Gifted (Rockstar Christmas Romance) (Lost in Oblivion, 4.2)

by Quinn, Cari

  Nick coughed into his fist. Still smarting from Jazz’s fit at his expense—yeah, they were so far beyond over it wasn’t worth mentioning, but she didn’t have to find the idea that entertaining—he had to hold his tongue from truly blowing Steve’s mind.

  Hey, remember that wife I was buying the pearls for? You know, my secret lover? You’re looking at her, bub. Don’t look too hard either.

  Lila’s lips twitched. She must’ve picked up on Steve’s tone too. “I’m their manager. They’re part of Oblivion.” At Steve’s blank look, she prompted, “The band?”

  “Oh. Uh, yes, that’s right. They mentioned that. How nice.”

  Lila nodded and gripped her bag. “Thank you for your help as always. I’m sure I’ll be back soon.”

  “Oh, please return anytime. We truly appreciate your business. Happy holidays!”

  “Wait,” Nick said, gripping Lila’s arm as she turned to walk away.

  “Now you want to talk to me?”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, I always wanted to talk to you. I just didn’t want you to see your Christmas gift.”

  “My lord,” Steve gasped. He recovered marginally as Nick and Lila glanced back at him. “Sorry. I felt a sneeze coming on.” Quickly, he turned away from the counter and busied himself doing something else. Probably writing up his resignation letter.

  At this point, Nick almost couldn’t blame him.

  “My Christmas gift?” Lila’s low question brought Nick’s attention back front and center.

  He dipped his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Don’t tell me not to buy you one, because I am. I have to. I saw something and it’s just you. And it’s for me to give to you, so don’t argue. Please.”

  “Aww.”

  They frowned in Jazz’s direction but she swiftly turned her head away to admire some dangling earrings hanging off a display.

  Lila frowned and stared at the floor, giving him no choice but to tuck her hair behind one ear so she’d look at him again. Startled, she glanced around to make sure they hadn’t been seen by anyone else, and then let out a sigh. “I got you something too.”

  He wanted—needed—to see her smile again. It had been too long since he’d experienced the simple enjoyment of watching her big blue eyes soften with pleasure. “Let me guess. These tasteful diamond earrings?” He tapped the box in the bag she was carrying. “I’m not pierced yet, but for you, I just might think about it.”

  Steve crept closer, daring to tuck away a tray of rings. It was probably getting close to the store’s early closing hours due to the holiday.

  A slight flush tinged Lila’s cheeks. “Not pierced where? Ears or elsewhere?”

  Nick didn’t even bother glancing at Steve. Anytime now he’d probably drop to the floor.

  “I have no piercings anywhere.” He lowered his voice. “Have you forgotten so soon?”

  Her lips trembled. “I haven’t forgotten anything.”

  “Me either.”

  She swallowed hard enough to make her throat ripple. “So what kind of piercings do you favor?”

  He had to chuckle. She certainly seemed to have leaped upon that idea. He leaned close enough to murmur against her hair, “Maybe I’ll get a Prince Albert, just for you.”

  Not bloody likely, but it was fun to tease her, especially when her eyebrows drew together and that little wrinkle appeared above her nose.

  “If you don’t know what that is, Google it,” he suggested. “Then we’ll chat.”

  Talking about dicks had to be a good start toward a night of romance, right? As long as it didn’t lead to anyone coming at him with any really sharp and painful implements. He nearly shuddered. The thought of that was almost as disturbing as large heads protruding from tiny openings.

  Lila nodded and stepped back, then she tilted her head in that adorable way she had. And if he was thinking anything his dragon lady manager did was adorable, he was clearly losing his mind.

  Or else he was just lost. Over her.

  “I’ll see you tonight?” she asked.

  He smiled. She was coming over. Everything would be okay. He’d make sure of it. “Yes.”

  She nodded again and glanced past him to Jazz. “See you later, Jazz.”

  “Sure thing. And make him pierce his dick!”

  When Steve dropped his tray of rings, scattering them all over the floor, Nick only laughed.

  Damn, his life was a freaking circus.

