Wild Child (Rock Royalty #6)

by Christie Ridgway

  She was shaking her head. “I don’t think… It’s not… I wish…”

  “No, I wish. God, how I wish.” He drew in a breath, let it out. “When I was small, our mother left the compound with another musician. Bing and I were six, Cilla just a baby. Can you imagine that?”

  She shook her head again.

  “It was very early in the morning… I suppose she was sneaking away. I got out of bed and found her in the courtyard, loading up her bags in this other dude’s van. She was pretty much forced to say goodbye to me in person.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I lost it, of course. I told her we needed her. That I needed her.”

  “Oh, Brody.”

  “Then I pleaded with her to stay.” Now he climbed off the mattress, naked sinew, muscle, and bone. All male beauty. “But I wasn’t enough for her… Just like I guess I’m not enough for you.”

  And with that, Brody Maddox walked down the stairs and out of her life. Part of her wanted to cry out. You don’t understand, it’s the other way around! I’m not enough for you! But her throat closed up as tight as her heart, and, dry-eyed, she fell back onto the mattress to stare up at the ceiling, wishing her return to Topanga had only been a dream.

  Chapter 13

  On Wednesday it rained steadily all day, and Ash stayed inside the house until near five p.m. On her way toward the front door, she glanced at the dollhouse still in place on the table in the kitchen. The Brae doll had toppled over, so she stopped to put her back on her feet. Ashlynn had fallen, too, and now once again lay on the floor with eyes trained upward, eerily similar to how the real Ash had reposed on the bed once Brody left.

  He hadn’t called or come over since.

  What had you expected? she demanded of herself as she let herself out and ran to her car, holding her slicker over her head. He’d told her he loved her.

  She’d told him she was moving away.

  Now wasn’t the time to dwell on that. She’d already had hours to review that exchange, and there was an entire lifetime to continue convincing herself she’d done the right thing. Tonight her focus had to be getting through the event at Satan’s without breaking down. At the appropriate moment, composure intact, she’d inform the gathered crowd of Satan’s friends and fans that the roadhouse was passing out of the Childe family hands. Soon.

  Holding her breath, she inserted her key into the car’s ignition. It started right up, and she exhaled in relief. A good omen, she decided. The automotive service she’d called had jumped her car Monday evening, and her battery still had plenty of juice.

  She’d topped off the gas tank, too. In the morning she’d shove her still-packed suitcases of clothes into the back seat and turn the vehicle north.

  But tonight she drove the short trip to the roadhouse’s parking lot. Many of its spaces were already filled, but she found her usual corner empty. Car in place, she squeezed the steering wheel, met her own gaze in the rear view mirror, and delivered a little mental pep talk.

  One more night, she told her reflection. Keep smiling, keep pouring, keep the pain back one more night.

  Upon her return to Saratoga, she would bury it even deeper.

  Sucking in a huge breath, she forced herself out of the car. Tonight she’d costumed herself full-Brae, dressing in a black, swing-style mini that had a deep V-neck, elbow-length sleeves, and celestial symbols embroidered in silver and gold thread. Silver-colored fish-net stockings covered her legs, and she wore the usual black boots. As she lifted the slicker to cover her head for the dash to the entrance, the silver and gold bangles on her wrists chimed. They matched the long earrings and the many-chained necklace she’d chosen to wear as well.

  Music sounded through the closed doors as she approached. Seventies rock ‘n’ roll, a favorite of her father’s. Likely there’d be some Velvet Lemons songs blasting through the speakers tonight, she thought with a sudden pang.

  Keep smiling, keep pouring, keep the pain back one more night.

  Her bouncer and the sounds of a getting-happy crowd greeted her as she gripped a door handle and pulled.

  “Ash!” Jim yelled over all the noise. “We thought you’d never get here.”

  “Gus told me to keep away until five,” she said.

  Then she saw why. Satan’s had been decorated for the evening’s celebration.

