by Lux, Vivian
"Well, we literally haven't played it since it was recorded, Keir." My brother had that look, that wild dog, trapped animal look, and I needed to head him off at the pass before he had us playing into next morning in the pursuit of perfection. "It's not the single, and it's not even the best track on the album. Let's let it go. The set list is tight enough without it." I looked back at the rest of the band. Twitch looked strung out as hell and Pepper was staring at her nails like she wanted to incinerate something. Even unflappable Balzac was looking a little frayed around the edges. We had been rehearsing for tonight's gig for nearly five hours now, and Keir was approaching maniacal dictator levels of perfectionism. I needed to rein him in. "Let's take a fucking break, at least."
"Take a fucking break," he repeated back in a grunting caveman voice...which I guess was supposed to be an imitation of me. "Calm down, take it easy, let it go." Keir looked up at me. "Don't you ever want to work at anything?"
Maddie, I didn't say.
Three days had gone by since she woke up in my bed, startled and vulnerable and fucking perfect looking. If she kept her word, she'd be here tonight. The idea of her seeing me play had swelled my head to the point where I had agreed to Keir's fanatical fixation on hammering out a live set of Saintly Sinner.
But of course I couldn't tell him that. "Yeah. I want to work on my tan. That what you want to hear, dickwad?"
"Yeah, the truth comes out."
"Oh, fuck off, Keir. Ruthless is a democracy and we're voting you down. It's break time."
Murder flickered across Keir's face for a hot second, then he relaxed. "Fuck you all," he growled amiably, and headed back to the green room.
The crew had arrived before us this morning, our usual guys used to their usual load-in, but the space Keith had booked us was so tiny that our regular gear couldn't even fit. Five hours of rehearsal/sound checks had left me feeling claustrophobic and irritable. The too-warm hallway that snaked underneath the stage was set off by huge, clanking fire doors and each section of hallway had its own weird smell. The second we set foot in the relatively spacious green room, I rushed to snag one of the beat up folding chairs and stretch my legs out on the table.
It was a little subterranean cave with a wall of mirrors that was probably supposed to make it feel bigger but failed. The counter that ran the length of the wall underneath the mirrors was strewn with the left-behind detritus of the bands that had the misfortune to play this space before us. A crushed, half-empty cigarette pack. Guitar picks scattered like snowflakes. A rumpled back issue of Grip magazine, which Keir grabbed and started quickly leafing through.
Pepper found a corner, like always, and immediately plugged herself into her iPhone and closed her eyes. The metronomic sight of Twitch's pacing was soothing in its familiarity. I felt, rather than heard, Balzac settle into the beat up couch. The band. They were like extensions of my own body. I knew them, I could predict what they would do next. When we were on, the music just flowed through us without even pausing to check in. We were at the top of our game. We were the kings (and one bad-tempered queen) of rock-and-roll.
I leaned back and threaded my hands across my chest, intending to grab a few seconds of shut-eye.
"No fucking way." Keir smacked the magazine down onto the table.
I must have fallen asleep for a few seconds because the sound of his explosive cursing startled me badly. "What the hell?" I grumbled, shaking myself.
Keir stabbed an astonished finger into the page. "That's Scarlett." He held up the copy of Grip. "Scar wrote this."
"What?" I repeated. Keir looked like he had been set on fire.
I got up and looked over his shoulder as he gawped at the page. Scarlet Sawyer read the byline, and next to it was a tiny little smudge of a picture that was unmistakably the girl that stole Keir's heart a million years ago.
There were two ways I could play this. Relive the past and ask him the questions I knew he wanted to answer and risk Keir spiraling back down into the depression he had only just climbed out of.
Or I could be a dick and piss him off enough that his anger would keep him firmly planted in the present.
Being the good big brother that I am, I chose the latter option.
"An entire world of pussy for the taking, and you still literally carry a torch for the girl next door." I shook my head in mock sadness. "I'm throwing a funeral for your dick."
"Hey, fuck you." Keir was reading the story with increasingly wide eyes. "Holy shit, Rane. She's a music journalist."
