by Riley Bancroft, Evelyn Berry, Cara Carnes, Jax Garren, Irene Preston, Rebecca Royce, Chandra Ryan
Light from the porch of the sprawling one-story ranch home cast pale yellow rays on the embracing family. Talk about awkward. I practiced my flamingo style stance, moving my weight from one foot to another to keep the heels of my borrowed heels from pressing into the damp ground.
This was such a bad idea it had its own zip code in the Never, Ever Do book. Mrs. Douglas fixated on me first. Breaking away from the hug, she headed my direction with a grimmer smile on her face. I darted a hesitant glance at Caleb, but he was still caught in a hushed conversation with his father.
“Mrs. Douglas, nice to see you.” I tugged on the short, black fuck-me dress Bets had sworn would make the evening perfect. Yeah, not so much. The sentiment behind the borrowed clothing wouldn’t pass muster beneath a mother’s scrutiny.
I sensed a conversation with Father Ramirez in my future. It was an established fact he was number two on Mrs. Douglas’s speed dial (even though she was Baptist) when it came to me. Sherriff Hickens was number one because a Catholic raised by a drunken mom was surely destined to sour the interior of White Bluffs’ lone jail cell.
Guess she’d been right. It hadn’t been White Bluffs, but I’d served my penance in the slammer. I should snag a copy of the pic Bets had taken and give it to Hickens. He deserved a memento, even if it’d taken seven years to happen.
“Shasta, dear. It’s been too long.” She faux kissed each cheek and squeezed my arms. Her eyebrows rose as she noticed Caleb’s jacket on me. Past experience with her taught me my overexposed cleavage, which the coat covered, screamed I’m-here-to-corrupt-your-son. I was okay with her scorn of all things leather because accepting a misdemeanor transgression on the mother approval scale to mask a felony grade offense was an acceptable trade off in the art of lover combat.
Right?
“Dinner’s ready. I’m afraid we’re running a bit behind.” She glanced at her watch. “Saul, why don’t you pour the wine? Caleb, go find your brothers. I believe they’re out in the barn. Shasta and I will handle the meatloaf.”
My stomach rumbled. Douglas meatloaf was a legend within its own right. Many deemed its consumption as a gift of the gods, a rite of passage into the inner sanctum of approval. “I’m sorry if Caleb sprung me on you. I thought we were eating at Hal’s.” I mentioned the lone eatery in White Bluffs proper—i.e. locally owned establishments embraced by traditional residents.
“Well, I hope you don’t mind, but I called Caleb and suggested you two have dinner out here. It’ll give us a chance to catch up and we can keep the prying eyes out.” She paused on the first stair and turned toward me. “You know, dear, I never have apologized for what all I said the last time you were here. I listened to people who had no idea what a lovely girl you are. I’ve noticed how hard you’ve worked and all you’ve done for people around White Bluffs these past few years. Pete sings your praises every chance he gets. I should’ve realized what a good influence you were on our Caleb. You ground and balance him.”
I looked down where she squeezed my hand. So many of the words she’d spoken boomeranged in my head. Me? A good influence? I grounded our Caleb? Had zombies arrived in White Bluffs and sucked everyone’s brains into a new world?
Years of my misspent formative years operating within the shadows of my questionable brothers proved I was so imbalanced I teetered on the brink of troubled, according to some. How could I balance anyone?
I looked up and forced a smile. “I’m so glad to be here.” I was so wishing I wasn’t there. Fortunately for Mrs. Douglas even I—the imbalanced one—realized my inability to walk in my borrowed footwear made vaulting over their seven-or-so-foot fence and sprinting across their cow pasture impossible.
I followed her into the living room, feeling much like a prisoner must on execution day. Wasn’t there a song? Something you could hum as you glumly accepted what you couldn’t change. There should be. Maybe Caleb could write one.
He’d written songs about family, songs about friends. Twisted Delirium even wrote a song for Bets. Though I couldn’t ever acknowledge its existence. BFF rule book number twenty-one. I was confident Chaz and Ace had more to do with Sexy Psycho than Caleb. White Bluffs barely survived the three months the song rode the top of the charts. BFF code aside, it was a killer song.
