by Reid, B. B.
When the song ended, I watched the colors I knew only I could see fade before meeting Houston’s black stare.
“What the fuck was that?”
“The beginning was a little rough but—”
“I’m talking about the shit you pulled on the fourth verse. Why did you change it?”
I guess that hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Not knowing what else to do, I shrugged. “You said you needed to trust my instincts. I thought what I played sounded better.”
“This coming from someone who can’t handle more than a three-note chord? Where did you learn to play? Guitar Center?”
“You seemed to approve of my skills, or else why am I here?” When his only response was to stare at me, I glanced at the silent emo, who gave me a subtle nod of his head. Somehow that gave me the courage to dig the hole they would throw me in after a little deeper. “If you want me to do better, insulting me is not the way you’re going to get it.”
Houston tilted his head to the side, a strand of brown hair falling forward, and his tone deceptively soft when he spoke. “So how will I get it, Fawn?”
“You could show me—”
“We’re here to teach you our songs for the tour, not how to play.”
Frustrated, I strangled the fretboard of my Strat. “Then neither of us will get what we want.”
Chuckling, he stood before making his way over to me. I held my breath until the clove scent of his soap forced me to exhale just so I could get another whiff.
Pathetic.
“Let me let you in on a secret, Bambi. You weren’t chosen to succeed. You were chosen to fail. An amateur playing for Bound is a pipe dream. It’s time to wake up. You were never meant to get what you want, so I suggest you take that bass out of your voice and do what the fuck I tell you.”
Before I could ask what Houston meant because all he’d given me was more questions than answers, he turned away and returned to the couch. This time, he sat forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs and watching me with an intensity that should have frozen me on the spot. And then his lips moved.
“Do it again.”
Several hours later, I was shown to the door with the order to return even earlier the next morning. My poor, cramped fingers and abused feet screamed at the atrocity of it all. As I stepped outside, my phone pinged, letting me know that my Uber had arrived. I decided to splurge since there was no way I could make that walk a second time.
Which reminded me…
Turning on my heel and prepared to march back inside, I found Houston, Loren, and Jericho crowding the doorway, stopping me in my tracks. They’d gotten their kicks making me play the same song for ten hours straight until I hit every note the way Houston wanted without fail.
“I may not play as well as you, but I’m not stupid. There’s a reason you agreed to this, and I may not know what that reason is, but I do know something. I was either your only choice or your best chance. That means you need me.”
“Your point?” Loren asked. It didn’t escape my notice that he didn’t bother to deny it. None of them did.
“My car broke down yesterday.”
“Ah, so that’s your price. I can’t say I’m surprised. Just disappointed.” Sliding his hands in his pockets, Loren gave me a jaded look. “What will you have? A Jeep? A mini Coop? A BMW? Let me guess…roof optional, am I right?”
“I don’t want you to buy me a new car, jackass. I want a ride.”
Loren blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Until I can save enough money to fix my car, I’m on foot. The buses do not come this far uphill. I had to walk a mile this morning to get to you.”
Loren shrugged, unimpressed. “So call an Uber.”
“Every day, round trip, for the next three months? I don’t think so. I bring home minimum wage as a hostess for rich prom queens like you. I can barely afford my bills, let alone catering to your petulant whims. No ride, no Braxton. You can explain to the label why I didn’t work out.”
“Anything else?” Houston inquired in the most unaccommodating tone ever.
“Yes.” Lifting my chin, I didn’t let my gaze waver. “I take my coffee black. That shouldn’t be too hard for you to remember.”
“The fuck?” Loren spat. “Do we look like we give a damn?”
“Do I look like a punching bag? If you want me here before the sun rises, I’ll need coffee. Until the three of you see me as your equal, you’ll be fetching it until further notice.”
My phone pinged again with a warning that my ride would be leaving soon, so I turned and left, leaving my new bandmates without the last word. By the time I made it down the drive, got into the backseat of the Uber, and closed the door on another complicated day, I had three new notifications on my phone. All direct messages on Instagram.
[thebassistLo]: I’m so turned on right now
I frowned at that since I didn’t recall unblocking him. I did recall leaving my phone unattended when Houston finally let me have a bathroom break. What kind of needy prick unblocks themselves from someone else’s social media? Shaking my head, I checked my other messages, not bothering to block Loren again.
[_richnoble]: ;-)
[Houston_Bound]: A car will collect you at six thirty
Ignoring the first two, I responded to Houston’s message.
[BraxtheFawn]: How do you know where I live?
Twenty minutes later, the Uber dropped me off. Once inside, I immediately headed for the shower while the bathroom hogs were out. I planned to enjoy the peace—however long it lasted. I knew Griff and Maeko would want every detail, and I wasn’t ready to relive my tortuous first day with three jaded rock gods.
They thought way too much of themselves.
With a tired sigh, I collapsed on my bed. Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be. The moment I closed my eyes, my phone chimed. Mustering up the last drop of energy I had, I rolled over and grabbed my phone only to feel my blood boil.
[Houston_Bound]: Don’t be late.
He hadn’t even bothered to answer my question.
