by Linda Kage
I glanced at my brother who had his arms crossed over his chest and was brushing his thumb knuckle over his bottom lip ring in thoughtful consternation.
Jesus, both of them were truly, honestly worried about me.
Yes, my father had been the big bad monster in my life when I’d been young. He’d scared the shit out of me back then, and I’d dreaded every moment I’d been forced to enter the same room as him. But a couple years ago, I’d visited the prison where he’d been held, determined to face my demons.
He hadn’t recognized me. After asking me who I was, he wanted to know if I was his new legal representation and he started going on about how he was sure he could still get out if we played the murder off as self-defense. I never corrected him and ended up playing along before I left him with a lie, saying I’d be in contact.
The entire visit had left me…empty inside. No love lost for the man who’d terrorized me, and no fright retained either. He’d aged badly behind bars. He’d just been a weak, pathetic old man who hadn’t stirred an ounce of fear in me.
So it was hard for me to summon any now.
“Or maybe he doesn’t have a nefarious thought in his head,” I told Pick and Remy. “Maybe the guy just wants to reconnect with his son.”
“Yeah,” Remy agreed with a sarcastic roll of his eyes, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Because he was just the soul of fatherly love and devotion before, raising his precious little boy in a drug house and beating on him and his mother whenever the whim struck. Right.”
I scowled at him, deciding I’d definitely told him too much about myself. But, damn it, he did have a point. “Okay, fine, then. I’m his only living relative left. Who else is he going to go to for money or a place to crash? Honestly, if you’d just gotten out of jail after sixteen years, where would you go? He needs shit, and I’m sure he thinks I owe him.”
“Well, he’s not getting shit from you.”
Remy’s resolute proclamation made me laugh. “Really? And here I was planning on giving him everything I owned.”
He didn’t seem to appreciate my sarcasm. Spinning toward Pick, he pointed to me. “Talk some damn sense into him.”
Pick sighed and scrubbed his face. “Look,” he told me as he dropped his hands. “No matter what his motive is, I don’t want him near you either. And just to be on the safe side, I think a couple extra measures of protection would be wise.”
“Okay, fine.” I held up my hands as if surrendering to their will, but then I gripped my hair. “I will take everything both of you said into consideration, and I thank you for your concern, but honestly, this isn’t your problem.” When they opened their mouths, looking ready to argue with me, I quickly kept talking. “And if he ever returns, looking for me, just let me deal with him. I’ll shoo him off myself. He’s a weak old man now. He no longer scares me, and I’ll be damned before I ever let him spook me again.”
With that, I swung toward the door.
Pick leapt forward, panic in his eyes. “Where’re you going?”
I sighed. It was kind of nice to know he cared enough to worry about me, but over this particular topic, it annoyed me. “Back to work. If you haven’t noticed, we’re still open, it’s as busy as hell as out there, and I’m on the clock.”
Almost daring him to react with the look I sent him, I pulled the door open.
A resigned breath eased from his lungs. “Just…watch your six, will you?”
“Aye-aye, Captain.” I sent him a salute, sent Sticks a glance only to see him worriedly chewing on his fingernails, and I stepped into the hall. And what do you know, no Miller Hart leapt at me, intent to kill.
Both Pick and Remy found their way out to the bar a couple minutes later. They stuck around, chatting together over a beer, making me irritable with every minute they lingered.
I avoided both of them, not ready to talk any more about my father, or even think about him.
Except I couldn’t get him out of my head. Learning he was free had rattled me. All bound up inside, I wasn’t really sure exactly how the news affected me, I just knew it did. I wasn’t scared, like some people thought I should be, but I was shocked and…unsettled. I really didn’t want to face the old man. After my one and only visit to him behind bars, I’d put that part of my life behind me and moved on. I just wanted it to stay behind me.
Both of my self-appointed bodyguards finally left about an hour before closing, but either Pick had given Knox orders to escort me to my motorcycle or yet another person was worried about my safety.
