by N. N. Britt
“Uh, not likely.” I squatted down and plucked a blade of grass from the ground. “I’m not the marrying type.” I couldn’t imagine myself being tied to one woman for the rest of my life. My gypsy soul liked to wander. There was a reason I’d never wanted to settle down in a fucking house with a fireplace, a yard, and a pool.
“I thought so too before I met Shanice.” Malik shook his head, and sweat dripped down his temple from underneath the visor and onto his thick chain with a cross that he never took off. “Now I’m broke.” He drew a deep breath and attempted to infuse some bravado into his words as if this was all a joke. “But hey, she was a good fuck.”
“A very expensive high-end escort.”
“Right.” Malik broke into mad laughter. “You’re all right.” He leaned over and slapped my back. “Come on, let’s get going before you burn.”
“You can crash at my place if you need somewhere to stay for the time being,” I said, getting to my feet. “I have an extra bedroom. Well, four actually.” I had a pool house too.
“Nah. I’m eyeing a two-bedroom condo in Malibu, but I think I’ll get the divorce finalized before putting in an offer. Or she’ll want a piece of it too.”
We headed back toward the trail.
“If you change your mind, the offer stands.”
“Want my advice, Dante?” He spun to face me and started to jog backward. “Don’t ever fucking fall in love.”
By the time we returned to the Jeep, it was almost noon and we were sweating buckets. The sun didn’t joke around. I felt the heat deep in my bones. If not for the strongest sunblock that I’d had to reapply every twenty minutes, I’d would’ve been on fire.
“We’ll have to leave at six on Friday,” Malik said, looking up at the sky. There were no clouds at all. Not even one. Just an endless stretch of washed-out blue hanging high above the mountains.
Malik rounded the vehicle and popped the back open.
Wired, arms loose, legs cramping, I paced. Small puffs of dust danced beneath my sneakers. My blood pounded and my muscles hurt. This had been a good workout. I’d burned a whole lot of frustration today, but the itch was there.
I needed a cigarette.
My mind was still reeling after the strange encounter with the redhead at the guitar shop the other day. I even considered that the woman may have put some kind of spell on me. Watching her reminded me of a documentary I’d seen once on Discovery Channel in my hotel room in London while I was on tour. I’d been high as fuck, but bits and pieces of that film had imprinted on my brain for good. Camille was like a tigress protecting her cub, claws out, ready to jump me. It was...sexy.
I’d dreamed of sunflowers that night.
“Here.” Malik tossed me a bottle of water, yanking me out of my thoughts.
I screwed the cap off and emptied it in three gulps.
Malik pulled the door of the Jeep open and started the engine and the AC. We had to wait for a few minutes before the air inside cooled off.
“Hey, no one asked you for an autograph today, man,” he joked.
I pulled off my bandana and let the wind rustle my wet hair. “I’m yesterday’s news.”
Last month, when we drove up to Point Mugu, some couple had stalked us for nearly an hour before they’d mustered up enough courage to ask for a selfie with me. I’d refused to pose for a camera sweaty and after a fucking stroke, but I’d signed their T-shirts and the girl’s breast. She’d said she was going to get my signature inked. I’d been surprised women still wanted my scribbles on their bodies. I was an asshole. But then again, assholes were popular.
“I gotta see you play for real one of these days,” Malik said.
“Eventually.” I nodded.
He didn’t know who I was when we’d met and I’d had no idea who he was either, but I’d caught his vibe and consulted Google later on.
Apparently, Malik Dixon was a big fucking deal. Entrepreneur. Health coach. Married to a smoking hot lingerie model. Rock’n’roll wasn’t on his list of interests, but that hadn’t stopped us from hanging out together. The only thing we had in common musically was Prince. I liked the solos. Malik was into lyrics.
“You all right?” he asked.
“I’m good.”
“You sure this has nothing to do with all the shit going on between you and Frank?”
“No. I’m just tired.” I tossed my head back to stretch my neck. The sunlight was like a vampire nibbling on my skin.
Malik knew about my disagreement with Frank. He’d seen our collective meltdown video too. Unlike other centers, Passages didn’t have any restrictions on electronic devices. We’d been allowed to go online, call friends, agents, managers. The thing about sobriety and toxin-free life was that it had awoken my consciousness. All the shit I’d done, including fucking Frank’s wife, had come back to haunt me in rehab.
I’d called him a few times a week like clockwork, hoping he’d pick up the phone and we could talk it out. He’d never responded. In the end, I’d ambushed him at the screening. That little stunt had almost cost me my sanity and my stay at Passages, but my therapist had let it slide because I’d come back clean and sober.
“You need to up your protein and cut down on your sugar.” Malik’s tone grew serious. He didn’t mess around when it came to nutrition.
A laugh erupted from my chest. I could count all the foods I was allowed to eat on the fingers of one hand. And he was going to take away the only unhealthy thing I was still able to consume—sweets. Naturally, I’d grown to like most of the tasteless crap I’d been eating. Getting off gluten and coffee was pretty similar to getting off coke. Painful but worth it.
Still, my candy was off-limits.
