“Danny has a weird James Bond fixation.” Joplin smiled. “Plus, he gets a kick out of seeing blue-jean-loving musicians dressed up like penguins.”
“Your uncle has an odd sense of humor.” Kane opened the driver’s side door, waiting while Joplin slid behind the wheel. “Have a safe trip.”
“You, too.”
As the SUV pulled away. Kane flashed to the morning five years earlier when Joplin walked from his hotel room. Framed in the doorway, she turned, looked him in the eyes, and told him, I love you. Words he’d held close to his heart ever since.
Love wasn’t enough back then. Kane, his life spiraling out of control, hadn’t felt worthy, or capable of being the man she deserved. Now, he wondered if it was too late to get back the most precious gift he’d ever received.
Kane watched until Joplin’s car was out of sight. He took the flight of stairs to his apartment at a jog. Energized, he packed his old duffel bag. The mission he’d set out for himself was clear, and he knew exactly what needed to be done. There was no room for error.
“Kane?” Frieda knocked, but the door was already open. “Mind if I come in?”
“I only have a few minutes.” Kane continued packing. “What can I do for you?”
Nervous, Frieda wiped her hands on her jeans.
“I wanted to apologize. To you and Joplin. Her car is gone.”
“She’s on her way to Los Angeles,” Kane said.
“My fault for not coming to see her right away.” Frieda kicked at the edge of the carpet. “Will she be back?”
“I don’t know.” Kane shrugged.
“Will you?”
“Will I be back?” Kane frowned. “Of course. I have my apartment. And a job. Can’t leave Fred in the lurch at the sawmill.”
“But will you come back for good?” Frieda demanded. “You love Joplin. She doesn’t belong in Stillwater.”
“Joplin fits in anywhere,” Kane said as he tossed one last pair of socks into the bag. He closed the zipper. “But you’re right. Stillwater will never be Joplin’s home.”
“You feel the same.” Frieda let out a resigned sigh. “Even if Joplin hadn’t arrived and stirred things up, you would have left eventually.”
Frieda was right. Stillwater wasn’t the home Kane longed to find. However, he’d made friends, people he wouldn’t forget or abandon. He’d be back. If not to stay, then to visit.
“Don’t worry, Frieda. We’ll see each other again.” Kane slung the pack over his shoulder. “Joplin left something for you.”
“Me?”
Taking a box tied with a bright-pink ribbon from under the bed, Kane handed the gift to Frieda. He watched with amusement as she wrapped the ribbon around her hair then gingerly lifted the lid. Eyes wide, she gasped.
Reverently, Frieda removed a pair of knee-high black and tan leather boots. Kane thought she might cry.
“Designer originals.” She sniffled. “I admired them the night Joplin walked into the bar. Size nine—almost perfect. I can’t believe she wanted me to have them. Especially after what I did.”
Kane didn’t understand why anyone went gaga over a pair of shoes. But his opinion didn’t matter. The joy and wonder on Frieda’s face made him smile.
“Joplin possesses an astounding capacity for forgiveness. I should know.”
Frieda followed Kane from the apartment. Clutching the boots with one arm, she gave him an awkward hug with the other.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“Already have,” Kane said. “Just need to figure out a way to hold on. And for once, not screw up.”
♫~♫~♫
KANE RANG THE bell and waited, resisting the urge to flip the bird at the security camera mounted over the door. Probably not the best move, considering the point of his visit was to mend fences.
“Might as well come in,” a voice called from inside the house. “Unless you plan to tuck tail and run.”
“Fuck you,” Kane muttered
Reaching to open the door, he walked in. Waiting, not five feet away, stood Jaxon Cross.
“Fuck me?” Jax snorted, his lip curling into a sneer. “Fuck you.”
“Play nice, boys,” Ryder Hart said. Seated in the living room, his long legs crossed at the ankles, the rock legend nodded toward Kane. “Don’t mind me. My wife thought you two might need a mediator. If you want to come out swinging, be my guest. Long as you don’t get blood on the rug, be my guest.”
