by Quinn, Cari
Seeing him a couple of times a month was bad enough, and that was more for Ricki’s sake than for his old man’s.
Nick reread the lyrics he’d scribbled last night.
“Grieving Before You’re Gone.”
I look at your face and a shell with mirrored eyes remains
Not the man I knew who tossed me a ball
Or made me eggs, over hard
I liked them that way
Just a skeleton with holes left behind
Holes I don’t want to find
Because they’re in me too
You’re in me too
You’re in me too
Deeper, darker, my shadow self inside
The one who needs too much
Who hurts too well
Who blames everyone else
But himself
Grieving before you’re gone
Losing you day by day
Within myself, I feel you slipping
Feel me slipping
“You made me breakfast?”
Her breathless voice dragged him out of the song and he blinked owlishly, barely aware of where he was. “What?”
“Sorry. You’re writing. I didn’t notice.” She came up behind him and he slapped the notebook closed before he had time to question the gesture. But he didn’t miss the hurt that scrolled across her perfectly made-up face before she schooled it into emotionless lines.
For a second, just one, he wanted to say, how does it feel to be shut out? But that wasn’t fair. She wasn’t closing him out just because she wasn’t ready to live with him. Time was something he could give her.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
“Just fiddling.” He reopened his notebook, but it was too late. She’d already returned to snag her tumbler. She popped the top and took a long drink, then started to choke. “You okay?” Nodding, she continued to sputter, even after he rose to thump on her back. “Did I fuck that up somehow?”
“No. It’s fine. Delicious.” She took another mouthful and swallowed, faking a smile. Which was almost as bad as faking an orgasm, something she definitely never did. “It’s just a little grainier than I’m used to.”
“I tossed in that stuff you like. Three scoops, right?”
“One.” She set down the tumbler and rubbed her chest. “Just one.”
“Oh. Whoops. Sorry. I guess I’m not over here for breakfast enough to notice.”
She shot him a look and he retreated to his notebook. Just can’t resist tossing those daggers.
Better for both of them if he just shut up and focused on the song.
Fifteen minutes later, she left for work. They kissed goodbye and she made vague rumblings about “seeing him for dinner” to which he mumbled back that “he’d probably be around.”
Feeling like a douche all the while, because of course he wanted to have dinner with her. His nights seemed weird if he couldn’t ask her how her day had been so she could regale him with stories about the crazy band people—and equally nutty management people—she dealt with day in and day out. Preferably that asking occurred face to face. Texts were for dirty innuendoes, not full conversations best shared over a meal. One they’d even cooked together. He could cook now. Sort of. At least he could hand her ingredients.
He continued fussing with the song, pausing for a couple minutes to text Gray his ideas for the bridge. It probably should’ve felt weird batting ideas back and forth with Gray rather than Simon, but Simon was off on his modeling trip and had little to no use for being in his band at the moment. Gray wrote songs for other people along with doing the stay-at-home parent thing while Jazz helped out Harper with her catering business and they perfected their line of baby foods. Somehow Nick had started turning to Gray when he got in a jam musically. That he’d become a good friend too along the way was just one more oddity in his life.
Texts were still flying back and forth—offset by much scribbling—when the knock sounded on the door. Nick got up to let in Michael, raising his eyebrow at the shock of blue that bisected his shock of dark hair. He wore the sides shaved and the top long, and he also had a spike in his eyebrow and a corkscrew in one ear.
Nick held the door open. “Looking the rockstar part already, I see.”
“What?” Michael glanced around before answering, and Nick realized he was searching for Lila.
“She’s not here. Work.”
“Ahh.”
There was no missing the dejected way Michael’s mouth turned down. Of course, the ring in his lip might’ve helped with that.
“So I figure we might as well get some shit out of the way, if you really want me to help you.”
“Not help so much as…assist.”
Synonyms, jackass. But Nick held his tongue and shut the door.
He crossed to the couch and sat down beside Michael, who was pulling his pink guitar out of his case. As much as Nick wanted to laugh, he swallowed it down and got right to business.
“So how long have you wanted to fuck my girlfriend?”
Michael’s grip on the neck slipped and he bobbled the guitar before he righted it and laid it across his lap. “Come again?”
“No, no coming here. No coming there. No coming anywhere. So any leftover teenage fantasies you have about boning your stepmom, get them out of your head. Because they aren’t going to happen. Got it?”
Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Did she tell you I had a crush on her or something?”
“That doesn’t sound like a denial to me.”
“Look, bro—”
“I’m not your bro, and you can cut the crap. I know how she looks, and you know what? I was also a teenage male not that long ago. Telling you right now, if she’d been my stepmother, I would’ve addressed her in my head as MILF every damn time I talked to her.”
Michael blew out a breath and tipped back his head. “It’s not like that.”
“No?”
“No. Not anymore.”
Nick crossed his arms. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“She was amazing to me after my parents divorced, and okay, yeah, fine, maybe some inappropriate feelings sprouted up.”
“Dude, I know exactly what ‘sprouted up’. I have one. I know how it works.”
Michael surprised him by laughing. “You’re basically the anti-Lila.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Nick muttered.
