by Quinn, Cari
“Obviously not.” Christ, I wanted a cigarette. I’d given those up too. Vices were for the weak and I refused to be weak. And yet everything about her made me want to sink balls deep in things that were no good for me.
Starting with her.
“You’re such a fucking rude bastard.”
I shrugged. “You’re the one who’s having trouble.”
“I’ll get it.” Her tone was ice. “We don’t have time to build a song from scratch.”
I crossed my arms. “What, like you two did a few hours ago?”
She scrubbed her palms against her thighs. “It’s a Christmas song. You don’t just whip one of those up. There’s nuance and history in the best ones. I don’t want to just make it good enough.”
“Nothing on this album is just good enough, duchess. We’ll work until we get it right.”
“Let’s give it a rest, guys. We’ve been at it all afternoon. We need some food and Lindsey needs some sleep. Tomorrow’s another day.” Logan stood up. “Let’s go into town and get some diner food. It soothes the soul.”
“You two go.” I rose and set the guitar in its stand. “I’m not hungry.”
“Well, I’m starving. I’m sure I’d digest my food better if he didn’t come along.” She popped up and brushed by me. The hint of fresh soap and those damn orchids seeped into my sinuses and stuck like a damn infection. “I’ll just wash up and we can go.”
Once she’d disappeared, Logan gave me a long, hard stare. “You really want to be this much of a bastard?”
I lifted a shoulder. “It’s a gift.”
“She’s here on her one week off on tour and you’re going to push at her like she’s never sung before?”
“She can do better.”
“She’s one of the few singers I know who can do everything effortlessly. Don’t fuck this up.”
“Imagine what she could do with some effort? I need a walk.” I rose and headed out, grabbing my coat off the rack by the back door.
Maybe if I got her scent and her sound out of my head, I’d get back on track.
Couldn’t get much worse.
Ten
The ride into town was quiet. Out of my periphery, I couldn’t help noticing Logan’s finger tapping on the steering wheel. He wasn’t a twitchy guy by nature.
Part of me wanted to tell him about my past with Nash, but the other part of me needed that knowledge to stay in my vault. Saying something made it real, and I’d tried damn hard to push that night out of my brain.
Not that it had worked.
“The song is really good. If you give me until tomorrow, I’m sure I can find my way around it. Tweak it to my—”
“We’re really going to talk about the song?”
I scrubbed my hand against my leggings. “That’s what I’m here for, right?”
“If that’s the way you want to play it, I’m game.”
I pressed my lips together. “We’ll be fine. Just gotta work the kinks out.”
“Or fuck it out,” he muttered.
My palms itched and I forced myself to keep cool. “Not everyone needs to do that, you know.”
“Right. Sorry. Maybe I read you two wrong.”
“You did.”
His lips twitched, but I allowed the lie to kill the conversation. “So, what happened with Angel?”
Logan lifted his shoulder with a sigh. “We’d been waiting for weeks to get all of our schedules to line up. Wasn’t so hard on my part. All the King’s Men are on a break.”
“A happy one?”
He turned down the stereo. “Amicable mostly. After Christian…” His voice deepened before he cleared his throat. “It was hard after the festival. Too many memories. Too much shit went down.”
I nodded and reached over to squeeze his hand. “I was there, and I still don’t believe it.”
Logan and I had dealt with our fair share of unhinged fans. It came with the territory, especially with us being lead singers of famous bands. Only Logan’s stalker had actually been an ex-girlfriend of sorts. I didn’t really know all the specifics—only Logan and Bella really knew it all.
In the end, Aimee had gone one step further. She’d turned Christian, one of Logan’s best friends and bandmates, against him. A twisted manipulation that had ended in two deaths on a stage in front of thousands.
He squeezed my fingers back and let me go. “Izzy and the kids keep me sane. We’ve tried to record a few times—get together and jam, but everything is different.”
“I can’t even imagine, Lo.” I was so tight with my band that the idea of one of us turning against the other was unfathomable.
