by Quinn, Cari
The ball eased in her, too. She hated to see him upset, that was all. “But you don’t.”
He sighed and straightened up, lacing his fingers with hers. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve bailed him out, and he’s promised to change. Promised to do better. A day later, he’s back at the dealer.” He hauled her close, lifting a hand to play with her braid.
“You have Jazz now. And Gray.”
“I know. And we wouldn’t be where we are now without them. I just don’t know if Nick and Simon will remember that now that Snake seems better. I just can’t trust that he’ll stay that way.” He slid his fingers into her hair. “I know it.”
“It could be different.”
“He’s no different than my mother. He’ll just charm his way back in, and then he’ll leave disaster in his wake when things get tough, and they will. You know this business. He just wants back in because we’re on top.”
Ah, there it was. She tipped her head up to meet his gaze. “Snake didn’t do so well when you had to fight to play?” And his mother? God, she wanted to ask, but now wasn’t the time. She’d already been gone from her post for too long.
“When we didn’t have a gig more than twice a month, he’d disappear from practice, he’d steal from what little petty cash we had at the apartment. He’d steal from me.”
“For drugs,” she finished.
“He wasn’t picky. Whatever he could get his hands on would do.”
She sighed. “Surely, the rest of them know this.”
“Of course, they do. But Nick and Simon have known him since high school, Harper.”
“And he’s family.”
Deacon nodded. “He was family.”
Was. Deacon had already distanced himself from Snake. But what about the rest of his friends? She stepped back enough that she could drag him down to her again. She laid a soft kiss on his mouth. “Then we watch out for Simon and Nick.”
“We?”
“Yeah, we.”
He grinned and came back in for a whole different kind of kiss. This one was sweet, intense and playful. “We.”
“Don’t get too excited, big guy. I’m only helping out because you give good orgasms.” His smile didn’t falter. In fact, it got bigger, the freaking idiot.
“Right. I forgot.”
She shook her head, caged her hand around his smug mug, and pushed him back. “I gotta work.”
He laughed and bent forward, tossing her over his shoulder.
“Deacon!”
He slapped her ass. “Quiet, Lawless. I’m just getting you back to work faster, that’s all.”
Since dignity had evidently left the building, she let her arms fall straight down his back. And because his very fine ass was there, she gave him a slap right back.
* * *
Before Deacon walked through the door to their after-show area, he let Harper down. He smiled down at her. Smudged lips and a crooked braid told a more intriguing story than what had actually happened outside.
He hadn’t known he’d needed to talk it out until she’d pushed. Actually, he’d never had anyone to talk to before. The only discussions he ever had with his bandmates were after a blow up, and usually ended in bruises or blood. Harper’s way worked a helluva lot better.
He tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear. Harper might not be quick to jump on the love train, but he knew she cared about him. And that was enough for now.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
He laughed and cupped her face, mirroring the soft kiss she’d given him only moments before. As usual, she went up on her toes and clamped her fingers around his wrists.
She was fighting how in-tune they were, but it was a lot easier to enjoy Harper than to try and force a label on her. The problem was, he only had a few days to convince her that they shouldn’t go their separate ways after the tour ended.
So the only way he could show her was by touch. Cognizant of the people milling around and her fellow employees scrambling nearby, he managed to keep the kiss light. Barely.
Every single time he touched her, the sense of belonging strengthened. They were like layers in a song he’d never hoped to create. Words were only one part of them. The harmony of their bodies moving together, the underlying melody of humor and rightness he felt around her, it all made up a composition he’d happily give a lifetime to figure out.
She was his ultimate song that would never have an end.
When he finally managed to stop kissing her, it ended in a smile. Her eyes were still closed, and she’d pressed her lips together. She slowly blinked those summer blue eyes open, and all the words he wanted to say crashed against his teeth.
Holding them back killed him.