“She’s happy with you.” Michael thumped the flat of his hand on his guitar. “Seriously happy. In a way she never was with my father. So if I even had a little of that…sprouting still going on, I’d find a way to kill it, because she’s not meant for me and I’d never risk our relationship over an erection.”
“Or murder. I would kill you if you even so much as thought about trying it.” Nick flexed his fingers. “I wouldn’t even wear gloves. Bloody handprints on the wall, son.”
Michael’s eyebrow with the spike rose. “Do you vet all new students this way or am I lucky?”
“You’re lucky, all right. Not only do I believe you, but I’m also going to play with your sorry ass. Voluntarily. Even knowing you’ve imagined my girl naked.”
“Not imagined.” Michael strummed through the G chord. “Saw.”
“Excuse me?”
“Swimming pool. Top came off. I didn’t take video. Except mentally.”
“Testing me?”
“Maybe a little. But honestly, I don’t see her that way anymore. She’s been way too cool to me for me to make it about sex. She’s kind of like a mom to me, but not.”
Nick grabbed his own guitar from beside the couch. The immediate threat seemed to have passed. “A mom with boobs you ogle now and then?”
“Nah. I’m more of an ass man, actually.”
Nick ignored him. “Tell me what you’re looking for from this session and we’ll get to it.”
“I want to get better. I want to be able to you know, fucking lead my band. It feels like I don’t have enough style to make me unique yet.”
“Like Hendrix and Page and all the other greats?”
“Hell yeah.”
“You’re right. You don’t.” Ignoring Michael’s frown, Nick continued. “I don’t either. That shit doesn’t happen overnight. You know what gets you there faster? When you stop imitating and you work your ass off until your fingers bleed.” He cocked his head. “You use a pic?”
“Sometimes. Until I get really into it and then I drop it and forget about it.”
“How many hours a day do you practice?”
Michael shrugged. “A couple. Not every day. Most days.”
“Every fucking day, man. First thing in the morning, soon as you roll your ugly ass out of bed. You have a job?” Before Michael had a chance to reply, Nick shook his head. “Never mind. Forgot you have a silver spoon up your ass. Then you definitely have no excuse. You want this? You eat, breathe and live it. Don’t use your guitar as a dick substitute either. Girls you get with it won’t be around when the spotlight fades.”
“Words of experience? Oh, and by the way, my spotlight isn’t fading. We’re not going out like Oblivion. No offense.”
The quick twist in his ribs was expected. And as painful as a punch. “Truth. First you have to rise as high as Oblivion, and you haven’t done that yet either.”
“You’re right.” Michael’s fingers stilled. “I also haven’t gotten my band right either. It’s getting there, but man, you know how you just feel there’s some elemental piece that’s missing?”
Nick smiled faintly, thinking back to the early days of the current—and permanent—incarnation of Oblivion. Right after Jazz and Gray had joined to replace Snake, their drug-abusing drummer, they’d had some rocky times. Nick had hated that they contributed something special that hadn’t existed in the band before. In time, he grew to thank God for it.
Now he wished like hell he’d get the chance to just soak up being in his band all over again. To be grateful for it, to really enjoy every second because who the hell knew if he’d ever be in that same place again? With those same people. Rocking out to those same amazing songs.
The hiatus was due to end in a little more than four months. He’d made it more than halfway. He could hang on a little longer.
“Yeah. You know Oblivion’s history?” When Michael shook his head, Nick fiddled with the battered leather strap on his guitar. “How it started with me and Simon and Deak and Snake, but Snake had a problem with heroin and we kicked him out.”
“Zero tolerance?”
“Hardly. We kicked him out a bunch of times before it stuck. He was my best friend. Well, other than Simon.”
It probably said something about him that one of his best friends was dead and the other seemed to hate him. And the dead one had been suing him—and the rest of Oblivion—when he’d passed.
“Was?”
“Yeah.” Nick rubbed the heel of his hand over the same spot in his chest that always throbbed at any mention of Snake. “He’s gone.”
“I’m sorry. OD’d?”
“We don’t know for sure. I mean, someone knows, they did an autopsy. But I never looked into it. His body was found in the water. Could’ve been an OD, could’ve been an accident. Or a suicide.” Nick shut his eyes. “I can’t ask Chloe, and I can’t try to find out on my own.”
“Who’s Chloe?”
“His fiancée. The mother of his baby. She was pregnant when he died.” Nick set his jaw. “Remember those damn pictures you had your stupid PI friend take?”
Michael pressed his lips together and nodded.
“She’s the girl I was hugging. We go way back. She came to me for help.”
“Feeling lonely?”
“No, jackass. She needed money for her kid. Snake died and left her with nothing for her and the baby. Her son. He’s four months old now.”
Michael exhaled. “Rough start for a kid. Dad addicted to horse, then ups and bails on him.”
“We don’t know Snake bailed. He loved Chloe, I know that much. Loved her long before they ever hooked up. Hell, back when I was with her—”
“Hmm. You were with her too. Incestuous bunch. Is that how bands are supposed to work?” Michael shook his head and his blue streak of hair flopped over his forehead. “Everyone shares the women like joints?”