The Douglas home wasn’t what I remembered. Dark, gorgeous wood replaced the rotted boards. The floodlights accentuated the gleaming painted exterior of the home. As we walked in, my shoes tapped along gorgeous stone flooring. Furniture worthy of a fancy magazine filled the expanded living room.
“It’s stunning,” I whispered.
Pink tinged Mrs. Douglas’s cheeks as her gaze swept the room. “Well, Caleb insisted on doing this. We assured him we didn’t need anything fancy, flat out refused the new house he wanted to build. Saul’s family has lived in this house way before White Bluffs was a settlement, much less a booming town smothered by city folk from Austin.”
Pete was right. Caleb had done well by his folks. Warmth flowed through me as I smiled. Everything my gaze swept across as we made our way through the hallway and entered the pristine, new kitchen with state-of-the-art appliances shouted one emphatic truth—my Caleb still existed. Every immaculately placed item and surface resonated with love, a need to nurture and protect those he cherished. Loved.
My heart palpitated a moment when I imagined being within his bubble, sealed into his protective warmth. I’d had the comfort, the security of Caleb once, and its loss struck me full force under the intensity of the past day. He hadn’t been in my life again more than twenty-four hours and I was deeper in love with him than ever. How the hell was I supposed to walk away from all the what-ifs when he left?
Errant tears trekked down my cheeks and I swiped at them with a dart of my fingers. Tonight wasn’t about me. Caleb, the prodigal rock star son was home. Everything about the elaborate place setting and excited voices booming from the living room resonated celebration.
“Hey. You okay?” His breath feathered my earlobe as he hugged me close from behind.
I closed my eyes. No. No, I’m nowhere near okay, and I have zero clue how to survive when you leave me again. The response remained tucked within the deepest, darkest part of my soul—the one place I’d let only one person. He had the key to wander around and dredge the secrets stored away there because I’d never kept anything from him, no matter how horrid or shameful.
He was the other half of my soul. Though I knew the completed me wrapped in his embrace would soon be torn into a million little pieces and spread across the globe as Caleb did whatever rockers do, I couldn’t help but celebrate the fact I was once again whole. For the first time in seven years I was Shasta Monohan and I loved Caleb Douglas with every fiber of my being. As pathetic and lame as it might be, I didn’t care much what anyone thought—even his parents.
Tonight I’d share the part of me I reserved for him with them because it meant something to him. In the morning when he left for the bright lights of fame and fortune, I’d crawl back into the vault I’d made for myself and hunker down. Heal.
“You’re a million miles away, Shas. You okay?” He squeezed me tight, and I forced a smile despite the raging storm of anguish looming on the horizon.
“I’ve never been better. Let’s eat. I’m starving.” I hugged him tighter to me and lowered my voice. “I’ve never had your mom’s meatloaf.”
“I asked her to make it for you.” He turned and feathered soft kisses across my cheeks.
Unable to handle whatever his words meant, I powered forward and headed into the kitchen. Escaping the heady warmth drifting through me whenever he was around was the only grip I maintained on my sanity.
I had tonight and I would not waste a single second.
—
Caleb
It took everything in me not to carry her away from my family’s house and make love to her until I chased away the sadness. My family had yacked and yammered with the force of a freight train and every minute I spent listening was
another sixty seconds Shasta had to slip away from me.
Impatience made me edgy. My legs both moved in time to a song I’d been up too many hours writing before we’d landed for our gig in Austin. Its existence had been a closely guarded secret until I’d sent it to Chaz for the guys to learn ASAP. My blood hummed the words, my heart pounded its beat.
Tonight the world would learn exactly what Shasta Monohan meant to me. The risk was monumental—everyone in my employ had warned, threatened and screamed so since I’d announced my plan shortly before picking Shas up. I didn’t give a flying fuck what any of them thought about what was going down in less than an hour.
