A Bleu Streak Christmas (The Bleu Series Book 2)

by T. I. Lowe

  “And on the other bus?” she asks, not sounding so sure of this.

  I lead her over there and point to the silver shooting star over our door. “This is us. Jen is joining us in Alabama, so her and Trace get the bedroom.” I motion for her to enter and follow behind. Her gasp is out before I can take a step inside the front lounge area.

  “Wow. This place is gorgeous.” She wanders along the small kitchen with all those stainless steel appliances that never get used and runs her fingers over the vibrant blue quartz countertops. “It’s so sophisticated.” Everything is etched in black, electric-blue, and silver hues.

  “It’s too sophisticated for us punks, but we like it.” Tapping a beat on my thigh, I stand back and let her check the place out.

  She stops to inspect the fully-stocked fridge. “Oh, I can whip up some French toast in the morning.”

  “The kitchen may finally get used.” I laugh.

  “What? You guys have this state-of-the-art kitchen on your bus, no less, and don’t use it?”

  “For coffee and cereal.” I shrug as I look over all the stuff crammed in the fridge. “Looks like Blake was hopeful you’d break the kitchen in.”

  “I bet you guys are starving. How about you show me where to put my bag and I’ll fix something now.”

  She doesn’t have to say that twice. That protein shake after the show did nothing to satisfy my appetite. I pull the black velvet curtain back that separates the bunks from the living area. “Me and you are on the lower bunks with Max above you and Tate above me. Sorry to tell you, but Tate snores, so we all wear earbuds or plugs at night. In the very back is the bedroom. The leather sofa turns into a bed. Blake sleeps there.”

  “I’ll sleep on the couch. I don’t want to take anyone’s bed.” She turns to head back that way, but I swipe her hand. With my free hand, I pull the bag off her shoulder and place it on top of her bed.

  “No. We all flipped a coin for the sleeper sofa. Dude lucked out. It’s bigger. He had to agree to have coffee ready in the mornings, though.”

  “Okay,” she mutters, still not sounding so sure of this setup.

  I point to the right just past the bunks. “Shower is in there. Everyone gets ten minutes to wash it and get out. The toilet and sink are on the opposite side. They’re not like the hotel suites we just hung out in today, but they’ll do.”

  “This place is a mansion on wheels,” she says in awe. “No more downplaying it, sir.”

  Izzy heads back to the kitchen and makes herself at home while the rest of us help load things and get settled. Before the bus pulls out, this chick has managed to make flatbread pizzas, some kind of creamy dip to go with sliced vegetables, and a fruit salad. Izzy brings our driver, Joe, and our bodyguard, Sonny, a plate up front, and Blake delivers a tray full of the goodness to the other bus before we take off. No one says anything until all the food is gone.

  “Izzy, please let us keep you,” Tate begs. “Don’t get me wrong. Jen and Jewels and some of these punks can cook, but none of them have the passion to do so.” He leans back in the leather recliner and rubs his belly.

  “You think the other bus ate all theirs?” Max asks as he texts on his phone. It pings seconds later. “Man... Dillon said it’s all gone. He says to thank you, Izzy.”

  Her cheeks pink up from the attention. It’s the most mesmerizing shade of pink I’ve ever seen. I swear it inspires lyrics in me. Itching to write them down, I head to my bunk to pen them before I lose them. There’s no way I can pass her without touching, so I place a quick kiss on her cheek. Innocent as it is, one whiff of her sweet, spicy scent sends my mouth to watering. The guys do one of those stupid aww’s, so I shoot them a dirty look and head on to my bunk.

  Losing myself in lyrics has become another one of my healthy addictions. I’ve not even realized it’s gone completely silent, except for the hum of the bus as it passes mile after mile, until I close my journal. A glance at my phone tells me I’ve wandered away for close to two hours. I shuck off the track pants and thermal I pulled on after my shower earlier and try settling down in my bunk.

  I’m about to cram in my earbuds and crank up some music to lull me to sleep when I hear sniffling from my bunkmate across the aisle. A few beats pass with no more sound. Maybe I was just hearing things? Nope. There it goes again.

  “Another mystery stinker got you upset?” I ask, going for my go-to humor to deflect the situation.