Neutral territory—Jax’s choice—the small guest house stood on the south end of the Hart’s Beverly Hills estate. Since they literally were Ryder’s guests, Kane planned to be on his best behavior.
Meeting Jax’s gaze straight on, Kane raised an eyebrow.
“You want to take a swing?” He tapped his chin. “Go ahead. Figure I owe you one free shot.”
“Cut the martyr routine,” Jax said, rolling his famous blue eyes. “Takes all the fun out a long-overdue ass whipping.”
“Ass whippings are reserved for the backyard,” Ryder cautioned. “To your right and through the French doors.”
Kane didn’t know how to respond. He hadn’t received the warmest reception when he called Jax and asked to meet. He’d arrived, nervous and ready for anything from a cold shoulder to a knockdown, drag-out fight.
Jax didn’t seem angry. Nor had he welcomed Kane with open arms. Ass whipping was mentioned—more than once. So far, there was more talk and posturing than action.
Dressed in white linen pants and a loose, baby-blue silk shirt, Jax looked like a man more accustomed to wielding a polo mallet than a guitar pick. He looked good. Healthy. Prosperous.
However, when Kane looked into Jax’s eyes, he saw traces of the boy he’d met all those years ago in the Australian Outback. When they would run barefoot all summer long and dream of playing their music for a living.
Kane felt a wave of regret and sorrow for what he’d lost. For Jax, the friend he’d thrown away.
“Thanks for not hanging up when I called.”
“I was tempted,” Jax said. “Thank Skye. She’s a better person than either of us will ever be.”
“Thank her for me. In case I don’t get the chance.”
Jax nodded. Eyes narrowed, he gave Kane a long, considering look.
“Pulled your head out of your ass, I see.”
“Interesting turn of phrase.” Kane chuckled. “But, yes. Guess I did.”
“Good.” Jax waited for a beat, his expression thoughtful. “Why are we here, Kane?”
Suddenly, the speech Kane prepared and memorized seemed wrong. The words stuck in his throat. Taking a deep breath, he decided to speak from the heart.
“The word sorry gets bandied around a lot. But what else can I say?” Kane scrubbed a hand over his face. He was tired and scared. “I screwed up. No excuses. Hell, you were there. What’s the point of rehashing my endless mistakes?”
“Believe me,” Jax said. “I appreciate your restraint.”
“I’m sorry, Jax. I’ve missed you—every fucking day. You can decide if I’m worth another chance.” Kane cleared his throat. “I want you to be my friend again.”
“Jesus.” Jax shook his head. “I always was your friend.”
“You were,” Kane admitted. “Then, please, let me try to be your friend. A better version of the one who let you down.”
“What am I supposed to say?” Jax asked, looking over his shoulder at their host.
“Say something.” Ryder sniffled. “Before I cry my fucking eyes out.”
“What the hell.” Jax grabbed Kane and pulled him in for a hug. “I’ve missed you too, asshole.”
♫~♫~♫
“SURE YOU’RE OKAY with us having a beer?”
Not so long ago, Jax’s question would have played on Kane’s last nerve. He would have told his friend to shove the frosty bottle where the sun don’t shine. Not so long ago, Kane was a mess physically and mentally. He resen
ted anyone who tried to help—especially his best friend.
Not so long ago seemed more like a lifetime. Kane would always be an addict. But today, he was all about one day at a time. And today was pretty damn sweet.
“Enjoy your beer,” Kane told Jax and Ryder. He raised his glass and smiled. “Lemonade suits me fine.”
They were seated on the back patio overlooking a stretch of green lawn with a border of trees and rose bushes. Ryder’s fame bought his family a beautiful home. However, a fifteen-foot ivy-lined security fence that circled the property was the price of fame the rock god learned to live with for the sake of those he loved.
Love came in many forms, Kane thought. He glanced at Jax. His friend. His brother. They couldn’t go back, but as he felt the rift between them start to heal, going forward suited him just fine.
“Nice shirt, by the way,” Kane said with a smirk. Damn, he’d missed giving his friend grief.