“Yeah. I threw myself into this project because I couldn’t do anything else. We’ve got a damn good record, but we were so damn stupid hinging most of the songs on this one with Angel. It has a whole theme of forgiveness and holiday spirit without being too religious. We have a few standards on there. Johnny Cage actually did a surprising version of ‘Silent Night’ that is haunting as hell. Not sure where that shit came from, but we were thrilled. Angel should have rounded out the record perfectly.”
Hell of a project to step into. “And now you have me.”
“Shit. I didn’t mean it like that.” He turned to me as we came to the one stoplight in town. His expressive green eyes had a few more lines at the corners, but there was frustration lighting them right now. And regret.
I leaned into him and gave him an impulsive hug. “Don’t look at me like that. I get it. I’m a fill-in.”
“No.” He returned my hug. “You’re our savior.”
“Let’s not go that far.” I patted his back. “I’m happy to help. We just have to get the song right.”
He twisted back in his seat. “Actually, I think we might need to write a whole new song. Your powerhouse voice wasn’t meant for this one.”
“I sing a boatload of love songs.”
“Yeah, but every one of them has an epic scope that is the exact opposite of Angel’s style. She’s coffeehouse with sadness and a hint of angst.”
I punched his arm as we parked in front of Valentine’s. “I can be angsty, dammit.”
“We don’t need you angsty. We need your range. And we’ll damn well write a song that shows it off.”
Memories of a different performance, one full of drama and a sweeping foreboding, came to mind. My voice and Nash’s rage-playing had made for a heat level I’d never experienced before. Brooklyn Dawn’s sound was supersonic and elemental. Even with Jamie’s intense playing, it had never held that much…discord infused with something I couldn’t name.
Yeah, that dingy bar and that raw version of “Dream On” needed to go back into the mental closet. No room for that in my life or my psyche right now.
I jumped out of the truck. The sound of pounding feet nearby made my skin tingle.
Uh oh.
“Oh my God. Oh my God.”
I pasted on a bright smile at the chatter coming from the sidewalk. When I stepped outside, I was used to the sound of female voices quickly rising to a fevered pitch. Not usually here, but when you were as famous as I was, then add in Logan—well, it didn’t take long to get noticed.
I shoved my hands into my hoodie. “Hi.”
“Oh, Mr. King. We’re sorry.” The two girls had their fingers twisted together as they stood vibrating near the front of Logan’s truck. “We don’t want to interrupt. Oh, gosh, Mr. Stacks is going to kill us.”
Logan laughed. “It’s okay, girls. Jacob won’t kill you if you want to talk to Lindsey.”
“We’re supposed to leave you alone when you have friends in town.” The girl with huge brown eyes was almost in tears.
“It’s fine.” I stepped forward. “I’m Lindsey. What’s your name?”
“Of course you’re Lindsey. Everyone knows who you are.”
I laughed. “Not everyone, but that’s sweet. Did you want a picture or an autograph?”
“Could I?” The girl’s fingers shook as she tried t
o get her phone out of her pocket. “I’m sorry. I’m just… Wow.”
I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “What’s your name?”
“Could you… I don’t have anything on me. How could I be so stupid?”
Logan backtracked to his truck and reached into the glove box. “Never leave home without it.” He waved a silver Sharpie.
“Look at you.” I stepped back and took it from him with a wide smile. “See, this is why I keep him around.”
“Don’t give me the credit. Izzy started buying them in bulk.”
The girl with the big brown eyes glanced from me to Logan and back. “So cool.” Then she held out her phone to me. “Could you sign my phone?”
Her friend was snapping pictures from the sidewalk.
“Sure.” I stilled her trembling fingers and took the phone. “What’s your name?”
“Right. You asked me that. Olive.”
I paused in the midst of writing. “What a pretty name.”
“It’s Olivia, but that’s too—I don’t know. Too extra for me. I’m just Olive with the muddy hair and muddy eyes.”
