COPYRIGHT © 2018 BY Chandra Crawford
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is expressly forbidden without the written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales, is purely coincidental.
Editor: Sassie Lewis
Illustrator: Willsin Rowe
Formatted by: JC Clarke, The Graphics Shed
18+ DUE TO SEXUAL CONTENT.
From high school frenemies to true love.
It could happen. Couldn’t it?
Back in high school, bad boy Wade Davies had a huge crush on Eva-Marie Robinson. She was perfecta curvy, copper-skinned princess who mesmerized him with her golden eyes. She was also his brother’s girlfriend, and off-limits. After the night that changed his life forever, Wade made sure the princess stayed far away from him.
Eva-Marie has wanted Wade since high since high school, but her relationship with his younger brother, Scott, makes anything between them an impossibility. Add to that, he can’t stand to be around her, and it equals zero chances she can have the one guy she craves.
Fifteen years later, Wade is the drummer for The Bladesmiths, his brother Scott’s uber-successful band. They reconnect, and have the potential for an explosive love that rocks both their worlds. But, new obstacles may put and end to things before they’ve begun, and leave Wade and Eva-Marie irreconcilable enemies.
2003- 18 years old
She was here again. The private school princess that hung out with his little brother was back. She came over after school almost every day now. There were other kids, too, sometimes, but Wade barely knew who they were. Something about her drew his attention whenever she was around. It wasn’t just her looks. She was beautiful, but beautiful girls were after him all the time. His reputation as a bad boy had made its way around the high school. Being hauled in by the cops a couple of times, even though he was innocent, had done wonders for his social life. Girls from every clique were ready to do almost anything to be his. Even a couple of the teachers had stealthily hit on him. The whole situation was ridiculous, but it hadn’t kept him from seizing a few opportunities.
But the young princess was out of his league. In all his eighteen years, Wade had never seen anyone like her before. She was tall, almost as tall as his own six feet. He’d barely have to hold his head down to kiss her. She’d fill up his arms just right. All soft curves and cushiony handfuls. And the way she walked- like she owned the universe, her back straight and head so high you could practically see the crown. Though Wade normally went for the slim, cheerleader types, the sway of this girl’s wider hips and round ass had him practically hypnotized. She could be walking through the halls at school carrying her books and still manage to look like a ballerina. Shit.
Grimacing at the direction his thought had taken, Wade bent to look in the refrigerator, seeking a distraction. Nothing interesting in there, except his father’s weird imported beer. Snagging one, he popped the top and took a deep swig before heading down the hall to his own room. The last thing he wanted to do was bump into the princess. He immediately became a tongue-tied dork, barely able to grunt hi, then scowling at her to cover his embarrassment.
Walking past Scott’s room, a flash of movement caught his eye through a crack where the door wasn’t fully closed. He paused, and saw a shiny red object floated to the floor, landing almost squarely in his line of vision. A red, silky tank top. Exactly like the one the princess had been wearing. Wade’s gaze flew to the sliver of mirror he could see without hesitation.
They were lying on Scott’s bed, kissing. His jeans clad leg was thrown across hers, her bare toes pressed against his sock. He was shirtless, leaning over her. She still wore a red bra that matched her missing tank. As Wade watched, his brother ran his hand up the smooth, coppery skin of her belly, moving steadily closer to the red lace-covered promised land.
Stalking back toward the kitchen, Wade turned up the beer bottle, chugging the remainder of the contents and tossing the empty before slamming out the back door. Jumping into his halfway restored classic hot rod, he roared down the driveway. Burning rubber, he sped away toward the drive-in theater where he and his friends usually hung out after dark.
He pulled into their regular spot near screen four, and his buddies immediately surrounded the car, climbing in once he put the top down, and tossing him a beer. Wade guzzled that one down, ate a handful of popcorn from somebody’s bag, and grabbed another can. Maybe if he drank enough, he could blot out the memory of the princess’ beautiful brown skin with his brother’s hands all over it. Or how eaten up with jealousy he was because Scott was the one who got to kiss her. And who knows what the fuck else he was doing to her by now. Popping the top on the next brew, he drank deeply.
By the end of the double feature, Wade was seeing in multiples and slurring his words. He couldn’t remember either of the two movies, but he hadn’t forgotten the red bra, or how angry he was that Scott was touching it. He was going home right now and putting a stop to that shit. He fumbled for the keys, but they kept moving away from his grasp.
“Dude, you’re drunk. I’ll drive.”
That was Jeremy. Cool. He didn’t trust anyone with his car. She was his baby. But he had to go save the princess. At least Jeremy’s dad was a cop. If they got pulled over, he could get them out of trouble. Jeremy was always getting out of trouble. His dad seemed determined to send Wade up the river, though.
After sliding into the passenger seat, Wade finally got the seatbelt buckled, then laid back to rest for a moment. He didn’t feel so hot, and his mouth tasted like stale beer and burnt popcorn. He must have nodded off. A sharp yank on his shoulder woke him up. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus through the pain in his head and the churning in his stomach. His beloved hot rod was parked dangerously close to a tree. Jeremy was no longer in the driver’s seat, but there was a smear of blood on the steering wheel. It was lit up in the glow of the lights from the police car behind him.