“Let’s get the hell out of here before I have heatstroke,” I said, climbing into my seat.
Malik slid behind the wheel, and we shut the doors.
Generous blasts of AC caressed my face as I fished out my phone to check the notifications. Eden was still pushing for a business meeting.
I liked the quiet life without temptations, so public appearances weren’t on my agenda just yet. I was working on building something new, and leaving the comfort of my lonely existence scared me.
I closed my inbox without responding to Eden’s email and pulled up my messages. There weren’t many. After checking into Passages, I’d blocked a lot of numbers. My life had required a major fix and that had meant getting rid of dead weight.
Malik turned up the music and steered out of the parking lot while I continued to flip through the texts. One in particular held my attention.
I’ll stop by tomorrow around lunch, it read.
I couldn’t understand why she bothered. My first reaction was to message her back and tell her not to come.
I didn’t.
“Does Frankie-boy know you’re cozying up to his nemesis?” I flopped into the patio chair and stretched my legs. Two clean glasses and a bottle of freshly squeezed carrot juice sat on the table in front of me.
Cassy’s gaze crept around the terrace. “Do you need help unpacking?” she asked.
Frank’s better half wasn’t the kind of woman to beat around the bush.
“Don’t do that, darlin’.” I gave her one of my signature smiles and watched her reaction. I needed to practice before Friday, and since the only woman in my life right now was a fifty-two-year-old mother of three from Guatemala who came twice a week to clean the house, Cassy was a far better target audience. Although I doubted my flailing charm could compete with the glory and righteousness of Frankie fucking Blade. The two were disgustingly happy together. I didn’t have a habit of stalking them online every day, but I’d done it a couple of times, and their photos on BuzzFeed had made me want to jump off a cliff.
“Excuse me?” Cassy arched a brow.
“I’m not one of your charity cases.” I motioned at the chair across from me.
“No.” A head shake. “You’re my friend.” She waved in the direction of the living room. “Those boxes h
ave been sitting there unopened since last month.”
“I’m not in a rush to stuff my drawers. As you can see, it’s just me. If I want to keep my shit in boxes, I will.”
Cassy rolled her eyes.
“Come on, sit down. Have some carrot juice. It’s good for your eyesight.”
Laughing, she settled in a chair and gazed at the line of trees flanking the back of my property.
“Like the view?” I asked.
“It’s impressive.”
“Very quiet at night,” I said in a low voice, leaning forward to pour us some juice.
We were silent for a few moments, listening to the muffled noise of the birds and crickets.
“You look really good, Dante,” Cassy finally noted.
“Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.”
Miniature, dark-haired, and lightly inked, she was a good-looking woman with spice and brains who could rock anything from skinny jeans to a Dolce & Gabbana suit. Frank was a lucky bastard.
“I’m serious about my offer,” Cassy insisted. “If you need help organizing things, I’m available.”
“That’s okay. I’ve got help. It’s just—” I paused mid-sentence. My mind blanked. The thoughts that had been there two seconds ago were now gone.
Panic crawled up my back. I hated when this happened. The doctor had said confusion was normal.
Normal, my ass!
I drew a deep breath and stared at the juice in my glass. It was so thick, I couldn’t see the bottom. That bugged me, because back in my heyday, seeing the bottom of the glass that held my drink was imperative.
“Look,” I said. “You don’t need to worry about me, short stuff. I’m good. I don’t want Frankie-boy thinking I’m fucking you too.”
Annoyance flitted across Cassy’s face. Her gaze found mine. “I think we’re already past the point where that’s an issue between the two of you.”
“Are we?” I matched her stare.
“You know the answer, Dante.” She shook her head and spun her glass, swirling the juice.
“I swear there’s no poison in it,” I croaked, watching her squirm as she took a small sip.
“How do you drink this?”
“Well.” I leaned back in my chair and stared up at the sky. “I either drink this horseshit or I die.” My lips stretched into a smile.
“I’m glad you still have your sense of humor.”
“Ah, you know. The devil can have my liver, kidneys, and pancreas, but he can’t have my wit.”
We shared a soft laugh.
“It’s not that bad actually,” I confessed. “You get used to it after a while.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Miss Triple Espresso. You should really cut down on your caffeine intake. Bad for your blood pressure.”
“Is that so?”
“That’s what my dietician and my doctor say.” I took a swallow of my juice. “You know what else is bad? Avocados.”
Disbelief twisted Cassy’s face.
“High potassium. Big no if you have crappy kidneys. Can you see the irony?”
She tilted her head in question.
“I’m fucking Mexican.”
“Look at you,” she murmured in a warm voice. “Dante Martinez is giving me healthy living advice.”
There was a long pause filled with the distant hum of the wind rustling the trees. Hot air shifted and trembled between us as we studied each other’s expressions.
“What?” Cassy finally asked with a puzzled face.
“Just wondering why you keep coming back.”
“I worry about you.” She stopped for a second, then added, “We worry about you.”
“So why isn’t he here?”
Awkward silence followed my question.