Jax grinned, taking a long draw from his bottle.
“Silk feels damn good next to my skin. And according to Skye, the color brings out the blue in my eyes, dickweed.”
“Skye picked out the shirt?” Kane asked.
“She did. So?” Jax demanded, ready to defend his lady’s taste in clothes.
“So, okay.” Kane shrugged. “Hope you know how lucky you are to have Skye in your life. She outclasses you by a mile.”
“She does,” Jax agreed, relaxing. “I lived without Skye—without my heart—for too long. Made me angry. Cynical.”
“No shit,” Jax said, grinning “Last few years, you wrote a lot of songs telling the world how much love sucks.”
“Dark theme,” Ryder said. “But your bad boy of rock persona has been lucrative.”
“My music will never be all sweetness and light.” Jax let out a deep, contented sigh. “When I’m around Skye, the darkness clears. She even has me thinking about shaving off my beard and cutting my hair.”
“Damn, son.” Ryder chuckled. “You are in love.”
“All in,” Jax said. He tipped his bottle against Ryder’s, his gaze meeting Kane’s. “Here’s to second chances.”
Kane sipped the sweet/tart lemonade and tasted Joplin. He’d called her the night before to check in and see how she was doing. Two days away were two days too many. She didn’t know he was in Los Angeles, but she would find out tonight when he showed up for her uncle’s big night. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be alone.
“I need to ask a favor. Not for me,” Kane rushed to explain. “For Joplin.”
“Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what you want,” Jax said. “The reunion Danny Graham planned for Razor’s Edge is scheduled to take place tonight.”
“And?” Kane prompted. “Will you be there?”
“Skye feels we should go.”
“Guess that answers my question.” Kane felt a weight lift off his chest.
“I don’t know about playing the old songs.” Jax shrugged. “What about you?”
Kane hesitated. Outside of his therapist’s office, he didn’t talk about his music. He told Joplin everything about the past four years, but even she was in the dark as to why he’d stopped playing.
Music was Jax’s life, the thing that brought them together. They learned their craft together, pushed each other to be better. Kane didn’t expect his old writing partner to understand. However, if anyone could come close, it would be Jax.
“I haven’t picked up a guitar since the last Razor’s Edge concert.” Absently, Kane flexed his fingers. “Haven’t written a word or sung a note.”
“Why?” Jax asked, puzzled. “Music is part of you, Kane. How could you just stop?”
“I’m scared. Terrified.” Kane took a deep breath. “You remember the first song we wrote?”
“Sunshine Lady.” Jax winced. “Not our finest hour.”
“Wasn’t that bad,” Kane said. “Did you know I was drunk at the time?”
“I knew you were drinking.” Jax’s eyes deepened to a midnight blue. “Seemed like you always were.”
“Exactly. Every song I crafted. Every time I stepped in front of a microphone. I was fueled by alcohol. Inspired by beer and tequila.” Kane let out a shaky breath. “What if I’m no good sober? I’d rather never write another song than churn nothing but low-quality shit.”
Ryder hadn’t commented while Kane made his confession. Until now.
“Won’t know until you try,” he said.
“Last few days, I’ve had some lyrics running through my head.” Kane shrugged. “Haven’t tried to do anything with them.”
“What are we waiting for.” Jax rolled to his feet. “Mind if we borrow a couple of guitars?”
“Only if you let me sit in,” Ryder said.
“Now?” Kane’s voice squeaked, the pitch far from his usual deep baritone. He felt as though his body were glued to the chair, his feet encased in cement. “Right now?”
Jax grabbed Kane’s arm, pulling, tugging, willing him to his feet. He shoved him across the patio and into the house.
“I need to check in with Skye. Let her know we’re on for tonight.” Jax took out his phone. “Go. I’ll be right behind.”
Kane walked over the cobblestone path, his mind a riot of emotions. He remembered the last time he was here, inside Ryder’s home studio. They hadn’t made music, they’d made magic. So damn young and arrogant. Certain the world was his for the taking.
“I didn’t doubt anything back then.” Kane shot Ryder a self-deprecating smile. “I need your advice.”
