Strung Out (Needles and Pins #1)

by Lyrica Creed

  “Can we just get on with it?” Gage leveled a stare so dark, the other man was unable to hold it.

  “This is a thot free zone.” The guy didn’t look up from the soundboard as he spoke.

  At first, I was sure I had misunderstood. But Gage’s reaction—and even Colt’s—told me I had heard correctly.

  Gage came up out of his chair and Colt moved in as well. Although, penned in by the two men and the equipment, the guy didn’t back down. Nodding my way, he gestured. “That’s your cue to leave, baby doll.”

  “You fucking idiot.” Gage raged. “Have I ever brought anyone to the studio? That should be your first clue she’s not just anybody!”

  Colt snickered. “Seriously. If you knew who you just dissed, you’d be shitting your pants.”

  At this, Gage’s angry gaze washed over his bandmate in a warning, and Colt pressed his lips together, but they remained curled in amusement.

  “I don’t care who she is, but fine. She can stay. And I’m sorry I assumed.” His wise but grudging apology had Gage and Colt backing off. I didn’t acknowledge I’d even heard. Despite his dismissive words, the guy continued to flick curious eyes my way through the rest of the session.

  The rest of the band eyed me too, and I knew they would be questioning Gage and Colt later about my identity. The more immediate problem though was the asshole’s reaction to the composition Gage had worked on and Colt had been sure was ‘the one.’ The producer shook his head so vigorously and so much, I hoped he would get whiplash. Gage grabbed up the guitar again and played some variations, and their drummer hopped behind the set to change the beat up a bit. But the man declared it a waste of his afternoon and even lobbed the thumb drive into the trash for emphasis. When he began to suggest a publisher to work with, Gage went ballistic.

  “That’s what this is really all about isn’t it? Credits on what you know will be a platinum album. You owe someone a favor—or want them to owe you. Well fuck you; no one is riding this gravy train!”

  “Word is you may not be riding the train much longer yourself.” The words were a mutter, but distinct enough as the guy swayed cockily in his chair.

  “What did you say, motherfucker?”

  “I think you know.”

  Gage bent, fitting his guitar into its case, snapped it closed, and snatched it up. He made a silent exit. I jumped from my seat and followed, my mind still reeling with everything that had gone down in little more than an hour.

  He was quiet and once we were on the freeway, I asked, “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Thanks. He’s a dick. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  He texted his father and drove a bit until exiting and maneuvering through traffic. The restaurants’ valet parking took the car. Another young man manifested and escorted us away from the main entrance and in through a private door. We made small talk with our host during a quick elevator ride. The metal doors pinged open into a hallway and we were shown into a private dining room. It was an elegant setup. A chandelier hung above a formally set table and a fireplace took up one wall. Another wall was glass and looked down into the main dining area of the restaurant.

  We were fixed up with drinks from a galley off to the side. After fussing over us, taking appetizer orders, and offering music, television, or a movie, the server pressed the electronic tablet in his hand and the screen behind the bar came to life with a muted baseball game. The television remote and a server call button was left near Gage, and we were left alone.

  “So this is how the rock stars dine.” I swirled my wine and watched him sip his water.

  “This is how Dad dines,” Gage corrected, but he was enough at ease with the routine for me to be skeptical.

  “Can they see up here?” I eyed the hive of activity beyond the glass on the ground floor.

  “No. It’s a mirror from that side.”

  We didn’t talk much. Mostly he watched the game with his ankle hooked around mine beneath the table. Sometimes his eyes seemed somewhere beyond the television screen, and it wasn’t hard to guess with everything that had happened that afternoon, what was on his mind.

  It was at least a half hour before my former stepfather was ushered into the room, and I stood to greet him. He seemed ecstatic to see me, and I felt the same. During the time he had fulfilled the role of paternal parent, I had felt closer to him than to my own mother.

  “You look good, son.”