Cassy set the glass back on the table and obvious unease stiffened her posture. “I wanted to talk to you before we move forward—” She stopped to clear her throat. “Before you decide if you want to move forward.”
Heaviness pushed against my chest. There was something dark and disturbing about those words.
“This isn’t public knowledge yet, but it will be by the end of the day if not earlier,” Cassy said, tone eerie and serious.
“Okay.” I waited.
“KBC is suing Frank for breach of contract. The paperwork was filed yesterday.”
My throat tightened with dread. “What’s the damage?”
“Forty million.”
I let out a soft whistle. “They’re not kidding around, huh?”
“No, they’re not.” She paused for a second, her gaze never leaving mine. “Frank’s attorney thinks the best response is to countersue.”
“So what do you want from me?”
“I want you to weigh all the pros and cons of owning your own masters.”
“Get out of here.” I almost choked on my laugh. “This is KBC we’re talking about, not some indie label from Portland. Do you have any idea how much money ‘Ambivalent’ brings in? It’s the fucking song of the decade. They’d never give that up.”
“Johnny’s on board.”
“Johnny will do whatever he’s told.”
“I don’t need an answer right now, Dante. I want you to think about it.”
“Humor me, short stuff.” I set my juice on the table. “Why isn’t Frankie-boy here? Why did he send you over?
“He doesn’t know we’re having this conversation.” The corners of her lips curved, and she gave me a small smile. “I’m sure you can imagine what’s going on in his head right now.”
I slumped back in my chair and contemplated. “If he wants to say something to me, he should come over and do it himself.”
“I need to know if you’re on board before we set up a meeting. There are a lot of moving parts. Besides, it was your choice to withdraw yourself from our lives after the screening.”
“I went back to rehab. He went back to rehab. What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a proper conversation after you two got your shit together.”
“My shit is far from together, darlin’.”
“You look great, Dante. Much better than last time I saw you. Self-pity isn’t you.”
Frustration filled my veins. I remained silent, but my mind spun.
“You two are so fucking stubborn.” Cassy rose to her feet and advanced toward the door but stopped just short of it and said, “Call him in a couple days, after the dust with the press settles.”
“Does he want another apology? Is that what it is?”
“No.” She shook her head and stepped inside. “If it’s any consolation, you did us both a huge favor by fucking Heidi out of his life. Just think about what I said.”
“How is that helping me decide whether I want to move forward or not?” I yelled. “You just fucking cornered me.”
She dodged my question. “You sure you don’t need any help with these boxes?” her voice called from the living room.
“I’m good. Thanks.”
My head started to hurt. Frank and I hadn’t really spoken since the screening. A lot of that had to do with the fact that we’d both been trying to get clean over the summer, and repairing our relationship hadn’t seemed like a priority at the time. The distance had been good for my mental health. Sure, not being able to play music with my former best friend sucked, but I’d gotten used to my solitude. The idea of getting involved in a major lawsuit scared the shit out of me.
Was I ready to face the public? Was I ready to face the very thing I’d been avoiding all my life—a major legal battle over the empire I’d created with Frank?
Was the game worth the candle?
4 Camille
Valley Club, a small restaurant that turned into a live music venue on weekend nights, was the only freestanding building in Cold Canyon Market Square. Tucked between a busy pizzeria and an artisan bakery that was shutting down for the day when we pulled in, the place bled chaos.
A trail of parents and their spawn of various age
s streamed from the parking lot toward the club. Their voices clashed with the rattle of gear cases rolling over the pavement.
At the door, a security guard watched the oncoming mayhem with exhausted eyes. I suspected he was more comfortable handling drunk adults. A bunch of screaming kids and antsy teenagers were probably overkill. Eva, one of the managers, whom I knew vaguely through Pauline’s mother, stood in the alley separating the club from the pizzeria. Phone smashed to her ear, she was chewing on a doughnut. Her head bobbed from time to time as the conversation went on.
“Holy guacamole!” Whirling in his seat, Harper scanned the knot of children crowding the entrance. “How many bands are playing? What is this? Where am I?”
I silently laughed at his string of dramatic questions.
“Just four,” Ally said from the back. “The New Arcade, Army of Three, us, and Dead on Fire.”
“Dead on Fire? That just sounds so wrong in this heat.” He shook his head and slicked back his wheat-colored hair with his hand.
“Wait till you see them. These guys are sick live.”
“You’ll love The New Arcade. They’re all middle-graders and they do Presley and Sinatra covers,” I said, catching Ally’s reflection in the rearview mirror. She’d spent over two hours on makeup and hair and another forty minutes on picking the right accessories to match her boots and leather pants. I could barely see her face behind the triple layer of glitter and black eyeliner. The ripped tank top she wore was attempt number five. All the previous versions had had way too many holes for my liking.
In other words, my daughter looked like a homeless teen demon.
“Sinatra covers and screamo. All in one night?” Harper gave me a perplexed look. “What’s the world coming to, girls?” He turned to Ally. “You ready to rock’n’roll, my favorite goddaughter?”
“I’m your only goddaughter.” She grimaced.
I killed the engine and scanned my reflection in the mirror.
“You look fab,” Harper reassured me.