Evan's Encore: Meltdown: The Conclusion (Meltdown book 4)

by RB Hilliard

  “For your dad,” I said, and with a nod of my head, I started playing. The look of awe on her face was priceless. In all the years I’d been with Mandy, she’d never asked me to play for her and I’d never offered. Yet, across from me sat this wild-haired woman who I’d known all of three seconds and she’d already gotten to the soul of me.

  Quinn’s eyes widened in surprise when I started singing the first verse. By the time I hit the second verse, she was singing along with me. Neither of us knew the rest, so we just made up the words.

  “Oh my God! That was so fun and amazing!” she exclaimed when the song was over. Sadness banished, I thought.

  Winking at her, I asked, “What? You assumed it was all about the looks?”

  “Yeah, that’s it,” she shot back at me and we both laughed.

  I took another swallow of beer and smiled. “My turn. I heard this on the radio a few days ago and it made me think of you.” I didn’t tell her I’d spent three hours learning it. Some things were meant to be kept secret. I had a lot of those. With my eyes glued to hers, I began to play the Revivalists “Wish I Knew You.” I didn’t expect her to know the song. To my surprise, she joined in on the first verse. Pretty soon, we were on our feet—me singing and playing and Quinn dancing circles around me while chiming in on the chorus.

  Her next song choice was Sam Hunt’s “House Party” and I followed it with a dumbed down version of Meltdown’s “Avalanche.” After that, it was a free for all—her shouting out songs for me to play and me surprising her with a few of my favorites. A little after four in the morning, we decided to call it quits.

  “Why aren’t you the lead singer in your own band?” she asked on our way up to the house. “I mean, no offense, but I think you’re a far better singer than Grant Hardy.” Oh, the power those words could wield. Quinn’s hit hard and burrowed deep, straight through the hurt and the heartache, until they reached the heart of me.

  “I’ll tell Grant you said so,” I teased, while still trying to catch my breath from her comment.

  “Don’t you dare,” she laughed. When we reached the top of the stairs, she turned and hit me with that smile. “Thanks, Evan. I really needed this tonight.”

  The urge to pull her in, to show her what this night and her kind words meant to me, to taste her, overwhelmed me to the point of almost doing something we would both regret.

  “Goodnight, Quinn,” I managed to say. Before she could respond, I was through my bedroom door.

  “Goodnight,” I heard her say as the door closed between us.

  “Shit,” I whispered to the empty room.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “In Color”

  QUINN

  The moment I stepped inside my room, the adrenaline rush cut out. With a deep sigh, I shuffled across the floor and collapsed onto my bed. Don’t get attached, Quinn. He’s married, and even though he claims he’s getting divorced, he’s not until he is, I told myself as I nestled into the covers. That didn’t stop me from thinking about him...or his voice, or those sexy as sin tattoos, or his lips, or those eyes...God, those gorgeous green eyes. I could drown in them.

  I wasn’t an overly spiritual kind of gal, but I firmly believed that things happened for a reason. Evan Walker wasn’t here by chance. I knew this to the depths of my soul.

  My eyes drifted shut as I replayed tonight in my head. The look of surprise on Evan’s face when I stepped through the sliding glass door. His fingers as they danced across the guitar strings. The sound of his incredible voice. The way his body moved to the rhythm of the music. Dancing with him. Laughing with him. His shocked expression when I told him he was a better singer than Grant. He didn’t realize it, but he’d given me a gift. For a brief moment, my world had stopped spinning. I wasn’t thinking about my parents or worrying about the house or the bar. I was fully grounded in the moment and it felt unbelievably right. No, Evan Walker was here for a reason. I just didn’t know what that reason was.

  Pulling the pillow over my head, I let my mind wander to the night Evan showed up at Margo’s to apologize for being such an epic turd. God, I was so raw that night. Mom had just dropped a huge bomb in my lap and I didn’t know what to do. I loved my little apartment. I loved the life I’d carved out for myself, but deep down, I knew that if I let her sell the house, I would regret it. My memories of my father...my entire childhood, were sheltered inside those walls. To let them go would be like losing a part of me. I was so angry at her for making me choose and beyond hurt that she was choosing her friend and Florida over her own daughter. Couldn’t she see how much I needed her? Did she not care? I was such a mess that night. And then he showed up...