  Her gaze focused upward, she stepped farther inside. Dozens and dozens of black and white helium balloons gathered at the ceiling, their ribbon tails hanging low. Thin wire criss-crossed the room high over the heads of the patrons, and hanging from them were black and white photographs in an assortment of large sizes, making their subject matter easily distinguishable.

  Ash came to a stop, her gaze glued to them. There was a shot of her dad and Brae, beaming as they stood beside the custom jukebox. Another of Brae dancing on top of the bar. Her dad with a grin, holding out a sweating mug of beer.

  Viv’s arm hooked around Ashlynn’s. “What do you think?”

  I think I want to pull a blanket over my head. But instead of voicing that sentiment, she smiled and began walking again, toward the bar. “I think I’d better get to work. What a mob.”

  “It’ll only get bigger,” Viv warned. “But you don’t have to do anything tonight except enjoy yourself. Gus scheduled all the other bartenders.”

  “I’d like to stay busy.” Keep smiling, keep pouring, keep the pain back one more night.

  “You can,” Viv said. “There’s plenty of people who want to talk with you.”

  The older woman wasn’t wrong. It seemed as if the guests took the event as permission to share a story about her father or her twin or both—something most must have been reluctant to do, it seemed, when she’d worked on the other side of the bar.

  One time your dad held a keg-rolling contest…

  Brae kicked my two-timing husband out on his ass when he came in with another woman…

  Your dad and your sister put on the best Christmas Eve bash at Satan’s last year…

  Through the reminiscences she managed to listen and laugh and sip at the glass of wine someone had slipped into her hand. Maybe it was that particular beverage that added a little of Saratoga-Ashlynn aplomb to her persona. She hadn’t imbibed a civilized chardonnay since arriving in Topanga.

  Murmuring a “thanks for coming” as another storyteller wandered off, Ash congratulated herself on her self-possession. Maybe she’d survive the night after all.

  “Hey.” A hand touched her elbow.

  She turned, her eyes widening as she took in Cilla Maddox, Ren Colson, Brody’s twin Bing, and his fiancée Alexa.

  “I…” Her gaze darted past them. Had Brody—?

  “The four of us can’t stay long,” Cilla said, and there was a soft look in her eyes that suggested she knew what Ash had been thinking.

  But it was only the four of them.

  “We wanted to pay our respects,” Ren said. “We know it’s a celebration of life, but we’re very sorry for your loss.”

  Cilla moved in to give Ash a warm hug. Ren followed suit, then Alexa.

  “Thank you,” Ash managed to say to each. “How very kind.”

  Next Bing was looking down at her, and her breath caught in her chest at the sympathetic warmth in his gaze. He wasn’t Brody, but the similarity couldn’t help calling the other man to mind.

  I’m in love with you, Ash.

  The pain in her heart knocked, rattling the chains she’d wrapped around it. She pressed her palm to her chest.

  “You doing all right?” Bing said. “I know this is hard.”

  “Sure.” She nodded. “I’ll be fine.” At least they didn’t have a memory of her dad or Brae to share…that helped. “Can I get you a drink or something? There’s food…”

  But Bing was shaking his head. “We’ve got to be somewhere, but we were drafted to also deliver this.” His hand lifted to show he held a large, glossy gift bag. “It’s from my brother. Happy Birthday.”

  That heavy, f
ortressed heart of hers fell to the pit of her stomach. Her birthday. Brae’s birthday. She’d forgotten.

  “Thank you,” she said, her control beginning to crack.

  The proffered bag ended up in her arms, and she clutched it to her chest as if it might save her.

  Or destroy her.

  “Why don’t you take it to the back,” Cilla suggested. “And we won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure you have many other people who want your attention.”

  “I…yes. Thank you.” Ash couldn’t come up with any more sensible things to say. “Thank you for coming.”

  With a final wave, Cilla and the other three turned toward the exit. Ash ran for the break room.

  There, she dropped to the old sofa, the present in her lap. It was a bulky package, consisting of several objects, each wrapped in bright tissue paper.

  What to do? Save it, shove it in the garbage, leave it for someone else to find? Then her hands went to work without her permission. In a flurry of movement they delved into the bag, throwing off the thin paper to reveal each item.