Fucker.
The next morning, a car arrived as promised. The driver introduced himself as Barry before opening my door. He also told me that he sometimes drove Bound to events whenever they were in town. It was all a little surreal. It only got stranger when Barry pulled into the parking lot of a Starbucks and, after going inside, came out carrying a tray filled with four coffee cups.
“For you, ma’am.” Barry handed me the one with my name on it, but I was too nervous to drink, so I rode the entire way to the Beverly Hills home, holding the coffee between my shaking hands.
Pull it together, Fawn. They can probably smell fear.
When Barry arrived at the gate, I asked him to stop for a moment before driving through. Rolling down the back window where I sat on the side facing the security booth, I extended my still-hot coffee to the guard from yesterday.
“Truce?” I asked when his gaze moved back and forth between me and the cup.
I bet he thinks I poisoned it.
If I ever decided to risk life in prison, I’d definitely go big.
Perhaps murdering my new bandmates?
Slowly, the guard took the Starbucks before taking a sip, grinning, and waving us through.
Sitting back, I sighed my relief. Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad, after all.
She’s a goddamn disaster.
Braxton played better than the meatheads we auditioned, but she still needed work. A lot of work. Some would argue that my standards were too high, but only pussies with none at all ever said shit like that.
“That was slow and mechanical,” I told her the moment she finished butchering one of our bigger hits. “By the time you pieced together the right chords, the song was over. You need to get out of your head. When you’re in my session, there’s nothing for you in there. Play from here.” I tapped my chest where a heart used to be. I felt like a hypocrite. Sighing, I dropped my hand when Braxton stared at me like she wasn
’t impressed. “Or at least play like you have some fucking guts, Fawn.”
Nostrils flaring, she straightened her shoulders. “I want to do it again.”
“You say that like you have a choice.”
I watched her roll her eyes from my peripheral but didn’t comment on it. Three months wasn’t enough time to get sidetracked with other shit like her fucking attitude and why it made my dick hard.
Today, she’d pinned her hair up, showing off her long neck and the black choker with a gold, crescent moon hanging from it. She also wore a short, white sundress that made her look virginal and black combat boots that made her look less so. To make matters worse, she’d decided that skipping a bra today had been a smart choice. I didn’t get the look she was going for, but it worked for her, nonetheless. It was like she was fighting both sides of the same coin.
Braxton was older than I had guessed initially but still young. She’d only turned twenty-two a few months ago, which meant that as much as she pretended, she was still figuring out who she was.
She tried the song again, which was better, but she still sounded like she was making noise instead of a melody. If I were being fair, she played well enough that it took a trained ear to know the difference. On her third attempt, when she seemed to retreat inside her head again, I shot up from the couch with a growl so loud it roused Loren with a snort from his slumber next to me.
“What the fuck are you playing at?” I demanded as I charged her. She didn’t back down to her credit, but I couldn’t care less about her mettle. She was wasting my time.
“Excuse me?”
“Where is the girl from the festival? I didn’t invite this meek, mild bullshit you brought to my session. Either get out of your head or get out of my sight.”
Her thick lips parted in shock before closing only to open once more so she could run her mouth. “Do not talk to me that way.” Her fist balled in warning—one I didn’t heed. I was willing to risk a broken nose if it meant getting her to play from her marrow.
“Or what?” I pushed up on her, backing her into the wall and trapping her there with my hand next to her head.
Braxton tipped her chin, not willing to break my stare. “Or I’ll leave.”
“Only if I let you.” She was making me contradict my goddamn self.
“What do you want from me, Morrow?”
With my free hand, I fingered the frilly sleeve resting off her shoulder. I wanted to kiss the bare skin there, and had she been a groupie instead of my new guitarist, I would have. “I thought it was obvious.”
“Not to me.” She searched my gaze before narrowing her own. “It seems like you want me to quit.”
“Yesterday, you told me that I needed you. Now you accuse me of trying to get you to quit? I’m confused, Fawn.”
“So am I.”
I sighed before stepping back and giving her space. “What I want is irrelevant, but you were right. I need you. I need you to play like you want to be here. Do you?”
“I’m not sure anymore.”
For fuck’s sake.
“There’s a reason why you turned left instead of right. Whatever that reason is, don’t forget it now when there’s no turning back. Some good just might come out of this for you, so make the most of it while you can.”
She gaped at me in disgust before shrieking, “Is that supposed to be motivating?”
Loren and Rich snorted in response.
“Decide for yourself. Just stop wasting my time.” Walking over to one of the cases we’d piled in the living room, I snatched up one of the microphones I’d brought from Portland. Loren and Rich, always in sync with me despite our rocky friendship, were already in place—Rich behind his drums and Loren plugged in and clutching his bass.
“Together this time. Oh, and Fawn?”
“Yes, Houston?” She batted her long lashes sarcastically. When she smiled, I paused, getting lost in it for a moment.
“Don’t think for a second that I’m not keeping tabs.”