I actually was surprised, but I still played it cool, for Keir's sake. "Glad to see being forced to sit in the crowd at all our shitty early gigs didn't ruin that for her."
Shit, Keir wasn't rising to the bait. He was still staring at the picture like he could will her to step through it and come to him. "No, says here she actually won some award last year."
There was unmistakable pride in his voice. Fuck. "Keir, where're you at?"
"I dunno, man." He brushed his fingers across his head and down his face like he was trying to wipe the big stupid grin away. "It's just kinda cool, right? She's a music journalist, I'm a musician. Maybe she'd, I dunno, wanna write about Ruthless or something."
"Abso-fucking-lutely not. You are not going back down that road. That's a bad idea."
Keir smacked the magazine down and stared at me, eyes blazing. "Yeah, like you're one to lecture about bad ideas."
"The fuck are you going on about?"
"Maddie? Our stepsister?"
"There's nothing going on there."
Keir snorted. "Maybe. But you sure as fuck want something going on there."
I don't know why I shoved him. Maybe to get him to stop talking. If he would just shut the fuck up, I could keep pretending what I felt about Maddie was only friendship.
Keir shoved me right back. I grunted as the counter caught me in the small of my back and a sharp pain radiated down my leg, sharpening my anger. I came out roaring and took a swing. Keir ducked his head out of the way and my fist connected with his shoulder. "Fuck!" he yelled, and used the momentum of the spin to clap me right in the arm.
My whole right arm went dead.
"Shit." I backed up, rubbing the spot where Keir's fist had hit bone.
He went white. "Fuck, your arm."
"Yeah." It was hanging like a dead thing at my side. I waited, hoping for the pins and needles that were taking forever to come.
"Can you play?"
I heaved my hand upward. Throb throb throb. I nearly sagged in relief as the pins and needles marched up my nerves. "Yeah, I'll be okay. Though I should throat punch you for that cheap shot."
Keir looked at me steadily. "You deserved it."
"Yeah, maybe I did. But if I can't play guitar...."
Keir shook his head. I didn't need to finish the sentence. Playing guitar was my life. The only thing I was good at. I had no skills, barely a high school education and no real work ethic to speak of. Without music, I was royally fucked.
And Maddie, my traitor brain insisted on reminding me. Maddie is coming tonight.
My fingers twitched on their own as the feeling returned to them. "Okay, guys. Break's over. Let's get ready to blow their minds."
Chapter Twenty
Madeline
I dialed and hit the call button before I could psych myself out any further. Why did I feel like I was asking someone out on a date?
"Hello?" Harlow sounded breathless and harried, and I almost hung up in a panic.
But I didn't. "Hey, Harlow? This is Madeline Cole."
A pause. "Maddie!" Then her voice dropped to a sympathetic whisper. "How are you feeling?"
I had to laugh. "Well, the hangover didn't last three whole days, thank god. I'm fine now."
"You were..." She trailed off and I could tell she was searching for a tactful description.
"Drunk as a skunk?"
She laughed. "In so many words."
I took a deep breath. "That's why I was calling. I wanted to thank you for, um
, helping Rane with me."
She made a scoffing sound. "Pfft. Girl code. You would have done the same."
I hoped she was right. "Well, er, it was cool of you, especially since we only just met." I swallowed awkwardly and barreled ahead before she could agree that yeah, we were basically strangers and to have a nice life... "And there's this thing tonight. Rane invited me. It's called a buzz gig? I was wondering if you felt like coming."
She hesitated a second. "You want me to, like, be your date?"
I bit my lip. Yes. I told her silently. He invited me as a friend. He is only my friend. What better way to stay friends than for me to, um, bring a friend, I guess? Except all my friends bailed on me when I hit rock bottom and you're the only girl who has been nice to me in a long time so please, please... "Sure, if your boyfriend doesn't mind?" I said, breezily, easily. Acting.
She laughed a little too loudly. "Casper's being an entitled dickwad. Apparently I'm being too needy when I ask when he's next getting a break from touring. Ass. It'd be nice to do something on a weeknight other than wait around until he remembers to call. Sure, Maddie, thanks a bunch. What time?"
