ALMOST HOME

by Williams, Mary J.

  “The band gets a two-week break starting tomorrow, right? Any idea what Kane has planned?”

  Joplin considered hiring someone to kidnap Kane and keep him on a remote island for ten days or so—for his own good, of course. She quickly dropped the idea. He would hate her. More than he already did.

  “In a perfect world, Kane will spend time with Jax. Or Beck. Or Morgan. But I’m not hopeful.”

  “Keep me informed.” Danny paused. “Speaking of Morgan. Almost forgot, he’s the reason I called.”

  Morgan Ames. The most elusive member of the band. He was friendly but said little about himself. Preferred the shadows to the limelight and mumbled his way through a few interviews before Joplin let him off the hook. She suspected something was wrong, but with everything else on her plate, she left him and his secrets alone.

  Dreading what Danny had to say, Joplin rubbed her temple. She didn’t know if she could take another piece of bad news.

  “Is Morgan in trouble?”

  “Maybe,” Danny said in an off-hand manner. “Maybe not. Just wanted you to know his real name is McCloud, not Ames.”

  Joplin almost—almost—allowed herself to relax. Musicians changed their names all the time.

  “Is he wanted for armed robbery? Murder?” Joplin’s overactive imagination took over. “For the love of God, Danny, let the other shoe drop.”

  “Some sort of dustup when he was eighteen. Small town sheriff’s department, very suspicious of outsiders, so the details are non-existent. All I know for certain is that there are no outstanding warrants on Morgan. Obviously, he felt the need to invent a new identity. However, he is not wanted by the law.”

  “Then what’s our next move?” Joplin asked.

  “We don’t have one. Let him be,” Danny said. “Figured you should be in the know—just in case.”

  Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Joplin sighed. Yes, Danny taught her well.

  “I should go. I like to be there when Razor’s Edge leaves the stage.”

  “If anything changes with Kane for the worse, let me know.”

  “I will,” Joplin assured him.

  Danny ended the call. He didn’t inquire about Joplin’s health—physical or mental. She would have been surprised if he had. He put her in charge of Razor’s Edge because he believed she was ready, trusted her to do the job without running to him for help.

  The day-to-day business gave her the kind of challenges she craved and thrived on. Where she faltered was with the personal drama. She’d broken rule number one. Don’t get personally involved. Jax and Skye. Morgan. Beck. They weren’t simply her clients. They were her friends. Her heart ached for each of them. For Kane, her heart broke.

  How could she help them when she couldn’t help herself?

  Joplin took a deep breath. Back to work. She left the dressing room and ran face first into a Texas-sized pair of surgically enhanced knockers. Delilah Larraine. A name like that just begged for a G-string and a stripper pole.

  Keeping her opinion to herself, Joplin smiled and gritted her teeth—again. If something didn’t change, by the end of the tour, she’d have nothing left to chew with but tiny nubs.

  The countess looked down her thin nose and sniffed.

  “Jerry, isn’t it?”

  Delilah knew her name. Yet, she deliberately used a new variation each time they met. Instead of correcting the woman for the tenth time, Joplin ignored the weak attempt at an insult and moved on.

  “Countess,” she said with a nod. “If you’ll excuse me, I—"

  Delilah stayed where she was, blocking Joplin’s exit.

  “I need to find an emery board.” She wiggled her index finger. “Chipped nail. Kane said if I needed anything, you’re the person I should come to.”

  “Wrong,” Joplin said. “My job is to take care of Razor’s Edge. You, as Kane’s… What are you? A groupie. Hanger-on?”

  “We’re friends.” Delilah paused for dramatic effect. “With benefits.”

  “Nice. We can never have too many friends, can we?” Joplin tried to hold the sarcasm but couldn’t keep a bit from sneaking through.

  “Why are you such a bitch?” Delilah demanded.

  “Just lucky, I guess. You’ll find a nail file in any dressing room. Top drawer of the vanity.”

  She walked toward the stage, head high. Delilah Larraine had Kane—for now. But Joplin had a job to do.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ♫~♫~♫

  LAST NIGHT OF the tour. Last encore. Last note.

