by Kacey Shea
She lifts her gaze and in the depths of her eyes I find worry. Apprehension. “I . . . um . . . I don’t know how to ask this without being insensitive. Or making things weird.”
My heart races with fear. She wouldn’t send me away. Not now?
She pulls an envelope from behind her back, along with a cell phone and holds them out. “I don’t know exactly what your financial situation is, but I want you to have these.”
I drop my gaze to the plush carpet floor. “You don’t have to do that. I didn’t come here for money.” I have nothing but two hundred dollars to my name, and not much in the way of material possessions, but I would never ask her for cash.
“Take it. It’s more for me than you. I don’t want you to get stuck in a situation where you don’t have money, and I want us to be able to call each other. It’ll make me feel better.”
“Okay.” My hands shake as I take the gifts.
“There’s some cash and a debit card. I wrote down the PIN. There’s only a few hundred in the account, but I can add more. Just let me know.”
“Thank you.” My well-ingrained manners push forward the sentiment, but my pride will keep me from using this as long as I can. I won’t ask for more.
“You’ll be okay,” she says, and I don’t know whether that’s more for her assurance or mine. “Call me if you need anything. Anytime. I mean it.”
“Don’t worry about me.” I don’t want to be a burden but I can tell by the lines that etch against the normally smooth skin of her forehead, it’s exactly what I am. “You’ve done so much, and you don’t owe me anything.”
“I feel I haven’t done enough, but I’m excited we’ll get to spend time together. I only have another three weeks of my tour.” Her lips press into a line. “You sure this is okay? If you’d rather go back to Denison, I’d understand.”
“I can’t go back.” I shake my head.
Her lips tick up with the trace of a smile and she reaches out her hand, giving mine a slight squeeze. “I understand. When you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here.”
Emotion clogs in my throat, more from the possibility of growing a real friendship with my half-sister than rehashing my fight with Gramps. “Thanks, Lexi.”
Trent raps at the door and steps inside. “You ready to go?”
“Yep. All packed.” She smiles at her boyfriend before meeting my gaze. “See you soon.” She wraps her arms around me in an embrace that feels as if she really cares. “I’ll call you.”
“I’ll be fine.” I smile and step out of her arms.
Trent winks and flashes a brilliant smile. “That’s right. She’s in the safety of Three Ugly Guys.”
Lexi rolls her eyes and walks toward the door. “That doesn’t ease my fears.”
“Come on, babe.” Trent slings his arm around her shoulders. “We aren’t that bad.”
“Mmm hmm.” Her wariness is clear, but laughter escapes her lips at his insistence.
Their voices continue down the hall and I’m struck once again with a pang of loneliness. I glance around my temporary bedroom, half cluttered with Lexi’s extra guitars and the other half cleared out for me. I never unpacked, not with leaving again in two days, and my bags at the foot of the bed only make me feel more displaced than I already do. Life could be worse. I mean, I’m in a mansion for now and soon hitting the road with one of the hottest rock bands. Millions of women my age would die for this opportunity. But I’m not like other women. At least, not here in Los Angeles. I don’t fit in, and I feel like an imposter. Lexi and I share the same father, but she’s a rock star through and through and I can’t even play the guitar.
With lazy strides I cross the room, kneel on the soft rug of carpet, and reach for the fasteners to one of my sister’s guitar cases. I shouldn’t touch her things. They might be in the room, but I never asked permission. However, there’s a piece of me, a tiny curiosity and maybe a tamped down devious nature that unclicks the locks and pops open the case. There’s something forbidden about picking up the instrument and holding it in my hands.
That’s not God’s music. That’s straight from the devil. Hear me, child?
My grandfather’s warning sounds in my ears but my fingers tingle with a buzz of excitement as they wrap around the neck, the nylon strings pressing into my fingertips. I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s silly to even try, but still I settle the guitar in my arms and run my hand down to strum across the strings. I wince at the horrible sound.
“Wrong hand.”