*****
Harlow slid into the passenger seat of my car and shot me a grateful smile. "Thanks, Maddie," she huffed. "I was planning on spending the night in a threesome with Ben and Jerry, but this is a much better idea."
"Well, I have to admit, I'm not exactly sure how good of an idea it is," I confessed. "I have no idea what a buzz gig is."
"Oh, well, that's easy," she explained, tucking her handbag under the seat. "Casper had a bunch of these to go on before Jax started the tour. It's called a buzz gig 'cause it’s supposed to build up buzz, but what it actually turns out to be is," she affected a slouchy drawl and stuffed her hand down the front of her pants, "'a bunch of industry fuckwads crammed in a room too small to hold everyone where they congratulate each other over being cool enough to see a band they're not even paying attention to.'"
I had to imagine that was a direct quote.
I grimaced. "Well, that sounds fucking delightful."
She waved her hand. "Eh, it'll be fun. Ruthless puts on a hell of a show, even when they're crammed into a small space. Maybe we can start our own mosh pit."
I nodded. "Mad Maddie in a mosh pit. That'll cement my reputation for sure."
"Pfft, stop worrying about what everyone's thinking of you, Maddie. You're pretty cool." She said this casually, like it wasn't exactly the thing I needed to hear.
"I think you're pretty cool, too, Harlow," I said, aiming for fun and friendly, and landing more at shy and nervous.
She glanced at me, her bright red lips twisted in an amused smirk, and looked like she was about to say something, when a trilling little alert sounded from her handbag. She rolled her kohl-rimmed eyes. "Oh my God, he finally texts me when I have something going on. Fucking figures."
"Do you want to see what he has to say?" I asked, curious.
"No. Let him stew for a while." She folded her arms and blew a little puff of air out of the corner of her mouth, sending her flat-ironed bangs floating skyward. "Tonight is girls' night."
"Girls' night," I answered solemnly, feeling like we had just signed a pact in blood. Girls' night, I reminded myself as I walked up to the venue and saw a poster of Ruthless outside with Rane's gorgeous face on display. Girls' night, I reminded myself as I went to the bar and saw a bottle of Grey Goose just waiting for me to drink too much of it and end up in his bed. Girls' night, I reminded myself as I made lame conversation with Harlow, all the while keeping one eye on the stage waiting to see him again.
We were shoulder to shoulder, crammed in like sardines. This space was small— intimate would be how it would normally be described— but with all the lights and rigging, it felt downright claustrophobic. I pictured the five members of Ruthless, all shoulder to shoulder up there on that tiny little stage, and wondered how the hell they'd ever be able to move an inch. But no one around me was even looking towards the stage. I heard loud shouted laughter, the sound of air kisses, the idle chatter of business connections being made and backroom deals getting nailed down. It was an old, familiar sound, but one that didn't seem to fit me anymore. I was here to see a band. I wasn't here to be seen.
This was new.
The lights dimmed and a few scattered claps petered out. I looked at Harlow, who cracked open a beer can and raised it. "Ruuuuuuuuthless!" she bellowed, holding her hand up in a horned salute.
I laughed. "Woooooo!" I shouted. "Yeah, baby!"
"Yow! Take it off!" Harlow ululated as the guys walked onstage.
"Woo! Woo! Woo!" I clapped. "Freebird!"
Harlow barked out laughing and joined my chant. "Freebird! Freebird!" She fell against my arm, giggling. I hooted as the lights went black.
The spots hit the stage and a crashing wall of sound slammed into my chest, knocking the silliness right out of me.
I stared.
And suddenly I understood why Rane was a star.
No, not a star. A whole fucking universe.
He pogoed in place for a moment, thrashing the hell out of his guitar like it had angered him, before leaping up onto one of the amp stacks and pounding out a solo up there. I was dimly aware of Keir singing, of Twitch beating out staccato bursts, of the chest-wall-vibrating thud of Balzac's bass...but nothing, nothing could tear my eyes from Rane.
He jumped again, higher this time, weaving his way closer to the ceiling. "He always does that!" Harlow shouted in my ear. "He's like a fucking mountain goat, always has to be getting higher."