  Head pounding, Kane gripped the neck of his guitar as a wave of dizziness washed over him. Determined to walk off under his own power, he locked his knees and gritted out the last moments on stage.

  The lights went black. Finally. Kane almost wept with relief. All he wanted was to find a quiet place, curl into a ball, and sleep. If he woke up tomorrow, he’d carry on. If not? What the hell. Twenty-three wasn’t the worst age to die.

  Kane squinted, his blurry gaze landing on Jax. They weren’t on the best of terms these days. In fact, they barely spoke except for the same pre-show exchange.

  “Can you play?” Jax would ask, not looking him in the eyes.

  “You’ll know the day I can’t,” Kane returned with a sneer.

  “Then let’s do this thing.”

  “Rock and roll, brother.” Kane nodded. “Rock and roll.”

  Once inseparable, they were one step away from enemies. His fault, Kane knew. But he was so far gone, he couldn’t imagine a way back. Not to Jax. And not to Joplin. He was truly and royally fucked.

  Kane stumbled. Headed for a faceplant, he was surprised when someone caught him, shocked when that someone turned out to be Jax.

  “You okay?” Jax shook his head. “Stupid question. You haven’t been okay in longer than I can remember.”

  When Jax would have moved away, Kane gripped his arm. Though his tongue weighed a ton, he managed to mumble a question.

  “We done?”

  “Last night of the tour.” Jax leaned him against a speaker. “Surprised you remembered.”

  “No.” Kane’s head fell forward. “Are we done?”

  But Jax was gone, and Kane had his answer. His best friend was gone, and he was alone.

  Reaching into his pocket, Kane’s fingers closed around a small object. He placed the pill on his tongue and swallowed. From there until the elevator miraculously opened onto the correct floor, his memory was a blank. His legs refused to cooperate, so he leaned forward and hoped gravity took care of the rest.

  Bingo. Kane fell across the hallway, hit the wall, slid to the floor, and pitied the poor maid who was tasked with vacuuming around his body.

  “Kane?”

  Joplin, her green eyes brimming with concern, knelt by Kane’s side. Certain she was a hallucination, he decided to take advantage of the trick his muddled mind decided to play on him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held tight.

  “Missed you,” he whispered. “So much.”

  “Did you? I’m glad.”

  Joplin brushed a kiss across his forehead.

  “I dream about your lips. Soft. You taste like lemons.”

  “I taste like lemon drops,” Joplin said as she tugged him to his feet.

  “Sweet,” Kane chuckled, then frowned. “What’s so funny?”

  “We’ll figure it out after we get you into bed.”

  “Nope.” Kane waggled a finger, almost poking Joplin in the eye. “No sex. Saving myself.”

  “I promise to control my baser instincts.”

  As though by magic, the hotel door opened; Kane missed the point where Joplin found the key card in his back pocket.

  “Under the covers,” she said.

  Kane grumbled as Joplin took time to remove his boots, but seconds later, he was tucked in. Still convinced she wasn’t real, he grabbed her hand before she could disappear.

  “Might be dead before morning.�
��

  “No!” Joplin’s fingers tightened around his. “You will not die.”

  Kane’s eyes grew heavy as the lure of sleep, of oblivion, beckoned.

  “Might,” he insisted. “Angel. Tell Joplin… So sorry.”

  “I know,” she whispered.

  Before Kane drifted off, he needed to say one more thing, in case he never had another chance. He raised her hand to his lips.

  “Love you. Always.”

  ♫~♫~♫

  THE ROOM WAS dark the next time Kane opened his eyes. So, he thought, unless hell provided eight hundred count sheets, he wasn’t dead. Stifling a groan, he rolled to his side and found someone in bed beside him.

  Joplin. Except for her shoes, she wore last night’s leather pants and blue satin blouse. Her loose hair covered the pillow in a blanket of gold. He’d imagined her in his bed a million times. The reality wasn’t bad, Kane thought until he remembered why she was here. Not in a flash, but a flicker of random scenes, each worse than the last.

