Kiss the Stars

by Jackson, A. L.

  A dark chuckle filtered free. “You think I’m so good they would want to poach me? And you can’t bet your left nut. You already promised it to get the band signed.”

  Rhys cracked up. “Balls are big enough to bet on ’em a few times. Plenty enough reserve to go around.”

  “You wish, asshole,” I told him, chuckling under my breath.

  The guy was cocky to the core.

  Arrogance inbred.

  But he didn’t do it without reason.

  He was a fucking superstar on the bass. Talented beyond measure. Didn’t hurt matters in the least that women lost their goddamn minds every time he took to the stage.

  Dude also liked to imagine Carolina George was the actual best band on earth.

  Okay.

  We were good.

  Really fucking good. Guilt clawed. Hated using them as a cover. As a reprieve. First time I heard them, I should have known they were going places. That this unknown band was going to become something great.

  Now I just had to pray that I could stick around long enough to help get them there.

  Not fuck them over right in the middle of this chance that was being given.

  “Do I think you’re good enough for them to want to snatch you up?” Rhys scoffed, and I could feel the force of his smug grin.

  Guy’s personality was so big you didn’t even have to be in the same state for him to be playing out in vivid Technicolor.

  “Only reason we even put up with your brooding ass is the fact you are so good,” he ribbed.

  Fighting the quirk of a smile, I rested my head back on the headrest. Flickers of sunlight slanted through the windows, the area growing more upscale by the second as the driver drew us closer to our destination.

  My home for the next two months.

  Like Lyrik had said—it really shouldn’t be a big deal. I was simply standing in. Making life easier for a friend and earning a whole shit-ton of money while doing it. But I couldn’t silence the warning blaring inside me that I should have just said no.

  That mixing L.A. and business was about the worst thing I could do.

  I had a plan. It’d do me well to stick to it.

  Veering to the left wasn’t going to help things.

  “You never know, Rhys,” I drew out, playing like none of this mattered. Like I wasn’t close to coming apart. “I just might get cozy here and decide playing with Sunder is really where I belong. Can’t imagine it would be all that hard to get used to.”

  The car made a right into a neighborhood that screamed old-world luxury. We rolled to a stop in front of what had to be the most over-the-top, palatial house I’d ever seen.

  Lyrik’s house in the Hills had nothing on this.

  Yeah.

  Getting used to hanging out around here shouldn’t be all that hard to do.

  I must have been gawking for too long because Rhys suddenly demanded below his breath, “Dude . . . it’s that good, isn’t it? Shit. I knew it. We’re screwed.”

  “Nah, man, it’s a hovel.”

  “Liar,” he shouted in feigned affront.

  The estate was secured between two tree-lined streets, taking up the entire end of an upscale neighborhood block. A black wrought-iron and red-bricked fence encased the entire property. Marble stairs led up to the walkway from off the street, that was if you had an invitation to make it through the security gate.

  A sign wasn’t necessary for it to read keep the fuck out.

  Place was fronted by five huge steps that led up to the soaring columns of the portico, double doors waiting with a quaint welcome that belied the grandeur of the rest of the house.

  It gave way to three stories of shuttered windows, columned porches stretching around the north side to the backyard that was enclosed by a high wall, inhibiting passersby from sneaking a peek.

  “Yeah, you’re right, I’m totally lying. Place is out of control. This is the way the other half lives, man.”

  “Stop rubbing it in, Banger,” Rhys grumbled through the line. “I know you, and I know your ass still has heavy metal pumping through your veins. Last thing we need is for you to try to ditch us once you get another taste of it. Things are finally happening with Carolina George. Happening fast, too. Just like I told you they would. Knew people couldn’t ignore our badassery forever. Don’t you dare walk in that house and decide that is where you’re supposed to be.”

  “So you’re saying you need me now?”

  He huffed through his amusement. “Barely.”

  “Come on, man, tell me you love me. Tell me the band is nothing without me.”

  “Fuck off,” he said through a laugh.

  “Have it your way,” I told him, keeping the razzing alive as I clicked open the door. There was nothing more entertaining than fucking with Rhys.

  “Fine. Fuckin’ fine,” he rushed. “Before you go inside that house, you gotta know the band would be an absolute shit-show without you. Not that we aren’t all bad asses. But we are bad asses together. Bad asses united. Bad asses to eternity. Do ya hear me?”

  The last he sang in his country drawl like he was trying to rally a squad of downtrodden troops, like he had a hand fisted in the air for solidarity.

  Yeah.

  Eternity wasn’t in the cards for me.

  But maybe if I played it right, I could help get them where they needed to go. Set them up before I folded.

  “Unfortunately, I do hear you,” I said, keeping my tone as light as I could.

  “Bastard.” Could feel his smile.

  Figured I’d better put him out of his misery. “Don’t worry, brother. I’m in and out. No one will even know I’m here.”

  “Oh, I bet Lyrik West’s wife will notice you’re there. Have you seen pictures of her? Fuck,” he groaned. “I bet you met her this last weekend, didn’t you? She is h.o.t. With a capital H. Hell, with a capital everything.”

