by Cari Quinn
Hell, even the dank shabbiness of the chapel reminded him of the shitty basement at the Fluff.
Nick squinted over the smoke rising in his face as the cigarette dangled from his lips. “What the hell are you doing here, Simon?”
“Was in the neighborhood.”
Nick’s eyebrow spiked. “Upstate New York is not your stomping grounds, Mr. Slick.”
“Not that far off actually. We were in the city for a holiday party and Margo wanted to see Lila. So, here I am.”
“Li know about this little meet and greet?”
“Don’t sound so suspicious. It was a surprise.” He shrugged and met Nick’s gaze. “She misses her friend.”
“Is that right?” He took an inhale of smoke and tipped his head back to make lazy rings that disappeared into the dark. “Nice that some friends can actually keep in contact.”
He dipped his chilled hands into his coat. “Digs so soon, brother? Must be a record.” He looked at his phone. “What? Five minutes?”
Crap, he hadn’t realized he’d been gone so long. Margo was going to kick his ass.
“Feeling guilty, brother?”
The sneer of the last word made his shoulders hunch. “For what? Taking time?” His dress boots echoed on the uneven boards as he crossed to a pew and sat down.
“Lots of damn time.”
“Gimme a break, huh? I took what I needed.”
“Always what you need, huh Simon? That’s the bottom line though, isn’t it?”
He dropped his chin against his chest, then raked his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, it is.” His elbows dug into his thighs as he stared into the shadowed nothing at his feet. The nothing that matched exactly how hollow he felt.
“Such a goddamn prick.”
Simon jumped to his feet. “Why am I the prick because I needed time to figure my shit out?”
“How the fuck would I—hell, we—know if you needed time, asshole? You don’t fucking talk to any of us.”
“Because as soon as I show my face all you can ask is when I’m coming back.” His chest heaved as he stood in front of Nick with his fists clenched.
“Kind of an important question.” Nick stomped on the butt of his cig. “Considering your little tantrum is what has been keeping us all from moving forward.”
He didn’t even realize he was swinging, but his fist connected with Nick’s stubborn, stone fucking jaw.
Nick’s head snapped back and his eyes widened in shock. “Fucker,” he snarled and charged.
Simon’s hip slammed into the pew as Nick’s brick of a hand nailed him in the solar plexus. Breathing was evidently optional as he collapsed into himself. But instead of getting out of the way, he just fell into Nick’s uppercut.
His teeth snapped and blood flooded his mouth as he bit his tongue. He stumbled back and caught the edge of the pew on the other side of the aisle. “Hit like a girl,” he gasped out even as his ribs screamed.
Nick charged him, knocking him back three steps. Each one was punctuated with a rounded corner of the pews at his hip. The heavy wool of his coat was no match for the wood connecting with bone.
His dress boots weren’t meant for real traction. His foot slid out and he landed on his ass. Nick just kept on coming. Simon should have stayed down. He’d just have a fat lip for his trouble. Okay, and a bruised hip.
But no—he kicked out and connected with ribs and thigh—possibly a little more north. Whoops.
Nick howled and crouched down. “What the fuck? A girl move?”
“Lucky it wasn’t your knee,” he gasped as he scrambled to his feet. Simon needed to take the opening, even if it was a dick move. He slammed his knee into Nick’s ribs and came down with a left hook.
Blood in his eye and dribbling from his lip, Nick looked up at Simon and slapped his cheek in shock. Simon looked down at his ring with the sharp edges of the raised S.
Nick came up out of his crouch, driving them back through the doors and out into the whipping wind. Snow was now piling up quickly on the small porch at the front. His boots skidded on the icy wetness, but he couldn’t stop the backward momentum.
No, they didn’t stop until the post slammed into his back. With the breath knocked out of him again, Simon could only curl into himself as Nick landed blow after blow into his ribs.
Nick gripped the lapels of his jacket as he sagged, but instead of stopping, he dragged Simon up until their noses were inches away. Blood stained his teeth and a scrape was already raised on his cheek from Simon’s ring. “I hate you.”