I glance up. My first instinct is to throw the guitar, hide it, and pretend I wasn’t just making music worse than a toddler, but it’s pointless. Austin caught me red-handed and I feel even more a fool. Serves me right for touching something that isn’t mine.
“You’re right-handed?” He tips his head, eyeing the guitar in my hands.
My gaze drops to my lap, and before I can reply or nod yes he’s on the floor before me, reaching out and situating the guitar the opposite way.
I’m such an idiot. I wasn’t even holding it right.
“There.” He nods, dipping his chin to catch my gaze with a gentle grin. “Now, here.” He moves each of the fingers of my left hand, pressing them into place. “That’s C. Now strum.”
I don’t move, partly from embarrassment and mostly so I don’t make more a fool of myself.
“It takes a few tries to get it right. Don’t be shy. Go for it.” He settles back, his long legs extending across the space between us as he props the weight of his body on one arm. His face is expectant and encouraging.
It must be the non-judgment in his eyes that emboldens me to do as he asks and not put the instrument down. The next strum isn’t much better than my first, but I try again and it’s not half bad. I glance up, a smile stretching across my face when I meet Austin’s stare. “Like that?”
“Yeah, again. Up, down, down, up.” He mimes the motion, nods when I get the rhythm right, and there’s an encouraging kick to his words. “Yeah, you’re getting it.”
“Here, you’re gonna tear up those fingers.” He pulls out a guitar pick—I don’t even know from where—and positions it between my thumb and index finger. The touch of his skin on mine sends a charge throughout my body.
My lips part and I hold my breath, unable to speak.
“Innocent.” His lips spread with a full smile and he breaks the connection of our stare, running his hands through his hair in what seems to be frustration.
“Pardon?” I ask, not knowing what he’s talking about or why he’s mad, other than maybe I’m worse at playing than I thought.
“You are so goddamn sweet. You can’t help it, and that only makes it worse. Or better.” He laughs, a chuckle that rumbles from his mouth and the sound of it scatters goosebumps across my skin. That, and the open, hungry gaze of his stare.
“Sorry.” I don’t really know why I apologize, other than it’s the polite response.
He laughs again, this time with a hint of wickedness. It should be enough warning for me to ask him to leave, but I find myself drawn to the sound. I’ve always played it safe. Obeyed the rules. But this new me, the Opal who lives in LA with her rock star sister, she’s allowed to be anyone she wants and I want to have fun. There’s something in Austin’s stare that promises just that.
“Will you teach me to play?” My question is bold and I’m proud that my voice holds strong.
“Oh, yes.” He laughs and scoots a little closer, which closes the space between our bodies. His leg, covered in ripped jeans, brushes against the bare skin of my calf and I try not to fixate on how good it feels. “I’ve always wanted to play teacher-student.”
My face heats and I’m certain my cheeks are ten shades redder than my hair as I glance down.
“Sorry.” He laughs. “I can’t help myself, but that wasn’t fair. I’m only joking. Of course, I’ll teach you to play.”
Right. He’s teasing. I’m so gosh darn gullible and probably a big joke. “You don’t have to. I’m
sure you’ll be busy. You won’t have time.”
“Hey.” He waits until I meet his stare, which isn’t full of laughter and could possibly be considered sincere. “You’d be surprised at how much down time we have, at least on the bus. I’d love to teach you to play. You’re a natural.”
My pulse quickens with his words. The hope he might be right. “You really think?”
“I do.” His lips kick up with a boyish smile, and if it weren’t for his full-sleeve tattoos he’d pass for one of the all-American football captains back home. “It’ll be pretty cool to surprise Lex when she joins up with us next month.”
I hadn’t thought of that, but now that the idea’s there, it brings a genuine smile to my lips. We’ve never had much in common besides a father I never knew. Music is what ties us together, so the thought of being able to play, even on a novice level, brings excitement to my otherwise uneventful life. “She’ll like that, won’t she?”
“Yeah, she will.”