“Just close your eyes and play, son,” Ryder said. “The music will come.”
“Maybe.” Kane wasn’t convinced. “I need your advice about something else.”
“Okay.”
“A long time ago, I wanted to know how you kept your marriage together. You and Quinn. Still in love, still committed.”
“Right.” Ryder nodded. “I said, someday, when you really need to know, ask me again.”
“I’m asking,” Kane said. “Cause I really, really need to know.”
“Back then, you only had eyes for Joplin.” Ryder raised an eyebrow. “I assume nothing’s changed?”
“You knew?”
“My eyes may be older than yours, but my vision’s 20/20,” Ryder said with a wink. “Always has been.”
“I was the king of the one-night stand,” Kane said. His actions were nothing to brag about, but he wanted Ryder to understand. “Didn’t change once I was sober.”
“Until Joplin?”
Kane nodded. Ryder did understand.
“I love Joplin.” Kane liked the way the words felt on his tongue. “Always have. Always will.”
“No better feeling.”
“Thing is, I don’t know if Joplin loves me.” Kane rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “If by some miracle, she does, I’m not sure I deserve her.”
“Of course, you don’t,” Ryder scoffed. “Women are infinitely smarter than we are. More evolved. Multitask like nobody’s business. And, they smell better than we do.”
“Very true,” Kane said.
“Yet, for some reason, they love us.” Ryder seemed genuinely amazed. “My advice is simple. First, tell Joplin how you feel. With actions and words. Second, get down on your knees every day and thank the deities for letting you share your life with such an amazing woman.”
“I can do that.” Kane nodded. “Gladly.”
“There you go.” Ryder slung an arm over Kane’s shoulders. “Now, what do you say we go make some music?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
♫~♫~♫
JOPLIN TURNED IN a slow circle, examining the room. Her frown deepened.
“You’re certain we’re in the right place?”
Danny Graham, a bit thinner, but in good spirits, nodded.
“My assistant double-checked the details. Then triple checked. You know Gloria never makes a mistake.”
“I don’t underst
and,” Joplin said. “You wanted a Razor’s Edge reunion. Made me rearrange my jam-packed schedule so I could zig-zag the country and track everyone down. Then, do my best to convince them that one last concert was a good idea.”
“Exactly,” Danny beamed. “You always had a head for details.”
Joplin sighed, trying to not to lose her patience. She’d spent the past three days catching up on business, worrying that Danny was about to be very disappointed, and trying not to think about what she would do if Kane broke his promise. She was ninety-nine-point nine percent certain he would be here. But she had to keep reminding herself to breathe and believe.
Dressing carefully, wanting to do Danny proud, Joplin chose a red gown covered with hand-sewn beads, strappy silver sandals, and simple but elegant ruby earrings that fell in a single column, almost skimming her shoulders. She twisted her hair into a bun at the base of her neck, held in place by an antique silver clip.
A long mint-green limousine arrived at Joplin’s at six thirty, sharp. The driver, in head-to-toe white, escorted her to the car where Danny waited in a double-breasted Tom Ford tuxedo—perfectly tailored to reflect his recent weight loss.
No one would have guessed he was dying. But Joplin knew, and her heart was heavy knowing she’d failed to fulfill his last wish.
When they arrived at their destination, Joplin expected to find a huge venue filled with guests and reporters and flashing cameras. People eager to witness the reunion of the decade. Instead, Danny brought her someplace else altogether.
The room was cozy, not the huge concert hall she anticipated. Two large sofas and six purple velvet chairs filled the space. Fringed floor lamps cast a warm glow. A large dark-gold area rug covered the hardwood floor.
“Where’s the stage?” Joplin threw her arms wide. “Where are the rows and rows of filled seats? This place looks like a…”
“Turn of the century bordello?”
Joplin spun around, her hand flying to her mouth in surprise.
“Beck?”
“In the flesh.” Grinning, Beck Kramer brushed a hand down the sleeve of his black jacket. “Be honest. I clean up good, don’t I?”
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