by T. I. Lowe
“How do you know?” Dillon asks.
“Jen texted me that you’re up to no good. No pranks on the photographers.”
“Why not?” Max snaps.
“Maxim King, have you ever noticed how every one of your schemes ends up biting you in the butt? Shall I remind you about your latest with Izzy?”
Ah… Daddy’s home. No horse playing now.
He crosses his arms and eyes us. “You guys are tired of being cooped up. I get it. How about you play around a bit, but for a cause?”
That piques all our interest. The whole bunch of us sits up straighter to listen.
“Whatcha got in mind?” Dillon asks.
“You guys up for an impromptu jam session near the gate?”
“What’s the mischief in that?” Max grumbles.
“While the guys jam, you get to do a striptease for the cameras.”
All eyebrows pucker in confusion. Did Ben just say what I thought he said?
“You’re giving me permission to flash the paparazzi? Hot dang!” Max is on his feet, rubbing his palms together in two seconds flat.
Ben stops him from exiting. “Whoa, whoa. Slow your roll.” He pulls a fat sharpie out of his back pocket. “Strip down to your boxers.” He hands Trace the marker. “Write hashtag Music Notes across his chest, back, and down his legs.”
“Does it matter which notes?” Trace scratches the light scruff on his chin.
“Trace, you really are too blond sometimes. Not actual notes. Write the words that spell out your charity. M-U-S-I-C space N-O-T-E-S.”
“Ohhh. Got it.” Trace nods.
We roar in laughter once Max is down to his boxers.
“Red and green polka dots? Really?” Dillon asks.
Max shrugs. “Some of us are in the Christmas spirit. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. It’ll add to the fun,” Ben mumbles while pulling something up on one of our laptops.
“Max, I thought you were drinking those protein shakes with Mave?” Logan asks on a chuckle.
“I am.”
“It ain’t doing your skinny butt a bit of good. Seriously, Jewels is threatening to take you to the vet for a worm treatment.” Dillon slaps him on the shoulder, causing Trace to smear a letter.
We all crack up at this.
Max rolls his eyes. “Stop picking on me. Ben, I feel vulnerable.” Max fake-pouts while covering his nipples. He’s always been a guy who can dish it out and take it just the same. My brother cracks me up.
“Okay, here’s the deal. Dillon and Logan can jam with the guitars. Trace tambourine it and Mave, I can fish out your practice snare drum from under the bus, but that’s as good as I can do for you.”
“That’ll work fine except for the fact these bozos hid my sticks.”
“Give them back to him.” Ben looks around sternly, sounding all fatherly.
Dillon walks over to the freezer and fishes them out before handing the ice-cold sticks over. “We just wanted you to chill for a while.” He produces his dumb dimples with his dumb joke.
“You guys really do need to get out for a while with these lame jokes you keep sharing. Now, listen up. Give me a few minutes to get Joe to help me set up some chairs near the gate for you. Then you come out and do a few songs while Mr. Sexy struts around and strips down to his boxers.” He pauses. “You get me, Max? The boxers stay on. Under no circumstances do they come off.”
“If you say so.” He shrugs.
“I most certainly do say so. This way everybody wins with you goofing off some. The photographers get interesting pics that I’m sure will make for a better Christmas, the fans get an unexpected show, you get to blow off some steam, and most importantly, you stir up some buzz about your charity. I’ve set the hashtag up on Twitter for your Music Notes, so maybe some donations will start pouring in.”
And that is why Ben Henson is the best manager we could ever be stuck with. The guy is always on his toes and looking out for us at the same time. Dude earns every penny and then some.
We’re out the door, waving at the fans from just enough distance that we don’t have to get stuck doing autographs.
Plopping in front of my drum, I ask, “Okay. What are we singing?” All of us look to Dillon for the answer.
He shrugs. “Why don’t we just play around a bit? Nothing particular. Mave, you start us off and we’ll follow.”