For the next half hour Austin teaches me what he calls the basics, and I do my best to keep up. I’m good at remembering things, so the chord placement comes easily, but strumming has me fumbling more than not. It’s a rhythm that doesn’t come naturally, and I’m gonna have to practice to get it right. It’ll take time. But that’s okay because time I’ve got.
“Enough for one day.” Austin tips his chin to the guitar case, and covers my hand to stop me from strumming. “Let’s get out of here. You must be feeling like Rapunzel the way you’ve been locked up the past few days.”
“Oh, I was just . . . I didn’t want to be in the way.” I glance down and fiddle with the guitar pick in my fingers, remembering back to those difficult first few days after Grams passed. “I know how it is to lose someone. Sometimes it’s nice to be left alone.”
“Yeah.” Austin’s smile holds pain and it’s a hurt I recognize. He loved Iz. “You’re sweet. Too sweet.”
I don’t know what to do or how to reply, so instead of meeting his gaze, I will my cheeks not to heat again and return Lexi’s guitar to her case.
Austin clears his throat. “Let’s go grab lunch. You’ve done good, first lesson and all. And Trent probably won’t kill me if I steal you away for a few hours.” He jumps up from the floor and pulls up his skintight jeans from where they’ve settled low on his hips.
“Probably? Living dangerously.” I lift one eyebrow and try my hand at teasing him back.
“Always.” He grins like a boy and I swear that look alone could be used to start engines, by the way it sends my pulse flying. “Meet me downstairs in ten? Or do you need longer to get ready?”
I accept his outstretched hand to help me off the floor. I glance down at the simple fabric of my sundress. It’s about the nicest outfit I own and I hope it’ll do, otherwise I have nothing to wear. “This okay? Or should I change?”
“Beautiful.” He appraises my dress with a sweeping look that sends awareness over my entire body. He’s talking about the dress. He must be. That or he’s teasing again. I try not to squirm under his gaze.
“Ten minutes?” My voice brings his stare back to my face.
“My kinda girl.” He winks and struts out of the room.
I don’t take a full breath until the door shuts behind him. Austin isn’t like the boys back home. He’s exactly how I imagined a rock star. Larger than life. Devastatingly good looking. I am way out of my league with him. Not that I’m with him, or want to be. I can’t even handle a man like Hunter Anderson. There’s no way in hell I can handle Austin Jones.
But maybe we can be friends. Lord knows I could use one of those about now.
75
Leighton
Ten hours later my hands are sore and my fingers tender with surfacing blisters, but it’s all for a purpose. I’ve memorized the entire set list for Three Ugly Guys’ upcoming tour, and for the first time since snagging this gig, I feel like a rock star.
The practice studio door swings open and my uncle’s brow lifts from his usual scowl. “You still here?”
I stand from the drum set, stretch my legs, and lift my backpack from the corner, swinging it across one shoulder as I meet his stare. “I literally have nowhere else to go.” I laugh, in part from the insanity and humor of the situation. Me, Leighton Wellington, homeless for a night. I doubt anyone would have predicted such absurdity when we all celebrated my graduation last week.
“Fuck.” My uncle shakes his head and blows out a harsh breath. “I guess you can stay with me.” He makes a show with another heavy sigh. Who knew Uncle Bedo was one for the theatrics?
“Aw, thanks. That’s such a kind invitation. You must really love me.” My legs swallow the distance between us in long strides.
He narrows his gaze and holds the door until I pass through. “Obligation. Don’t get used to it.”
“Really?” My eyebrows shoot up with my surprise. “I thought you tossed the family guilt years ago.”
His lips waver from their usual firm line and he nods his head toward the back exit. “Rears its ugly head from time to time.”
The hallway is lit but it’s the glare from the setting sun that casts an almost golden hue against the awards and accolades that line the walls. I keep up with his hurried pace, but take it all in, the success and what this man at my side has created without a hand up from anyone. “I never said this before, but growing up I always admired you. The way you didn’t concede to Grandma and Grandpa’s demands. How you made your own success without their support.”
“And money.” There’s pride he can’t hide from his voice.
