by Cari Quinn
“Then I guess we’ll have to figure out this whole grandparents thing somehow, because I know all too well how it is to grow up without a family. I don’t want our baby to go through that. If they don’t like me, that’s fine. As long as they treat our son or daughter well.” When he turned his face away, she tenderly turned it back. “I honestly think they will. Your mom made mistakes, yes. Big ones. Mainly because she loved her son too much to see who he really was. I want my baby to be loved too much too.”
He let out a long breath. “Give it some time, okay?”
“I will.” She smiled. “We have plenty of it.”
“That we do, and I want to make the most of it.” He stroked her engagement ring. “Still want to get married now?”
Yep, there went the waterworks. “Yes.”
“Me too.” He shimmied down the bed to speak to her abdomen. “Baby, this is your daddy. We’ve gotta shoot a dirty video and then I’ll be back to talk to you some more. But in the meantime, remember that the guitar’s a better instrument than the drums, though your mom can kick my ass on both. Oh, and I love you.” He met her gaze. “I love you both so much.”
She half laughed, half sobbed, and gripped her nose. “Ouch.”
He frowned. “Sorry about the head bump. I was a little surprised. Are you okay?”
“I am now.” She smiled as he shifted back on top of her and fisted his hands in her hair. “I don’t think I could be better.”
“Challenge accepted. Later. But first…” Grinning, he called out, “We’re ready.”
“Video for Oblivion’s ‘Sugar Kiss’ crashes YouTube” - headline in the entertainment section of the Los Angeles Wire, April 9th, 2014
Untwisted
Lost in Oblivion Book 4
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Untwisted
© 2015 Cari Quinn & Taryn Elliott
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One
The innocuous pale blue envelope sat on the table between Jazz and Harper. A smiley face sticker had been placed in one corner beside the recipient’s name and address, which had been written in bright purple ink.
Jasmine Edwards c/o Ripper Records.
The sender? Molly McIntire. The little sister Jazz hadn’t seen in a decade.
If it really was Molly at all.
“Interesting that it’s not made out to Jazz,” Harper said, folding her hands on her small baby bump. She was a couple of months farther along than Jazz and had that whole glowing thing going on, as evidenced by the rosiness of her cheeks and sparkle in her eye.
At least her eyes has been sparkling until Jazz asked her to meet for an emergency lunch at the Mexican restaurant near their apartment. Harper was about to move out of the place the members of Jazz’s band, Oblivion—Nick, Simon, Gray and Deacon—shared. Lucky Harper and her sexy manster of a husband Deacon had bought a little place in the Valley and were jumping ship.
They weren’t the only ones. Jazz glanced down at her engagement ring. Gray had mentioned just last week that he thought they should try to find a place of their own before the baby came in the fall.
Their baby, not Harper and Deacon’s baby. And no, contrary to what Nick had speculated, they had not added fertility drugs to the water in the Hollywood Hills. It was just coincidence.
Getting this letter now might be another one. Might.
“Molly didn’t call me Jazz. She was a little girl when I…left.” A nice way to refer to being tossed out on her ear and put into foster care. “She called me ‘Mine’, because she had trouble with Jasmine when she was a baby. I remember her standing in her crib crying for me, just saying ‘Mine’ over and over again. The name stuck.” Jazz smiled and sipped her iced tea. She probably should cut back on the caffeine but she figured her once a day iced tea couldn’t hurt that much. “My mom didn’t understand she meant me.”
“What did the letter say? Does it seem authentic?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t opened it yet.”
Harper sighed and pushed cheese off her burrito. “What does Gray think?”
“I haven’t had a chance to talk to him.” And she wasn’t bummed about that at all. Surely she could get through a whole day without having a crisis she absolutely had to discuss with her best friend. Her best friend who just happened to now be her fiancé.
“How come?”
“He had a big meeting with a producer today and he was distracted last night, thinking the guy wouldn’t like his stuff.”
Gray being distracted was a usual thing since he’d come back from rehab. At first she’d figured he was still trying to get used to not being at the facility any longer, but then she’d begun to realize that in the eight weeks he’d been gone, he’d developed a new obsession. He stayed up late almost every night, writing and playing his guitar. That wasn’t unusual. But how driven he was to produce new material was.
They had a wedding to plan, a house to buy and a baby on the way. He had debts to pay back. And evidently he needed to take care of all of those things right this very second.
“Are you okay?” Harper leaned forward. “This letter really has you rattled.”
There was no use in pretending otherwise. “Yeah. It does.”
“And you haven’t been able to talk about it with Gray, and that has you twice as messed up.” Harp took her hand. “I get it. I’m the same way with the big guy. It’s gotta be even worse since you’ve been confiding in him so long.”
“He’s just busy. I get it. He’s trying to be the daddy, you know?” She laughed and poked at her rice with her fork, although she wasn’t that hungry. Shocking enough in itself, since her kid had proven to be a marathon eater already.