  Father and son embraced in the typical man handshake-slash-hug. We ordered dinner, and after a bit of small talk, I listened quietly as the two men spoke of Gage’s legal difficulties. Both had an identical furrow between their brows. Gage randomly played footsie with me, and I wondered if he was drawing comfort from the contact or if it was an unconscious nervous gesture.

  I had taken the last bite of lobster ravioli and had folded my napkin beside my plate when the attention shifted unexpectedly to me.

  With a smile of empathy, my former stepfather asked, “Gage tells me you’re going to hide out in Big Sur until the insanity phase is over?”

  I looked to Gage, wondering if Big Sur and Arrowhead Woods as he’d recently called his lake cabin destination were one and the same.

  “Arrowhead, Dad.”

  “Oh. Well, I think it’s a great idea,” his dad replied, and I wondered how many second homes they had between the two of them.

  A server appeared, swept away our plates, and another offered a dessert cart for our perusal. To my surprise, Gage accepted a cherry cheesecake slice and I had to bite my tongue to keep from teasing him that the cherry topping wouldn’t get him out of drinking his bedtime cherry drink.

  When the three of us were alone again, his father sipped at a cup of coffee. “Listen, I’d like to set you up with my accountants. Arrange a meeting to talk about your situation.”

  I had stolen Gage’s fork and shaved a bite from his dessert, but I paused in surprise before putting it to my lips.

  “They are some of the best, and that includes brokers on the East Coast. Look at Gage. His financial comforts are sure not due to the music business. It’s all about taking what you have and making sound investments—and having someone who will manage your money as carefully as if it were their own.”

  “I do understand that. But Tate and Jones have had it from the first dollar—before it was even mine.” I spoke of the accounting firm that had managed my father’s money, both before and after his death.

  Gage’s father’s eyes were almost identical to Gage’s and therefore easy for me to read. The empathy in their dark depths upped a few notches, and suddenly, I understood.

  “You told him?” The fork clattered from my fingers as it hit the china plate. My chest felt heavy with betrayal. After the initial affirmation I found in Gage’s gaze, I swung my eyes to the glass wall. Gathering my thoughts, I took a breath and a sip of the wine the server insisted on topping off each time he came to the table.

  “He can help—”

  “Because I’m incapable? Because I blew it the first time around? I was a kid. And I didn’t even know about the money until it was gone!”

  “Scar…” Gage’s fingers curled gently around my wrist but I snatched my arm away. “You’re about to become a billionaire—”

  “You know what I think? I think you’re trying to deflect your dad from your screwed-up shit to my screwed-up shit.” Pulling my leg away from his, I used it to shove my chair back, but before standing, I realized I had nowhere to go. It wasn’t as if I could storm out of the restaurant and call a cab.

  Gage didn’t let that issue stop him. Either he was more used to dealing with the back maze of hallways in establishments such as this, or it could be his only objective was to get out. The door closed behind him, and I raised my chin to my former stepfather, feeling somewhat ashamed.

  “I’m sorry for the scene. It’s a touchy subject with me.”

  “Understandable.”

  “I don’t even think I realized how much I resented her until I got away.” M
y mother’s face intruded into my thoughts while speaking of her. “I can’t even take her calls anymore.”

  “I’m truly sorry. That shouldn’t have happened. It really shouldn’t. At least though there is the trust. Your father was smart to set things up that way. I’m guessing he had some very sound advice, so I know Tate and Jones are good at what they do. But…” He trailed off, possibly realizing he was pushing the matter again. “I realize I’ve blindsided you with this. But once you have time to give it some thought, call me if you want to talk. Okay?”

  “Moving the money would probably be a huge undertaking.”

  “Not for you. For you it will simply be your signature a dozen or so times.” Gage’s father curved a reassuring smile. “Just think about it.”

  “Okay. I will. Thank you.”

  He came around and politely held my chair as I stood. “Your mother called me looking for you. She wanted Gage’s number, but I didn’t give it to her.”