  She clears her throat. “You nailed it.”

  I already know her more than I realize, because she’s not fooling me at all. There was no hiding the catch in her voice. Easing out of my bed and kneeling onto the floor, I slowly pull the curtain open.

  Ah man…

  Red, puffy eyes and damp cheeks do something painful to my gut.

  “What’s wrong?” My fingers reach out to wipe the tears away as I wait for an answer, but she stays silent. “Izzy.” Me using her actual name catches her attention, so she finally looks over at me.

  She shrugs. “Just homesick. Stupid, right?” A weak smile pulls at those pouty lips, but goes nowhere near her sad brown eyes.

  “You ever been away from your mom?”

  She shakes her head and more tears release. I dare not ask if it’s their first time apart since her dad’s passing. That answer is already evident on that pretty face.

  “There’s nothing stupid about that, sweetheart. It’s okay to miss her.” I settle on the floor. “Promise not to tell anyone, but I missed my mom like crazy when we ran off to California. I was only sixteen and thought we owned the world that night we snuck off. That only lasted two days before I was on the phone with her, crying like a baby, wanting to go home.”

  “Did she go get you?” There’s too much hope in that question. No way am I letting her bail on this tour.

  “No.” I laugh. “Momma told me to stop acting like a pansy and start appreciating the adventure I was blessed to be a part of.”

  This pulls a hushed giggle from the doll. Those pretty lips hold a genuine smile now. Wonder when I’m gonna stop pansying around about that and claim a kiss from them?

  “I’m glad Momma straightened me out that night. Look at all the living I would have forfeited had I tucked tail and gone home.”

  She nods like she gets it and I think she does. The tears have disappeared. I weave my fingers through her soft hair and gently pull through. As I continue this in a lazy rhythm, I start to hum what I’m pretty sure will be the opening to the song I’ve written tonight. What overtakes me to do this, I’m not sure, but she’s allowing it and there’s no stopping it until well after her eyes drift shut.

  Contentment eventually accompanies me back to my bunk and pulls me into a deep satisfying sleep…

  “Wake up, suckers! Alabama!”

  I could have sworn I just fell asleep, but the bus not moving is an indicator that I’ve hit at least seven hours of sleep since we are undoubtedly already in Alabama. Me and Izzy slide our curtains open at the same time and catch a glimpse of Trace running by the bunks and on out the door.

  It’s all I can do not to cringe when my eyes catch sight of her. That long cry is lingering in the form of dark circles under her eyes. And her hair…

  “Sounds like Trace is excited.” Izzy croaks this out as she rubs her eyes. I think she could maybe use a few more hours of sleep, but I don’t suggest it. She probably needs to do something with her hair sooner rather than later.

  “He is. His wife is here. Remember?”

  She sits up, but I just roll on my side. Her petite height has an advantage with these bunks.

  “That’s right. I forgot Jen is joining us. I hope she’s up for it.”

  “How are you this morning? Better? If not, I was thinking we could have your mom here before the show begins tonight.” I’m willing to do whatever it takes to keep her here, and I’m pretty sure the band would back me on it.

  “I’m fine. There’s no need to bother her. We’ll be home in another week.”

  “Y
ou sure?”

  “Yes.”

  I let out a long sigh. “Good, ‘cause we need to talk about your hair.”

  Izzy’s eyebrows pull together as her fingers comb through her hair. She stills when her fingers meet a section that I’m pretty sure feels stiff.

  “Max tagged you.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  She doesn’t wait for my reply. Instead, she bolts to the bathroom.

  “Max King!” she screams.

  Running back out with wide eyes, Izzy yanks open Max’s curtain and pinches him awake.

  “Ouch!” Max yelps as he pulls out his earbuds. “What the heck?”

  “You dyed my hair blue!” she screeches.

  His groggy eyes focus on her, and he actually has enough nerve to laugh.

  “It’s just one streak, and it’s not permanent. Couple washes and it’ll be gone. No worries, baby.”

  As though it’s no big deal, Max rolls away from her to go back to sleep. She’s not taking too kindly to that either, because doll just hauled off and slapped his bare shoulder—hard enough to echo through the bus and leave a bright handprint blooming on his skin. Idiot just keeps laughing.

