A Bleu Streak Summer (The Bleu Series Book 3)

by T. I. Lowe

  “Why not?”

  “‘Cause he didn’t make Daddy stay.”

  Once Mave mumbled that, Max just wanted to hide, too. Their dad had hightailed it that morning, saying he couldn’t do the family thing anymore, leaving them confused and inconsolable.

  Max and his wounded heart climbed under the cover with his brother, not acknowledging the tears streaming from the corners of Mave’s eyes. After settling underneath the quilt, he offered the only comfort afforded at the time—half of a melting candy bar he snuck from Aunt Evie’s trailer earlier that day. It was the place he ran off to when his wasted father told him to get lost before peeling out of the trailer park in the late model El Camino, which left them vehicle-less. The boys remained hidden, listening to their mom quietly sobbing in her tiny room beside them until their bellies demanded they find something else to fill the harsh void.

  Thankfully they chose food to fill it for most of their lives. That was until Mave tried unsuccessfully to fill it with drugs.

  Max wished he were wise enough back then to understand for them both that there was no hiding from the disappointment of reality. Nor could that void of abandonment be filled with anything worldly, because nothing ever sated that pain for very long.

  He shook the memory off, knowing that particular bruise needed no pressure added to its already throbbing state, and yanked the blanket back so he could climb in, too.

  “It’s not a candy bar, but I figured four dozen gourmet donuts will do us better.”

  Mave cracked his eyes open to confirm his brother had the goods. “Yeah, they’ll do in a pinch,” he agreed in a gruff voice.

  Both guys settled against the whitewashed headboard as Max handed over two boxes and a gallon of milk. He knew this was still not dealing with reality, but filling the void with a temporary fix.

  At least it’s not the drugs he’s being accused of, Max thought as he stole a glance at his disheveled twin still in his pajama bottoms and wrinkled tee at two in the afternoon.

  “Dang,” Mave muttered, inhaling the divine aroma released as he peeled open the lid of the white box. “Apple fritters.”

  “Straight up,” Max agreed, shoving half of one in his mouth.

  Smacking and groans filled the quiet space until they both had a dozen treats polished off.

  “So Leona gave y’all a pink room.” Max quirked an eyebrow at his twin.

  “It’s coral,” Mave drawled, clearly mocking Leona.

  They both took in the newly designed room with the muted coral walls, white furniture, and pewter accents.

  “What’s the difference?” Max’s shoulder hitched up.

  “Exactly.”

  Before they could continue averting their attention from the true problem at hand, Izzy’s blonde head appeared through the slightly opened door. Her brown eyes searched over her husband before focusing on Max.

  “That was very generous of you, Max.” She eased over to the edge of the bed and swiped a fritter from Mave’s second box.

  “No doubt. It wasn’t easy sharing these babies.” He held a donut up in salute before taking a substantial bite out of it.

  Izzy pulled her phone out and handed it over to Mave as evidence. “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “Dude, you didn’t have to air your relationship laundry like that.” Mave showed him the social media headline. M&M Breakup. It was the couple’s nickname dubbed by the entertainment world.

  “It was my fault they attacked you in the first place.” He focused on polishing off the fritter, not wanting to talk about it anymore.

  Izzy leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his bearded cheek. “Thank you for clearing up that mess for my man.”

  He looked at her a bit surprised. Izzy was never one to offer him any affection beings they had a love/hate relationship reminiscent of feuding siblings.

  “Yeah, thanks for that.” Mave pushed his shoulder against Max’s before it could shrug off the accolades.

  “Ain’t my niceness worth at least barbeque chicken and tater salad?” He waggled his eyebrows in Izzy’s direction, playing down the weightiness.

  “Yes, I totally agree.” She grinned.

  “Without any peppers, right?” Max looked at her hopeful, eliciting the desired laugh from his brother.

  “It just so happens I’m clean out of peppers at the moment.”

  “Awesome. You best be on with it then, woman, ‘cause we’re ‘bout done with our appetizers.” Max pointed to the second box that was already half empty before trying to shoo her away.

