“Sister-wife?” I said.
“It’s a reality show on television. There is one man who has four wives.”
“They can’t all be his legal wives.”
“No,” said Marshall. “Only one is. But they had wedding ceremonies and call the relationships spiritual unions.”
“You seem to know a lot about this, Marshall.”
“I’ve had some time on my hands.”
That was the problem we all had, which led to Jack Daniels and impossible conversations.
“And what?” I said. “He has sex with all of them?”
“He must,” said Kane. “They have eighteen kids between all of them.”
“He,” said Marshall. “Divides his time equally between them. They have four different houses on the same street, and he goes to a different house each night.”
“That’s just fucking educational. But I don’t see how that helps us.”
“Don’t you?” said Holmes. “Think about it. All of us are on the road half the year, and Mr. Attorney hasn’t poked his head out of his office in so long that he barely knows what a woman is.”
“Hey,” protested Marshall.
“You have to admit,” I said, “you’ve let things slide on that front. A rich, good-looking guy like you should have been married and divorced three different times by now.”
“Granted.”
“So back to the conversation," I said. "You think that we should take turns with Jacine?”
“Yeah. It makes sense. We are all busy people, and none of us has had the time to commit to a single relationship. Maybe part-time would work? Think of it as serial monogamy but without messy divorces. We just set our schedules to rotate who is in town when.”
“Except, I’m always in town,” said Marshall.
“Not to be indelicate, old man,” said Kane. “But you do work like a demon. I’ve called you what—three times in the last week at eleven at night and you are in your office. What kind of life is that for Jacine?”
“Maybe it’d change if I had someone to come home to.”
“That sound like a river in Egypt to me,” said Holmes.
“What?”
“Denial,” I said. “Geezus, haven’t you ever been in rehab?”
“No.” He stared at me with disapproval. Clearly, he thought that I, Kane and Holmes and our rock star ways weren’t good enough for Jacine.
But Holmes pressed on. “We all get what we want, and Jacine isn’t left home alone prey for whoever else would make moves on her.”
“I doubt,” said Marshall, “that Jacine thinks of herself as prey.”
“You forget something,” I said. “There is a good reason that Jacine doesn’t allow us to see each other. We don’t get along well. How could we share a woman?”
“Didn’t we work that out in the jail?”
“Yeah, before I realized that Kane wanted to make moves on my woman.”
“Well, if you have that attitude," said Rory, "then we’ll never get anywhere, except the next jail when one of us takes a shot at the other.”
“Holmes has a point,” said Marshall. “You’ll end up killing each other if you try to compete for her. And I tell you, she won’t like it one bit.”
“What makes you the expert?” I said.
“I’ve watched her grow up. She’s always been independent. No one is going to pin her down. Plus, she saw enough shit when her parents broke up it soured her ideas on marriage.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m talking out of school here. If she wants to share that with you, she will. All I’m saying is, she’ll shut us all out if we push her too hard.”
“Like she did the past couple of weeks,” said Kane thoughtfully.
“Yes, exactly,” said Marshall. He settled his glass down with a clink on the glass table by his chair and stood. “But really, Holmes. I don’t see how this idea of yours will work. I don’t intend to share Jacine with anyone. Like I said, I’m always in town.”
With that, Tobias Marshall sauntered out toward the driveway as if he held all the cards.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jacine
“Dad,” I said as I strolled out of my room. He sat on the sofa reading a book. His knee jiggled not from nervousness but inactivity. My father did not like his enforced recovery after surgery. The past couple weeks have been challenging for him and me because he tested his limits and my patience every day.
“Are you going to be okay?”
He tossed the book aside and sighed, but then glanced at me and smiled.
“Don’t you look beautiful.”
Tonight, finally, my torture will be over because the big concert happens in just a few hours. And with the help of my stylist, I pulled off a look that was LA casual appropriate for a rock concert that I wouldn’t sweat to death in. She found these incredible black satin skinny jeans in a vintage shop and added ebony thigh-high, spike-heeled boots, and a black leather biker’s jacket. Under the leather, I sported a “Work Release” promo tee with which she took liberties. She ripped out the collar and cut a line straight down that resulted in the flaps forming a “v” that parted and strategically displayed the top of my black lace bra.
And thus armored, I was ready to face Cole Kane, Jersey Dys, and Rory Holmes.
The butterflies in my stomach betrayed my nervous anticipation. Despite all hopes to the contrary, my desire for each of the men had not waned during our forced separation. A running film show of illicit encounters with each of them visited my dreams each night like Marley’s fucking ghost with sexual intent. I woke each time sweating and panting. Often I had to finish the subject of my nightly visions on my own, but that’s always a B list response to what should be an A-list party.
So if my outfit this night was a teensy bit suggestive, it had nothing on wickedly inappropriate commentary on the sex appeal of each rocker running through my brain right now. I picked up my father’s unfinished whiskey and soda and bolted it down in the quest to wet my suddenly dry throat.
“What?” he protested, “that’s mine.”
“With your medications, you aren’t supposed to drink.”
