by Susan Ward
Like I said, it’s beneath me.
I check my Rolex, trying to block out the sound in the room. It’s after midnight. Why doesn’t Hugh end this now? Seriously, drummer number twenty-seven has no skills. My twin brother, Ethan, could wield the sticks at age seven better than this asswipe. But then, Ethan has Manzone musical brilliance just like me.
My phone dings and I pull it from my pocket to find my hundredth or so text from Tara. Fuck, what is it with girls? I already told her I’d be outta contact until tomorrow; why does she have to repeatedly text me wanting to know where I am?
No, not answering her back. I’m with my band, and I’ve got things to do.
Switching off my cell, I shove it in my jacket pocket. I shift my gaze to look at Hugh from behind the sunglasses I’m wearing even though I’m indoors. I’ve got a recognizable face, since coming from a family of musical royalty, I’ve been splashed across the tabloids my entire life. I didn’t want any of the auditionees knowing who I am.
Agitated, I rake back the hair from my face. My blond waves are colored black so that none of these losers I meet today figure out I’m Eric Manzone. Though, I do kinda like the black on me and may keep it after we get back to Southern Cal. But then I look good no matter what I do to try to camouflage my appearance. Just ask my mom. She said it made me look like my dad, and even though he’s in his sixties, that’s a compliment.
That I let the image consultant with the label switch up my hair color for today annoyed the shit out of the guys when I climbed into the car this morning. That’s an added enticement to keep it. Puts it right up front and center, in their faces, who the fuck I am and why we shouldn’t do lame-ass crap like open calls for musicians.
My jaw drops when I note the expressions on my bandmates’ faces as they jam with Mr. No Talent. What the fuck? They look like they’re into this dude. Ah, no, not happening. There is no way in hell we’re replacing Ethan at the drums with this jerkoff.
Besides, my vote is the only vote in this band that counts, since I’m the only with both talent and a high-profile name, and I’ve already got a plan under way to get my brother to drop out of college at MIT and rejoin our group.
My leg starts to jiggle as the thundering music goes on and on. Why are we listening to more of this? It’s a crime to have my song mangled this way. It makes me want to kick all three of my friends—Taz, Linc, and Hugh—out of my band. If they can’t hear what I’m hearing, maybe I should. Christ, this last drummer is giving me a migraine and pissing me off royally.
Not able to take another second, I stand up and shout, “Fucking awesome, man. Don’t need to hear more.”
The music comes to a screeching halt—thank God—and Hugh glares at me. Smirking, I head toward the drums. “Leave your number with Hugh,” I remark with fake graciousness. “We’ll let you know as soon as we make a decision.”
The poor sap smiles and lights up. “Great. I’ve got a good feeling about this.”
He does? Must be deaf. As he sets down the sticks, brushes the sweat from his brow with his shoulder, and then starts to rise, I hurry toward the folding table set up as a bar. Don’t want to get trapped talking to him.
I can hear him chatting with Hugh behind me, and I keep my gaze locked on the drink I’m preparing.
“You’ll hear from me soon, Caleb,” Hugh states enthusiastically, and my brows lift. I need to shut down that shit soon; Hugh thinking he can call the shots for the band.
The second the door closes behind Caleb, the last worthless prospect on the audition sheet, I whirl toward my friends. “That was a waste of a day. Whose fucking idea was it to hold an open call for a drummer in Seattle?”
I say it all rhetorical like, but my gaze locks on Hugh.
“What’s wrong with Caleb?” Hugh asks, glaring at me. “He was the best we heard today.”
“That’s not saying much.” I smirk before I toss down my full drink in a single gulp. “Do you honestly think we should consider him? In case it escaped your notice, he could barely keep time.”
“Fuck, Eric, don’t be dramatic,” Taz grumbles, annoyed. “He wasn’t that bad.”
I cock a brow. “He wasn’t exactly good.”
“Listen, no one is going to be as good as Ethan,” Linc adds in his painfully patient way. We’ve all been friends since high school and he considers himself the peacemaker of the band. “You need to keep an open mind. We need a drummer before we head into the studio and back out on the road.”