  Izzy popped him playfully. “You better watch your attitude, Pepper Man.” She made for the door, clearly on a barbeque mission.

  “Hey, Doll. You forgot something.” Mave said, causing her to backtrack as though her body was tethered to his possessive tone.

  She leaned down, her lips a breath from his. “I could never forget you.” She planted a kiss on him that made even Max blush.

  “Good grief. Warn a man next time so I can bolt.” Max’s grouchy voice was a mix of truth and tease.

  “Don’t be jealous,” Izzy sassed as she nearly skipped out the door.

  The guys went back to devouring the fritters in silence. Mave was clearly thinking about that kiss from his Doll Baby with a faint smile lifting the corners of his lips. Max’s own thoughts were a million miles in the past, his brows pinched and the sweet treat turning a bit sour on his tongue.

  I could never forget you…

  Those words played on repeat through his mind, but they were not in Izzy’s singsong voice. They echoed from his own voice, cocky and so sure of himself. Then the echo transformed into a rusty version that was weak from alcohol abuse.

  I could never forget you, babe…

  Max was so sure he had life figured out when he declared that to Mona. It was moving smoothly in a direction most promising.

  I could never forget you, son…

  But his father did forget. Martin King resurfaced and ruined the smooth ride, causing Max’s life to veer off course before completely crashing.

  Some ride…

  SEVEN

  “How Will I Know”

  -Lydia Laird

  Sunshine caressed the lake, striking the water ablaze in millions of facets, mesmerizing and magical. The acoustic guitar softly played the enchanting scene its love song with the guitarist mimicking the subtle flow of the lake from the chords he strummed.

  Her body was positioned between him and the guitar, not only wanting to hear the lullaby better but to also feel its power reverberate through her body. Mona was born with partial hearing loss, but was in love with music more than anyone Max had ever met. It seemed her impairment drove her to appreciate sounds more so than someone who took their gift of full hearing for granted. He hardly believed it when they met, thinking it was a part of the PR firm’s ploy to sign the band. He held on to his leeriness for nearly a year before he let it go. Mona was a person that not only listened and appreciated music, but also thoroughly experienced it with her body and soul. No doubt, Max fell hard.

  With the pale sand tickling his toes and the warmth of the sun and Mona’s body pressing against him, Max could think of nowhere else he’d rather be than on the tiny, secluded beach behind his lakefront cabin at Shimmer Lakes. He was home where he belonged. As his nimble fingers continued to draw music from his beloved guitar, Max whispered a prayer of thanksgiving.

  “Thank you for this glimpse of heaven,” he began with eyes sweeping the lake scene painted in God’s splendor, “and thank you for the angel in my arms.” No one had ever fit his embrace so perfectly.

  “What was that?” Mona tilted her good ear toward his mouth.

  Max took advantage and slowly nipped his teeth against the delicate flesh along the shell of her ear, eliciting a vibration to shimmy along her body and on through his.

  “Just thanking the Man for my life,” he whispered before pressing a kiss behind her ear and continuing down her neck.

  “The Man
probably doesn’t think highly of you taking advantage of the side of my neck.” Mona gasped out a giggle when his teeth grazed her sensitive skin.

  “Nah, sweetness. God’s the creator of love. This is just me expressing it to my fiancée,” he proudly stated, taking a moment to appreciate the extravagant ring glittering in the sun. “You should have agreed to Vegas, so I could be expressing it completely.”

  She giggled again. The day he presented the engagement ring, Max had also proposed they should immediately hop on a private jet to Vegas. Mona accepted the ring, but declined the rushed nuptials.

  “You know I’m not one to rush into things.”

  Max smiled at the memory while he continued to strum lazily. She looked up with her light-teal eyes holding so much love, he couldn’t help but steal a kiss.

  “I cannot get over how you play the guitar without focusing on it at all,” she said against his lips.