Nick couldn’t decide whether to deck the guy or agree. Because yeah, there had been times he’d shared with his bandmates. Not Chloe though. He’d only been with her once, and it had been before he’d even had a band of any worth.
“I’d never share Lila with anyone,” he said in an undertone, gripping the strap of his guitar until his knuckles turned the color of bone. “Not fucking anyone.”
“And Jazz,” Michael continued as if Nick hadn’t spoken. “Definitely know there was some sharing going on there too.”
“Not like you’re thinking, and actually, I’d prefer if you didn’t think about her at all. So would her husband.” Nick frowned. “You’re not saying you guys and Molly have…”
Michael snorted. “Our Molly? Ha. Yeah right. That girl is so focused she barely notices we have dicks. Sure, I think we’ve all had moments when it comes to her, but vice versa, nope. She doesn’t see us that way. She’s all about blazing her path, and we better catch up or she’ll leave all our asses behind.”
Nick grinned. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”
“But we’re missing something. We’ve got good people but something’s just not jiving.”
“Li said you want another dedicated guitarist.”
“Yeah. I do. Ryan’s been stuck on drums and he’s not too keen on grabbing an axe to suit the songs I think we need him on. He’s good, but his skill is more at adding layers to songs that need it. He’s great with arrangements, and he’ll pick up a pair of bongos if we need it or grab a freaking steel pedal, but I’m talking about someone I can go back to back with every night.” Michael dug out his phone and thumbed to some video. Much to Nick’s surprise, he hit play on a clip of Oblivion’s show at Red Rocks the year before. “Like this. This shit right here? Fucking magic.” The reverence in his tone at the dueling guitarists now filling his screen made Nick more than a little lightheaded.
Especially since he was one of the two guitarists.
Nick cleared his throat. “I didn’t want him to join at first.” Watching himself and Gray interact so naturally on stage was more than surreal. Only he knew how hard it was each and every time he had to get up on stage. He hid it from everyone as best he could.
Simon had known. He’d teased him about it and he’d helped him as best he could. But ultimately, his showoff best friend had been born for the stage and probably didn’t get deep down how Nick shunned it. He did what he had to do because music was his life, and it wasn’t enough for him to play in basement Laundromats. That didn’t mean he didn’t struggle with—and face—his demons every time he saw his face reflected in the shining eyes of all the people in the audience.
Now that he’d been given time away, he realized how much time he’d wasted. His fears had gripped him so totally that he’d rarely taken a deep breath and just savored the moment. He’d always been getting by and getting over and getting through.
And Oblivion was no more.
It would be again. Lila had a contract that meant it would be. But that was from a legal standpoint, not coming from a place of passion. Maybe they’d lost that. Perhaps the year apart would end up killing the magic they’d had and no piece of paper could legislate the failure the world had watched them become.
“No way. Gray’s incredible.”
“He is. But I was a dick back then.” Still am, he amended in his head. “I wasn’t ready to compete with anyone else. The guitar was my instrument, and Oblivion was my band, and dammit, if I didn’t want two guitarists, well then, there wasn’t going to be two.”
“Even though he’s amazing? And adding him brought so much to your sound?”
“Yeah, well, it took me awhile to reach the point of caring about what was
actually good for the band. At first all that mattered was that I hadn’t come up with the idea and I didn’t think it was necessary, so fuck off. But Jazz and Gray came as a matched set, and we needed a drummer. We needed her.”
“Hell yeah, she’s hot as fuck.” Michael cleared his throat at Nick’s cool look. “Seriously talented too.”
“Uh-huh. So we took them both. And they changed everything.”
“Some Fleetwood Mac shit for the new generation,” Michael mused, rubbing his scruffy chin.
Nick ignored him. “Point being, sometimes you don’t know exactly what you need until it finds you.”
“Maybe not, but in this case, I do. We need another guitarist.”
Nick slid his guitar down between his knees and pulled out his phone. He scrolled to a clip he’d recorded last week and pressed play. The acoustic version of “Simple Man” was stripped down and bare bones, as was the soft, hesitant female voice that came with it. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision to record it at all, because he’d damn well known she didn’t expect him to. They’d started playing together again last winter, and she’d still tell anyone who asked, including Lila, that she was just playing as a lark. It didn’t mean anything. She was just using the guitar as a way to fill some hours when she wasn’t taking care of their father.
But Nick knew. He knew, because he recognized the same hunger in the eyes so much like his own. He might as well be looking in a mirror.
“Wow. Who’s that?” Michael leaned closer, wanting to see the video that went with the song. He got a glimpse of long blond hair shielding her face before Nick slid his thumb over the image and tucked her away.
His heart was beating way too fast. As fast as if he’d been auditioning himself, and that was just crazy. She didn’t even know he’d mentioned her to Michael. Hell, he hadn’t even been aware he was going to do it until right before he pressed play.
“She’s terrific. Got some chops,” Michael said, clearly trying to draw him out. “Who is she?”
Nick swallowed and slipped his cell back in his pocket. “My sister.”
“No way. Seriously?”