it takes all my concentration to make my fingers work the strings. Maybe I’m more tired than I thought. She has no reason to be here, and why would she show up now, nine years later? I squint and look again, but the seat is empty. Must have been her then. That’s the kind of shit she’d pull. A goddamn disappearing act. I shake my head and empty my mind, focusing on the task at hand.

  When we head backstage, I grab the security guy and pull him off to the side.

  “Is there someone you wanted me to get?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “About fifteen rows back, there was a blond. Middle of the row, had a white tank top on. Can you see her?”

  Carl walks over to the stage opening and scans the crowd. I bounce on my toes, trying to get a look at the crowd without anyone seeing me. There’s no sign of the blond. Everyone’s still up front, waiting to see if they’ll get access to backstage.

  “Sorry, sir, but I don’t see anyone like that.”

  It wasn’t her. There’s no way Tatum Mitchell would be here. She went…wherever it was she went, and hasn’t been back in my life since. But why tonight? Why is her memory haunting me right now? It’s been years since she’s affected me this way. Years since I’ve thought of her angelic face, sweet lips, and body made for sin. Once upon a time, she occupied all of my thoughts. Now, she’s nothing but a distant memor
y, one I’d rather not think of again.

  Well, there’s one way to take care of unwanted thoughts.

  I pat Carl’s shoulder and smile. “No worries.” Needing to shake Tatum off my mind, I point to the redhead still waiting up front. He follows my gaze with a knowing grin. “Get me that one.”

  Ugh, everything hurts, especially my head. How much did I drink last night? I try to move my arm, but can’t. Blinking my eyes open, I turn my head to see why. The sleeping brunette greets me when my eyes finally gain focus. Fuck, where did she come from? Last thing I remember was going out with Paxton to the bar, having a couple of beers, then the shots started flowing as girls surrounded us when they realized who we were.

  A flash of a face plays in front of me, reminding me of why I was drinking to begin with. And she looks nothing like the brunette attached to me. It all makes sense, though. Ever since I thought I saw her a week ago in the crowd, she’s all my mind has focused on. Memories I thought were long buried have resurfaced, causing me to reopen old wounds and try to seal them shut with every available piece of pussy that walks by. Each time I see her face, I need to replace it with another, someone who doesn’t look like the blond angel of my past. That’s when the brunettes come into play. You can’t get more opposite than that.

  She stirs next to me, seeking out my warmth in her sleep. I need to get away, but she’s dead weight on my arm. Her tiny body is deceiving. It’s like I’m being held captive without handcuffs. Maybe I can channel my inner coyote and chew my arm off, rather than risk disturbing her and having to deal with the morning-after bullshit.

  I tug and tug, each time only gaining a millimeter more. At this rate, it’ll be next year before I’m free. She stirs again and I still. Brown eyes blink at me before a slow, lazy smile crosses her face.

  “Mmm, morning,” she rasps, her voice still heavy with sleep.

  “Morning.” I don’t mean for the bite in my voice, but two things need to happen. One, I need to take a piss. Two, she needs to get the fuck out.

  She curls closer to me, running her fingertips up and down my naked torso. “Last night was amazing. Any chance of a repeat this morning?”

  Why do they always want more? Is it too much to ask for a simple one-nightstand anymore? You’d think women would get it, understand when they’re at a rock concert, or hook up with some random guy at a bar it’s not long-term. It’s extremely short-term, like not making it to the morning. You fuck and that’s it. There’s no sonnet being constructed, no flowers waiting at the doorstep. There’s sex and then the door. It’s a simple concept to grab, but each time I have to act like the asshole I am and show them the door.

  “Yeah, last night was great, but this show was one-night only. It opened and closed. No chance of an encore.”

  She pouts her lips, making them fuller and, surprisingly, sexy. Images of her mouth around my cock flood my memories, making the traitor twitch under the sheets.

  The brunette notices, which isn’t hard since her leg is firmly pressed against it, and gives me a seductive smile. “Feels like someone disagrees. Why don’t you let the headliner take charge? Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your while.” She sits up, the sheet falling from her body, revealing her naked, full breasts. Damn. Those are perfection. They’re practically begging my hands to squeeze them, my tongue to lick them, my fingers to pinch those perfect rosebud nipples. But, I can’t. I won’t break my rule. If I bend once, what’s to stop me from doing it again? Then a relationship will form. She’ll want more from me and I’ll want to turn her away because she’s not the one who still owns a piece of my heart.

  With her sitting up, I move my captive arm away and gently guide her back down. “As tempting as you are, I’m going to have to pass. It’s another busy day and…”

  The smile doesn’t leave her face. Has she heard anything I’ve said? To my surprise, she swings her legs over the side and starts getting dressed, leaving me gaping as she moves around the room.

  “Well, that’s too bad. It was fun while it lasted.” She walks back over and kisses me softly. “Twice.” She kisses me again and slings her purse over her shoulder. “If you’re ever back in town and change your mind, here’s my number.” Grabbing a pen off the desk, she scribbles the digits onto the notepad and blows me a kiss before leaving.