  I stay in my spot and watch on as she slings around, gathering her stuff and storming to the bathroom.

  Doll baby stays in there twenty minutes past the allotted time. By the time she emerges, we are all patiently waiting our turns. No one dares to call her out on it. I guess the empty shampoo bottle she just slung in the trash didn’t do the job she wanted. The blue streak is just as blaring as it was before the long shower. Without saying a word to any of us, Izzy grabs up some supplies from the kitchen and continues right out the door.

  Thirty minutes later, a text lights up my phone.

  Doll Baby—Hot stuff? Really? That’s what you saved your number under?

  Me—Straight up.

  Doll Baby—Whatever. You, Tate, and Blake are invited to the Bleu bus for b-fast.

  A howl of laughter leaves me as I show the crowd the text and they join in.

  “Looks like Max messed up his meal ticket.” Tate laughs all the way out the door.

  “She’ll feed me, won’t she?”

  Max is right on my heels, but I stop him. “I wouldn’t push it.” I retrieve the empty bottle out the garbage and shove it in his hands. “Get yourself a driver and go get our girl a new bottle and an apology.” I leave him to think about what he’s done.

  Breakfast is stellar. Best cinnamon French toast I’ve ever had. Sure am glad a bad mood doesn’t affect Izzy’s cooking abilities.

  •♫•♫•♫•

  The thing about touring, is sometimes it can be confusing what state we’re in at the moment. Looking around the log cabin, it takes a few beats before it clicks—southern Tennessee, at a river lodge, pulling out for Nashville tonight.

  My feet finally unglue as I toss my workout bag down and follow the incredible scent coming from the kitchen. My mouth waters at the same time my gut grumbles. All I gotta do is close my eyes and I’m at my favorite Mexican restaurant.

  “Doll, it smells awesome up in here.”

  Izzy looks away from the pot she’s stirring and gives me that sweet smile that I’m beginning to think she reserves for only me.

  “I’m in the mood for some spice.”

  Ah now. No way can I let her get away with that. I ease behind her, bending close to her ear, and whisper, “Babe, all you had to do was come to me and I’d gladly dish out all the spice you could handle.” Her entire body comes alive with a shiver.

  Ah yeah!

  My fingers play through the slightly faded blue streak tucked in all that fair hair as she keeps cooking. I’m stoked she allows me these indulgent touches.

  “Whatcha makin’ us?”

  “Individual Mexican lasagnas.”

  My hand stills. “Come again?”

  She points to the small tin dishes lined on the counter. “It’s basically enchiladas flattened out in layers.”

  “Mmm… Hope you’re making extras. I could probably polish off three of them myself. Max probably can, too.”

  “Don’t worry. There’s going to be plenty and I’ll take care of Max.”

  The late lunch doesn’t get here fast enough. We are all seated at the long hefty table with Izzy personally serving us. She insisted, so we are all just sitting here uncomfortably with her waiting on us. She even asked to sit between me and Max, so I guess she’s over being ticked at him, and maybe she’s already forgotten we tend to swipe everyone’s food. She finally sits down and I can’t help but place a quick kiss on her cheek.

  “Izzy, thanks for taking such good care of all of us,” Dillon says, producing all his dimples in the process and evoking the pink to her cheeks. I shoot him a look and he has enough gall to wink at me. He leads us in prayer, and then we all dig in.

  Everyone moans their approval. Max louder than the rest of us.

  “Wow. This is… um… kinda spicy,” Max says around a mouthful of food.

  “Is not, you wimp,” Logan says with his own mouthful. “Just right, little lady.” He offers her a grin.

  I’m halfway through the dish when I hear Max panting. I look over and find the dude’s face flushed, and he’s actually sweating. We’ve all stopped eating and are watching him curiously.

  Max drops his fork and chugs both his and Izzy’s water. “What’s in this?” He’s huffing now. It reminds me of a woman in labor with those dramatic breaths. It’s almost a perfect mimic of Jewels when she was in labor with Grace.

  I’m pure dumbfounded. It’s barely spicy… Then it clicks what she said earlier about taking care of Max.