  Once Steve had recovered from his latest indignity, Nick paid for the pearls with Jazz’s credit card, though she made sure to call Gray first to warn him about their “recent expenditures.” On the way home, he made Jazz stop at a nearly deserted tree farm and grabbed a small Charlie Brown-sized one for his bedroom. Gray had dragged in one for them earlier in the month and it loomed large in the living room, and Jazz had added a ton of decorations to the windows and around the mantle, but the rest of the house was largely undecorated.

  He was no dummy. Christmas lights made women feel romantic. It was practically a statistic.

  And maybe he felt the need for a little extra Christmas cheer too.

  After dragging it into his room, he realized he hadn’t bought extra ornaments.

  “You didn’t remind me I’d need ornaments, dammit,” he called down the hall to Jazz, who made a sound equivalent to “too bad for you” right before the baby started to cry. Again.

  So he went downstairs and borrowed a few from the main tree. And one of the strands of lights. The bald spots and lack of lighting in one section added character, as far as he was concerned.

  Their tree had been too California-perfect before. This suited them more. Besides, he hadn’t borrowed any of the musical-themed ornaments, had he?

  Well, minus one mini black-and-white Stratocaster that played actual music. Because that fucking rocked.

  After he finished outfitting his new tree, he sprawled out on his bed and took a nap for a couple of hours. Shopping and shit was hard work and he still had to wrap the crap.

  When he woke up, the house smelled freaking amazing and the sun was definitely a lot lower in the sky. He sat up and clutched his growling stomach, then eyed the pile of junk he’d bought with equal parts misery and disdain.

  All this Christmas business was just a consumer racket. No one cared about the true meaning. Hell, most people probably didn’t even know the true meaning.

  He wandered out into the hallway and headed toward Jazz and Gray’s room. The pluck of strings combined with Gray’s low, husky voice reached him just before he knocked.

  “Simple Man” was one of his favorites. Gray appreciated classic Lynyrd Skynyrd just as much as he did.

  He rapped his knuckles on the door, then opened it when Gray replied. He started to razz him about his playing when his gaze fell on the bed. Jazz and the baby were curled up asleep together, looking stupidly cute.

  Something shifted inside him, and it wasn’t due to Jazz. He cared about her a lot, even loved her as a friend, but he didn’t see her as anything more than that now. No, it was more that her and the baby stirred feelings inside him he didn’t know what to do with. Didn’t know how to process.

  He wasn’t the daddy type. He’d always known that about himself and hadn’t bothered thinking about it overmuch. But maybe the fact that babies were all around him now due to his bandmates settling down, or perhaps Lila’s obvious love of them had screwed up his head somehow because a part of him was starting to wonder.

  What would that be like? Just to look at that little face and think “hey, I had a part in creating that”? There were fun aspects to being a parent too. You know, like getting to buy the kid a KISS costume to wear on Halloween and teaching him “Stairway to Heaven” to impress all his kindergarten buddies.

  “You need to get the kid a guitar,” he told Gray, nodding to the bed.

  “I think he has a little time yet,” Gray said drily, continuing to strum through the end of the song.

  “Nah, man, you can’t wait on it. He’
s already been exposed to all that prenatal drumming from Jazz. You’re going to lose him to the other side if you don’t start now.”

  “The other side being drums?” Gray jerked a shoulder, his fingers moving without cease. “Eh, if he likes them better, fine. It’s his choice. He may not even want to do the music thing at all.”

  Nick’s eyebrows lifted. “What the hell kind of father are you, saying crap like that?”

  Gray shook his head, a faint smile playing around his mouth. “If you came in here to try to con her into wrapping your presents, you’re out of luck, dude. She’s wiped out.”

  Nick scratched his chin. “Huh. Never thought of that. Would she have?”

  “After she just put up with all your last minute shopping? Doubtful. And pay up, son. We’ve got a college education to start socking away for, not to mention house stuff.” Gray held out a hand.

  “Oh yeah. Sorry. Forgot. One second.” Nick jogged down the hall to his room to take out the money from between his mattress and box spring, tucked beside his worn copy of The Catcher in the Rye.

  He really needed a safe. This hiding money holdover from their days of living underneath the Fluff ‘n Fold Laundromat was getting old.