  “Sorry.” I rolled my eyes, wondering how many times in my life I had apologized for the woman who bore me.

  “Did you know she’s in L.A.?”

  My feet seemed to fill with lead, and I froze when it became too much of an effort to take a step. Every spider sense I had told me his next words were about to fuck my world up.

  “No. Why? Why would she be here?” And how the hell could she have afforded a flight?

  The passport incident clouded my mind—the strange pitch in my mom’s voice when she’d explained why the bag was out of the safe…

  Chapter 35

  It had been one of those days when the entire world seemed against him. His own body. The withdrawals had battered his body with the force of a jackhammer, waking him around dawn. He remembered from the few times he’d cleaned up before that right when it seemed he was coasting through the detox, he’d have a particularly bad day. Scarlette had mixed an extra ‘witches brew’ and it had helped. Then the shit going down at Noise City. And now, even Scarlette had verbally attacked him.

  He splashed his face and thanked the bathroom attendant for the hand towel readily passed his way. Studying his reflection, he patted off the moisture.

  For the first time, a weird thought struck him. He wasn’t terrified at being thrown out of the band, or of the band breaking up. As his dad had mentioned to Scar, the band after providing the funding for his investments had ceased to be his main source of income. He was a musician. He could begin another band. Or not. There were a dozen music-related fields he could consider.

  For now though, tonight, he had his hobby band. The cover band Metal Feds played once a month at Cappy, a club on Ocean Avenue. Several musicians rotated through the lineup, depending on who was not on tour.

  He’d been excited when he’d invited Scar earlier today, but now she was so pissed at him, she might change her mind about going. And that was fine. Whatever. In some respects, she was the smartest, toughest woman he knew. And in some ways, she needed to grow the fuck up.

  After dropping some cash into the tip jar, he exited the restroom and found his father and Scar in the hallway. Ignoring Scarlette for the time being, he faced his father who had nodded to one of the hostesses, confirming they were ready to go downstairs. “We’re playing tonight. The cover band. If you want to come by for a bit.”

  “Cappy?” When Gage nodded, his old man surprised him by agreeing. “Sure. I’ll be there.”

  By the time the valet brought the car around, Gage had been recognized by a few patrons who were arriving, and accordingly, he had smiled for two selfie pics.

  Once they were safely inside the Lotus and on their way, Scarlette joked. “You looked like a giant next to that girl.”

  “I thought I was going to end up on my knees.” He joked back, recalling how far he’d had to kneel to get into the camera frame with her.

  She blew out a breath. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

  “Why? It’s true. She was a shrimp.”

  “No. In the dining room. I’m such a bitch when I get upset.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m sorry, okay?”

  She was sounding hostile again, and he spared a quick glance from the line of taillights in front of him. “Okay. Apology accepted.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He matched her formal tone and then dropped a casual hand on the back of her seat so that her hair tickled his thumb.

  Despite her apology, she seemed off at the club. She was quiet and even ordered water, as he had done. He studied her for a moment, before leaving her at the table with his father and going into the back to change clothes.

  From the stage, he squinted past the lights and was relieved to find a smile on her face. Because he knew her so well, he worried that anytime now she could snap out of this sweet trance they’d both been living in for the last few days. He was accustomed to her calculating nature, and he was afraid she would soon evaluate this new relationship between them and find it unacceptable for some reason.

  If she did, he’d simply win her back over. But the truth was, with much of his life in turmoil, it would be so much easier if he didn’t have to fight for his love life.

  The rhythm and performance soon demanded his full attention, and he welcomed letting the music lull all other thoughts away.

  During their first set break, his father congratulated him on a great show but said he had to leave. After telling him goodbye and walking him to the door, Gage detoured to the bar before returning to Scar with a water for each of them and a shot of Petrón for her. On Metal Fed nights, the establishment vetted those who came inside during the sets, so that it didn’t become an out of control fan fest. Even so, the bar was always near full capacity before the show was over. At his request, management set up a table with one barstool very near the stage, just off to the side. He settled Scarlette there before hopping back into the limelight for the second half of the show.