“Finally got’cha,” Wade heard as Jeremy’s father, Officer Fargas, pulled him roughly from the wreckage and slapped on a pair of handcuffs.
As he was hustled to the police car, Wade passed by Jeremy, who was sitting on the ground in a puddle of his own barf, holding his bloody head. He looked as bad as Wade felt. But that didn’t let him off the hook for wrecking his baby. They would get it all sorted out at the police station.
****
2005- 20 years old
A year and a half in jail for drunk driving. Innocent. Destruction of property. Innocent. And underage drinking. Guilty. Thanks to the quick thinking, and even faster talking, of Officer Fargas, his own son was never involved. Even Wade’s parents believed he was guilty of all the charges. After all, who takes the word of a sloppy drunk teenager over the long arm of the law? Only Scott knew his big brother was innocent. He was the one person who took it on faith that none of what happened was his fault, and that he hadn’t even been driving the car. And the only one who could never know why Wade had gotten so drunk in the first place.
Still, here he was. Home just in time to attend his little brother’s graduation. Wade was proud of Scott. While he’d been locked up, Scott’s band had been posting their rehearsals online. They’d gone from a little garage band to an internet sensation, garnering the kind of attention that eventually turned
into a recording contract. In a few days, Scott would be off to Hollywood to become the star he deserved to be. Meanwhile, Wade had a jailhouse G. E. D. and certifications in auto mechanics and auto body repair. He wasn’t bitter. At least not towards Scott and his success. But the urge to wonder “what if” was strong sometimes.
“Scott Davies.” Wade stood and clapped, whistling loudly as his brother strolled across the stage and received his diploma. The applause was thunderous. Everyone was happy for the boy who was going to be famous. Scott gave an embarrassed little wave and hurried to his seat.
The rest of the names were just background noise while Wade daydreamed about fixing the hot rod and getting it back on the road. It wouldn’t take much. The door and the rear quarter panel had taken most of the impact. The frame was still solid. He’d have to check the rear suspension for damage. It was great that his parents had kept it for him all this time. They knew how much he loved that car.
“Eva-Marie Robinson.”
The name broke through his daydream. He watched the princess walk gracefully across the stage, checking out everything from her hairstyle to her strappy high heels. She appeared to be lit from within, her skin glowing golden under the spotlights. He’d thought of her every single day, but seeing her now, all grown up and womanly, was a shock to the system. Wade clapped automatically along with the audience, but he could barely swallow around the lump in his throat.
Eva-Marie turned and waved to her family, and her gaze met his as it swept the crowd. She hesitated, staring for a second like a deer in headlights. Then she was shaking the principal’s hand, and the moment was gone.
Later, in the reception area, all the students and parents were gathered, chatting about their plans for the future, taking pictures, and saying their goodbyes. Wade leaned against a wall, sipping terrible punch and waiting for the crowd around his brother to thin out. As the other kids slowly drifted away from him, the princess stepped to Scott. Speaking quietly for a minute, they laughed, then embraced each other. As they hugged, Eva-Marie’s gaze once again sought him out. She raised a hand in a shy wave, as if she was unsure whether her greeting would be welcome. He returned it with a half-hearted smile and a salute with the nasty punch. It was the best he could do while she was in Scott’s arms. Tossing the cup into the nearest trash can, he walked away.
After dinner, Wade drove Scott to the airport at his request.
“You sure you don’t want to come with me?” Scott looked worried about him.
“Nah, man,” he assured him. “Nothing for me to do in L.A. I’ll be fine here.”
“You’re positive? I can always request you as my drummer.” Scott nudged Wade with his elbow, making him laugh.
“Hah. Playing in the basement is one thing. Being in your band is something else. Besides, I like working with cars. Old man Hunsaker is going to show me how to supercharge the Corvette after I get it fixed.”
“Sweet. Call me if you change your mind.”
Wade hugged his little brother tightly, happy for him, but sad to see him go.
“Good things, man,” he told Scott.
“You too, bro. Nothing but.”
2014
The call came at six a.m., Memphis time.
“Hey, bro. Did I wake you?”
“Only half an hour before my alarm.” Wade was instantly alert. “What’s up?”
“My drummer. Dude’s got some heavy drug problems. We can’t cover for him any more. The record label is sending him to rehab, but either way, they’re pulling him out of the band.”
“And you’re calling me because…?” Wade had an inkling where this conversation was going, and Scott was beating a dead horse.
“I need a drummer. You’re elected.”
“Hell no.” Wade rubbed his hand over his face, then turned on the bedside lamp. “You know I’m not a professional.”
“No matter,” Scott insisted. “You’re still the best drummer I know. I need someone I can trust.”
“Trust is great,” Wade argued, “but it won’t get me through a tour. It’s been years since I’ve played on a regular basis.”
“Bullshit.” Scott snorted the way he did when he was being a smartass. “I know you still play with the radio to keep your skills up.”