  Also, maybe he needed to stop squirreling away so much money in the apartment, period. Ricki was doing better now. He didn’t need to have so much cash on hand to help bail her out anymore. His money guy was investing in the stock market for him, and maybe it was time he grew up a bit and actually used his money market account now and then.

  He grabbed the cash and returned to Gray and Jazz’s bedroom. Jazz and the baby were still out cold. “Thanks, man,” he said, handing the wad to Gray.

  Gray blinked. “Dude, ever heard of a check?”

  “I have a checking account. But I have some cash here too, so why bother with all that?”

  “Yeah, try a bank. They’re awesome.” Gray set aside his guitar and rose to go to the dresser. He grabbed his wallet and shoved the cash inside, then shook his head and grabbed an envelope off the desk. “So much it doesn’t even fit. Damn.”

  “Can’t help it if I’m paid, son.”

  Gray’s snort made him grin.

  “You two are louder than a freight train. Stupid boys.” Jazz yawned and sat up, shifting her grip on her child so that he nestled into her side. “Is that our money?”

  “No, that’s my donation to the ‘please buy more birth control’ fund.” Nick glanced at Gray. “Seriously, another one already? Why?”

  “I told him we intended to try again later next year,” Jazz informed Gray, who regained a little of the color he’d lost at Nick’s question. “Possibly, if the band stuff works out.”

  “What do you mean if it works out?” Nick demanded. “Of course it’s going to work out. The show…shows were just a blip. Simon’s working through it.”

  In truth, he wasn’t sure what Simon was working through. His best friend had clammed up after the first botched concert and completely shut down after the second. It grated on Nick that he’d intended to goad Jazz into asking Simon and Margo to come over tonight, because he wasn’t entirely sure his friend would reply to his texts.

  That fucking hurt, especially since he didn’t have a clue why.

  “She didn’t mean what you’re thinking,” Gray said quietly. “She was referring to touring and album release schedules.”

  Nick cleared his throat. He had a hair-trigger response to even the smallest suggestion that the band wouldn’t work out. Forget an actual infant, Oblivion was his baby. The band had started out with Simon as the lead singer and Deacon on bass and Snake—goddamn Snake—on drums, but he’d been the one who’d initially approached the others. He and Simon had played together practically every day in high school, but forming a band was different. It required a commitment beyond just what felt good and living in the moment.

  Eventually Snake had been kicked out of the band due to his drug use, and they’d been down a drummer. Deacon had brought in Jazz to fill that role—over Nick’s strenuous objections—and Gray, in spite of Nick’s assertions that they didn’t need two guitarists.

  But they did. Just as they needed Margo’s incredible work on the violin. This lineup was Oblivion. They’d soared higher and achieved more success than he’d ever imagined. He’d be damned if the dream slipped away.

  Tonight, he wasn’t thinking about any of that. It was fucking Christmas. For once in his life, he was just going to enjoy his friends and his life. And Lila.

  God, he hoped he’d get to enjoy her.

  “Do you two always speak for each other now? Next you’ll be finishing each other’s sentences.” Nick shoved his hands in his back pockets. “I gotta wrap shit.”

  Jazz lifted Dylan as he started to rouse, murmuring softly to him. “Aww, you’re hungry aren’t you, sweetiepie?” Then she reached for the top button of her shirt. “Sure you don’t want to stay for nursing time?”

  There was no missing the gleam in her eyes. Evil woman.

  Nick backed toward the door. “You’re lucky your husband doesn’t react the same way to you flipping out a boob,” he said before he escaped.

  A pillow hit the door in his wake and he grinned. He seemed to draw that reaction a lot from his female bandmates.

  He headed up the hall and faced down the pile of gifts in his bedroom with a heavy sigh. Might as well get to it. He’d be tangled up in tape and wrapping paper for a while.

  Wrapping paper. Aw, fuck.

  “Hey Jazz,” he called.

  A few hours later, all his stuff was wrapped and bagged. Luckily Jazz had a stash of Christmas gift bags, so he’d started shoving things in those. She’d tried to convince him to use tissue paper, but eventually he’d run out so he’d grabbed that morning’s newspaper and started using that for bag filler.