“We have a drummer,” I remind them hotly.
“Fuck, Eric,” Hugh mutters, “you’re like a broken record. Your brother quit the band. Egghead’s off getting his degree so he can build high-tech stuff and shit.”
My gaze narrows as I bore into his eyes with my cobalt blue stare. What’s with all the arguing with me tonight? No way am I taking this crap from him. “The next one of you who calls my brother Egghead is out of the band, and the rest of it I’ve got handled. Ethan’s coming back. Don’t doubt it. Now I want to get the fuck out of here and head for home.”
Without waiting for an answer, I hustle toward the door, using my shoulder to shove it open, before I step out onto the street. At the SUV, I pop a cigarette into my mouth and gesture at Taz to give me a light as Hugh and Linc load the instruments into the cargo bay.
After focusing on cupping the flame so my hair doesn’t get singed, I swivel my gaze back to Hugh. “Why the fuck aren’t you unlocking the car?”
Hugh gives me the finger as he hits the key fob, and I fight back a laugh. It wouldn’t be half as fun needling him if he wasn’t so thin skinned.
“Eric, how much blow have you done today?” Taz inquires, hushed, so the other guys can’t hear him. “Dude, you’ve got to dial it down. You’re seriously wired.”
“What? Are you my mother now?”
“You know Hugh hates that shit.”
I give him the back off stare. “Fuck, I was with you guys in the audition room the entire time. All I’ve had is a couple of drinks like the rest of you. If I’m wired it’s because that was fucking torture and Hugh shouldn’t have insisted we stay for every drummer on the list. It was bullshit, and you know it.”
“Ease up, EJ.” He doesn’t believe that I’m straight and it shows in his eyes. It’s an insult because I haven’t done a line all day, and fuck him for questioning me. “Hugh’s getting tired of you bouncing off the walls and going off every ten seconds, and if you don’t get your shit together we’re going to lose him, too.”
Slowly, I exhale my smoke. “Is that right, Hugh?” I ask loud enough to be heard on the driver side of the vehicle. “You thinking of quitting the band?”
He opens his door, stands on the floorboard, and stares at me across the roof. “No, not thinking about quitting. Thinking about having a vote to kick you out.”
I smirk, amused. “You’re just full of winning ideas, aren’t you, Hugh? But maybe you should run it by the other guys and see what they think. After all”—I pretend to give it thought—“I write all the material, I’m the musical genius in the group, I have the contacts in the industry, and, oh yes, it’s me with the name.”
That earns me the middle finger a second time, and I’m busting up as I take shotgun beside him in the Escalade. It doesn’t matter how we talk to each other. Hugh’s not going anywhere. He loves me like a brother.
The back door slams shut behind Taz after he settles beside Linc, and Hugh guns the gas before pulling onto the road.
I reach a hand over the seat for Linc to hand me a beer as I take my vial from my pocket. It’s impossible to get the top off with how Hugh is making sharp turn after sharp turn trying to figure out where the freeway entrance is.
“Jesus Christ, man, use the fucking navigation system or something,” I grouse, snapping my fingers to the guys in the back. Why the hell is my hand still without a brewski?
A cold bottle is slapped into my palm and I set it in the center console drink cub
by before bringing a scoop of coke to my nostril. I breathe in deep, snort a few times, and wet my fingers to suck it into my airways.
Hugh glares at me. “Why are you doing that now? It’s bright on this street and any cop passing can see in. Can’t you fucking wait until we’re on the freeway?”
I could, but I won’t since I’m pretty sure from the convo outside the car with Linc that Hugh’s been spewing crap about me all day. I use the spoon to scoop out another taste. “Remind me again why the fuck we drove to Seattle instead of hopping up here by plane. We’d be home in two hours if we’d done it my way.”
“Maybe I just didn’t want to get arrested at TSA because some jerk traveling with me is stocked up like a pharmacy,” Hugh grumbles.
“An 8-ball isn’t a pharmacy,” I correct him. “And don’t fucking act like you don’t get lit every now and then. We all know better.”