Dillon thinks he’s being slick. He wants me to start the beat of one of my songs and lead the group to play it. Okay. I take the bait and start a song I’m itching to perform—“Renewal.” It’s a ballad Dillon is after me to debut at the New Year’s Eve concert. Max joins in for that one, and then we move to an upbeat one I’ve entitled, “No Stopping Us Now,” and it seems right fitting when Max starts slowly unsnapping the buttons on his shirt while shaking his bony hips.
The fans go wild for it and the photographers are grinning. Ben’s right. We all win. We have a blast for the next hour. I’m beating away on my drum, when a beautiful face pops up close to the other side of the fence. I grin over at her and she blushes on cue. She nods her head over towards Max, who is down to his boxers, probably freezing, still dancing like nobody’s business. I shake mine and wink at her, causing my doll to giggle. The woman gets us and that’s all there is to it.
•♫•♫•♫•
“I’ve had enough of you cheating!” Blake throws his cards down on the table and huffs like a baby. We only cheat a little. What’s the big deal? Keeps things interesting that way.
“Why have we stopped?” Max asks, reshuffling the cards.
We only pulled out of Nashville not even an hour or two ago after bringing down the packed-out house. Man, it so rocked tonight. So much so, everyone’s still bouncing off the walls.
“I’ll go check,” Tate says, heading up front. A few minutes later, he pushes back through. “Bad news. There’s been a traffic pileup ahead.” He mumbles this as he taps out a text. “More bad news. We could be stuck for a while. No exits between here and the accident.” He shoves back in at the table. “Might as well deal those cards back out.”
The next hour passes with me, Jen, and Max whooping Tate, Izzy, and Blake at Spades. Blake’s still whining. Jewels should put up with him on her bus since she’s the one responsible for including him in this crowd. The little punk gets on my nerves.
Tate’s phone pings a new message. “More bad news,” he groans after reading it.
“What is it now?” Max asks.
“People are out of their vehicles and, well…” He reaches over and cracks open the window.
“Bleu Streak, Bleu Streak…” A substantial sounding crowd is chanting our name.
“Toss them some CD’s and stuff,” Trace offers.
“Already got the bodyguards on it, but your fearless leader wants to do something on the sly.” He rolls his eyes.
Max visibly perks at this. “What’s Dillon got in mind?”
“Look out the window and check out the scene on top of his bus.”
We all do and find the bodyguards up there tossing all kinds of swag out. As we look on, the blue running lights on our bus shut off, darkening the scene a bit.
“Dillon thinks you all can sneak up on top of this bus and give the stranded motorists a private concert.” Tate is rapidly texting while filling us in. “Ben has already slipped two guitars and a tambourine up there. He says for you, Mave, to take your sticks and use the roof as your drum.
He doesn’t have to say it twice. I release Izzy’s hand that I’ve kept for the last little while and grab my sticks. Pushing them in my back pocket, I stand waiting.
“Two questions,” Jen chimes in. I know what’s coming. For some reason, she’s decided to take on the role of my nagging older sister. “First, Dillon actually agreed to let Mave on the roof?”
Tate shows her the text, causing her to scoff. “I’ve got it in writing.”
“Well, someone sure is feeling reckless tonight. And just how does he propose y’al
l get back down once that crowd takes to surrounding this bus?”
“Good question,” Tate says, tapping out another text. Moments later, it pings. “Okay. Here’s the deal. Dillon and Logan already snuck out of their driver’s door and are on the roof.” As if on cue, knocking starts sounding from above our heads. “The bodyguards will block the back and front with me and Ben helping. Sing a few songs, and then each one of you will slip back in through Joe’s door.”
Max is already heading to the front of the bus. “Let’s go,” he says over his shoulder. Me and Trace follow. As soon as we reach the top I have to refrain from giggling like the excited boy I am. The icy air hits me at the same time the reality of what we’re about to do does. This is going to be epic. I spot two figures lying flat on the roof, so I army-crawl over to them.
“It’s kinda cold up here,” Trace whispers through chattering teeth.
“We’re about to warm things up, bro,” Dillon says. “Let’s sing ‘Crashing,’ ‘My Jewels,’ a cover of ‘Elderly Woman’—”
Trace interrupts. “Why are we singing Pearl Jam?”