  C’mon, who didn’t love the comics? The political articles and obits probably wouldn’t garner any fans, but hey, he was reusing and recycling and that had to be a holiday-worthy endeavor.

  He hauled all his packages and parcels downstairs to the collection under the tree. Holy shit, there was a ton of them. They’d be opening boxes all night.

  And if Simon got him another gift certificate to the local drugstore with a memo “I recommend ribbed for her pleasure”, he was going to knee him in the nuts.

  Nick scratched his chin. On second thought, he didn’t have any condoms left. He might just need that certificate tonight, if some freaking Christmas elves worked on his behalf to get him laid.

  Not that he cared about the sex part as much as he cared about reconnecting with Lila. Chick term or not, he missed her. Just snuggling and laughing and kissing her enough that her light apple scent soaked into his skin would make his night.

  Using those pearls in the dirty, deviant ways he’d devised would just be a bonus.

  He could hear voices down the hall, carrying from their in-house studio. Deacon’s deeper tone mixed with Jazz’s light, happy laughter and the ubiquitous plucking of Gray’s guitar. The guy toted his instrument around even more than Nick did. After a second, he heard Simon and Margo’s laughter, and a sharp excited sound that probably belonged to Harper and Deacon’s daughter, Lexi. Unlike Dylan, she seemed to do more than cry and nurse. Not much more, but a little.

  The heavenly smells from the kitchen meant Harper had been in residence for a while. His wrapping must’ve taken longer than he thought. Only one voice was missing. But he had to be sure.

  To give himself a little distance, he drew out his iPhone and started recording just before he stepped into the studio. He’d take a few clips and upload to Periscope. That would serve a dual purpose. Lila tended to officiate everything—it was just her way—so he knew she hadn’t arrived yet. Having the phone in front of his face would hide his inevitable disappointment, the last thing he wanted his bandmates to see. They’d probably razz him, and he wasn’t in the mood.

  Besides, back in the early days of the band’s success, he and Jazz had been Oblivion’
s social media crew. They’d teased and tweeted and Facebooked the hell out of everything. Uploading a few short vids to Periscope of Oblivion’s fan-damn-tastic Christmas would prove to everyone that they might be dysfunctional, but at least they were a family.

  The band wasn’t breaking up. It was never going to break up, if he had anything to say about it.

  “Say cheese,” Nick as to the group of them as he moved into the studio doorway.

  There was a bit of grumbling under their breaths, but in no time, the band was hamming it up for the camera while Nick narrated what he was witnessing. Mostly laughter and insults and the occasional air guitar, in Simon’s case. Turning on a camera was the surest way to make his best friend not act like a dick.

  Maybe he should just start recording every conversation he tried to have with Simon. Then the bastard would be forced to stop freezing him out.

  Dressing the babies in Christmas outfits was an inspired touch, Nick had to admit. Their female fans would eat that stuff up with a ladle. Dylan was wearing reindeer antlers and some green footie pajama thing while Gray nudged his rocking bassinette with his foot and played Elvis’s “Blue Christmas” on his guitar. He was singing to go with it, but no one seemed to care except Dylan, who stared owlishly up at his father as if he couldn’t understand why he was being subjected to such torture.

  And during the holiday season, no less.

  “Can’t you see you’re tormenting that child?” Nick said to Gray, who kept strumming and singing. “He’d rather hear me sing that, and that’d be painful.” He bent close to Dylan and smiled triumphantly as the baby’s eyes swiveled toward him. “See, you like me better than your old man, right, kid?”

  Dylan screwed up his face and started to wail so violently he nearly dislodged one of his antlers.

  Little fucker.

  Gray started to laugh. “Your talents lay elsewhere. Like oh, in getting special piercings, maybe?” He waggled his brows.

  Nick frowned and drew back, then shot an accusing glance at Jazz. “You know what they say about loose lips, Edwards.”

  “Duffy now,” Jazz said in a singsong voice.

  “Benedict Arnold Edwards-Duffy, spying on personal, private conversations, I might add.” Nick turned away, intending to aim his iPhone at the biggest camera hog of them all to get the spotlight off himself.