“The gear,” Linc reminds, holding out a hand for me to give him the coke. “I thought we drove because of the gear. It’s such a fucking pain lugging it on a plane.”
My phone buzzing again shifts my attention and I check the notification. Call me ASAP. It’s an emergency. God damn it, what’s with Tara lately? This is over the top even for her.
When I look up, I find Linc hovered over the seat, reading my cell as he waits for me to hand off the blow. “Tara?” he asks, like he didn’t read the whole damn thing. “What’s turned her into a stalker today? She’s been burning up your phone since we left LA.”
“Today?” Taz jeers. “You say that like it’s something new. It’s every day since Eric hooked up with her.”
I switch off my phone, ignore them both, and snort another spoon of blow.
“You’re not really going to tell your brother you’ve been fucking his girlfriend while he’s away at college, are you?” Hugh asks skeptically.
I pretend to debate the question as I bask in the taste in my mouth that warns my buzz will soon be at another level. Then I give the vial to Linc and swivel around on the seat to face Hugh directly. “Of course I’m telling Ethan everything that’s been going on between me and Tara. No fucking way am I letting my brother marry that girl.”
“He’s going to lose it and beat the crap out of you,” Taz warns.
I shrug. “And I’ll let him. But once he’s over being angry, he’ll thank me later for saving him from Tara.”
That’s not bullshit. I’m positive he will—eventually.
Ethan’s a good guy, Tara’s a predator, and someone has gotta look out for my twin. He loves that girl and he shouldn’t.
Little bro needs someone to wake him up to the sad reality of the viper he’s let get claws into him. And when you’re a Manzone, no matter how good looking you are, you’ve gotta stay suspicious of everything.
Too many girls only want us for our money or the fame we’re born with as Alan’s sons. I’m positive Tara’s infatuation with Ethan falls into that category.
It’s not that my brother isn’t an amazing guy, because he is. He deserves nothing but the best. Tara isn’t even close to worthy of Ethan, and I’ve felt that way every single day since she got her hooks into him in high school.
“I still don’t see how fucking his girlfriend is going to get Ethan back in the band,” Taz says.
I roll my eyes because, fuck, they’re questioning me again. I’ve got a lock on what makes my brother tick, and they should know that by now. “It will. He’ll be back with the band inside a month. You can bank on it.”
“Well, if screwing over Ethan doesn’t work, maybe we should call Caleb and give him the slot,” Hugh suggests.
I scowl. “Fuck no. The guy doesn’t deserve to be in a band with me.”
“Then what are we going to do if Ethan doesn’t come back?” Hugh prods.
Not happening, and fuck them for doubting me. As we’re stopped at a light, I stare out the front window and my gaze locks on a packed parking lot. “Pull up over there.”
“What?” Hugh snaps. “We need to be home tomorrow night. Ethan’s party. Remember? Bailing on that isn’t a good start to getting him back in the band, and it’s a long fucking drive to Southern Cal. I’m not stopping.”
“Ah, yes you are. You want to find a drummer. There’s where we’ll do it. That bar.”
“We’re not going to a fucking bar, Eric. It’s almost midnight.”
“Pull into the lot and park. You said the best musicians are in Seattle. That’s where we’re going to find our new drummer. Mel’s Tavern. My grandpa Jack always says if you want to find good food, hot women, and great musicians, go where the Harleys are parked. And I’m fucking hungry.”
Chapter Three
Willow
Seven years earlier…
I PUSH THROUGH THE crush of people with my tray stacked high with dirty glasses and head toward the server station. My cell phone vibrates in my pocket and I toss a glare at my sister busy pouring drinks before checking the notification. It’s not a mystery who’s texting me at midnight on a Friday night while I’m working.
Yep, it’s my new problem thanks to Jade.
Dean: How late are you working? We can meet up after your shift is done. Gary and I are downtown at Chasers.
How nice for them. I suppress a groan as I wonder for the hundredth time why Jade thought it a great plan to have her boyfriend, Gary, bring his college roommate here to meet me. Dean is not my type, not in any way.