“Yeah, dumb question, man. To say thank you to my lovely, stubborn wife for agreeing to let us do this.”
“Yeah, bro. Took some talking before our girl would agree. It looked close to doubtful,” Logan adds.
“Let’s close it out with ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’ a cappella.”
We all nod our heads.
“Mave, stay close to the middle of the bus at all times. No getting anywhere near the sides until it’s time to bolt. Jewels done threatened me in ways I’m not repeating if you fall off. Got it?” Dillon gives me that narrow-eyed look.
“Sure, man.”
“Now start us off with a beat.”
We all sit up cross-legged, and for a moment, I just have to take in the view. Miles upon miles of red and white car lights blinking and twinkling in the dark night. What a rush to be so high up. It almost feels like we are a part of the night sky.
With the first tap of my sticks, the blue running lights flash on, illuminating us and I’m right impressed by that trick.
Before the guitars can strum the first chords, the crowd circles our bus. We get down to business, with phones directed on us. Even Ben has taken up shop on the other bus’s roof, capturing the show with his phone. I let all that fade away and focus on the music.
I’m absolutely addicted to music—the chords, the melody, the lyrics. Every part comes together to create something so extraordinary.
It’s over way too soon. After we wish everyone a Merry Christmas, they go to begging for an encore. It’s not to happen, though. Luckily, the traffic is starting to slowly move, so they all scatter back to their vehicles, making it easier to make our getaway.
We hustle back down, but not before I get Logan’s flipping boot to the mouth. The throb is instant. My tongue inspects my teeth and finds them all intact, so I decide to let it slide. We all emerge back to the bus, just in time for it to start moving. Fist bumps and high-fives are divvied out all around. That was one tight experience.
“I swear! What happened to you this time?” Jen snaps.
She’s scowling so hard it looks painful and Izzy’s eyes are wide with panic.
I dab my stinging lip and find it sticky-wet with blood. “Logan did it.”
“Sorry, bro.”
“No worries.” We fist-bump again, making it all right.
Izzy is before me in a flash, donning a wet cloth and pulling me down in a chair. The idea of her being my little nurse is all kinds of appealing.
“I think you should kiss it back to better,” I tell her around a mouthful of wet cloth she’s dabbing my lip with. She gives me no reply, but those sweet cheeks give me all the answer I need when they tinge pink instantly.
“Just don’t let Jewels see that.” Dillon points at my lip. “Now, it looks like y’all are stuck with me and my man Logan for a while, so how’s about some Spades.”
Did I mention we are all addicted to Spades? Yep. And it makes the next few hours slide right by. This has been some kind of day, for sure. We wanted to perform, and we most certainly got our wish.
Once we kick Logan and Dillon out at a rest stop, everyone heads to bed. As the bus quietly rolls down the interstate, me and my doll text for the next longest about random things. I know she’s right next door, only separated from me by a thin curtain, but I know it’s best to keep that distance intact for tonight. I’m growing crazy for her too fast and it’s obvious she’s not ready to take me on fully. The last text, I ask what she wants for Christmas. She texts back that she has everything she needs. I text, wanting to know what she wants not needs. Instead of answering she proposes the same question to me. My fingers tap the message before can I stop them—all I want for Christmas is my doll baby.
Needless to say, it bums me out pretty bad when she doesn’t reply.
Chapter Twelve
Izzy
I’ve never seen nor have I ever heard “Drummer Boy” performed so spectacularly. Tonight’s Christmas Eve concert was concluded with this song and it is now my favorite. Mave advised me to watch the show from the front row tonight and I’m so glad he did. As the lights shut completely off, goose bumps rose on my arms even before it began. Two sets of drums illuminated in sync with one another only when the sticks struck the surface. Dillon sang, but was nowhere to be seen. You could barely see the drummers, even when the beats lit up the drums. It was magical. Hands down, Bleu Streak is magic.
Pacing around my room, I’m too wound up to sleep. Ben has rented out a ski lodge for the band and some of their family for the next two days, so we can celebrate Christmas.