  “Look who just walked in,” Alex-Ann murmured under her breath. Glancing over at the door, I spotted him. Evan Walker, the rock star. Tonight, of all nights, this was the last thing I needed. I’d rather scrub the bar floor with a toothbrush than to go head to head with king rude himself.

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” I muttered, before slipping out from behind the bar. Jamey Johnson’s velvety rich voice followed me down the hallway and past the kitchen, where I paused in front of Sam and held out my hand.

  “Girl, when are you gonna learn?” he growled.

  In no mood to listen to his griping, I ordered, “Give it to me, Sam.” While Jamey sang about seeing life in color, our eyes locked in a mental tug-o-war.

  “Fine, kill yourself for all I care,” he finally barked before slapping the cigarette on the palm of my hand. With a nod of thanks, I slipped outside.

  I’d barely taken my first drag when I heard the door open behind me. Seriously? Could a girl not get any privacy around here?

  “If you’re going to bitch at me, you’re wasting your time,” I chided, before taking another drag.

  “Where, it is a nasty habit, I don’t think I’m the one to preach,” a sexy, deep, so-not-Sam, voice responded.

  “Beer’s inside, Rocker Boy,” I dryly stated, while trying to get my heart out of my throat and back inside my chest.

  “I’ve been called a lot of things, but Rocker Boy is most definitely a first.” The sound of his laughter barreled through me.

  “As I said, beer’s inside.” Please go, I thought.

  “Thanks for clearing that up, but I’m actually looking for you.” Of course, he was.

  “Oh?” I asked, slowly swiveling my head around so I could see him. Yep, he was still the same mouthwateringly- fine asshole. It wasn’t just one thing about him, either, but the whole damn package. Tonight, he was wearing a simple black T-shirt, jeans...and flip-flops. My eyes dropped to his feet. Hell, even those were sexy. I held my breath as he dropped down beside me.

  “Look, I was a real dick the other night and I owe you an apology.”

  I took a drag from my cigarette and slowly exhaled. “That’s sweet, darlin’, but you don’t owe me anything. No one owes me a damn thing,” I added as an afterthought.

  “Maybe not, but if you send me away feeling all guilty and shit, who knows what might happen.”

  “Fine. Apology accepted. Feel better now?” I asked.

  “Not when you say it like that,” he complained, and I couldn’t help but smile. A smile that, seconds later, faded to irritation when I noticed his eyes lock on my cigarette. Here he goes, I thought.

  “You know, those things really are bad for you.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that, but thanks for the PSA. Are we done here?”

  With a snort of humor, he brushed off my obvious annoyance, and said, “You look like you could use a friend. Believe it or not, I’m a good listener.” However tempting his offer may be, secrets were meant to be kept and family matters were private.

  “No offense, Rock Star, but talking about my problems won’t fix a damn thing. And, in case you didn’t know, you’re kind of famous and I’m kind of not.”

  Smiling his deadly smile at me, he responded, “Fame is overrated, and just so you know, I’m also a person.” Talk about relentless.

&n
bsp; Smiling back at him, I gave as good as I got. “Whereas I appreciate the offer of friendship, my dance card is full right now.”

  “Ouch,” he murmured, and I realized that, once again, I was being a bitch.

  “I’m sorry,” I said on a loud exhale. “That was really bitchy. I’m just having family problems right now and really don’t feel like talking about it.”

  “You’re not the only one,” he muttered.

  His response surprised me enough to actually call him on it. “What does a guy like you have to be worried about? I mean, really? Did you lose a couple of million on your latest tour?” The second I said it, I wanted to take it back. What was wrong with me? I had better manners than this. I opened my mouth to apologize, but he beat me to it.

  “Wow, Country, you’re just full of piss and vinegar tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Country?” I asked, rearing back far enough to look him in the eye. Big mistake. I’d forgotten how gorgeous his eyes were, how mesmerizing his tattoos were, how intrigued I was by his mere presence.