Simon’s heart kicked and shame burned. “I know.” Nick let go and Simon slid to the porch.
“Fuck,” Nick shouted. His chest heaved as he tipped his head back and his breath came out in puffy white clouds. “Fuck,” he growled again.
Simon curled onto his side and propped himself on his elbow. Fluffy snow scattered around his fingers and a bone-deep cold dented the adrenaline. The sky was iridescent and swollen with more of the same.
Nick paced up and down the small porch, alternately flexing his fingers and blowing on them. The wildness was fading from his eyes as if Simon had deflated him with his reply.
He probably had.
He really hadn’t meant to say it, but now that it was out for both of them, the will to beat on Nick faded. Simon opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say, but a wet, mangled mutt leaped through the brush and circled the snow at the edge of the porch.
“That little fucker,” Nick growled.
Simon looked up at him as he gingerly sat up. “Friend of yours?”
“No, the little klepto is the reason I’m out here.” Nick folded his arms and shoved his hands under his pits.
Hmm. He wasn’t sure what to say to that one. Especially since Nick was very much the same as the junkyard dog currently burrowing under a fallen tree branch. “Think he’s a bit small to thief one of your guitars, but you never know.”
“Pie. Actually, pies plural, the little beast.”
“And what exactly were you going to do?” Simon groaned as he braced himself on the post and hauled himself up. He hissed at the rip in his shirt and the ribs that would be crying for the rest of the night. He twisted. Not broken. Small favors. “Scoop out the eaten pie in his shit? Or better yet, the dog’s belly?”
“Fuck you. I don’t know.” Nick crouched down and looked at the dog. “You got me in a lot of trouble, beastie.”
The dog shoved his nose into the snow and flung it up in the air. Little crystals of snow stuck to his various whiskers, then his tongue lolled out.
Simon hid a smile as the dog arched his back and his mangled tail wagged. “He likes you.”
Nick frowned. “No, the little shit just wolfed down two pies that had my name on them. Well, at least a piece or three.”
Simon wiped the back of his hand over his throbbing lip and came away with blood. Awesome. “Seems like he has good taste.”
“Yeah, tell that to Li’s mom. Her father already thinks I’m a freak.”
“You are.”
“More of a f-f-freak.” Nick scowled and set his jaw, probably to try to keep his teeth from chattering. “This day just keeps getting better and better.”
“Where the fuck is your coat?”
“Did you not hear the part about me chasing the klepto?”
“It’s twenty-something degrees out here for fuck’s sake.”
“Really? I was thinking minus t-t-twenty.” Nick took a step down and the dog bolted, his bent tail flashing in the curtain of snowflakes. “Ah, fuck.” Nick bolted after him.
“What the hell are you doing?” The storm had gotten even worse from when he’d escaped into the chapel. Now the visibility was nonexistent.
“Need to get the dog,” Nick yelled over his shoulder.
“Are you nuts?” Simon sighed as Nick disappeared into the storm. The dog looked hearty enough, but what the hell did he know? His cat, George, was the epitome of a princess. She’d never make it out here with a
ll this snow.
Simon started after them, but the flicker of light behind him stopped him. “Just what I need, to burn down this tinderbox.” He ran. Sort of—actually, more like limped as if he was trying out for the part of Igor—back into the chapel and snuffed out the candles. His ribs were still in the correct place, right? He held a hand to his side. Ow. And he was fairly sure his lungs were actually knocking around like a bunch of untethered balloons.
Fuck.
Grimacing, he shoved through the doors. Already the snow was over the tops of his boots. Was God standing over them with a dump truck of snow or something? He didn’t even know this much could come out of the sky at one time.
He skidded on an icy edge near the step. He was pretty sure that was where he’d hit the porch. It was already covered as if he’d never been hammered into submission by Nicky.
