At least she was a happy drunk.
Blake had been toying with an idea since he'd caught Greta on her last trip around the pit. She was a body-surfing natural it seemed. But as soon as he'd gotten a grip on her and realized she was less of a teenage girl and more of a walking bottle of Cuervo, he'd had a terrible idea forming in the back of his mind.
Hoping someone would come up with something different, or the off chance that Greta would be sober enough by the time they got home, he'd kept it to himself.
“What if she just stayed with me?”
The air in the car cooled significantly as everyone stilled.
Blake lived in the guest house out back. The rule was he could stay there for free as long as he was the only one who stayed there. No guests, no parties. The rest of the band was invited to stay in the main house. They were all welcome, all of the time. But Stella and Gerard knew young men enough to know not to give them too much free rein in their home. It made more sense to have Greta crash there than risk Stella catching them all sneaking her back in. There was just one little problem with that.
“Out of the question,” Harrison said tightly.
The O'Neil girls were off limits. Not just in the regular way that most sisters were off limits, but in the way that Harrison might actually have an aneurysm if any of them so much as looked at Greta or Miranda in a non-platonic way.
For the most part it was hilarious. They all enjoyed flirting with that line more often than not. But they were flirting with the line, not the actual girl.
“C'mon, Harry,” Luke said, stepping in. “Think about it. She'll be safe and no one gets in trouble.”
“I'll wake her up early, she'll climb back up the side of her house with a heck of a headache, and no one will be the wiser,” Blake said.
“I'm hungry,”Greta interjected. “Do you have hotdogs?” she asked, patting the top of Blake's head.
“And I'm so sure this is the first time this idea has crossed your mind,” Harrison said snidely.
“Geez, Harrison.” Blake rolled his eyes. “You either trust me or you don't. If you'd rather take your chances with Stella...”
Harrison's eyes flicked back up to the dark house.
“Hot dogs,” Greta whispered, her breath hot in Blake's ear. He leaned away from the strong smell of tequila trying not to laugh.
“Fine,” Harrison gave in. He dropped the car into neutral and glided the vehicle down the sloped back drive and stopped in front of the guest house.
Blake got out of the car, Luke right behind him.
“You understand that if you take this on, you're responsible for keeping her here until she's sober.”
Blake's hand paused on the door handle and he looked at Luke. “Yeah, I get it.”
Luke nodded, glancing over his shoulder as Sway helped a giggling Greta climb out the back of the Volvo. “Get her back as soon as you can.”
Blake took a deep breath and shoved the door open. “C'mon, drunky.” he ushered Greta inside. “Stay out of my room.”
Blake flopped down on the sofa and switched on the television. Ah, satellite. The joys of flipping through a hundred channels just to end up watching something on one of the local stations anyway.
“I love Dave Grohl,” Greta said with a sigh, stretching out on the floor in front of him.
“Yeah? He's cool, I guess.”
“I'm gonna marry him someday.”
“Oh, really?”
“Well, not literally. But someone like him.”
Blake's lips twitched. “So, a rock star?”
Greta suddenly rolled to face him, propping her head on her chin. “Who are you gonna marry?”
“Probably no one,” he answered honestly.
Her mouth fell open in shock. “What about that girl in Oklahoma you talk about all the time.”
Blake stared at the TV and tried to keep his teeth from grinding together. “I do not talk about her all the time.”
“It's in your eyes, Blake.”
He flicked his gaze down to Greta's earnest one and couldn't help the chuckle that came out. “You are so drunk.”
She tried to wave it off but lost her balance, flailing with her hands for a second before settling her head on the carpet. “I'm not so bad.”
He went back to the TV, taking a deep breath. “I don't know. We used to run together like wild horses. In fact, that was a song she used to sing to me...” The memories came back crystal and clear and painful like always. The burn in his chest a familiar companion at this point. “Pretty sure I ruined that for all eternity.”
“Mm-hm, I can see that,” she agreed sagely.
“You're all sorts of encouraging, you know that?”
“Yes,” she agreed. “You should let me draw on you.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “What? Why?”
“Because it's fun and I'm good at it.” She sprang to her feet and lunged for her purse that Sway had dropped by the door. Pausing, she held a hand over her stomach. “Oh, bathroom first.”
Blake snickered as he heard her charge to the bathroom and then throw up. Silly girl.
But if he had to admit it to himself, and only to himself, since he very rarely ever admitted anything at all — it was nice to hang out with Greta. It made him a little sad, but it was also very sweet.
He missed Lucy like hell.
“Wow, I feel soooo much better,” Greta declared, rejoining him. “I stole some of your mouth wash, by the way.”
“Cool.”
She dug around in her purse and then came back to stand before him. “Take off your shirt.”
His eyebrows rose slowly and he blinked once. “Oh, hell no.”
Greta rolled her eyes. “Seriously, Blake? I just told you I was going to marry Dave Grohl. What makes you think you even compare? Take off your damn shirt.”
“First of all, I know how hot I am. There is no comparison. Second, oh, hell no.”
“I want to draw on you. I have a really neat idea.” She stuck out her bottom lip slightly.