“He wants to make sure everything is taken care of financially. You know how it is, our money isn’t always consistent and we’re not sure when we’re getting what.” Harp nodded and released her, and Jazz dropped her hand in her lap with a sigh. “Plus, he thinks he needs to pay me and his parents back as fast as humanly possible for the Cricket situation, although I’ve told him fifty times my money is his. He’s just too stubborn to listen.”
“A stubborn man? No way. I’ve never encountered one of those.”
Jazz grinned. Talking to Harper always evened her out. “So I guess I should open the letter, huh? No reason to freak out until I see what it says.” She ran the edge of one of her purple fingernails along the envelope. “Maybe she’s telling me to never bother her and she wants no contact.”
Harp snorted. “Somehow I doubt it. More likely she wants to shake you down for some cash.”
“What? Why would you think that?”
“Honey, you’re famous now. Gads, you’re even more famous now since that vid of you and Gray setting the bed on fire has been plastered everywhere.”
Jazz ducked her head and hoped like hell she wasn’t actually blushing. She was a grown woman. So they’d made out in a video for a really dirty song about oral sex. A song Gray had written about eating her out. Big deal. People did that every day, right?
Their child would probably be horrified in a decade or so, but by then maybe no one would even remember the vid a
nymore. Except Gray, who claimed it was the best not-a-porno he’d ever seen.
“I wouldn’t say famous exactly,” Jazz began.
“I would,” Harper replied flatly. “Your name is everywhere right now. You guys just had an interview in Rolling Stone, for God’s sake.”
“It wasn’t an interview,” Jazz protested. “Just an itty bitty column about the video and the producers who want to work with Gray.”
Everyone seemed to all of a sudden. Once Lila had put the word out on the street that Gray been instrumental in writing Oblivion’s first big hit, “The Becoming,” and that he’d penned the bulk of their extremely buzzed about new single, “Sugar Kiss,” he’d become LA’s new It guy. And he was taking full advantage, working his ass off.
Working too much, if she was honest. He’d just finished up his part of recording on their upcoming album “Rise” that he’d missed while he was in rehab, and that time in the studio had meant lots of late nights. She’d hung out with him a lot of the time despite her sections being mostly finished, but sometimes the kid hadn’t been in the mood to chill while daddy did his thing. Not that the baby was moving or anything yet—though it probably wouldn’t be much longer—but he or she certainly contributed to Jazz’s inability to stay up past ten p.m. most of the time.
Some rock star she was lately.
“Whatever. You’re in the spotlight enough for people to want to get a piece of you.” Harp forked up spicy chicken and veggies. Evidently her appetite hadn’t deserted her like Jazz’s had.
“I haven’t been in contact with my sister in a decade. Molly was just a little thing back then. I just can’t believe—”
“How old was she when you last saw her?”
“Six. That was more than ten years ago. She’ll be...God, she’ll be seventeen in a few days.” Jazz fumbled for her guitar pick necklace, her link with Gray even when he wasn’t around. Years ago he’d swapped the cheap chain the pick had originally been strung on for a sturdy silver one, which came in handy with how often she wrapped it around her fingers. “Maybe that’s why she contacted me. It’s a big birthday. You know, people get sentimental and stuff.”
Harper didn’t say anything. Jazz knew Harp was thinking that she was an idiot for giving Molly the benefit of the doubt. Harper was much more street-wise in some ways than Jazz was, in spite of the hell that was Jazz’s teenage years. But God, was it so wrong to think that maybe someone had pure intentions? Not everyone was looking for a payday.
Your mama always was. And you know what they say about trees and branches…
“Look, I could’ve turned out money-hungry too, and I didn’t,” Jazz said, both to her friend and the voice in her head. It was a toss-up over which one was louder at the moment.
“Honey, you’re one of the sweetest people I’ve ever known. I didn’t even know people like you existed.” Harp shook her head and broke a tortilla chip in half. “You befriend everyone and want to take care of the world. Considering your situation, it’s amazing that you didn’t become bitter. Instead you became the opposite.”
“Oh, I’ve been bitter, believe me. But if I pushed people away, I knew I’d only end up even more alone.”
“Did I mention self-aware too?” Harp grinned and dipped a chip in the bowl of freshly made salsa. “A lot of people twice your age haven’t figured that one out yet. And as awesome as it is for you personality-wise, that trusting nature makes you a target. You can’t afford to wear blinders about this situation, no matter who Molly is. I’m sorry that’s the way things are, sweetie. I truly am.”
“I’m not wearing blinders, and I’m not that trusting.”
Yeah, okay, so she’d taken forever and a day to catch on to Gray being on coke. Actually, she hadn’t caught on—Snake had told them all. But Gray was different. She’d always put him on a pedestal, and discovering that he wasn’t perfect had taken her by surprise. It had also made her love him even more.
In her typical Harp way, her friend only dipped another chip rather than respond.
“How can you eat that?”
“Why? It’s delish. Have some.” Harp held out a chip dripping with salsa.