That was weird, having people think about me and worry about me. I wasn’t sure how to deal with it, so I just thanked my coworker and waved him off as soon as I started my beast.
When I made it to my place, yes, fine, I checked around a little to see if the old man was there. But the alley that led to my front door was empty. I unlocked all the deadbolts, remembered to lock up behind me, and jogged down the steps into my tiny domain.
Mozart rattling around in his cage was the only thing to greet me.
“Hey, little fella,” I said, flipping on the main light, even though I’d left a dim nightlight on for him to see.
My entrance really set him off, racing even faster along the tunnels I’d made him to go from cage to cage until he was in the one closest to me. His excitement made me feel appreciated, even though I’m sure he wasn’t glad to see me specifically; he was most likely only eager for me to let him loose. So I granted him his wish, and popped open his door.
He shot out past me, a blur of brown fur leaping a good five feet toward the back of the couch. Then he scurried along the backrest and dove onto the floor where he disappeared under my bed.
I sighed. “Yeah, it’s nice to see you too, buddy.”
Oh, well. He was better company than nothing.
Kicking off my shoes, I strolled into the kitchenette area and opened the mini fridge to pull out a bottle of water. I hadn’t eaten since scarfing down half of Remy’s food at practice, but I wasn’t really hungry. And I didn’t feel like sleeping even though I was tired as well. I already knew I’d only toss and turn if I crawled into bed right now, and I hated getting bound up in my own sheets…unless maybe I had company of the feminine variety with me.
But I had no woman around, and thoughts of my dad free and roaming the streets somewhere out there had my head spinning. I might catch an hour or two of sleep later, but not yet. Slouching into a chair at the table, I pulled my notebook I’d left sitting open to me and picked up a pen.
My muse certainly didn’t feel as inspired as it had earlier, but this song was the only thing I wanted to work on. Except, shit, envisioning my dad, old and wrinkly at the prison, complaining about how unfairly he’d been treated, was the only thing I could focus on.
Scrubbing my face, I sat back in my chair and opened my mind. The first person to pop to the forefront of my thoughts was Incubus shirt girl, singing on stage and bumping her hip against that of the shorter redhead next to her. She’d been so sassy and relaxed up there, singing with confidence because she’d known she’d had it in the looks and the voice department, and she just wanted to have a little fun with both. It’d made me want to have a little fun with her.
But so much about her was blurry in my mind—I remembered too few actual details other than she’d had long dark hair. So I gave her the legs of the drummer chick who’d come to audition for us. I would’ve given her the drummer chick’s face too, but I couldn’t drag that up into my memory banks all that well either. I sucked at recalling faces. So, I guessed the legs and hair would have to do.
I imagined gripping handfuls of that silky, long dark hair while those incredible legs wrapped around me in the hopes of stirring forth a new line for the song.
Only I stirred up something else instead.
My jeans went tight in the lap area, so I slipped a little further down in my chair to make more room. But that didn’t help. It’d been too long since little Asher had come out to play, and once I woke him, he only wa
nted more attention, and he just kept growing, demanding I give him some. So I unzipped and reached down to adjust myself. One of the small perks of living alone; I could sit around with my junk hanging out, and no one cared.
But the thought of no one caring infused that spark of loneliness that’d been claiming me lately, and I had to make myself think of the Incubus shirt girl again with Drummer Chick’s legs to get over it. And yep, my dick just grew harder. Before I knew it, I was sliding my hand around the base of my cock and pumping it hard, not thinking about lyrics at all, but closing my eyes so I could daydream of soft, warm skin, long dark hair and a tight wet pussy that had me shooting my load all over my stomach in moments.
With a sigh of relief, I slunk further in my chair and rested my head against the backrest. But as I panted out the last remnants of my orgasm, I only felt more pathetic than ever. Even though hooking up with some random woman after a gig wasn’t my preference, it had to be better than jacking off alone in my apartment. At least I might get a little cuddle time in before she took off, claiming her girlfriends would never believe her when she told them she’d just bagged Asher Hart.