  He had, in fact, been playing continuously during the entire span of the conversation and caresses without missing one chord, effortlessly flowing one song into the next.

  “Music is a part of me. There’s no forgetting it’s there. It just is. The most steady part of my life, that music.” He nodded his head to the guitar he continued to strum.

  “I’m always here.” Mona’s words slipped quietly, but Max felt the loudness of them.

  “And I could never forget you, babe.” He dropped the guitar beside him, so he could hold onto his promise to her. Wrapping his arms tightly around the angel, he kissed her until the bruises of his heart were subdued.

  The life he dreamt for Mona and himself was as smooth and exquisite as the lake in front of them. Never did he see a storm from his past lurking to throw him so far off course that he lost what he promised to never forget.

  It took a year after that spring day by the lake to plan out the wedding, and it took one phone call to cancel it all out.

  •♫•♫•♫•

  Max stood like stone beside his mother and twin as they checked the man who had abandoned the three of them decades ago into a rehab, promising to be there for him after he failed to do that himself.

  A tall yet considerably frail man who barely resembled the man his nine-year-old eyes remembered. Was that just a delusion of my memory, Max had questioned many times after that day at the facility in Atlanta. The very same place Dillon had helped him check Mave into after the drummer survived an overdose.

  The beat being tapped along his thigh was rather aggressive as Mave kept his eyes trained on the floor. No doubt, reminiscing with his painful past. Max and his mom offered to handle the paperwork without him, but Mave wouldn’t allow them to go through the difficult task without him.

  Martin King sat slumped in a chair in the corner of the admittance office, sallow complexion and the noticeable shake of withdrawals. Max could barely stomach to look at him, yet curiously couldn’t look away. Martin’s hazel eyes, bloodshot and glassy from crying, kept meeting his but would dart away quickly.

  After they had Martin settled into his room, he began with the too-late apologies.

  “Just save it, will ya. Just… Just focus on getting yourself better.” Max shook his head in disgust at the poor excuse for a father.

  Martin ran his trembling hand through the sparse brown hair on top of his head, in a state of confusion. “I never forgot about you.”

  “You did the moment you walked out the door,” Max snapped, his temper barely restrained. All of the hurt, anger, and disappointment began a rapid boil, close to spewing all over the place.

  He turned to escape it, but his estranged father’s hand lunged out to halt the progress. “Please, Maxim. I made an awful mess, but you gotta understand I could never forget you, son.”

  Max had no desire to repeat himself, knowing the alcohol had damaged the eldest King’s mind to the point of no repair. Yanking out of Martin’s frail grasp, Max locked his jaw to prevent his words from coming out in a shout. “You got what you wanted. The bill is paid up, so there’s no need for this act.”

  Mave followed Max out and both never looked back. The only interaction they had in Martin’s life after that day was to pay for hospital stays or when another rehab visit needed paying.

  One day was all it took to put things back into blaring perspective. Max walked away that day feeling all of nine years old again, abandoned and not good enough to keep. A month of fixating on the past had planted enough doubt and distrust for Max to effectively push Mona away. He wouldn’t give her the opportunity to abandon him as well.

  His life had been one raucous circus filled with pranks and silly flings before Mona. He didn’t do serious or stable. Max only did fun and fleeting and he thought it was time for him to get back to it when he sat her down to have a talk.

  “This ain’t gonna happen, babe. I’m sorry. You deserve better. I hope you find much better, but I’ll never forget you…”

  EIGHT

  “Father of Mine”

  -Everclear

  “Good Good Father”

  -Chris Tomlin

  “It’s time to rock, suckers!” Will yelled as the band rushed the stage, the fans already hitting a crescendo of epic proportions. His guitar was slung over his shoulder, prepared to go toe to toe with Max from a fan’s request earlier at the preshow meet-and-greet.

  Ben had shrugged his shoulder in true Max fashion and said, “Why not,” when the band eyed their designated daddy for permission.