"I see that," I answered. Or maybe I didn't. Watching him was robbing me of coherent thought.
I wanted to be friends with him? Friends? Maybe I could have imagined that as possible a moment ago, before I saw him play. But now, now the notion of being friends with Rane Wilder was as futile as the notion of befriending a wild animal. Or riding a stallion, or harnessing a tornado or taming a tidal wave. I had to laugh at my naiveté.
I looked down and saw I was moving. I didn't know I was moving. But Rane's guitar was pulling me, playing me like a puppet. I was in his thrall, a slave to his music. And the longer I stood here, the more I needed to stay standing here. When the second song ended, I was close enough to see the sweat beading along his forehead. I wanted to taste it.
I knew exactly how his body would look naked. We had started our "friendship" lying next to each other in bed, naked but for inconsequential scraps of cloth to hide the naughty bits. I knew everything about how his body looked under his clothes, except for one small...not so small part.
I wanted to see him naked again.
Especially that part.
"Maddie!" Harlow shouted in my ear, interrupting my public/private fantasy. "I'm gonna go get some more drinks. You want anything?"
I shook my head. "No thanks," I said, lifting my arm, then just dropping it to my side. I couldn't tell what my body was doing anymore. Rane controlled it with his music.
No, this is crazy. He's just playing guitar. Just doing his job, the way I was doing mine when I laid in bed next to him. There's nothing here. There can't be.
I tore my eyes away from him, just long enough to see Harlow returning, her entire expression transformed into one of ebullient joy. I cocked my head at her, wondering what had made her so utterly transformed.
She grabbed my elbow and steered me off into a corner away from the driving sound of the speakers. For one second I was angry, until I collected myself, and then I was grateful for her intrusion. I was dangerously close to the edge.
"Maddie, I'm so sorry, this is completely shitty of me to do, but, well, here…" She held up her phone in front of my face. The picture icon showed a smiling Harlow kissing a pale guy cradling a guitar. Underneath it was a picture message, a familiar front door with the caption, "Surprise, babe! Open up!"
Understanding flooded me. "He's at your place?"
She laughed. "He was being an asshole so he didn't ruin the surprise! They're o
n a break for the next three weeks. Three weeks, Maddie! I haven't seen him that long since we first started dating, back before he's joined Jaxson's band. Holy shit, Maddie…"
"What are you going to do?"
"What? I feel terrible bailing on you. And you look like you're having such a good time, I don't want to make you leave…"
"Are you kidding me? Go! He's at your house right now, right?"
She nodded. I reached into my purse and shoved some bills into her hand. "Here's cab fare. Don't even worry about it."
She gave me a quick, tight hug, and dashed out the front door.
I wasn't sad to see her go.
I was relieved.
I turned back to the stage.
Rane coiled around his guitar, moving with sinuous danger like a snake poised to strike. And when the chorus slammed down on our heads, he struck. The frantic energy of his fast-fingered playing pummeled us with an onslaught so merciless that when Keir finally wailed the last soaring note, I was left drained, drunk and unable to tear my eyes from Rane.
I'm alone...
...with him....
And then, when his head whipped up and his eyes landed on mine, we were the only ones in the room.
I was no longer pressed in on all sides, hemmed in by the shoulders of the glitterati. I was alone with Rane as he played the next notes only for me - twisting and turning my body with his music so that we were locked in our own very private dance.
This is what I was afraid of. There it is. The familiar loss of control. I felt it spiral away, slipping through my fingers as Rane's music blasted the composed shell away from me, shattering me like a fragile eggshell to reveal the slippery stuff inside. I was helpless in the face of my rising need.
And fuck it.
This time, I didn't want to regain control.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rane
A lifetime of bad decisions still hadn't prepared me for how badly I had fucked up by inviting her tonight.
Just friends. Bullshit. There was no way I could be just friends with this girl. Not when she stared at me, her face the only one I could see in a sea of indistinct faces, her red hair flaming like a sunset, backlit by the spots. Her face was like a beacon, a fucking lighthouse guiding me home.