“Pouting. Unbelievable.” Blake crossed his arms over his chest and went back to the TV.
Greta stood there for minute before sighing and sitting down sideways on the sofa. “I have a tattoo idea inspired by you and your girl.”
Blake's heart stumbled and his throat was tighter than expected when he responded roughly, “She's not my girl anymore.”
“It'll wash off later. Look.” She held up a fine point Sharpie. “Couple of days and it won't exist.”
He swiveled his head to look at her skeptically. “And how long before you give up this idea and fall asleep?”
“At least four hours,” she said matter-of-fact.
Blake had seen Greta's drawings. She had real talent, more so than most artists he'd visited over the years. It so happened that he had been looking for a tattoo for Lucy and all they represented. Nothing had felt right yet. The temptation to see what Greta might come up with was strong.
Too strong.
He heaved out a breath and took his shirt off. Greta squealed and climbed onto her knees.
“If you touch my pants, I will lock you in the closet until dawn,” he threatened.
“Deal.” She was already pushing him forcefully onto his side, her hands cool on his skin.
Blake focused on the sports report with his eyes as his mind marinated in all things Lucy. Missing her didn't even cover it. It was like not knowing if your next breath was going to kill you or not. It went so deep and gripped him so tight, he really didn't allow himself to think about it all that often.
He tried to picture the lines that Greta drew along his ribs and chest. Tried to imagine what it was she saw in him that would reflect what he felt.
For a moment, just a small one, he shared that burden with someone else.
His phone ringing was what woke him up. He felt around, trying to silence it, not remembering setting his alarm.
The weight of a warm female on his back caused him to freeze. He slow
ly opened one eye to the brilliant sunlight that lit his small living room in the guest house. His heart rate kicked up as his phone started to go off again.
Greta's dark hair hung over his shoulder and down his bare arm.
Shit.
Super shit.
He tried to level himself up slowly, but she was dead to the world. He would have to dump her off onto the floor.
That's when the door to the guest house opened and dumping Greta onto the floor was suddenly not a problem.
Blake knifed up, Greta tumbled to the floor and landed with an, “Argh.”
“Stella,” Blake said, holding is hands out, palms down. “It's not what it looks like.”
Stella O'Neil, with blue eyes that matched the color of her youngest's, flashing dangerously, took another step into the house. Luke came running in, one hand gripping the door jamb to slow him down from colliding into his friend's mom, his phone pressed to his ear. He flipped it closed and slid it into his pocket. Blake's phone fell silent.
“What is going on in here?” Stella asked, her face unreadable.
Greta sat up and rested her butt on her heels. “Hey, Ma.” She rubbed her eyes and yawned, completely unconcerned. She looked up at Blake and squinted. “Sweet tat.”
Blake looked down at his chest and his eyes got big. On his chest and wrapping around his side to his back was the skeleton of a lightning storm with two horses running out of it. It was detailed and intricate and cool as hell.
He looked back to Stella. “Greta was drawing on me and she fell asleep.”
“Wait. I drew that?”
Blake pictured wrapping his hands around Greta's neck and strangling her. What a little shit.
Stella's mouth grew tight as her eyes hardened on Blake. “You know the rules, Blake.”
“Yes, ma'am. I — ”
“Do you think so little of us that you'd disrespect us so blatantly?”
“No, ma'am. I — ”
“Ma, it's my fault,” Greta spoke up. “I was just hanging out and I fell asleep. Nothing scandalous happened. I promise. Virginity still firmly intact.”
Blake closed his eyes, disbelief and horror piercing his brain. Who says shit like that to their mom?
“Greta, you're on kitchen duty. The whole nine-yards. Top to bottom, ovens to ceiling fan. No arguments.”
Greta nodded solemnly. Stella held her gaze and then jerked her chin. Greta scuttled out. Stella turned her attention to Blake.
“She is sixteen years old!” Stella snapped.
Blake hung his head. “Yes, ma'am.”
“Don't you 'yes, ma'am' me! This is not okay! You are a grown man and she is a child!” The tremor in Stella's voice brought Blake's eyes up to hers.
“I'm so sorry. Really, nothing happened.” It was one thing to be in trouble for breaking the rules. It was something else to scare this woman without cause.
Stella's eyes swept up and down Blake's naked torso, clearly not believing him. Her eyes settled on the drawing and something else entered her expression. The minutes ticked by with Blake afraid to say the wrong thing. He figured less was more in a situation like this.
“I'm not saying I believe you, because I don't,” she said finally. “But I want to.”
Blake nodded soberly. He understood that.
“You're going to have to clean out the gutters.” Her eyes challenged him to argue.
“Okay,” he agreed readily. His punishment wasn't harsh, but it wasn't small. The house was enormous and it would take all day.
Totally worth it.
Stella left without another word and Blake cocked an eyebrow at Luke.
“Dude, when your phone is ringing, you're supposed to answer it.”
“No shit,” Blake groused, pulling his t-shirt over his head. “Can you give me a ride really quick?”
“What about the gutters?”
Blake gave Luke a lopsided smile. “I'll get them done.”
Luke shook his head. “The rebellion in you never fades, does it?”