“Yeah, so did you really tell Grandpa to fuck off when he threatened to cut off your inheritance?”
Bedo stops to meet my stare. His lips abandon the irritated grim line and I swear he almost gives in to a smile, but before it happens he steps ahead and pushes the back door open. “I take it you’re probably hungry in addition to needing lodging accommodations.”
“Yeah. See, it’s weird, but since I’m human and all, I do need to eat.” I hate that he’s equating my survival skills to that of a toddler. I know how to take care of myself just fine. Hell, I charmed my way to a free turkey sandwich from the front receptionist earlier, and I do have some money. I had the forethought to pull a couple hundred in cash from my account, but I need to use that sparingly. By now, I’m sure my father’s shut down my credit cards . . . if my mother hasn’t.
“The smart ass thing? That work well for you at home?” He disarms his waiting BMW.
“Why? You don’t appreciate my sense of humor? ’Cause I can keep it up all night long.”
“Get in the damn car.” He slides in the front seat and mutters to himself. I can’t make it out exactly, other than a few cuss words. Not wanting him to drive off without me—and I don’t put it past him—I toss my bag in the passenger seat and buckle up.
“You too fancy for In-N-Out?”
“Everyone’s shit stinks.”
“Burgers and fries it is.”
I may have a long way to go to earning my uncle’s trust, let alone a relationship, but in spite of what he says, he doesn’t hate me. Not the way he does his parents. He wouldn’t have to hide his smile at my jokes if he did. And even though I’ve blackmailed my way into this job, he doesn’t resent me the way he does my parents. At least not yet.
“Morning, sunshine.”
I’m blinded by the searing lights overhead, but before I can roll under the covers, I’m met with my uncle’s freshly shaven face.
“What time is it?” I rub the sleep from my eyes and let loose a yawn.
“Six in the fucking morning.” He claps his hands and I swear to God, smiles. Fuck, he’s a morning person. He slaps the wall and turns to leave, his shoes clapping against the polished wood floors of his condo. “We’re leaving in twenty.”
“Fuuuck . . .” I need coffee. I roll out of bed and scrounge through my bag, pulling on a pair of clean underwear and jeans before stumbling to the bathroom. There’s no tim
e for a shower, so after I hit the head I wash my hands and splash water on my face, styling my hair to tamp down the crazy bedhead.
My uncle sits at the end of his kitchen table, the television from the other room blaring with entertainment news. His eyes bounce from his laptop to his phone as he shovels oatmeal in his mouth. He doesn’t glance up so I make myself at home in search of the only thing that’ll get my mind working.
My stomach grumbles, but first, coffee. I fill a cup from his espresso machine and reach for a banana on the counter before joining him at the table.
He glances over the screen of his computer and his lips pinch with disapproval as I peel back the banana.
“Want some?” I mumble through a mouthful.
He releases a tsk, shakes his head, and goes back to his screens as the reporter from the other room runs down the latest in celebrity gossip.
. . . Everyone is wondering who’s the daddy as Operation Baby Bump watch continues.
In other juicy gossip, rumors are running wild with the sudden delay of Three Ugly Guys summer tour dates. They’ve already rescheduled the first week, sending Los Angeles, Arizona, and Colorado fans into utter despair. An inside source close to the band hints this delay has nothing to do with the death of their former band member, but rather from disputes with their current label. Sony and Universal are sure to be sniffing around. Could this be the end of the longstanding relationship between Off Track Records and 3UG?
I quirk an eyebrow. “Leaving the label? I just got here.”
The correspondent's cut short as the screen goes black. My uncle shakes his head, holding the remote in his hand before tossing it across the room. “They don’t know shit,” he mutters under his breath and packs up his briefcase.
Dismissed, I chug the remaining coffee in my mug and toss the banana peel into the trash on the way to get my bag, not entirely confident my uncle won’t take off without me if I’m not ready when he decides to leave.
Coming back into the living room, I find him leaning against the door, tapping into his phone. “You ready or what?”