“You are not my mother.”
“No,” I said. I leaned over the couch to give him a peck on the cheek. “Just an overly concerned daughter who doesn’t want to see her father croak by not following the doctor’s orders.”
“One drink isn’t going to kill me. It helps to loosen the arteries.”
“You’ve been reading the internet again. What did I tell you about that?”
“I should have never sent you to Harvard.”
“Too late. You are stuck with the result. Now, no drinking.”
“Don’t worry. I fully intend to dance at your wedding.”
“Then you better follow all the doctor’s orders, because that is a long time coming.”
“Hmmm,” he mumbled in a displeased tone.
The doorbell rang, and I scrunched my face in thought trying to place who it could be at this hour.
“Who can that be?”
“I believe it’s Tobias,” said my father with an evil grin.
“He better not lead you to drink,” I said as I went to and yanked open the door. But instead of the usual business suited Tobias, he stood framed in the doorway wearing a tuxedo.
I stared and swallowed hard, because what man doesn’t look good in a tuxedo. But Tobias didn’t just look good, he looked smoking, and I can envision a new tuxedoed version of Tobias haunting my dreams tonight. Forget me remaining cool, calm and collected in my concert garb. Heat traveled from my thighs and up my spine.
I was in humongous trouble.
“What are you doing here?”
“Taking you to the concert.”
“Oh no. We agreed—”
“Not to see each other until the concert.”
Leave to a lawyer to nail down the intent of an agreement to the letter. I had been sloppy with my words. My bad. And how am I reward
ed for my carelessness?
Getting to hang on the arm of the gorgeous silver-fox.
“Tobias, is that you?” called my father.
“Yes, Franklin. Just picking up Jacine like you asked.”
“Thanks.”
My eyes narrowed. “My father put you up to this? Because Anson can—”
“I gave Anson the night off,” my father called.
Tobias might be a silver-fox, but my father had ears like one.
I stepped from the hall to the living room with my heels clicking on the marble floor.
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I know you want to avoid those disasters in rocker clothing, and Tobias will protect you from them.”
“What?” I could not believe this. “Who said I needed protection?”
“I do. Daughter, I hate to tell you this, but someone sold me a particularly salacious recording of you and a certain musician in a hospital conference room.”
My face must have turned several shades of red.
“What!”
“Calm down. I contained the situation.”
Contained. Like I was a client.
“Contained!”
My father snapped open the day’s copy of Variety that had laid unopened all day on the glass coffee table. “It’s nothing to get excited about,” he said calmly. “You are an adult. And I asked Dys to keep you busy. I just didn’t expect that he’d get that busy, that soon.”
“What!” I sputtered.
“In any case, I couldn’t let something like that hit the media, so I took care of it. But I understood then why you didn’t want to have contact with any of them.”
I spun, inchoate as words caught in my throat and I spotted the amusement in Tobias’s eyes.
“You knew about this!” I choked out.
“Yes.”
“That’s why you suggested I stay away from them.”
He shrugged.
“Oooh!” I wailed. I don’t know what was worse, that he played on my relationship fears or that he looked out for my welfare without my knowledge. But I was furious that he interfered.
“Get her a drink, Tobias. She seems a little upset.”
Oh, that bastard knew where the liquor was, alright. He smartly walked to the liquor cabinet, which was a retro-vintage fifties style cabinet that sported a bowl of fake fruit on its top. He poured me a shot of whiskey and handed it to me.
“Here. This is good stuff, not like that rotgut sour mash Dys likes to drink.”
“Wait. You’ve been hanging out with Jersey?”
“I’ve spent a little time with all the boys. Just to check up on them.”
“I asked him to, Jacy,” said my father.
“You,” I said flailing my finger at my father indignant at his interference. I couldn’t get words out. What do you say to a man who is a master string-puller who manipulated my life? And then I whirled at Tobias, who was even worse, using the situation to leverage his position.
“You!” I snapped.
He smiled and leaned toward me and whispered.
“You are beautiful when you are angry.”
What got into me? I don’t know. Maybe it was too many nights of sexual frustration or the fact that I was attracted to four men, Tobias being one, and couldn’t pick among them, or the ridiculous competition they had going, or the fact that I, Ms. Take-Charge-And-In-Control didn’t command a single aspect of my life. But I slapped Tobias Marshall across the face with such force my hand stung.
Marshall stepped back as the amusement died from his eyes.
“Daughter,” my father said with maddening calm. “You should get going. I’m counting on you to seeing this through to the end.”
I keened again and stalked toward the front door.
“You deserved that, Tobias,” I heard my father say. “You aren’t as arcane as you think you are.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Rory
The show was a huge hit. The planning, the promotions, the absolute care that went into the entire production had Jacine’s hand all over it. Of course, we had to add our spin to it and showed up in LA County orange jumpsuits. The crowd went wild, especially since we kicked off the show playing together our second biggest hit as Banshee, Running Wild in LA.