  He liked being able to see the expressions on her face and soon found himself showing off for her. He ate up the adulation he saw in her eyes. Although she still wasn’t smiling, she seemed to be more relaxed. Since she was now in the spillover from the stage lights, he could see she was drinking a colorful drink garnished with fruit. When she began to sway in her seat, all but dancing without being on her feet, he couldn’t take his eyes from her.

  And then the predictable happened.

  A man stopped beside her chair, leaning in close to speak to her. She shook her head a couple of times. After what looked like a forced laugh in response to whatever he said, she allowed herself to be led into the midst of the dancers.

  Only years of sheer professionalism―learning to continue the show through anything―kept him singing and his fingers dancing on the guitar strings when the prick closed in on her enough that they brushed against one another while dancing. Scar drew away, continuing her sexy sway, and when it happened again, she actually looked up at the guy with a frown before pulling apart a second time. When the guy’s arms closed around her, Gage did miss a chord, but the crowd was frenzied and didn’t notice his lapse. Professionalism flew out the window. He had taken the step that would allow him to leap from the stage into the crowd where he would rip the guy’s head from his neck when Scarlette broke free, and with a twist through the writhing bodies, found another place to dance. Gage wanted to laugh when the guy stared after her and then tromped to the bar.

  She was uninhibited and free, dancing much of the time with her eyes half closed as if she were in her own world. When the song ended, he waited for the hoots and cheers to die down and then spoke into the microphone.

  “Ever get one of those songs that won’t leave you alone? The one that plays in your head, over and over, all day? Well, I’ve got to get this one out. Sing along with me.” He moved a few steps across the stage and enlightened the bass player, who in turn passed the information along. By the time the song was relayed to the rest of the band and they were all in unity, he was reveli
ng in the astounded and smitten gaze of the woman he was singing his heart out to.

  She had stopped dancing and was doing a side-to-side swing of her hips to the rhythm, with her eyes locked to his.

  When the last set ended, he hopped to the main level and escorted her toward the corner table where the band and their friends had grouped.

  There were a few Fire Flight fans, and he attended to them with autographs or posing for pictures, but kept a wary eye when he saw Scar’s stiff stance and forced smiles of earlier in the evening had returned. If she hadn’t already been reverbing weird vibes all night, he would have gleefully assumed she was jealous of the blonde who kept twining around him.

  Shaking the girl off for at least the fifth time, he ignored her pouty red lips and asked, “Sweetie, could you grab me a drink?”

  The gal’s mope transformed into a glowing smile. When her squeaky voice inquired what he wanted, he immediately turned to Scar. “What do you want to drink?”

  “Um, a tequila sunrise sounds good…” She seemed uncertain as she took in the other woman’s reaction to the scene playing out.

  “Tequila sunrise.” He turned back and informed ‘blondie,’ whose mouth dropped open at his audacity. “Oh, and a water for me. Thanks, sweetie.”

  The Barbie clone flounced away with an audible hiss. Yeah. He should probably collect Scar’s drink himself to ensure it was spit free…

  “You’re such an ass.” Scar informed him, but her face was alight with amusement, and he loved at last seeing a real smile tonight.

  “An ass who can’t keep his hands off of you,” he mumbled, pulling her backside against him. “Come dance with me…”

  After being teased with the spectacle of her dancing while he was as good as behind a glass wall while on stage, he was nuts to touch her. His hands settled on the curve of her hips, soaking in the warmth of her body through the jeans she wore.

  The denim was a heavenly friction against his own jeans, and he molded himself to her, wondering if she would pull away. It was all he could do to keep his hands from traveling upward to cup the curves straining against one of those stretchy shirts she always seemed to wear.