Slowly, he picked his way around the brush that blocked most of the path. With the storm, he couldn’t see a damn thing, but the panting pooch whizzed by his coat and he spun around. Nick was coming at him like a freight train. No way he was getting knocked down again.
Simon stepped out of the way and Nick tripped on something, skidding onto his chest.
“Dammit.”
The dog barked and danced around him.
“Would you be helpful?” Nick growled with a face full of snow.
Simon reached down to give him a hand.
“The dog, man!”
“Oh.” Simon lunged for the dog, but there wasn’t a collar to hold him with or anything. He slipped through his hands and bolted again.
Nick flipped over onto his back in the snow, his chest heaving. “Seriously?”
“What was I supposed to do, sit on him?” Simon winced. Not a great move for his ribs. Maybe he had broken one.
“Yes!”
“Unlikely, fuckface.” He held his hand out to Nick. Evidently he was still in a snit because he waved it off and got up on his own. Nick had a little more traction with his shoes, because he was able to take off across the widest path between two groves of trees.
Simon just didn’t have it in him. Not with the bruises making themselves known on his ribs, and his face felt like he’d gone a few rounds with that MMA fighter Costas. Then again, Nick had always been good with a right hook.
Fucker.
Simon limped along, following Nicky’s footprints until the property opened up again. The main house was glowing warmly, the golden hues of welcome and Christmas a beacon in the dense snowflakes.
Nick was trying desperately to cut off the dog, but the damn thing cornered like a jackrabbit and eluded his best friend. At this point Simon was pretty sure the dog thought this was the best game ever. There was no fear in his stance, and his tail was moving like Jazz and her ever-twirling sticks.
The lodge, where he and Margo were set up, was to the right of the main paddock and barn. The entire place felt like he was in an alternate reality. Besides the snow, he wasn’t used to this much open space. Even in the hills of Los Angeles, there was nothing like this part of NY in his purview.
He was used to Manhattan, but that was like Los Angeles with an extra film of life and dirt. Happy Acres Orchard was warm, even under nearly a foot of snow. He was pretty sure he could just keep on walking and fall over before he actually found a town.
A long stretch of a man came out into the clearing, his hands on his hips. Fred Ronson—Lila’s father—was sizing up Nick and the dog. Simon was pretty sure that Nick came up wanting. Funny how Lila, the most buttoned up and business-minded women he knew, came from this place. One where warmth, hospitality, and work was a standard. Work he got. Lila was one of the most driven women he knew. Even beyond his Margo.
Simon had been pretty sure Lila had come from the chilly elitist set like Violin Girl’s parents. Then again, he should know better. Margo was nothing like her parents.
Maybe once upon a time she’d have ended up like the cold, judgmental Jayne Reece. Somehow she’d become his warmth and light. She was the one bright spot in the shitstorm of the last year. And he had to find a way to get his head out of his ass about singing again. Because as much as she enjoyed the studio work, and orchestra, Margo was born for the stage.
Only loyalty to him, and the magic of Oblivion kept her from moving on to another band. He felt the restlessness in her, knew it as surely as the mirroring emotions living in him. The only problem was, he wasn’t as brave as she was.
He was a sorry sack of shit with the worst case of stage fright in the history of rock and roll.
7
Margo
Margo Reece wrapped her hands around the heavy mug and wandered into the great room. Her blood had definitely thinned with her time in LA. The snow had come on with a vengeance. The few times she’d come back to the Northeast, she’d lucked out with warmer weather. Today?
Yeah, not so much.
The Lodge was homey and beautiful with vaulted ceilings and rustic holiday cheer dripping from every beam. She’d wanted to surprise Lila with a quick visit before they headed into Boston to spend the week with her folks.
Well, her old townhouse in Boston. She couldn’t actually live under her parent’s roof again. Not even for a week. Add in a metric ton of tension thanks to her mother’s constant derision about her relationship with Simon, the matching snow outside, and she’d been far too weak. Mrs. Ronson’s generous invitation to stay at the orchard until Christmas Eve had been far too appealing.