I looked up. “Don’t ever say that. Besides, Jamie has dark hair and dark eyes and she rocks it. She’d kick your butt for saying that about yourself and her.”
“No. She’s so… Wow. I could never be like her.”
I finished signing her phone and returned it to her before recapping the marker. “Why would you want to be her, when you’re you? The best part of us is our individuality.” I gave her an impulsive hug and the girl broke down in my arms.
“No one’s ever said that to me.”
“Bet your mom did.”
Olive tucked her hair behind her ear. “Moms have to say that.”
“Believe me, they don’t.” Mine sure hadn’t. Individuality was the devil in elitist Brooklyn. Sameness reigned. Which was why my parents had never understood me. “Want to get a picture?”
“Yes, please.”
It took a few tries before she was happy with her photo. And then it took another few attempts to get her friend to be in the picture with us.
A few people passed by with wide-eyed stares and their cameras up. I knew this would be all over the webverse within a hot minute.
Maybe thirty seconds.
By the time the girls were finally on their way, Logan was hustling me into the diner.
“You’re still hella patient, girl.”
I grinned up at him. “Oh, and you aren’t?”
“I don’t have to be in Winchester Falls. No one gives a crap about me. Just the way I like it.”
I was used to being noticed. Even before Brooklyn Dawn had made it enough for me to be on the entertainment paparazzi radar, I’d done enough modeling for Roman to get spotted from his campaigns.
James, Simon Kagan, and I had been the first major models for the now hugely famous designer, and that had put me in the spotlight way faster than I’d ever imagined.
But I loved visiting Logan because it was true. Most people didn’t give a crap about famous people here. However, young people would always be more starstruck.
And they were also so much more impressionable. While I fought my way in a landscape that was still male-centric, I’d learned that female empowerment was just as important as getting my music out there.
The Taylor Swifts and Arianas of the world were well established, but rockers? Yeah, we still had so much to prove.
I slid into the booth across from Logan. Sam, the owner of Valentine’s, waved and hurried over with a pair of menus.
“I didn’t think we’d see you this year, Lindz.”
“I know. I was sorry to miss the festival this year.” I folded my hands on the table. “Like I need a menu. You know what I want.”
“Gravy fries.”
“And lots of ‘em. Oh, and a Diet Coke.”
“You got it.” His denim-colored eyes were friendly and didn’t give me a once-over like most men’s did. It was refreshing. “Your usual, Logan?”
“Nah. I think I’ll go for the club today.”
“No greasy burger? Who are you?”
Logan rubbed his flat stomach. “Takes more to work it off these days.”
“I hear that.” Sam laughed and left us alone.
I rolled my eyes. “Right.”
“What? I put on ten pounds with my daughter’s addiction to ice cream. I just managed to get it off. I don’t run around the stage like I used to anymore.”
“The minute you want to get back up there, your fans will be waiting for you.”
He covered my hand. “I know. We’ll get there.”
We discussed a few mutual friends as I gorged myself on fries with the best gravy in the friggin’ state. He gave me a heads-up on the album and what had been edited so far by our resident asshole.
Being with Logan was always easy. Once upon a time, I’d thought we might be able to drift into something more, but it had never really been anything other than a silly crush on my end. Considering I’d grown up listening to him in the various bands he’d been in and his poster had been on the wall of my bedroom as a teenager, I’d been a little starstruck myself.
But that was a long time ago. Logan didn’t have eyes for anyone but his wife.
It was nice to see, really. Affairs and hookups ran rampant in my circles. Even couples I’d thought would go the distance had been felled by touring schedules and distractions. In my own band, none of us seemed to be able to hold a significant other for longer than a few months.
Especially me. More like no months.
That dim bar held far too much significance for me simply because it was the last time a man had touched me.
Pathetic.
I’d been pursued, but it always felt as if men wanted to be with me because of what I was—not who.
I dragged my fry through the last bit of gravy on my plate.