  “Pretty sure if Lyrik West heard you say that, he would cut off both your nuts. No more betting for you.”

  “Like you’re going to out me. Your best friend? Come on, Banger.”

  “Hey man, Lyrik and I go way back. You never know. And that’s Head Banger to you.”

  “See . . . heavy metal. This is a goddamn nightmare,” he whimpered in nothing but faked outrage.

  I was chuckling low when I said, “I’ve got to go.”

  Driver was staring me down through the rearview mirror, biting his tongue, the poor bastard.

  Rhys hesitated, then cleared his throat. “Seriously, Leif. This is cool. Proud of you. No one better to fill Zee Kennedy’s shoes than the likes of you. I hope you know I truly believe that.”

  “Thanks, Rhys.”

  “Be good.”

  “Always.”

  I didn’t bother to call my own bullshit.

  I slipped out of the car and onto the sidewalk that was shaded by the towering oaks. The driver was already there, grabbing my single suitcase from the trunk, glad to kick me to the curb.

  “Thanks.” I shook his hand and slipped him a hundred.

  Figured it was the least I could do considering all of my expenses were being covered for the next two months.

  Wheeling the suitcase behind me, I headed up the walk. The gate buzzed before I made it all the way there. No doubt, Lyrik was anticipating my arrival.

  I pushed through the unlocked gate and moved the rest of the way up the walkway. The front door whipped open as I climbed the steps.

  “Leif. You made it. Glad you’re here.” Lyrik stepped onto the porch.

  “Glad to be here.” I glanced up at the soaring porch ceiling. “Nice place.”

  He chuckled a wry sound and rubbed his chin. “Don’t judge. House hunting list of musts was we had to be within a mile of Shea and Baz’s place and Ash and Willow’s that is a mile in the other direction. Tamar’s rules.”

  “And this was the only one that was for sale?”

  “Only one that was within our price range.” Asshole actually winked, hand flying
out to smack me on the outside of my arm.

  “Hard life, man. Hard life.”

  He was all grins, and he angled his head toward the door. “Come on in. Want you to make yourself at home, and I mean that. No fucking tiptoeing. You need something, you say it. You want to kick off your shoes, you do it. You want something from the fridge, you grab it. This place is family—comfort—no matter what it looks like from the outside.”

  My brow lifted when I stepped through the doorway because the inside looked like a goddamn museum.

  Paintings covered every wall.

  What got me most was a bunch of them were just like the eerie, mystical ones that had filled his attic back in Los Angeles. Distorted, obscured faces. Twisted in some kind of beautiful agony as they stared into the nothingness. Lost and seeking a way to be found.

  To be understood.

  Like maybe it was only the artist who actually could.

  A shock of intrigue slammed me in the chest. A punch of that insanity I’d felt this last weekend. That overpowering lust that I’d had a bitch of a time forgetting.

  Girl sinking in her claws without even gifting me with her name.

  It crawled over me like the innuendo of a dream.

  A vague, vapor of a memory.

  Problem was, I couldn’t tell if it was a nightmare I wanted to shun or an idea I wanted to wake up to and beg it to become my truth.

  Materialize.

  I tore my attention from one of the pictures that was hanging on the far wall, floating halfway up to the soaring ceiling. Room was decked out in massive arches and crown molding, giving it form and shape. A curved staircase ascended to the second floor, breaking off into two sections halfway up.

  “This way.” Lyrik moved through the foyer and living room that I was pretty sure you weren’t actually supposed to live in.

  “Ash’s wife, Willow?” he hedged.

  I gave a small nod to let him know that I knew who he was referring to.

  “She refurbishes old furniture,” he explained. “Pieces she picks up that are completely dilapidated and broken to shit. Half the time, she digs them out of a dumpster. Brings them back to life. Every piece in here is a piece of her.”

  Ah. Made sense.

  Lyrik didn’t exactly seem like the antique type.

  “Beautiful stuff,” I told him, making conversation because I just didn’t relate to the whole ‘making a house a home’ bullshit.

  Not when I’d burned mine to the ground.

  “Yeah. She’s super talented. Tamar has even helped her with a couple pieces. Weird how things become more treasured when you have a hand in their making.”

  Lyrik ducked through the next doorway at the end of the hall. It led into an enormous great room.

  One-part kitchen.

  One-part playground.

  My eyes widened a bit at the mess.

  Place was completely at odds with the area we’d just walked through. Pillows had been tossed from the overstuffed sectional couch that faced a TV the size of a football stadium, toys strewn everywhere, socks and shoes discarded on the floor.

  “This is where we all pretty much chill. Warning, kids get nuts in here. You don’t like the littles, you’re going to have to hide out in your shack.”

  He grinned.

  Sourness climbed my throat. I swallowed it down. Pasted on a smile. “Kids don’t bother me.”

  Didn’t plan on spending much of any time in here or around Lyrik’s family. Like he’d warned me, they were his main priority. What he would fight for and live for and die for. I didn’t have any business hanging around any of them.

  Would make myself scarce.

  Play when the band needed me and hide out when they didn’t.