A fuzzy picture of Dean flashes in my head—fuzzy because after the first assessment of him when we met there was no need for a second inspection. It isn’t that he’s not good looking or anything. His blond hair is nice, and he’s got hazel eyes. I sort of like those, but his face is so…I struggle for the right term…unremarkable.
I suppose he’s cute enough, and at least Jade didn’t try to fix me up with a total loser, but two minutes with him was all it took to discover he’s an arrogant know-it-all without a sense of humor. The kind of guy who thinks he’s better than everyone else because of where he comes from. Not to mention dull and uptight, and nothing turns me off faster than that.
My sister should’ve known I wouldn’t be interested in him and not tried to sell me on his positives after I told her no way am I going out with him. It doesn’t matter that he’s smart or his prospects are good—whatever that means—or he’s soon to have a college degree. There’s no chemistry between us, and without a spark there’s no point.
Jade thinks anything about a guy can be overlooked if they can get her out of Capitol Hill forever. But in my book, there is no amount of success that could make me interested, ever, in a cold fish like Dean Tilman.
Setting my tray on the bar, I ignore the guy on the stool beside me with the obvious leer pointing in my direction. If one more guy gropes me, I’m going apeshit tonight.
Blowing the wayward hairs from my face, I carefully avoid eye contact with every male within hand’s reach of me. It’s been a long, busy night, and I’m ready for it to be over.
The tavern’s packed, and I can’t wait until last call so I can get out of here. I’ve had about all I can take of loud music, drunken guys, and hauling a tray through people bumping into me or grabbing my ass.
Block party week in Capitol Hill—the area of Seattle I live in—always makes it crazy in the bars. Too many rowdy people enjoying the neighborhood-wide street party, though it wouldn’t be so bad if Dad wasn’t in the hospital and sis and I weren’t running things for him.
Dad would never have scheduled me for a full shift the way Jade did. My sister knows that at twenty, I’m not old enough to take orders and serve drinks. I should have been outta here hours ago. I never work in the bar after the kitchen closes. Dad’s going to flip when he finds out my sister risked his liquor license because she was short-staffed on the busiest night of the year at Mel’s.
Though, Jade is doing the best she can running the bar in dad’s absence, and I am grateful she flew here from Virginia with her friend
s to keep things going until Dad can work again. If only one of those friends wasn’t Dean.
He hasn’t been a help, only a nuisance. The guy doesn’t take no for an answer. Thank God he has to leave for home soon.
I carefully unload the dirty glasses in the dishwasher’s cart as I wait for my sister to finish mixing the drink order up before mine.
My phone vibrates again.
Dean: This club is insane. I can bring you here tomorrow instead if you just want to chill together once you’re off work.
Chill? With Dean? Ah, no. I decide to respond because he’s not gotten the hint that I’m not interested.
Me: Busy after my shift. I’m busy tomorrow also. Sorry. Didn’t know you’d be here.
Rereading the text, I cringe. That’s a little harsh, and he is Jade and Gary’s friend.
Rapidly, I add:
Me: Maybe next time you’re here we can connect.
Dean: Or in Charlottesville. I could show you the campus. Help you get familiar with everything. Introduce you around to my friends.
Dang it. Now he thinks I want to date him and is going to continue pursuing me when I start school next month.
Jade snatches the drink ticket off my tray. “Dean?”
I switch off my phone and shove it into my pocket. “Who else? I’m changing my number in the morning if this keeps up. And thanks a lot for bringing Gary’s friend here as a fixup without telling me.”
Jade laughs as she reaches for a bottle of vodka. “He really likes you, Willow. And he’s a nice guy. Give it a chance. It’s not like you’re seeing anyone.”
“Thanks for pointing that out.”
What I don’t add is I’m still not completely over my breakup with my last boyfriend, Cole. The heart-shaped ring with the floating diamond on my left hand catches light and pulls my gaze there. I should probably stop wearing the promise ring he gave me, especially since promises weren’t something Cole could do. Like tell the truth. Be exclusive. Pay back the money I lent him. The list goes on and on in my head for too long before I shut it down.