  Kane’s head pounded, but he ignored the familiar morning-after feeling. He watched as Joplin’s eyelids fluttered, then opened. Unlike him, she was instantly focused and alert. Then again, she wasn’t coming down from another not so enjoyable alcohol and pills-induced high.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  “Indescribably awful.” Kane tried to swallow but found his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

  “Here.” Joplin handed him an open bottle of water. “Drink.”

  Water wasn’t Kane’s usual morning-after liquid of choice. He preferred the hair of the dog—many, many hairs. The ground under him was shakier than normal, so he didn’t argue.

  Kane had questions, needing answers to fill the gaps in his memory. He started in chronological order.

  “How did I get back to the hotel?”

  “Jax arranged for one of the stagehands to take you. Paid for the taxi.”

  After last night, the way they ended things, Jax should have dropped Kane’s sorry ass in the street without a backward glance.

  “He’s always looked out for me.” Kane sighed. “Even now.”

  “Jax is angry,” Joplin said, her green eyes filled with sympathy and pain and a myriad of other emotions Kane’s foggy brain couldn’t interpret. “But he still cares. As do Beck, Morgan, and Skye.”

  Razor’s Edge. Music had always been his lifeline. Last night, he cut the ties. He couldn’t go back to the group. Not now. Not the way he was.

  “I need help.” Kane took a shaky breath as he looked into Joplin’s eyes. “Will you help me?”

  Joplin opened her arms. Kane fell into her embrace and held on for his life. She pushed his lank hair from his face and pressed a cool kiss to his brow. He felt better already.

  “We’ll check you into the best rehab facility in the country.”

  Kane stiffened. Rehab was a dirty word, an admission of guilt. But damn, he was tired. Slowly, he relaxed. Of course, Joplin was right. She always was.

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll help check you in. When you’re allowed visitors, I’ll be there.”

  Clean and sober. The idea tantalized and terrified him. But with Joplin there to keep him on the right track, maybe he had a chance.

  As Kane shifted closer to Joplin, his hand came to rest on her ribcage. He frowned when he felt more bone than flesh.

  “You’ve lost weight.”

  “Nothing to worry about,” Joplin said, dismissing his concern. “With all the running around, sometimes I forgot to eat. Now that the tour is over, I’ll do better. We’ll both do better.”

  Kane looked at Joplin, really looked at her for the first time in months. She wasn’t simply too thin. She was rundown. Tired. No, exhausted. Once filled with boundless energy, she appeared fragile, breakable.

  Joplin blamed the hectic tour schedule. Kane blamed himself.

  “I have calls to make. While I take care of some last-minute business, you take a shower. Order breakfast from room service.” Joplin rolled to her feet. “When I get back, we’ll make plans. Okay?”

  Nodding, Kane ran a hand over his face as his mind raced. Suddenly energized, Joplin grabbed her bag and slipped into her shoes.

  “You’ll be in rehab by the end of the day.” She paused at the door, a smile lighting up her face. “And Kane?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you,” she said and blew him a kiss.

  Joplin loved him. Kane loved Joplin. He fell back onto the bed. Love wasn’t enough. Not when she wore blinders, and he was a freaking addict. There were no guarantees rehab would work for him.

  Kane didn’t know the statistics. How many people stayed clean, how many went back to their old ways. He could go through the program only to fall again, harder than before. And take Joplin with him.

  Jax called Kane the most selfish person he’d ever known. If anyone should know, it would be the person who knew him longest and best. But even the most egocentric person was capable of one moment of clarity per lifetime. This was his.

  Picking up the phone, Kane waited.

  “Front desk. How may I help you?”

  “Would you connect me to room 1197?”

  Delilah answered after the third ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Pack your bags,” he told her.

  “Kane?” She laughed. “You disappeared after the concert without a word. Now, before the crack of dawn, you expect me to jump at your latest whim?”