  He laughed. A little harder than prudent. “Yeah, well, between me and my crew, we have a whole goddamn mob of them. Have a couple extras spending the summer here at the house, too. Place promises to be a fuckin’ zoo.” He stretched out his tattooed arms. “Welcome to the Wild, Wild West. No place better to be.”

  He smirked.

  I chuckled. So it turned out the big, bad Lyrik West was kinda a sap. “Not a problem. Just here to play some music and mind my business. You won’t even notice I’m here.”

  “You’re going to be right out here.” He gestured toward the bank of windows that opened up to the walled-in backyard. “Code to the door is 98564. We keep the main house locked, inside and out, to keep the kids away from the pool if they’re not supervised. You’re welcome to come and go . . . just make sure this shit remains locked.”

  Another warning. And I was starting to wonder why the fuck I had agreed to stay here. Maybe I just was wanting to torture myself.

  “Got it.”

  I glanced through the windows.

  Backyard, my ass.

  It was some kind of oasis in the middle of downtown Savannah.

  Fucking paradise.

  Eden.

  Fountains spouted from the four corners of the yard, and each was surrounded by lush, pink flowering bushes. A luxurious pool sat right at the center of it, surrounded by an intricate brick patio and cool deck.

  A long wing of the house extended along the right side, that portion one-story.

  At the very back of the lot was a miniature replica of the main house. Two small columns framed the front door and small porch, the one story made to look like it was two.

  “That’s you. Hope it meets your standards.”

  “Looks to me like I’ll be just fine.”

  He started to open the door, only to pause when a clatter of footsteps suddenly came pounding down a set of stairs that dumped out in the great room.

  A riot of shrieks and laughter and shouting voices flooded the space.

  You’d think an entire daycare was on a field trip.

  Nope.

  The chaos was summoned by three kids.

  “Whoa, guys, watch yourselves. We’ve got company.”

  Kid at the helm put on the brakes, nothing but wild black hair and dark, dark eyes.

  “You the drummer?” He was all eager grins and easy smiles as he came toward me like we were gonna be the best of friends.

  Would put down bets this kid belonged to Lyrik, and I wouldn’t need Rhys’ nuts for collateral.

  “Sure am.”

  His eyes moved over me. He nodded like he was giving his approval. “Cool.”

  Lyrik ran a tattooed hand over the top of the boy’s head. “This is my son, Brendon.”

  I lifted my chin at him. “Great to meet you, Brendon.”

  “And this is my baby girl, Adia.”

  Tried not to puke right there when Lyrik hiked a little girl into his arms.

  Probably three or four.

  Gnashed my teeth together to keep from losing it. To keep from turning around and walking out the door.

  Stupid.

  Fucking stupid coming here.

  Managed not to flinch when she squealed and threw her arms around his neck, wiggling in his hold and staring out at me with an overdose of cuteness.

  Barely forced a wave at her. “Hey, there.”

  My attention got pulled to the corner of the room when I got smacked by an apprehensive aura that pulsed against the walls.

  To the last of the children who’d come rambling down the steps.

  This girl was probably a year or two younger than Brendon.

  Wary and shy where she hung back at the base of the stairway.

  Definitely one of Lyrik’s brood. Long, black hair that she had in a ponytail, though her eyes were a different shade than the rest of his kids’, like cups of black coffee had been swirled with a shot of caramel.

  He sent a soft smile at her. “And this is my niece, Penny Pie. She’s spending the summer with us. Penny, this is Leif. The drummer I told you was gonna be playing with us so Uncle Zee can tour with Liam.”

  Niece.

  Not his kid.

  I gave her a small wave.

  The one she returned was leery.<
br />
  Like she’d already seen straight through who I was and labeled me.

  A bad guy.

  Couldn’t fault her for that.

  “Nice to meet you, Penny.”

  Wow.

  This was awkward as fuck.

  Why Lyrik didn’t point me in the direction of the guest house and bypass all of this bullshit, I didn’t know. All of these introductions seemed entirely unnecessary considering I was about to split.

  She nodded, seeming to contemplate what to say but stopped when someone from above called for her, “Hey, Penny. Have you seen Greyson’s bear? I can’t find it anywhere, and he needs it for his nap. I swear to God, if I left that back home, we’re all going to be in for it until grandma can get it shipped to us.”

  I was slammed with what felt like a million things all at once.

  A swell of energy.

  Same as what I’d experienced last week.

  Only this time, it came at me like a motherfucking tidal wave.

  Footsteps echoed as they banged down the stairs, reverberating the floors, vibrating my legs and rocking me to the core.

  Ears getting filled with a voice I’d chalked up to fantasy.

  Eyes glutting on a face that nearly knocked me to my knees.

  All of it damned near stopped my heart in my chest.

  Seized.

  A motherfucking stroke of horrible, terrible bad luck.

  The angel in the attic.

  The girl clamored down the stairs with a tiny boy fastened to her hip, not having the first clue that the devil had chased her to Savannah.

  But I was pretty sure it was me who was in danger.

  The girl a danger to my sanity. To my reality.

  This girl had spun my mind in a way no one should have the ability to do.

  In a way I couldn’t allow.

  When she realized there was someone standing in the middle of the room, she stumbled to a stop, clinging to the railing for support.