  A two-bowl pet dish, one side for water, one side for food.

  A handful of cat toys.

  A package of catnip.

  Tucked side-by-side were a cat bed and a soft-sided carrier.

  At the very bottom of the bag was a final small item, tightly wrapped. She quickly peeled off the onion layers of paper and then sat frozen, with the white leather pet collar draped in her hands. A small silver bell attached to the buckle. On a gleaming metal plate was inscribed two words.

  Topanga Magic.

  Brody had given that name to the cat.

  “Ash?”

  Her head jerked up. Cilla stood at the entrance to the break room.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt. I wanted to say one more thing.”

  Ash rose from the sofa. “I have to get back out there, anyway.” Keep smiling, keep it together, keep the pain back one more night.

  “I don’t know if Brody told you,” his sister said, “but not so long ago we lost a friend. Her name was Gwendolyn Moon, and she was the closest thing most of us ever had to a maternal figure.”

  “I wasn’t aware,” Ash replied. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I don’t know if this will help you at all…but I’ve learned to make peace with my grief.”

  Ash swallowed.

  “We’re not friends or anything exactly,” Cilla said with a tiny smile, “but I don’t try to keep it locked out any longer.”

  Interesting. Ash was doing all she could to keep hers locked in and locked down.

  “I think it’s going to be around a while, likely forever,” the other woman continued, “and the best I can do is just give it a little hug when it shows.”

  “A hug,” Ash repeated.

  “A hug.” Cilla nodded. “And then I think of a memory or two that makes me smile, and I step right up to living life the best that I know how. It’s the reason I snagged Ren, by the way. After losing Gwen, I wasn’t going to miss out on my shot with the sexiest man I know.”

  Her smug expression startled a laugh out of Ash. “I think he’s lucky to have you.”

  “Damn straight,” Cilla said. “Now…can I walk you back out there?”

  With the other woman at her side, Ash found she could face a second round. Once back in the public area, she was swamped by more guests. More stories. More memories old friends wanted to share.

  With another glass of wine in hand, she managed to keep breathing, keep smiling, keep the pain locked down.

  Irv and Viv showed up to extract her from the boozy retelling of a yarn an old-time Topanga resident had already told her twice before that evening.

  “It’s time,” Irv said.

  “To wrap this up?” Had she actually made it?

  Irv shook his head. “We have a slide show that we’ll end with. But first, it might be nice if you’d say a few words.”

  Ash stilled. “I…”

  “Thank everyone for coming,” said Viv. “That’s all. And anything else that comes to mind.”

  Oh, God! She’d promised herself to make the announcement about the change in the roadhouse’s ownership. It was the moment, wasn’t it? Now was the time.

  “Okay. I… Yeah,” she said. “I’ll do it. I have to do it.” I have to do it.

  Irv banged a glass against the bar, trying to get the crowd’s attention. When that didn’t work, Viv hurried about the space, shushing various groups. The room grew quieter as she made her way through, and Ash used the extra moments to get her thoughts in order. Her nerves settled as she breathed deeply and recalled the many times she’d addressed a gathering.

  Fundraising Ash had experience speaking to large numbers of people, even persuading them to empty their wallets and feel good about it. Surely she could find a way to spin her news in a positive way, too.

  Her gaze drifted upward. Overhead hung a photo of her dad and Brae, arm-in-arm behind Satan’s bar. Ash stared into her sister’s face. It looked so alive, the smiling mouth about to laugh, the eyes glinting with humor, as if she’d just recalled a fond memory.

  Like the time they’d created a bank of “snow” on the stairs with layers of blankets and slid down them on boogie boards.

  Their first day of school when Ash had refused to be placed in a separate classroom from Brae, and her twin had good-naturedly gone along with the revolt.

  Or when they lay awake whispering about their future weddings, and Brae said she wanted six husbands and Ash vowed to only marry Daddy.

  Hmm. Issues, much?

  At the thought, she smiled.