He wanted to shout to everyone in earshot that he loved this woman. Instead, he gathered her in for one more hug. Not trusting that he’d let her go if he kissed her again, he stepped back. “We’re heading to the penthouse tonight. Come with me?”
Her eyes went wide. “To your place?”
He tilted his head side to side. “Well, our place. But I have my own room. That has a door. And a king-sized bed.”
She clutched his fingers. “You had me at door.”
He laughed and pulled her into the after-show room. “A night or two of privacy sounds awesome, right?”
“Yeah.”
Deacon turned around, walking backwards as he twisted his fingers with hers. “Don’t go there, Harper. This isn’t the end.”
She pressed her lips together again, but this time it didn’t look like she was savoring.
“Deak?”
Harper’s eyes shuttered, and she looked at the floor as Jazz came up beside them. She flicked a look at Jazz, and her face changed again. “Jazz, are you okay?”
“No.”
Deacon let out an oof as Jazz slammed into his chest, her arms slipping around his waist. “Hey,” he said gently and smoothed his hand down her single ponytail. “Tell me what I can do.”
“I’ll let you guys talk.”
Jazz peered up at him and Harper. “Oh, wait. Did I interrupt a thing? I’m sorry.” Her violet eyes filled and fat tears dripped down her cheeks.
“No, no. That’s okay. We have all night to talk,” Harper said hurriedly. Deacon fought a smile at the acute panic on Harper’s face. She’d handled Jazz just fine when he’d been in the fight with Johnny and Killian, but give her an emotional Jazz without a crisis to fix, and his girl was ready to run.
“Are you sure?” Jazz asked, burying her face in his chest.
“Yes, definitely.” Harper squeezed his hand then practically flew across the room to her cart and food.
“What’s up, Pix?”
Jazz peeked around him to look at the couch. Deacon turned them both around to find Snake, Simon, and Nick sprawled on the couch talking like it hadn’t been six months since they’d seen each other. Beer bottles dangled from their fingers and laughter filled the room.
Gray had disappeared—shocker—and they’d completely left Jazz out. Son of a bitch. He shouldn’t have left her alone. “They’re just happy to see Snake. It’s been a long time, Jazz.”
“I know. And I get that, seriously I do. But he just sat down, and they started talking about old times, about the songs they wrote—songs that I play better than he ever did, dammit.” She swiped at the tears that dripped down her chin, making a growling sound. “And I’m crying like a fucking girl. Like they hurt my feelings or some shit.”
He swiped a hand down her tail again. They had hurt her feelings, but Jazz was a tough one, and he certainly wasn’t going to call her on it. “Snake is the past, Jazz. You’re our drummer now. And you’re right,” he said on a low murmur. “You play the fuck out of all of the songs and are a damn good writer. This,” he nodded toward the couch, “is just a jog down memory lane.”
“Tell them that. Snake’s been invited back to the penthouse.”
Deacon frowned. He should have seen it coming, but he’d wanted to bel
ieve a visit would be all they needed. Uneasiness coated his skin like a rash. He didn’t want Snake to know where the penthouse was.
Irrational or not, it was the truth. The apartment was only partially theirs. Artwork and electronics packed the walls. Thousands of dollars that they couldn’t afford to pay for.
The album was doing well, but the advance they’d gotten for the EP had to be split five ways. Of course, that was after expenses. It was still more money than any of them had ever had, but they were by no means rich.
“Where’s Gray?”
Jazz shrugged. “He got a text and said some friends from his old job wanted to see him.”
“I didn’t realize he still talked to them.”
She sniffed and wiped the last of her tears away. “Me neither.”
Deacon gave her shoulder a squeeze and moved them both over to the couch. Jazz gave a token resistance, but followed him. “How’s it going?”
Nick looked up at him. A light he hadn’t seen in a very long time flashed in his eyes. “Just catching up. He looks great, right?”
Deacon’s eyes tracked to the table full of beer bottles and finally to the one resting on Snake’s buckle.
Snake took a long swallow. “Saint Deacon doesn’t think I should be drinking, boys.”