Then we split up into our bands and rocked the Hollywood Bowl. The energy was thick enough to get me higher than a kite. Cole ran out on stage and mimicked Jersey on the guitar, and Jersey got him back by handing him a guitar and challenged him to a guitar riff. No one, but no one, can stand up to Jersey on the guitar, and Cole is a bassist anyway, so Cole got his head handed to him. But in the end, the crowd enjoyed it. Kane shook Jersey’s hand, and Jersey gave him a brotherly hug making a lie of the truth that they hated each other.
It was a beautiful thing.
My group went on first, then Cole’s, then Jersey’s. The concertgoers were encouraged to place their vote for the best band through their phones with the idea that the winner would play the last set. On either side of the stage, display’s flashed the tallies as they came in. So Cole, Jersey, and I stood backstage toweling our sweat waiting for the results. Jacine stood near us, and I swear I felt her eyes at the back of my head. I was about to turn my head when Jersey did first.
“Come on, girl. Time to take your bows.”
“What?”
Jersey pulled her hand and Cole and I exchanged glances. Not about to get left out we went onstage too. Jersey took the mike in his hand.
“Turn off the tally boards,” he yelled on the darkened stage. A spotlight turned on him, and everyone stared at him.
“Bring up the lights on my friends,” he said, and as some poor light engineer fumbled with the computer settings, spots hit Cole and me, too.
“Do we need anyone to tell you who the best band is? No! You know which ones grab your heart. There is no best band. But there are such things as the best people. And they are on the stage right now.
“Wise words, my friend,” I said into a mike, and my voice boomed over the loudspeakers.
“Dys, you dog,” said Cole. I swear he was about to cry.
“And then there are the people that support us. For one, we’d like to thank Tobias Marshall, the man that kept our asses out of jail for our stupidity. Tobias, come out on stage and take a bow.”
Shell-shocked Marshall walked out on the stage and Jersey, and Cole raised his hands and then pulled him into a theatric bow.
When the crowd died down, Jersey turned to Jacine.
“And let’s give a hand to the best-damned PR person in the world, the person responsible for us being here tonight, Jacine Alexander of Alexander and Wells. Give it up to Jacine!”
Jacine blushed as the crowd applauded, whistled and stamped their feet. It took a while for them to settle.
“And to show you who the best band is, Cole, Rory and I will play this last song, together as we used to in Banshee.”
Jacine tried to leave the stage, but Jersey grabbed her arm.
“Oh no, you are the one we are dedicating this song to. Tobias, make sure she doesn’t leave.”
Curiously, she shot Marshall a cold look, as he wrapped his arm around her waist, but there was no time to suss that out. We needed to end this show because we had three road crews waiting to load up our shows and no time to screw around without incurring extra expenses.
Shoot me. I keep track of that shit.
I climbed the pedestal to my drum kit and pounded out the initial beats of Ever. Jersey took up the soulful opening rift, and Cole began to sing staring right at Jacine.
If you ever need a friend,
Someone to help you tie loose ends,
The one who’ll send you roses,
And watch the stars with you,
Call me.
I’ll be there always and ever.
I couldn’t see exactly what was happening or hear over the roar of the audience, so I kept pounding out the beats, though, at the last chorus, Jersey sign
aled through his guitar, like he used to, to keep repeating the rhythm.
“That’s our show for tonight!” said Cole. “From Jersey Dys, Rory Holmes and myself, and our bands, Arcane, Clash, and Obsidian, thank you all for coming!”
We finished the song with a flourish, just like we used to as Banshee, and the spots went dark leaving us semi-lighted.
“Let go!” she said squirming in Tobias’s arms. She broke free and flew off the stage at the side exit.
“What the hell!” said Cole.
“What was that about, Marshall?”
“I may have upset her.”
“Is that her handprint on your face?” said Cole with glee.
“You are a dick,” said Jersey.
“Who?” said Tobias.
“Both of you,” said Jersey.
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” I said and dashed after Jacine. Whatever troubled her, I wouldn’t let her deal with it alone.
But I found they followed me, and we ran down the hall bumping into road crew as we plowed the crowded passage.
We found her at the back door frantically punching in numbers in her phone.
“Hey,” I said.
“Go away. All of you go away,” she said. Jacine tore through the doorway to the back lot, running left to valet parking.
“Where the hell is she going?” said Jersey pacing beside me.
“I didn’t think a woman could run that fast in high-heeled boots,” huffed Cole who pulled up on my other side.
“Jacine,” I called.
She stopped at the edge of the valet parking lot. Jacine stared at us like a frightened deer, and maybe if I had three, no four guys chasing me wanting to catch me, I'd have the same expression. I held out my arms and stopped running.
There were twenty feet between her and us, but by the expression on her face, it might have been a million.
“Jacine,” I said holding out my hands. “What’s wrong?”
“You! All of you! It’s enough I tell, enough. Just go away.”
“I’m afraid that’s a no-go, baby,” said Cole. “You can’t run away from us. We’re stuck on you.”
Back with the Stuntman_A Single Dad Second Chance Romance) Page 18