  “Ashlynn?” Viv said now.

  She started, then glanced around, realizing the entire roadhouse had gone silent—even the jukebox. Swallowing, she straightened her shoulders and focused on one particularly friendly face. Gus, who’d been her right hand and Brae’s before that.

  Ash had come to suspect he’d been more than a little in love with her sister.

  She glanced up at the photo again, her gaze shifting from Brae to her father, then back again. In that moment it happened. The bitter combination of grief and loss and dark regret for never connecting with them as she’d longed to do punched through the barricades around her heart. Pain shot through her body, and she threw out a hand, bracing herself on the bar to stay upright.

  “Ash?” Irv said.

  Her vision blurred as tears stung at her eyes. “I…I…” She licked her dry lips. “I…”

  I can’t survive this. I have to get out of here. Go away. Go now. Go north.

  Then the one of the entrance doors burst open, hitting the wall with a thud. The smell of rain and a cold chill rushed inside, and the photographs hanging from the wires swung.

  “Help! Quick!” Jim the bouncer shouted. “The back building’s on fire, and they’ve got more Molotov cocktails!”

  Rain.

  The night before, Ash had thanked the heavens for it. This morning she cursed the unceasing, driving wet. With care, she picked her way down the slick porch steps, the last item she intended to transport cradled in her arms. The wind blew back the hood of her slicker, and the downpour instantly wet her hair and sent freezing rivulets down the back of her neck. She gritted her teeth and carried on, blinking to ensure her car hadn’t floated away without her.

  The cat had been corralled in her pet carrier and placed in the back seat. Though it was likely the creature had never before been penned, she was smart enough or enough in tune with nature to know this was an emergency. The small creek surrounding the house had overrun its banks, and now was more raging river than charming stream.

  Worse was the flash flood danger. At any moment, a destructive and potentially deadly rush of water could sweep through, as had happened in her grandparents’ time.

  Her phone had lost reception during the storm, but she’d been alerted by the warning on the TV screen as she’d blearily moved about the house at dawn. It was lucky she’d never gone to sleep the night before.
>
  Her boots slipped in the muck and she wobbled, clutching the dollhouse closer to her chest. It was getting soaked, too. Maybe she should have stopped to cover it in plastic, but on her last trip over the footbridge to and from her car, she’d noted the water was already rushing over the base and the waterlogged wood had rocked as she’d hurried across it.

  She took another step and slipped again, twisting her ankle and landing on her butt in the mud. Hissing out air, she closed her eyes against the pain and waited for the sharp agony to subside.

  When she could breathe again, she held the dollhouse with one arm and pushed off with the other hand to stand. This time her palm skated across the sludge, and she ended up flat on her back, rain pelting her face.

  Staring up at the leaden sky, she thought of the Ashlynn doll, for years just waiting for someone to pick her up.

  Change her life.

  Give her a new lease on it.

  “Damn it,” she muttered and sat up again.

  When she did, she heard a low rumble, a noise throaty and ominous over the loud and steady fall of the rain.

  Was that the sound of a flash flood gathering momentum?

  Her breath stuck in her throat and fear drove her, somehow, back to her feet. Indecision setting in, she looked wildly about. What direction should she run?

  The noise grew louder, and a dark vehicle shot around the corner and came to a swift halt on the other side of the creek, sending a rooster tail of water and mud into the air.

  Brody jumped out of the driver’s side.

  She stared, unsure if she’d conjured up a hero, or if it was really him.

  “Ash!” He ran toward the footbridge and put one hand on the rail and one foot on the deck. As he did, the wood collapsed, falling into pieces on itself that then washed down the now-roaring current.

  They stared at the debris racing away, then they stared at each other.

  “What are you doing here?” she yelled over the rain.

  “Never mind that. We need to get you out.” He paced along the edge of the now-wider creek, slipping and sliding but keeping on his feet. “Let’s find a good place for you to cross.”

  She mirrored his moves but with an increasing sense of worry. The stream was too wide to jump, and the current appeared to be moving too fast to wade through safely.