  Taking the stage, a weird vibe raced over Max and delivered icy prickles along his heated skin. He rolled his neck and shoulders to rid himself of the odd sensation, but it seemed to have taken root to stay. He stubbornly ignored it as he went into show-mode, grinning slyly at the crowd, focusing on the front row where he delivered a few winks to some of the cute chicks waving wildly at him. He even paused to touch some of the hands that were excitedly stretched toward him.

  Will, wrapped in his blissful bubble, joined in the flirty display while following behind Max to center stage. Stagehands assisted them with getting the guitars plugged into the amps before disappearing. Without offering any discussion or welcome, the two launched right into a guitar showdown. Halfway through, Max halted his young friend’s attempt to outplay him.

  “Whoa, whoa, man. Didn’t I teach you anything over the years? You gotta show the strings whose boss.” Max’s nimble fingers glided over the strings as though they were soft as feathers. “Maybe you should just go back to beating on drums with hotshot over there.” He tilted his head in Mave’s direction where the drummer was perched behind his drum kit.

  The drums came to life in a killer performance with the crowd erupting in approval. Mave owned each beat in a dazzling show of dexterity, stealing the show.

  Without warning, the strange sensation tapped Max on the shoulder and managed to snag his attention away from his brother. Glancing toward the audience, his mom caught his eye first, followed by a familiar figure beside her. There was no mistaking the thin shoulders or that Roman nose, matching closely to his own.

  There sat Martin King in the audience, a scene Max had dreamt about so often over the years. To see his father witness the level of success he and his brother had achieved with no assistance from him at all. It should have been satisfying. It should have given him a vindicated feeling. Should have…

  Fury rippled through Max like a deadly electrical current. The very sight of his father in the crowd, looking proud of all things, royally ticked the guitarist off. Martin’s eyes locked with Max’s, leading the elder King to smile and the younger King to glower. With bitterness turning his entire being sour, Max marched off the stage.

  The pounding of his harsh pulse in his ears came close to blocking out the drum’s solo. Taking several deep breaths, he slowly turned to watch the show, knowing he had to get himself in check in order to do his job.

  Mave tossed his sticks into air with theatrical flair before holding them out to Will. “Looks like we need to show ole Max how it’s done.”
The fans went into a tizzy as Mave relinquished his spot and headed off stage to his brother’s side.

  The drums came back to life. Will’s mohawk was growing out, but he was somehow able to continue to style it in that fashion. His hair bobbed intensely back and forth in time with the rapid beats he elicited from the instrumental beasts before him.

  “Man, you’re playing the crowd tonight, and they’re eating that junk up!” Mave slapped him five. His brown eyes were bright and sweat had begun to soak the collar of his dark tee.

  “Yeah? You get a good look at that crowd tonight?” Max questioned skeptically, his eyes automatically traveled to that one irritating spot amongst the audience.

  “Yeah! Packed out!” Mave’s answer confirmed that he had no idea their father was there.

  “I’m feeling the need for some Everclear!” Max shouted over the roar of the fans as Will concluded his solo.

  Mave bellowed out his own whoop for his protégé, before asking, “Which song?”

  Max held back the wicked smile begging to come out and play, knowing he was about to gift their old man with some spitefulness due to him. “Father of Mine.”

  The song choice had Mave’s head whipping in his twin’s direction. “Dude, don’t let him getting out of rehab get to ya. The story will die down in a day or two.”

  “You’re a fine one to talk,” Max grouched out, eyes narrowed. When Mave’s light mood darkened, Max held his hands up with hopes of halting the progress. “Sorry. I just wanna blow off some steam. Ya feel me?”

  Mave nodded before heading back out to the stage with Max slowly following.

  “You two care to join this concert tonight?” Dillon ragged them, resulting in several catcalls from the audience.

  Both twins chose to ignore the smart remark.

  Mave leaned toward the mic Dillon held. “How’s about we give Ben a few more grey hairs tonight?”

  Dillon’s grin pulled until both dimples flashed deep in his scruffy cheeks. “Whattaya have in mind?”