My buddies at Forbidden were right; I needed to get laid. Bad.
A sound from the bed made me glance over and nearly jump out of my skin when I saw Mozart standing there on his hind legs, tipping his head to the side and staring at me, his bushy tail giving the occasional twitch of interest.
I jerked upright in my chair, immediately shielding my dick from him. “What the hell, you little perv? Did you really just watch that?”
At my voice, he darted away and disappeared back under the bed. I sniffed in disgust—more disgusted with myself than my pet—and quickly cleaned my mess, then tucked my cock away before Mozart tried to cop another glimpse of it.
After I picked up my pen and tapped it against my notepad, I sighed in defeat. The adrenaline rush from getting the Chicago gig was officially dead. I wasn’t able to write another word for the rest of the night.
I finally dropped off to sleep around eight the next morning after tempting Mozart back into his cage with some sunflower seeds.
By ten, my phone started blowing up. Okay, fine, I got three texts and then a phone call. But for me, that was busy. I ignored the texts but groaned and swatted my arm out blindly for my phone on my nightstand when it just kept ringing.
After I slurred out a hello, Pick’s way too awake voice blared in my ear. “Hey, I got another house to check out. You in?”
I wiped my hand over my face, yawned, and then sat up. “Sure. When and where?”
“I’ll pick you up in ten.”
He hung up on me, and I shook my head, not sure why he kept asking me to tag along. Then I went to erase the texts he’d sent, only to discover they weren’t from him. All three were from Sticks.
Hey, just checking in to make sure you made it home okay and your dad didn’t sneak in and suffocate you in your sleep last night.
The next : This is where you answer and tell me you’re fine. You can even add a “now fuck off” if my worry irritates you.
And finally: Seriously, man. Are you dead or just pissed at me?
Having pity on him, I typed back. Not dead, just sleeping.
He shot back an immediate reply. Shit, sorry for waking you. Forgot you work so late. But glad you’re alive. Try to stay that way. We kind of need you next Saturday for the Chicago gig.
Grinning, I shook my head and told him I’d see what I could do. Then I tossed my phone back onto the nightstand and rushed to yank on some clothes before Pick showed up. I snagged an apple that I’d bought for Mozart and was just polishing it off when my brother pulled up to my door in his Barracuda.
“So which neighborhood are we going to this time?” I asked as I slid into the passenger’s seat.
When Pick answered me as he shifted the car into drive, I gave a low, impressed whistle. “Nice.”
A proud grin twitched across his lips. “Nothing’s too good for my family.”
“Which reminds me,” I said, settling deeper into my seat and tipping my head back to close my eyes. “Don’t you think you should actually, I don’t know, propose to Eva first before buying a house with her?” They called each other husband and wife already, as did half the group we hung with, but they’d yet to tie the actual knot. “Or do you not go for that kind of traditional shit?”
“Oh, I’ve proposed.” Pick sent me a smug, secretive smile as he wiggled his eyebrows. “And we’ve even set a date…in about a month, actually. Which reminds me, you going to be my best man or what?”
I choked on air. After sitting upright and pounding on my chest with my fist, I sent him an incredulous glance. “What? Me? What about Mason?”
Mason would be the obvious choice. He was Reese’s man, and since Reese was Eva’s cousin and best friend, she’d no doubt be the maid of honor. Besides, the four of them hung out a lot, or so I’d heard. He had to be much closer to Mason than he was to me.
But Pick only shrugged. “I’m sure he’d understand that I’d rather have you stand up with me.”
Shaken by such a declaration, I rubbed my hands over my face. “You seriously don’t have a problem with who my dad is, do you?”
“What do you mean?” He glanced at me, clearly confused.
I sputtered out my disbelief. “What do you think? He…he killed your mother.”
After squinting as if even more boggled by my explanation, he murmured, “She was your mother too.”