The only one I gave a damn about was sitting beside me, falling apart. She hadn’t said so, but I’d tasted the salty sadness on her face earlier. I’d fucking broken her to the point she’d not only cried but hidden it from me.
By the end of tonight we’d never hold secrets, hide emotions from each other ever again. I didn’t give a damn what had to be done to make it so. It would happen.
My mother flashed a conspirator’s wink my direction. Yeah, the plan was in motion. All I had to do was somehow make sure Shas didn’t fall apart on me before I hit play, because without her, I wasn’t me.
It’d taken a fuckload of stupidity and hundreds, if not thousands, of drunken nights to come full circle and stare reality in the face. Leaving her in White Bluffs had been the dumbest thing I’d ever done.
I wouldn’t have ever hit the wall and realized the depths of my craziness if Rio hadn’t died. He’d been our manager since the beginning—the reason I’d left Shasta. He’d pushed, pulled and shoved us all for the past seven years. Every glimmer of success was because of him. What we might’ve lacked in talent, he’d made damn sure we made up for in determination and hard work.
Don’t get me wrong. He partied harder than most—much harder than any of us had realized. While the guys and I might’ve partaken in liquor a bit too freely, we’d steered clear of the hard shit. We weren’t stupid enough to snort away our future or shoot up our dreams.
Rio had.
The last time I’d spoken with him he’d been mourning the loss of yet another girlfriend. His loose tongue flew through every bitter regret he’d ever had as I tried to talk him off the ledge he’d chosen as his podium. The last minute of his life he’d stared me in the eye and imparted a truth I still woke up hearing even though a month had passed.
You’re a different person than who I met in White Bluffs, a bitter one I made because I knew you’d never leave otherwise. I cut your heart out and buried it there. I shouldn’t have, man. I never should’ve made you leave her behind. You were right. We could’ve made it work with her at your side. Maybe with me not around you can get back what I ripped away. I’m sorry, man.
Rio’s words haunted me. The dark cloud he’d left in his passing settled over me, the other guys. I’d shared his words with them because I hadn’t been the only one whose heart was left buried in White Bluffs. They’d deserved to hear what he’d said as much as I had. The truth within the man’s self-loathing gloom clung to me like a second skin.
The limelight blinded me to what I should’ve held. Love. I’d broken her and had been so self-absorbed I hadn’t noticed. Assuming tonight went according to plan I’d spend every breath from this point forward making it up to her.
7
Shasta
“Why did I not know they were performing tonight?” I tugged backward on Bets as she yanked me up the metal bleachers, the very same ones we’d sat in for every football game and cheered Caleb, Chaz and Ace through. “I can’t handle this shit. Stop. Just. Stop.”
Bets froze, pivoting in a slow circle on her platform shoes. Eyes wide, hands clutching her micro purse. “You yelled at me.”
Angry tears loomed in my eyes. “I can’t be here. Please. I can’t.”
“What the hell is going on in your head, Shas?” She closed the distance and lowered her voice. “Honey, talk to me.”
Determined fingers grasped my chin and yanked until I locked gazes with her. Any hold on sanity I’d maintained when we pulled up into the parking lot of White Bluffs High collapsed beneath the weight of her friendship, the palpable concern.
“It hurts too much. I could almost pretend no time had passed. I-I thought tonight we’d have more time and you put me in this,” I motioned toward the SBD and crazy high shoes as I teetered a little too far to the left. “Now I’m here with all the yahoos nosing around in my business. I want to go home and drown all the shit in my head in a gallon of tequila.”
Bets glared down at the teenage boy looking up at us and listening attentively. She glared down at him. “You. Up. Gone. Now.”
“This is a free country?”
“Do you know who I am? Have you not heard enough to learn when Psycho Axe tells you to do something in White Bluffs, you listen? Now. Again. You. Up. Gone. Now.”
The boy and his two buddies charged past us as Bets settled in the filled bleachers and patted the seat beside her. What the hell? I stared at her, too befuddled to speak.
“Sit. You aren’t the only one having issues, okay?” Bets stared out at the field as she chewed on her lower lip.