I hear a light tapping at my door as I’m about to pass it, so I open it and find a handsome sight—Maverick King grinning with a roll of tape in his hands.
“I’m not letting you tie me up,” I tease, surprising us both.
“Now that’s straight up tempting, doll.”
“Oh, that reminds me. I got you a gift today while I was shopping.” I hurry over and retrieve the pink gift bag and hand it to him.
He looks at it curiously with an eyebrow raised. His laugh echoes warmly around my room as he pulls a doll baby out the bag.
“Just what you wanted.” I smile.
“Not quite,” he says, dropping the bag on the bed, along with the roll of tape, and pulling out a sprig of something from his back pocket. Holding it over my head, he whispers, “Please.”
Oh. My. The man is asking permission to kiss me. I can barely swallow as the flush warms my neck and face.
He closes in on me, eyes trained on my lips. “It’s tradition with this group to not give material gifts for Christmas. We give acts of love and there’s one in particular I really would like to give you.”
I take a step back.
“Just a kiss, doll. That’s all.”
That’s all? Then why does it feel like we are giving so much more than that?
I brace myself as his hands secure a hold on my hips, dragging me close.
“Relax, Izzy. This won’t hurt. Promise.”
“It may eventually.”
He skims his nose along my neck. “Ah… You really do like me, too.” His words whisper along my skin, coercing a shiver to race through me.
“I think it’s more than that,” I admit, not recognizing my own breathy voice.
His lips leave my neck as he leans slightly back and pierces me with those challenging eyes that are flashing with the gold flecks peeking out of the rich brown. Everything beyond him disappears. “We both know this is more. Sweetheart, I’ve been writing songs on the fact that it’s more.”
Mave doesn’t wait for permission. Bending slightly, he cups my face into his large hands and connects his mouth to mine. The connection goes beyond flesh—I feel it seep permanently into my soul. We don’t move any further than just holding the moment perfectly still. Eventually, impatience grows inside me with wanting to explore the indulgent contours of
his mouth. I move along his bottom lip, placing as many caresses as it can grasp. With my mouth watering, my tongue reaches out to lick my parched lips and meet his as well.
The deep groan rumbling his broad chest causes my eyes to open, meeting his dilated pupils and hooded lids. He holds my gaze as his lips part mine, so that we can both explore the depth of this first, and oddly permanent-feeling, kiss.
Maverick King declares adamantly that he can lose control while fighting addictions, but the man is in complete control of this kiss. His heart may be fluttering wildly under my palm, but he keeps this kiss achingly sweet and on a soft melody I’d love for him to play only for me daily.
He said Christmas is when they exchange acts of love. This is exactly what it feels like, with no lust or aggression to be found. Such tenderness from such a tough guy summons my emotions to give way to tears.
Mave begins the kiss as well as closes it. He takes a step back, leaving me instantly lonely. The lovely show of him licking his lips before curling them into a wicked grin has me transfixed.
“I’m hungry,” he says, releasing me from his spell.
“Nothing new.” I smile back while trying to steady myself. “I was about to go work on my gift to everyone. Help me and I’ll feed you.”
He takes my hand and leads me down the hall that is only occupied by the band. They’ve set their family members on another hall to protect them from any shenanigans. I see why that’s a must as we pass each door spun into a web of tape.
“Umm… Looks like you’ve been busy.” My eyebrows rise as I look up at him.
“Yep, but don’t worry. You won’t be finding any on your door. I know better than to bite the pretty hand that feeds me.” He winks as he pulls our entwined hands to his mouth, kissing the back of my hand.
For the next hour, I feed Mave an assortment of homemade treats as he helps make more. We knock out homemade pimento cheese for Dillon and Jewels, prepare veggies for a quiche specifically for Logan, prepare the batter for dried cherry and rosemary muffins for Trace’s sweet and savory tooth, lots of chocolate for Jen and Max, and giant chocolate chip cookies for Grace and Will. Of course I make fat cinnamon rolls for my spicy drummer. My favorite part of the hour is the stolen little kisses Mave keeps dishing out as we work side by side.