  “Country,” he repeated, more as a challenge than a statement.

  Fine, challenge accepted. “No, seriously, what does a guy like you have to be worried about?” He leveled his green eyes on mine and I felt completely exposed. He’d come here to apologize. Why couldn’t I just accept it? For the longest time, we sat on that ledge staring at each other. Until finally, he glanced away.

  “Never mind. You’re probably right.” He moved to get up and suddenly I didn’t want him to go. I really wanted to hear his answer.

  Before he could get away, I reached out and touched his arm. “No, really. I want to know.”

  Slowly, he settled back beside me. Then he began to talk. He told me his wife had been cheating on him and that he was filing for a divorce. He talked about how stupid he felt for not seeing it. It wasn’t so much the words, but his body language and the tone in which they were given. There was a sense of loneliness to him that called to me.

  “My dad died last year and my mom is moving to Florida,” I blurted. When he didn’t respond, I kept going. “Either I take the house or she’s selling it to the state.”

  “The state?” he questioned.

  “It’s more of an estate than a house,” I explained. “The state will end up turning it into a museum of sorts.”

  “If you don’t want it, let her sell it,” he suggested once I was through talking.

  “It’s not that easy. That house is in my blood. It’s where I grew up. It’s my family’s heritage.”

  “But you just said that you couldn’t handle it,” he pointed out.

  “I can’t handle it on my own,” I clarified.

  “Then get a housemate. Or even a live-in housekeeper.” Mom had already tried to get our housekeeper, Lowis, to move in, but she didn’t want to leave her house. That didn’t mean I couldn’t find someone else. Rock Star might be on to something.

  “You looking for a place to live?” I asked, mostly teasing but kind of not.

  “Shit no, Country. I got my own mausoleum to get rid of, but thanks for asking.”

  Evan and his brother, Ehren, stayed for beers, burgers, and a few games of pool before taking off.

  First thing the next morning, I called my mother and told her I was taking the house.

  The memory made me smile. My mind wandered to the night Evan showed up at Margo’s and offered to move in. I’d all but given up on the idea. Alex-Ann couldn’t get out of her lease and Gretchen lived with her sick mother. Hell, I’d even asked grumpy Sam. He just laughed. Then Evan stepped in to save the day. I accepted on the spot, but that didn’t stop me from wondering. Why me? Where were his friends? Where was his family? Surely, with being a rock star and all, he had enough money to purchase his own place, so...why? This made me realize how little I knew about the man living under my roof. In the middle of mulling this over, I drifted off to sleep.

  I woke to the sound of a truck coming up the drive. It took me a moment to get my bearings and then I remembered, Evan’s piano. My phone rang right as I was exiting the bed. Plucking it from the bedside table, I headed to the bathroom.

  The moment I saw the word “Bestie” pop up on the screen, I hit the button and said, “Girl, you are not going to believe what I did last night.”

  “Well, being that it’s after one and you were supposed to be here an hour ago, I reckon it was good,” Alex-Ann shot back at me. Damn, I’d completely forgotten about inventory.

  “Shit! I’m so sorry. Let me get cleaned up and I’ll be right there.”

  “Relax. Will said he’d inventory with me.”

  A few months back Alex-Ann and I decided to hire another bartender. Business was booming and neither of us had experienced a night off in months. I was planning on taking out an ad, but Alex and her make-shift sign beat me to the punch. Bartender Wanted, it said, and sat a total of three hours in Margo’s front window, before Will Grange walked through the door. With his cowboy hat, alligator boots, and southern boy accent, he fit right in. After a brief interview, he had the job. Will and Alex-Ann hit it off from the get go. I thought she was going to go for it and then Baxter got dumped. Baxter. What a loser.

  “Will said he’d work with me tonight if you want to take off,” Alex-Ann offered. The thought of putzing around the house for the rest of the day and then making a home cooked meal sounded really good.

  “I think I might take you up on that, but only if I can return the favor.”