I thudded to a perch and settled Caleb’s jacket over my knees since the smirking punks at the bottom of the bleachers were grinning up at me like I’d shown them the goods. I looked down. Shit. I probably had. Me and short SBDs didn’t jive very well, especially when I was navigating rickety aluminum walkways older than me.
“I know it’s been intense, Shas, and I’m so fucking sorry everyone in the free world is watching.” She looked down at the football field where a small stage had been set up. The field lights struck the empty surface with impending finality.
After whatever this was he’d be gone.
“I doubt the entire free world is watching. No one cares about a frumpy uneducated muffin wielding barista from White Bluffs.” I sighed and forced a positive spin on the epic cluster fuck going on in my mental vault. The good, bad and ugly emotions were throwing down and I honestly didn’t know which would win. “Besides, he’s better off without me.”
I couldn’t imagine not having the past day with him, yet I hated the fact I succumbed to the temptation. Explaining said landmine of sensations Bets had inexplicably set off with her well-meaning gift was impossible, especially since I couldn’t explain it myself.
“It’s a lot to take in with no time left. I mean, he’s leaving after this and then I’m back to whatever the hell I was doing before he flew back into my life like an avenging angel swooping down to play with his prey.”
Silence settled between us a moment. I could feel the weight of her verdict. Damn. Through the years I’d managed to avoid the pitfall of Bets’ judgment most times, but I’d seen the fallout enough times thanks to unfortunate others to know I was screwed. She didn’t get what I was saying.
And I couldn’t blame her.
I didn’t get it either.
“Wow. You believe the words you’re spewing.” She shook her head. “For a smart girl, you can be really dumb, girlfriend. Look, you lock away whatever’s chewing up your brain. Okay? If it helps calm whatever storm you have swirling away up there, I’ll tell you this. Your man called me and asked—no, outright demanded—I keep your ass here because he knew you were scurrying out of whatever the hell this is the moment he left you. I’m pissed because my BFF Shasta Monohan isn’t a chicken shit who scurries. My Shas faces things head on because our girl code commands so in rule number two.”
Tears coursed down her cheeks as she took a deep breath. I mimicked her, allowing her verbal beating to pound sense into my Caleb-crazed mind.
“He didn’t just leave you. They left all of us, okay? You know what, though? You let him leave. You let all the ‘you’re worthless’ bull your mom spewed ooze into your brain and you didn’t think you were good enough for him. He left because you didn’t give him a reason to stay.” She took another deep breath. “The thought of
his leaving wrecks you? Cowgirl the hell up and give him a reason to stay.”
Beaten into my quivering place, I remained silent as my best friend seethed beside me. I got her words, felt every single one ram into place. She was right. Somehow unlocking the vault on what’d once been Caleb opened all the others I’d sealed shut—things he’d slammed the door on long ago.
I still had tonight. No matter the result, I’d share my thoughts, purge my need for him. He deserved to know I loved him, even if confessing it shredded my heart. It was his to tuck into his pocket and carry along for his glorious climb to superstardom.
The mayor tapped on the microphone making the speakers beside the makeshift stage squawk. I grimaced, then readied myself for the euphoric haze I experienced whenever Caleb sang. A part of me reveled in the way his raspy voice soothed, pleasured so many. The bleachers shook with the pounding feet and hands along the aluminum planks when Twisted Delirium hit the stage.
For tonight they’d all returned home.
Screams, shouts and chants echoed through my ears. A fist wrung my heart when Caleb flashed a smile and swept his gaze across the gathered crowd. “Wow, it looks like everyone in White Bluffs came to welcome us home.”
The crowd went nuts. My squeezed heart bled a bit deeper. The false hope his words offered drifted within me, evaporating within the toxic stench of reality. Rock stars didn’t do small town life.
“You know, we played a gig in Austin last night and I have to say I think we love this crowd here a hell of a lot more. None of the success we’ve had would’ve been possible if it hadn’t been for y’all.” He paused, allowing the shouts and applause to thunder through the open space between the bleachers and the stage.