She’d known Simon had agreed to the visit more for her than anything else. A few uncomfortable dinners with her folks were annoying, but his avoidance tactics when it came to Nick were on par with a zombie outbreak.
And she’d definitely been watching too much The Walking Dead with Simon lately, but it wasn’t a bad analogy. Simon was determined to stay far away from his band, even when it made his anxiety worse because of the isolation.
She wandered to the window, touching her forehead to the cool glass. The panes were nearly obscured with ice and condensation. Snow clung to every corner of the porch, and the apple trees were lumps of shadow in the distance.
Simon had disappeared as soon as Laverne had shown them their room. She just hoped he wasn’t out in this mess. Her city boy didn’t know how to walk on anything other than the slushy sidewalks of Manhattan. This was well above his winter knowledge. Knowing him, he’d lose a damn toe in his Italian loafers.
She wiggled her toes in the heavy hikers that she’d dug out of the back of her closet. Of course she’d actually checked the weather report before heading out this morning. Simon had been rushing off of a shoot, stealing clothes again.
Roman had stopped complaining about it, Simon did it so often.
He was becoming even more scattered since he didn’t actually have to use his brain lately. He had an app on his phone that told him when and where to be at all times of the day. Add in a driver at his disposal, and avoidance in his heart.
She’d been hoping this week would actually help them get a head start on the changes coming in the New Year. That maybe he’d actually be present in a conversation with her, but sure enough he’d escaped as soon as possible.
So, she was spending time alone in a new place. Oh, joy.
Rinse, lather, and repeat. Her life for the last few months.
She was trying so hard to be supportive, but her tongue had friggin’ teeth marks lately. And last night she’d found one of his old Crystal Skull bottles of vodka empty in the trash. She didn’t know how old it was, but it only strengthened her resolve to get them communicating again.
Shutting out the guys was one thing, but her…
Well, dammit, she wasn’t going to stand for it. That idiot was hers, and she wasn’t going to let him slip through her fingers because he was too proud to face whatever demons that were riding him.
They weren’t facing them, not just Simon.
A sharp noise outside made her stand up straight. She moved to the next set of windows as a form broke into a run. He
was too skinny to be Simon. In fact, Simon had bulked up a little since he’d started modeling. The industry was full of fitness models with bulky muscles, or lean and tight like Gandy and Reardon, or actors in the prime of their lives.
She couldn’t say she minded the side effects of his gym workouts. In fact, the one thing they actually did together as a couple was a bastardized version of yoga. She’d found a few muscles of her own over the last year.
Yoga was pretty much the only reason she hadn’t killed Simon.
She frowned as another long-legged form ran into the clearing. At least this person was wearing a coat, unlike the lunatic chasing a…dog?
She put her mug down and crossed to the coat closet. She twisted her hair, tucking it into a knit hat before shrugging into her wool coat. She didn’t give herself time to change her mind, just went out into the storm.
The dog’s barking was frantic as she got to the edge of the snow-scattered porch. She shielded her eyes against the stinging flakes, and gusts of wind. The storm had kicked up another three notches since they’d arrived.
The man dove for the dog, and came up sputtering snow. “Stupid mutt.”
Nick?
She knew that voice anywhere.
Another man came to the edge of the trees, his wool coat flapping behind him. He took two steps, then leaned on one of the branches.
Simon.
What the hell was he doing out in this? She stepped down off the porch and headed into the storm.
Another man in a bulky jacket, one actually made for this weather, went into a crouch and trapped the dog in a headlock. The dog struggled, his eyes wheeling.
Nick got up off the ground and trudged to him, falling to his knees beside the mangy dog.
Margo crossed to the two men, waving Simon in. As she got closer, she heard the release of a buckle. Nick looped a makeshift collar around the dog using his belt. The mutt of unknown origin jerked against the restraints until the other man—Lila’s dad—dug into his pocket and came out with a piece of apple.