Deacon shrugged. “You did just leave rehab.”
“Alcohol was never my problem, brother.”
“Was never your friend, either.”
Nick stood, draining his beer. “Don’t give him shit, Deak. We’re having a good time and we don’t need the Boy Scout ruining it, as usual.”
Jazz stiffened next to him. He rubbed her back absently and ignored the bear trap Nick tossed at his feet. “I hear you’re coming back to the penthouse.”
Nick lifted his beer in a mock toast. “What? Jazzercise come and tattle on us?”
“Shut up, Nicky,” Jazz snapped.
“Did she bat those big…what are they today? Blue? No, purple. Those big ole violet eyes up at you and say we were causing trouble?”
“Fuck off,” she said with a step forward. “You want to act all big and tough because your friend is here, then go ahead without me. I’m not in the mood for asshole Nick tonight. We’re supposed to be celebrating as a band.”
He leaned down until his nose lined up with Jazz. “I am hanging with my band.”
She blinked at him, her lower lip trembling before she swung around to shoot across the room before Deacon could snag her.
“What the fuck, Nick? You don’t talk to her like that.” Deacon stepped forward until they were toe-to-toe, his height advantage dwarfing Nick.
Nick tipped his head back. “Big bad Deacon out to protect the newbies. I see how it is. No fucking loyalty.”
“She isn’t a newbie. She’s our drummer. She’s part of our band and so is Gray. Snake isn’t anymore.”
“That has yet to be determined.”
“The fuck it hasn’t been. We’ve been touring with them for the last six weeks, and they’re on the EP with us. We wouldn’t be here without Gray and Jazz.”
“They wouldn’t be anywhere without us, you mean,” Nick said.
Simon stood. He’d put his leather jacket back on, making him look every inch the rock god lead singer. “All right, cool down.”
“I don’t want to cause problems,” Snake said and stood as well. “I’m just here to visit.”
“And you don’t want back in the band?” Deacon asked. Everyone froze, and the blood rushed in his head. He should have left it alone, but now that the question was out, he wanted an answer.
Snake set his bottle down on the table. “I miss you guys.”
And that was definitely not an answer. He turned to Simon. “Is this what you’ve been talking about?”
Simon scratched the back of his head. “No. Not really anyway. He’s family, man.”
“Family? So now Jazz isn’t? And Gray isn’t?”
Simon took a sip from his beer, but he wouldn’t meet Deacon’s eyes. “I didn’t say that.”
“I can’t believe this. After all we’ve done to get on the road and work out songs, and all the practices and soundchecks. All the hours in the studio that she bled to finish the drum tracks in less than five days? The songs written with Gray, the solos that he and Nick have put together? You’re going to say all that isn’t worth shit?”
Simon’s eyebrows drew down. “I didn’t say that,” he said with a growl. “But we’ve been with Snake forever. You have, too.”
Deacon fisted his hands in his hair. “I don’t fucking believe this. You’ve forgotten every lost practice, the times he didn’t show up to shows and we had to bow out—without a paycheck—the times he stole from us for a fix? All that is forgiven and forgotten?”
“Not everyone can be Saint Deacon. We make mistakes and we forgive family.” Nick turned to Snake. “Look at him. It’s not just that he’s off the shit, he’s back to the guy we knew.”
“I don’t want to cause trouble.” Snake blew out a breath. “Of course I’d like to be back in the band, but I know I fucked up. I know you guys have a good thing going.”
“Right. You didn’t have any ulterior motives,” Deacon snarled.
“Fuck you, Deak. I miss my friends. I missed you, too,” Snake said and crossed his arms. “I know we’ve had our differences.”
“Differences?” Incredulous, Deacon took two steps back. “I can’t even—” He cut himself off, looked around the room to see people doing their best to listen and not be obvious about it. His head pounded in time with his heartbeat.