I blew out a breath. He definitely wasn’t the type to put the sins of the father on the son, that was for sure. “I still can’t believe you know everything already,” I muttered, more to myself than him. “I kept wondering why you never asked about her.”
He shrugged and turned down a nice, quiet residential street that had me staring out the window and salivating at all the amazing houses. “I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”
“It’s not a pretty story,” I said, watching a mother with two small boys open the door to one house and step outside. They looked like a happy, healthy family together.
I glanced away.
“I didn’t figure it was.”
“She talked a lot about you…and your dad. She told me all kinds of shit she probably never should’ve.” Like how she’d never forgiven my father for stopping her home abortion attempt that he’d walked in on in their bathroom when she’d been pregnant with me.
“But she loved him, if that’s any consolation.” I glanced his way. From the expression on his face, he was soaking in every word and wanted to hear more. “She was sixteen and he was nineteen. All she ever called him was Chaz, so I don’t know his full name, sorry.”
Pick gave a small shrug, letting me know that was okay. He was learning more about his sperm donor than he’d ever heard before.
“Her family didn’t approve of them being together. He was a high school dropout who drank a lot, and it didn’t look as if he’d ever aspire above the mechanic job he had.”
Pick glanced at me sharply. “Mechanic?”
I nodded. “Yeah, he was into cars too. So, anyway, when Mom—Polly—left home to be with him, her family cut all ties with her. She got pregnant almost immediately, and then went into labor on the same day your dad was killed in a drive-by shooting at the garage where he worked.”
I rushed the last part, not sure how Pick would take it. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, but he said nothing. He only slowed the car in front of a two-story with a For-Sale sign in the yard, pulled to the curb and cut the engine.
Then he blew out a breath. “So, he’s dead too, huh?”
“I’m sorry,” I shook my head sadly. “She was pretty upset and couldn’t handle a new baby so soon after what happened, but she always talked about how much she regretted leaving you. She never tried to find you again, though; she was convinced you had to be in a better place.”
I didn’t mention how many times she’d told me over the years that she wi
shed she’d left me and kept him instead.
“Well…” Pick said slowly, staring straight ahead out the window. “That’s something, I guess.” Then he glanced at me and lifted his eyebrows. “Ready to look at this place?”
I had upset him. Feeling shitty about that but no with idea how to fix it, I nodded and opened my door. “Let’s do it.”
I didn’t really want to look at houses anymore, so as soon as we met with the realtor and he started showing us features, I said, “You might as well save it, man, and just show us the backyard first.”
Pick laughed while the other guy sent me a funny look. But we got to see the backyard first, and as soon as disappointment glinted across my brother’s face, I knew he hadn’t yet found what he was looking for.
Waiting until we were back in his car and driving away from the house, I finally let my curiosity get the best of me. “So, are you ever going to tell me what’s up with the backyard thing?”
Pick sent me a small frown, then groaned and admitted, “You’ll never believe me.”
I shrugged. “Try me.”
“Okay, fine. I’ve seen it before. In…like, a vision.”
One eyebrow shot up. I wasn’t as startled by what he said as I was by learning he was actually into that. I never would’ve taken him as the type.
Lifting a finger, he warned, “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t believe that shit either, but it’s fucking true.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“When I was a kid,” he went on with a reluctant sigh, “I had an…encounter once, with this witch lady. Like a true witch, who sold potions and shit and told fortunes from her home.”
“Okay…” I said slowly.
“I’m not fucking lying,” he muttered defensively.
I laughed and lifted my hands in surrender. “I didn’t say you were.”
“I went to her place to throw a rock through her window because she’d upset one of my friends, but she caught me and put her hands on my face. I don’t know what the hell she did, but I suddenly had all these visions, like little flashbacks, but they were flash-forwards. I saw Tinker Bell, and Julian, and Skylar in them…ten years before I even met Eva or the kids were ever born. We were living as a family in some house that I only saw from the backyard, and…” He glanced at me. “You were in one of the visions too.”