“Perennial as the grass.”
***
“I had no idea that Greta drew that tattoo for you,” Lucy said, joining them. Spencer immediately began a mad scramble for Blake's lap as soon as she was seated. Blake took the tike happily and immediately blew against his neck, provoking a squeal.
“Okay, okay, I can kinda see why my mom was pissed at you for so long. And that it was mostly my fault,” Greta admitted with a laugh that said she wasn't sorry in the least bit. “Was there ever a time you weren't hung up on Lucy?” Greta asked with a smirk.
“Nope,” Blake admitted without shame. “She's my girl.”
“Stop flirting,” Lucy rebuked him. “I've already decided to have your babies.
Blake felt that slide through his chest, warming it thoroughly. He wasn't going to draw attention to it, but Lucy had just given him his gift. He'd been waiting for her to decide exactly that for ages now.
“I like hearing these stories,” Shane spoke up. “It's almost reassuring to see how far the connections go. This family has been in the making for decades.”
Blake reflected on that statement, feeling the truth that permeated it. The things that this small group had been through over the years had only brought them all closer. It was a blessing that Blake occasionally took for granted. Looking at the athlete beside him he realized that Shane never did. Not after Greta. Not after all he'd learned the hard way. He lifted his chin at Shane, hoping his respect for the man was being translated correctly. “Happy birthday, big man.”
“Merry Christmas, brother.”
“Days Of You And Me”
Mike and Clarke
Note from Author: Dear Reader, this scene takes place between The Hope That Starts and Brand New Sky. It's a secret moment between Clarke and Mike that many have asked to see.
“Clarke?”
“Hm?” she asked absently, clicking the order form on the screen in front of her. A few more minutes of this and her eyes were going to finally melt.
Such a mess.
That's what happens when something or someone appears too good to be true. Well, in this case, someone was too good to be a decent human being.
Lia, the assistant manager Shane had hired a few months ago, had been doing great. She rose to the top and got herself a whole bunch of responsibility and a generous raise.
Then she skipped town with a married man (also an employee) and a bunch of inventory and cash.
No one had really seen it coming.
The authorities were still investigating, but Clarke was pretty sure they had seen the last of Lia. She kind of hoped she would get eaten by a shark and puked back up on a beach somewhere.
Maybe that was vindictive.
Maybe it wasn't punishment enough.
This was why Clarke wasn't in charge of those kinds of things. She never knew the right answer. All she knew was that that girl should never show her face in Clarke's shop ever again.
Clarke had spent the past four weeks trying to replenish the missing inventory and get ready for the next seasonal transition. Doing this completely understaffed. Though, Steve had been filling in lately and that was helping.
Truth be told, Clarke was thinking of hiring him on full-time like she had Kip. Because when you couldn't trust strangers, you made your family work for you. Yeah, they weren't her blood relatives, but they might as well be.
“What's the hardest part about dating a rock star?”
Clarke blinked at the blue light from the screen, her eyes burning with fatigue. She rubbed one of them with the fingertips of one hand. That didn't help. Ugh. She sat back in her chair and tried to bring her eyes into focus on Steve's face.
He was supposed to be sorting and labeling the ladies' new bikini line. It was a job that could and should be done downstairs, but Steve “worked better with supervision.” In other words, he would get lonely and wander away.
His just-on-this-side-of-too-long blond hair was pushed back with a wi
de fitness headband, making him look both innocent and ridiculous. Those baby blues peering up at her from his seat on the floor.
At least he wore a shirt while he was working now. That had been a fight to end all fights. Shane had finally put his foot down. And by “foot,” Clarke meant “held Steve in a headlock until he stopped struggling and agreed with the mandate.”
That had been a good day.
“What's that now?” she asked, forgetting his question. She yawned and stretched her arms above her head, glancing at the clock. Not even lunchtime yet.
“What's the hardest part about dating a rock star?” he asked again.
Clarke's soft smile was immediate as Mike entered her thoughts.
She hadn't seen him in a month — which might seem like an eternity for some people, but it worked for them. It wasn't as bad as it could be, Mike made sure to make her feel special. But sometimes she really just wished she could curl up in his arms at the end of a long day.
“The time apart,” she answered.
“Not the crazy fans?”
She laughed under her breath. “They're not so bad.”
Steve contemplated that for a second. “What's the best part?”
“The love letters.”
His eyebrows lifted curiously, a teasing smile started to form on his face. “Love letters?”
Clarke felt the warmth creep into her cheeks and she sighed. “Oh, yeah.”
One of the things Mike did to make her feel important was he sent her love letters. Almost every day. She would get a letter in the mail or in her email, or a post card from some exotic place and he'd scrawl lyrics on the back. Clarke tried to write back, but her talent didn't quite match his. Still, she wrote what she felt and he never made her feel inferior for it.
But Mike's letters were the best.
“Are they super mushy?” Steve asked.
“Yeah. And romantic and thoughtful and amazing...” She had just gotten one in her email in the middle of the night. It had been lovely to wake up to. The only thing better would be waking up to Mike by her side. But she'd take the love letters until then.
Into the Night We Shine Page 4