  Izzy keeps nibbling at her food as she answers him nonchalantly, “It’s never wise to prank the person responsible for feeding you.”

  “What did you put in my food?” He gurgles around Logan’s glass of water. The guy’s chest is heaving like crazy and water is dribbling down his face. Oh wow. The skin around his mouth is a wild shade of red.

  “Ghost pepper.”

  We all roar in laughter.

  “Devil woman!” Max looks delirious—eyes bugged out, chest heaving.

  And Izzy is my hero. Chick hasn’t stopped eating. “Milk will help,” she says before taking a casual bite.

  Before she says anything else, Max bolts to the kitchen, overturning his chair with a loud bang in the process. We all stay put, eating and laughing while listening to him moan and groan.

  “Izzy, I guarantee you just took care of that idiot ever wanting to tangle with you again,” Trace says, laughing uncontrollably with the rest of us.

  “He needed to be taught a lesson!” Tate laughs.

  Max comes barreling back through.

  “You played with fire this time, bro. And you got burned!” Dillon yells in a roar of laughter.

  We are practically rolling in the floor, while Izzy calmly refills her and Logan’s glasses. Woman is earning all kinds of respect right now. This is epic on the prank meter and she’s so cool about it, which makes it even more hilarious.

  “It ain’t funny!” Max screeches as he flails around in pain. “It still burns!” He’s running ice cubes around his puffy lips while doing some kind of painful dance around the dining room.

  “Just give it some time. It’ll eventually cool down.” Izzy smiles so sweetly at him, it’s evil.

  Half the table is in tears, including my idiot brother, but I’m guessing his aren’t from amusement.

  “Blake, you ready?” Izzy asks him as she stands. My laughing ceases.

  “Where y’all going?” I give Blake a stern look, but the wimp looks away quickly.

  “Tate’s list for gifts. Blake volunteered to help,” she answers, grabbing up her bag.

  Blake looks too smug for his own good. I wish I had slipped him some of Max’s dish. They’re out the door before I can figure out how to stop them.

  The rest of the crowd is still enthralled with Max wailing around the room, chomping ice lik
e it’s his salvation. From the looks of it, seems like it’s not helping.

  “Best prank ever!” Jewels giggles as she discreetly tosses Max’s potent, unfinished lunch.

  Chapter Ten

  Izzy

  The ferocious beat of the drums, blending with the thumps of other instruments’ sounds, pulsates through my entire body. Every cell is buzzing with the music as I stand on the side of the stage and take in the performance. Tonight makes a total of nine concerts so far, and the effect on me still hasn’t faded, even in the slightest. I’ve never felt so alive, nor have I ever felt more belonging. This band is so much more than that. They are a family with the most compassionate hearts.

  The song concludes with the audience cheering at an incredible volume.

  “We’ve got some business to address here tonight. Tennessee won’t mind, will ya?” Dillon murmurs into the mic. Of course the crowd reaches fever pitch again.

  Tate taps me on the shoulder, stealing my attention away from the stage. He’s got a phone to his ear, and I have no clue how he can hear the person on the other end of it over the wild volume in this place.

  “Take this stool out to the center stage.” He points at it, but I do not comprehend.

  Me? On stage? No way! My head vehemently shakes with my denial of the task.

  “Now. We’ve got to keep on schedule.”

  “But—”

  Tate points at the stool and swiftly walks away. Great! There’s no choice but do as I’m told. I lug it out a few steps and try waving Max over to get it, but he won’t look my way. I holler for him and I know he hears me. Guess he’s still a little bitter over the whole ghost pepper stunt.

  Taking a deep breath, I scurry out to center stage and am struck dumb at what I find. Dillon and Mave have switched spots. Never have I seen Mave up front, which strikes me as odd. I set the stool down and turn quickly on my heels to escape.

  No such luck. A warm hand stops me. I have a bad feeling…

  “We’ve got a new member to join the Bleu Streak family, and we need to give her a proper welcome tonight.” Mave spins me around in a sort of dance before draping his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close into his sweaty body. The dark T-shirt he’s wearing is wearing him oh so nicely. It’s plastered to him in such an appealing way. “Let’s give it up for Miss Izzy Walker!”