Hours later, the three of us were standing in the kitchen in quiet contemplation as the sun set over Los Angeles. I let Braxton leave early today since she claimed she had to work tonight. I wasn’t thrilled about sharing her time, so the moment I was sure she could manage being one of us, she was quitting that job, whether she wanted to or not.
“She played like she wrote it that last time,” Loren announced. “So maybe it’s time we stop singling her out and get down to business?”
“I’m not singling her out. If one of us sounds bad, we all sound bad. We’ll continue like this until I can trust her judgment.”
Part of the guitarist’s job was to be spontaneous and original, which would allow her to improv when she needed to and keep the rhythm going. Bound’s entire sound and direction would be influenced by her abilities and style, which meant this next era of our legacy now belonged to Braxton fucking Fawn. She just hadn’t figured that out yet.
“Get the fuck out of here,” Loren snapped with a scowl. “Face it, she’s good. You’re just an asshole. Did you see how fast she caught on to ‘Flayed Alive’?” he asked no one in particular.
Jericho was busy scrolling on his phone, and I pretended not to have caught a peek of Braxton’s Instagram on his screen moments ago. She had endless thirst traps, making me feel like a kid in a candy store when I went through them last night.
“Calvin still couldn’t grasp it, and he’d been playing with us for years.” Loren stared at me for a moment before he grinned so wide that I thought his face would split in half. “It must have got you hard as fuck watching her master a Houston Morrow original.”
“Not particularly.”
“Liar.”
“Is there some reason why you think I care if you believe me?”
“Because I’m telling you both now before you get any ideas,” Loren began. There was revenge in his eyes when he glanced at Rich, who didn’t see it because his gaze was still glued to his phone and a photo of Braxton wearing a green bikini. When Loren met mine, holding my stare for a little too long, a growl rose in my chest at the apparent challenge. “Dibs.”
The sound of Rich’s phone dropping onto the counter stole our attention from one another. “What do you mean dibs? You can’t just call it.”
“That’s literally the entire purpose of dibs,” Loren shot back dryly.
“How do you know she’d even want you? You’re a dick to her.”
“It’s called flirting, Forrest Gump. Not all of us blush and smile and ask a girl how she’s feeling like you do. That’s why you don’t get laid as much.”
“There’s more to life than just sex.”
Tossing his head back, Loren made this sound that was a cross between a hyena and a donkey. “You sound like a fucking virgin.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Oh, I know. I saw your pasty ass going to pound-town one too many times to think that.”
Red bloomed on Rich’s cheeks before he stood from the stool like he was ready to go to the ground with Loren. “You can’t just call dibs, Lo.”
“Why not?” Loren asked even though he didn’t seem to care too much about the answer or that Rich looked one wrong word from punching him.
“Because she’s our guitarist,” I answered for him. “No one is touching her. That would be unprofessional.”
“Says the asshole who was just dry humping her up the wall two hours ago.”
“That didn’t happen.”
“But you wanted it to. I claimed her, and now suddenly, morals matter? Who do you think you’re fooling, Morrow?”
I shot up from my seat and had my hand wrapped around Loren’s throat by the time the stool hit the ground. “You don’t like it?” I questioned after slamming him against the wall and pinning him there. “Do something about it.”
I barely got out the last word before Loren shoved me off him. I immediately braced for him to charge me. It’s been a few weeks since we destroyed an entire room, and I was salivating
at the chance to see him bleed. The label would no doubt charge us for destroying another rental.
Worth it.
“Can you please fuck each other up later? I’m hungry,” Rich announced in a poor attempt to diffuse the situation. My glare was still locked with Loren’s when Rich asked, “What’s the name of that restaurant where Braxton said she worked?”
That got our attention.
First of all, dibs?
Is this what my attraction to Braxton has reduced me to? A fucking twelve-year-old? I knew why I said it—to fuck with my friends. Once it was out, I realized I meant it. I wanted to fuck Braxton, and I was too greedy to share. Fucking the same girls would have never bothered me before but mostly because they were groupies and wouldn’t be sticking around.
This was different. She was different.
Cue the goddamn violin.
I haven’t been this eager for a piece of ass since I learned what it truly meant to free willy.
“You ready?” Rich barged into my room without knocking. “Or do you need another couple of hours to get ready?” he deadpanned.
“I just figured I’d give you time to actually be hungry, chickenshit.”
“How does stopping another fight between you two make me a coward?”
“Because you’re afraid of the day when Houston is no longer able to protect you.” I peered over my shoulder in time to see Rich swallow past the lump in his throat.
“I can protect myself.”
“Right.” Turning around, I regarded my best friend. “Is that why you can’t look me in the eye?”
Rich forced his gaze to meet mine. To fuck with him, I let him see everything I was thinking. Like so many times before, he looked away. I let out a quiet laugh to dull the roaring in my head.
“Get out of my room before you faint, Rich. I wouldn’t want you feeling scandalized.”
“I need help with my tie.” He gestured to the slip of deep purple silk around his neck.
We looked it up, and the restaurant Braxton worked at required the men to wear ties like eating food was ever that serious. Unfortunately, the glitz and glamour of fine dining was nothing new to me. My upbringing had been entirely different from Houston and Rich.