  Wow, that’s a change. Maybe she really did know how this whole thing works. She wasn’t looking for love or commitment, just wanted me to fuck her brains out again. Was she using me for my body? I shrug. Don’t know, don’t care.

  I glance at the clock next to the bed. The red lights indicate I’m late. Again. Fucking hell. I throw off the covers and quickly shower, ready to start my day. Well, almost. I grab my wallet and shove it in the back pocket of my jeans. I need some coffee. Stat.

  When I walk onto the stage with my steaming cup of coffee in hand, Pax and Breck are already moving things around, trying to get everything laid out for tonight.

  Pax notices me first, a stupid grin growing on his face. “Well, the dead rises.”

  I flip him off. “Fuck you.”

  It only makes him laugh. “How was your bottle of whiskey last night? Better yet, how was the chick? She was practically fucking you at the bar. Did you at least make it home first or did you take her in the cab ride over?”

  “It was an Uber.” I think. “And do you really want me to go into the details of my night? Because if you want to hear about how good her mouth feels or how wet and tight–”

  “And that’s it for me,” Breck says, throwing his arms in the air. “I don’t want to hear about who or what your dick did last night. Right now, I care about getting these speakers off the trucks and the stage set so the crew can hook everything up.”

  “Pussy,” I call after him as we head to the trucks, helping the guys unload it and get everything into place.

  After a half hour, Kade appears out of nowhere. “You ready?”

  A bead of sweat trickles down my face and I wipe it away with the back of my hand. “Nice of you to show up when all the work is done. Couldn’t tear your hand away while Adrienne talked dirty to you?”

  Breck smacks my head. “Shut up. He and Don were meeting with the venue coordinators to finalize the next two nights.”

  “And I also talked with the local radio station. They’d like us to come over in an hour for an interview and to sign some CD’s and t-shirts for giveaways.”

  No surprise there. It’s the same old routine each city we visit. I don’t know why they don’t just build it into the schedule from the beginning. Or maybe they have? I don’t know if I’ve ever looked at one. No need to. They’ll tell me where I need to be and when. My life is pretty much mapped out for me.

  “Well, I’ll need to grab a quick shower in the back first. I’m all sweaty.”

  Pax shakes his head. “And you didn’t even have sex to do it. Will miracles never cease.”

  “Ha-ha.” Always the butt of the jokes. One of these days, it won’t be that way. Maybe when I start acting my age instead of the teenager I feel like I am. I mean, I’m almost thirty. I should be past all the sleeping around and video games that occupy whatever free time I’m allotted. But when you’re on the road for weeks on end, never catching a break, and being stuck on a bus with these asshats? It’s hard to find a decent release. There’s only so much time you can spend at the gym, especially since you have to beg and plead to get access to one. If it wasn’t for my name, I don’t think I’d ever be able to do much in these cities. But all I have to say is Myles Donovan and everyone opens up for me. It’s fucking magic.

  After the radio spot, which wasn’t as painful as the last one we did, we come back to the hotel for some quick downtime, each of us retiring to our rooms. Kade’s been stuck on the phone with Linda, our label coordinator, talking about what we need to do once we make it back to L.A. She, Kade, and Don have been working out the details of our next release. They’ve asked me to write more songs, which isn’t a big deal considering they com
e easily to me. Using the pain of my past is my inspiration. Angry, hurt, scorned. Yeah, nothing’s ever about love. I was dumb enough to write about it once before. And look where that got me. Alone.

  I plug my phone into the stereo system and crank up “Bad Girlfriend” by Theory of a Deadman. My fucking anthem. This song always gives me inspiration to write our record-breaking singles. With the exception of Kade’s, every song that’s landed on the charts have been mine. There are enough songs about love clogging the airwaves as it is. Fuck that. What’s so wrong about writing about the dangers of love, of getting your heart broken because you were foolish enough to trust it to someone else?

  Words flow easily onto the paper, the pencil working furiously as lyric after lyric is laid down. Strumming a few chords on the acoustic, the sound explodes from the six strings, bringing to life the words I’ve just written. In no time, the song is complete. The tragic tale of a man stupid enough to listen to his heart and the woman who laughed in his face and tore it to shreds.

  The cries of the screaming girls fill my ears as I pace backstage. “Fuck, this crowd is intense tonight. Way better than the one last week in Denver.”

  Our homecoming was a huge deal. The paper always put us center stage in the entertainment sections, each article boasting of the hometown band that made it big. My parents told me they kept them all, putting them in my scrapbook. I can’t believe my mom still has that stupid thing. Nothing’s more embarrassing than being a grown adult and having your mom save your newspaper clippings like you were still in grade school.

  Kade sidles up beside me, slapping my shoulder once. “Kind of reminds you of the old days, doesn’t it?”

  “Hardly.” I laugh. “This is a little different than The Warehouse.”

  “Speaking of,” Brecken says, sliding up beside us. “Gabe called, wanted us to stop by and say hi this week while we’re home.”

  Good old Gabe Olson. If it weren’t for him giving us a chance, we wouldn’t be here. Sure, we had our YouTube videos and other smaller venues, but it was our regular gigs at The Warehouse that drew the crowds. It’s our bar. It’s home.