  Despite all the time they’d spent together—including two weeks in her St. Moritz castle—Kane didn’t know Delilah very well. However, he knew one thing. She wanted to be famous, and he was about to grant her wish. She wouldn’t just jump. If necessary, she’d find a way to sprout a pair of fucking wings.

  “The question you asked me the other night.” Kane cleared his throat. “The answer is yes.”

  “Yes?” Delilah squealed. “Really?”

  “Really. We’re getting married, Lilah.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ♫~♫~♫

  PRESENT DAY

  THE ALARM ON Joplin’s phone woke her to the voice of George Harrison crooning Here Come’s the Sun. A bit of a cliché, but after a night of tossing and turning, she needed a song she could hum to as she forced herself from the warm bed. The upbeat Beatle’s classic was, as always, perfect.

  Joplin dragged herself to the bathroom and turned the shower taps on full blast. Fiddling with the temperature, she settled on hot, but not scalding, and stepped into the stall.

  Normally, she was a get in, do what was necessary, and get out kind of person. However, groggy from lack of sleep and memories from the past overload, Joplin lifted her face and waited for the water to revive her. And waited. And waited.

  Twenty minutes later, still heavy eyed and feeling like a water-logged prune, Joplin reached for a towel. She needed coffee, enough to keep her alert as she drove to the airport. From there, she could board the plane, close her eyes, and leave a professional in charge of getting her home.

  As Joplin dried her hair, she realized how much she’d needed to see Kane again. She would always have regrets, but after talking to him and letting herself face the past, allowing herself to remember things she’d purposely avoided thinking about for the past five years, she was ready to set aside the bad memories and hold to the good.

  Joplin wiped the steam from the mirror. Her eyes were clear, and her heart seemed lighter.

  “There were a lot of good times,” Joplin told her reflection.

  Ready to get out of Stillwater and on the road, she slid into a pair of blue jeans. She would be back to business chic soon enough, she reasoned. Might as well enjoy another day of casual comfort. Over her bra, she pulled a thin cotton camisole followed by a lightweight cashmere sweater, the green a few shades lighter than her eyes.

  Joplin sat on the bed, a pair of socks in her hand, at the exact moment her phone rang. She
checked the screen. Bradley. She considered letting the call skip directly to voicemail but shook her head. A good fiancée answered when her husband to be was on the other end of the line.

  “Hi,” she said with more enthusiasm than she felt. “What’s up?”

  “Just checking in.”

  Joplin wasn’t sure how to answer. Bradley Sheerer, the man she planned to marry—if they were ever in the same city long enough to pick a date—never called to chat. An up-and-coming entertainment lawyer, he was hyper-focused on his career. Since she felt the same about her job, they made a good pair. Or so she told herself.

  The day Bradley proposed, Joplin was shocked. To be honest, she wasn’t sure why she said yes. She liked him in a casual, friends who occasionally saw each other naked, kind of way. Love hadn’t entered the picture, and she doubted anything so deep or profound ever would. Far as she knew, he felt the same.

  They traveled in the same social circles. He wasn’t after her money and made no bones about why he considered her perfect wife material. No one made partner at the firm where he worked unless they were married. He was thirty-one, ready to move ahead. Content to settle down. Why not choose a woman already entrenched in the music business? And, as the niece of Danny Graham, she had a certain built-in cachet. Plus, her clients and contacts provided him an endless source of potential billable hours.

  Not exactly the most romantic proposal. However, Joplin felt one of the most important things she and Bradley had going for them was honesty. The odyssey her uncle sent her on was almost over. She’d reconnected with her old friends, build a bond she hoped would grow stronger.

  Joplin looked at her empty ring finger. She’d learned something very important about herself. She didn’t want to marry a man who thought she was convenient. She wanted passion. She wanted to marry a man who looked at her as if she were the only other person on earth. A lover and a best friend from the moment they said I do until she took her last breath.

  Perhaps one day, she would find her one true love. Perhaps not. Along the way, Joplin wouldn’t settle for anything less. Marrying Bradley would be a huge mistake. He wasn’t the man for her. And he deserved to know the truth—in person.