  “Deal,” she responded. “Now, tell me about last night.”

  I told her all about the sing-along. As usual, she romanticized it. By the time I was done, she had us married with six children. God love Alex-Ann and her romantic heart.

  After a quick shower, I got dressed and made my way down to the kitchen, where I discovered a fresh pot of coffee. I could get used to this. Smiling, I poured myself a cup. I was standing at the sink when the movers strolled past my window. I waited for Evan to follow. When he didn’t appear, I refilled my cup and went looking for him.

  “I let the bitch have the house and she still won’t grant me a divorce,” I heard him say as I neared the pool house. His eyes met mine as I stepped through the open doorway. “Hey, Quinn just walked in. Can I call you back? Yeah, I’ll be there Thursday,” he added before disconnecting the call.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I saw the movers leave and thought you might need some help,” I stammered as I took in the massive, glossy black piano parked in the middle of the room. He wasn’t joking when he said it was big. To the right of the piano sat three metal stands, each holding a guitar.

  “What’s that?” I asked, nodding to the electrical tower thingy on the other side of the piano.

  “That’s a keyboard,” he answered, pointing to what looked like a mini piano, “and this baby,” he pointed to the second contraption, “allows me to record what I’m playing.” The thought of him recording songs...in my house, did funny things to my insides.

  While brushing the dust from the top of the piano, I asked, “Are you...uh... going somewhere this weekend?”

  “Huh?” His brow furrowed in confusion.

  “The phone call. You said something about Thursday?”

  “Oh, yeah. That was Chaz. Well, first it was Olivia and then it was Chaz.

  “Olivia?” I asked.

  “Chaz’s girlfriend and Meltdown’s new manager,” he responded. Seeing the confusion on my face, he gave me an eye-crossing story about managers betraying managers, Chaz getting blackmailed by a security guard, and Olivia almost getting killed. My eyes grazed over the brightly colored ink covering most of his body as I half-listened to his story. I was so absorbed by a particular design on his neck that I barely registered when his voice faded to silence.

  “So...uh...Olivia is your manager,” I stated after an abnormally long pause.

  “You didn’t catch a single word of that, did you?” he asked, his voice tinged with humor.

  “In my
defense, there was a lot to catch,” I answered, and smiled when he busted into laughter.

  “Okay, I’ll dumb it down. Olivia is Meltdown’s manager and Chaz’s girlfriend.”

  “The same one from the burger night, correct?” His lip curled and it was my turn to laugh.

  “Anyway, to answer your question, Olivia set up a benefit concert in Austin this weekend. You can come if you want.” As much as I would love to take him up on his offer, I couldn’t leave Margo’s for an entire weekend. It wouldn’t be fair to Alex-Ann or the rest of my staff.

  “Thanks, but I can’t.”

  “Margo’s?” he asked.

  “Yeah. It’s kind of hard to get away for the weekend when you own your own bar.”

  I started to ask a question, but then his phone rang.

  “I should get this,” he murmured, his eyes on his phone screen. Before I could respond, he was already deep in conversation.

  On the way back to the house, I remembered dinner. Smiling, I thought, I’ll just have to pay Rock Star another visit. Maybe he’ll even play the piano for me...

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “In My Blood”

  Evan

  “Hey, Stan, what’s up?” I asked as I watched Quinn drift back up to the main house.

  When I finally pulled my head out of my ass and decided to hire a lawyer, I chose not to go through my dad. At Chaz’s suggestion, I called Grant. After explaining the situation to him, he hooked me up with the label’s legal team and they steered me to Stan. I liked Stan as a person, but I wasn’t sold on his legal abilities, just yet.

  “I got a call from opposing counsel today and it seems that Amanda would like her car back,” Stan drawled in his thick Texas accent.

  “Yeah? Well, I’d like a divorce. Sometimes we can’t get everything we want, can we?” My abrupt response gave him pause. Good. He should have told opposing counsel to go fuck themselves.

  “I realize you’re frustrated, Mr. Walker, but we might be able to use the car as a bargaining chip.” We could, if I hadn’t already gotten rid of it.