“Yeah. So?” Wade didn’t like where this was going.
“So, do you ever play to our tracks?”
Caught, Wade said nothing. Instead, he rolled out of bed and shuffled to the kitchen to start the coffee pot.
Scott laughed.
“You already know all the beats then, right?” His teasing tone became laughter at Wade’s noncommittal grunt. “A couple of rehearsals and you’ll be fine. I have faith in you, big brother.”
Trying one final tactic, Wade reminded Scott, “I have a business to run.”
For the last six years, Wade had been the owner of the garage he’d renamed Boost Turtle Custom Cars. Mr. Hunsaker, after a serious health scare and some not-so-subtle threats from his wife, decided to retire. Since Mrs. Hunsaker was anxious to become the grand dame of Boca Raton, they’d sold him the business for a ridiculously low price, and moved to sunny Florida. They attributed their asking price to sweat equity, saying Wade was the reason they could afford their dream retirement. His skills and the clients he’d brought in for custom upgrades had completely revitalized the business. For his own part, Wade was thankful every day that Mr. Hunsaker had taken a chance on him. The shop was proof that he’d been worth it.
“Yeah, I know.” The teasing tone was gone from Scott’s voice. “And I know how much it means to you. But BJ and Chad are the best. They’ve taken care of your garage like it was their own whenever you’ve come for visits before. I’m sure they will again. We’re talking a couple of months. Just until the tour is over and we can audition new drummers. Please, bro, do this for me.”
He was sunk. Scott had never really asked him for anything. Not even when they were kids. Now, Scott needed him. He’d even said please. Of course, Wade wouldn’t let his brother down. He couldn’t.
Back when the bank said he’d needed collateral for his loan to buy the shop, Scott volunteered to cosign the papers without hesitation. Hell, he’d offered to give him the money outright, but Wade refused, preferring to pay his own way. And, of course, Wade had never forgotten that Scott and the Hunsakers were the only ones who’d believed him when he swore he’d been set up. That meant more to him than anything else.
Absentmindedly taking a sip of coffee, he sputtered, then added sugar and cream. Leaning against the counter, he took another sip, then sighed deeply.
“I’ll need a few days to make arrangements.” Being a good brother was damned inconvenient.
“You have twenty-four hours.” Scott was brusque, but the relief in his voice was clear. “I’ll send you a plane ticket. I really appreciate this, Wade.”
“Sure. No problem.” The sarcasm was thick enough to spread on toast.
Scott’s laughter roared in his ears until the line went dead.
****
By the time Wade’s plane landed in Los Angeles, the announcement had already been made that he was joining The Bladesmiths as their new drummer. There were so many calls and texts coming through his phone, he’d turned it off mid-flight. Other than the message from Scott that said, ‘Meet you at the airport. Get ready,’ none of the rest of them interested him anyway.
Scott waited just beyond the security gate with several bodyguards. He wore sunglasses and a baseball cap, but Wade would know him anywhere. Apparently, at least half of Los Angeles did, too. Every t.v. show in the state of California had a camera crew there. The flashing lights and shouted questions came at him like the rapid fire from an automatic weapon. When he could actually hear a question through the cacophony, it was always pertaining to his relationship status or his time incarcerated. The flight had only taken a few hours. These people worked fast. He’d have to remember that. Scowling, he said nothing.
Scott moved from behind the ba
rrier of his security detail, coming to embrace him warmly. Taking Wade’s baggage claim tickets, he handed them to a bodyguard, who silently melted away into the crowd of reporters.
Wade felt Scott’s arm land across his shoulders, then he was moving toward the exit, surrounded by the fortress of stone-faced guards. Though it probably appeared to everyone else that Scott was simply happy to see his brother, especially with the overly bright grin he wore, Wade was subtly being herded through the crowd by the altering pressure of Scott’s arm and hand. It was like being led in strange dance, but instead he was guided among the press of bodies much quicker and easier than he’d thought possible.
Outside, however, was chaos. The same source that told fans he’d be flying in today had also informed The Bladesmiths’ fans that Scott would be there to meet him. A million screams erupted on cue as they stepped from the building into the sunshine. Airport and metro police struggled to maintain the barricades they’d set up to hold back the masses of people gathered there. An ocean of cellphones recorded their every move. Holy hell! Was this what his life about to become?
In all the times he’d traveled to meet Scott on tour or visit him during his downtime, this was something he’d been shielded from. When Wade traveled to wherever his brother was staying, they were practically alone just hanging out the entire time they were together, other than when he was on stage. This was madness. Far crazier in person than anything he’d seen on t.v. Celebrities had to be nuts to deal with this type of thing all the time.
Scott, appearing unfazed, started blowing kisses to the multitude of fans. But behind his hand, Wade heard him say, “Truck number two. Move. Move. Move.” The security team was subtle, but they moved with military precision.
Quickening his steps, Wade slipped past the guard into the open door of the SUV, closely followed by Scott. The door slammed shut, and they were immediately in motion. One of the men in front confirmed they were okay, then raised the partition between the seats to give them some privacy.
Let's Stick Together Page 1