He’d dealt with so much to protect everyone in the band from just how bad it got with Snake. He didn’t want to put that on them now. Not when they were supposed to be celebrating.
He swung his gaze to Snake, but lowered his voice. “You want them to think it’s all good for you to come back and play with us again? Really? Where were you when we needed you at the shit shows? I’ll tell you. You were passed out in the stall of bathroom with a fucking needle in your arm.”
Nick opened his mouth and Deacon swung on him. “No. You obviously need to hear this. Because you’ve conveniently forgotten how many times we lost out on gigs because we didn’t have a fucking drummer.”
“I fucked up,” Snake said calmly. “I’m not going to deny it, but I’m better now.”
“For how long?”
“Where’s your goddamn loyalty?” Nick exploded and stalked toward Deacon. “You hold every one of us to some crazy ideal that only you can possibly live up to. We’re fucking human. Snake was with us since the beginning.”
“What about the hours of interviews and podcasts and vlogs that Jazz has done? What about the way she is with fans, and how they love her?”
“They could love Snake, too,” Nick said, but his tone was noticeably quieter.
“And Gray, too?”
“We don’t need him. Simon can play the guitar, remember? Or have you forgotten that, too?”
“Really?” Deacon’s eyebrows shot up. “You want to throw away the guitar duels the two of you have.”
“I can do them with Simon.”
“Okay, let’s go back to Jazz, then.” Deacon glanced at Simon. “How many radio interviews and spots have you done with VH1, Fuse, and Pandora with her? They fucking love her. We love her. She’s ours now, too. You can’t dump that for a shady memory of a few good times in the fucking Laundromat when we were nineteen.”
Simon looked at his feet and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “No. You’re right. It wouldn’t be an easy decision.”
“Easy? Are you—I—” Deacon sputtered. Nick stood closer to Snake. “I can’t believe you two.”
It wasn’t enough to see their friend on the road to recovery. Nick wanted things back the way they were. Simon, he wasn’t so sure of. The chemistry between Simon and Jazz had even surpassed whatever weird almost-romance that had happened between Nick and Jazz. And for once in Simon’s life, it wasn’t a sexual chemistry.
Of course if Jazz gave him even a hint of interest, Simon would be in her bunk for the pure fun of it, but he was perfectly happy with them just being friends. And it came off on camera with a little buzz and a lot of laughter between them. All of it fun and engaging.
If they lost that, Deacon wasn’t sure any of them would survive. Not really.
But Nick had to figure that out for himself. The more Deacon pushed him, the more Nick would get his back up.
Deacon dragged a deep breath in through his nose until his lungs were bursting with oxygen and resolution. He felt warm fingers lace with his. When he looked down to find Harper there, the pain in his temple went from searing, shutdown migraine, to a dull throb. Her steady blue eyes eased a little more anger out of his shoulders.
He focused back on Nick and the fists at his friend’s sides.
Nick lifted his chin. “You what?”
“I can’t do this.”
Nick’s brows snapped down. “What?”
Deacon turned his attention to Snake. “I’m glad to see you doing well, Snake, but there’s too much history between you and I. Too much that Simon and Nick don’t know about.”
Snake nodded. “I understand.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Nick crossed his arms over his chest, glancing from Snake to Deacon and back.
“You’ll have to ask Snake.”
Deacon nodded to Simon. “You guys visit and talk about old times. But we’re a band now. You can’t just bring Snake back in. Not when all of us don’t agree.”
“Me, Simon, and Snake started this band,” Nick said, his tone glacially cool.
Deacon flinched. It was true, he hadn’t been in high school with the three of them. He’d come into the band a year later after they’d played on the boardwalk together one night. They were his fucking family now, too. For five years, he’d fought to keep them together. And he had to remind them both of that.
Deacon poured reason into his voice, praying that Nick would hear him just this once. “Just remember that it’s not just the band. If you do something stupid, we could lose our biggest hit.”
Nick’s molars clicked and the little muscle in his temple flexed.