“Where are you?”
I blinked back in, realizing I hadn’t spoken in a while. “Sorry. Just thinking about my schedule.”
“That’s not a schedule face.”
I laughed. “More like super busy schedule and wishing for downtime.”
“And I dragged you here on your week off.”
I shrugged. “It’s relaxing here. Mostly.”
“It’s no Hawaii.”
“No. That’s true, but I like mountains almost as much as I enjoy the ocean.”
“Liar.”
I wadded up my napkin and tossed it at him. “I actually do. I’m usually here when it’s hot as hell. It’s nice to feel that upstate crispness.”
“Yeah, it’s getting crisp, all right.” He dropped a fifty on the table. “Hope you brought your winter gear.”
“Since I was packed for Hawaii, what do you think?”
“I think you’ll be raiding Izzy’s stash.”
“I love your wife, but I’m rocking way more boob and leg than she is.”
“Guess we’re going to stop in at the shop on the way home, then?”
I dropped the last shard of my fries. “Oh, sign me up.”
“God save me from that look in your eyes.”
I stood and grabbed my hoodie. “Retail therapy, here I come.”
Logan groaned, but followed me out of the diner. We’d made it two feet when Logan grabbed my arm and towed me along faster.
“What the hell? Why are we running?” Deep down, I already suspected the truth. The telltale buzz between my shoulder blades was a sure sign.
Logan nodded at the dark SUV quickly pulling up to the curb halfway down the block. “Pretty sure that’s a pap.”
A guy jumped down from the truck, camera in hand, his eagle-eyed gaze scanning in all directions.
I had to hand it to Lo. He certainly had an eye for noticing the tabloid types. They were everywhere, like vultures.
“Shit.”
“C’mon. Don’t look his way.”
Ducking our heads, we crossed the street to a small boutique. If we had to escape
inside, fine, but I wasn’t in the mood for fuzzy sweaters and the work casual clothes they were offering. Not really my style.
“We can go somewhere else.” Lo jerked his chin in the direction of the other side of the street.
The dude with the camera had aimed for the diner instead, so whew. We had a brief reprieve.
I sighed. “Sorry. Probably the girls.”
He nodded grimly. “It happens now and then. Hopefully, he’ll lose the scent and disappear soon enough. Nobody here above the age of twenty-one will give him any breadcrumbs.”
We could hope.
I caught Logan’s gaze drifting toward the record store a few doors down and pushed him down the block. “Come on. I know what you need.”
“It’s okay.”
“Go. I know you are dying to flip through the bins.”
“Maybe.”
I rolled my eyes. Logan’s record obsession was well known. He had an obscene wall of them, but he always found new gems on his travels. And around his home base as well, apparently.
While he dug into the “just arrived” bin of vintage albums, I spotted a small corner of clothes.
Vintage concert shirts mixed with some current artists. I had twenty shirts over my arm in no time, both long-sleeved and short. I’d be able to layer them to keep warm. Of course then Jamie would raid my stash and steal most of them.
But for now, perfection.
Keeping a close watch for the camera dude, we eventually hurried back to Lo’s vehicle. Him with a bag filled with records, me with clothes. We laughed like lunatics during the ride back over our matching Kiss buys. I had a shirt from one of the last tours—that so wasn’t really a last tour—and he had the double-live album of the same.
We were still chuckling over it when we arrived at the house. “Only us, Lo.” I giggled as we dumped our bags just inside the kitchen doorway.
Logan’s phone buzzed and he dug it out of his pocket. “Izzy will be here later. Still having fun with the kids at her friend’s house.”
“Convenient.”
I spun around at the voice in the dark corner of the kitchen. “Are you actually sitting in the dark?” I half expected a bottle of whiskey to be in front of Nash, but there was only a single, sweating bottle of water.
He twisted the bottle in the puddle of condensation. “I like the quiet. Not much of that with you two.” His voice was even lower than it usually was.