“No way.” Jazz edged back in her chair and grabbed her belly. “I hurl the second tomatoes touch my lips.” She waved a hand. “The smell’s not much better.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Harp bit in with gusto, making Jazz laugh.
“Bitch. Better watch it or I’ll break out that chocolate bar in my purse.”
Harp grimaced. “Cruel and unusual punishment.”
“Yeah, it’s hard to have a good old-fashioned whine fest when our food choices are broken into two categories—puke and not-puke friendly.”
Though truthfully, Jazz didn’t mind at all. She loved being pregnant. Sure, she could’ve done without the nausea, exhaustion and swollen ankles, and the idea of squeezing out a small watermelon in front of a swarm of people in lab coats didn’t turn her crank, but all the rest was awesome.
Including the fact that her boobs were now edging into D-cups, a fact Gray had no problem with whatsoever.
“The pregnancy thing does require some changing of our routines, yes. But at least we have someone to share it with.”
“This is true. And our kids will be a couple months apart. We’ll be able to put them in matching outfits and—”
“Even if you have a boy?” Harper grinned. “That should be interesting.”
“Don’t rub it in that your girl child success is assured.” Jazz stuck out her tongue and went back to toying with her rice. “Gray’s sure it’s a girl.”
“The big man was too. Me, I wasn’t so sure. What do you think?”
“As long as it’s healthy, I don’t care.” She really didn’t. The fantasy of dressing a little girl up in pretty dresses and hair bows was just that. She’d be just as happy with a boy that looked like his handsome daddy.
“Yeah, because you’ll keep having more until you get your girl.”
“Shh. Don’t give me ideas.” Jazz grinned and pulled out her phone as it chimed with an incoming text. “Oh yay. Back to the studio. Just me today. I guess I didn’t nail the intro of ‘Torn to Pieces’ or most of ‘Monster.’ And that’s after about a hundred takes.”
Harp loaded up another chip with salsa. “I don’t know how you have the energy to keep whaling on those drums. Even heavy whisking taxes me some days.”
“It’s my job.”
“Yeah, and you’re incredible at it. If I ever decide to go for mushroom on my pizza instead of sausage, I’m totally demanding that you deliver.”
Jazz choked on her bite of rice and grabbed her iced tea to wash it down while she sputtered out a laugh. This was what best friends were for. Making you grin no matter how lousy you felt. Even when you technically had no reason to feel lousy, because you were happier than you’d ever been in your life.
“There, that’s better. I need my Jazz smiling or else I’ll go back to work all bitchy. And I already have budget overruns on the costs for that Jamison job and…”
Jazz tuned Harper out while she went back to picking at her lunch. She didn’t mean to, but she desperately needed a nap. Gray hadn’t come home until super late last night thanks to some new alt rockers he was working with, and as usual, Jazz hadn’t been able to sleep without him beside her. Her inability to sleep alone was stupid, considering she’d gone to bed by herself until recently without any ill effects. She and Gray had only been together a short time, not counting the almost decade of extended mental foreplay beforehand. But that didn’t change the sigh of relief she breathed every time he slipped under the covers with her and slid his arm around her to tug her close.
“Oh crap. Annie’s got the flu and she’s gotta go home early.” Harper was already rising and shoving her cell phone into her purse. “I hate to eat and run but we have all those stupid canapés to finish.”
Jazz smothered a sigh. “Sure, of course.” She’d lost the thread of the conversation and now she was going to h
ave to finish her lunch alone. She pushed her plate away. Not that she was hungry anyway. “I’m sorry Annie’s sick. Can I help? I could fill in—”
“We’re also making meatballs this afternoon, which means big vats of spicy red sauce.”
Jazz shuddered. “Never mind. Good luck.”
Harper laughed and patted Jazz’s shoulder. “Keep me posted on the Molly situation, okay? And talk to Gray. You know you won’t get straightened out until you do.”
Jazz lifted her chin. “I’m an independent career woman. I don’t need to check in with my significant other every five minutes.”
Harper nodded soberly. “Of course not. Do it anyway. For me. And finish your lunch. You’re already the size of a string bean.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Pot, kettle,” Harper said in a singsong voice, backing up with a wave.
“Uh-huh. Send Annie my love. I’ll talk to you later.”
Jazz’s smile lasted until the door swung closed behind her friend. Then she huffed out a breath and viewed her mostly full plate like a climber standing at the bottom of Mount Everest. This lack of an appetite thing sucked.
As did being too unnerved to open a damn envelope.
She picked it up again, flipping it over a few times. She could do this. Whatever it said didn’t really matter. She had her own budding family now, both with Gray and with the band of misfits she loved so much. As much as she still missed her baby sister, this couldn’t hurt her if she didn’t let it.
Van Morrison’s “Brown-Eyed Girl” began playing in her purse, Gray’s ringtone, and she flushed as she always did. God, that song. Gray had once modified it to fit her blue eyes and it never failed to make her smile.
She dropped the envelope like her fingers had been singed in favor of digging out her cell. “Hello,” she said, her voice coming out breathier than she intended.
