I introduced Emmett to Derek as he joined us. The tall man set the ladder on the ground and reached out to shake Emmett's hand. His ebony skin glistened as he wiped a few beads of sweat from his brow. "I know it's early, but do you think we could go in and get a drink?" he asked me. "It's hotter than a strip club on a Saturday night out here."
I smirked. Derek would know—he'd been a bouncer across town at the Pink Pony for several years before coming to Castle Rock. When Reese was promoted to Assistant Manager earlier that spring, Derek had stepped in to fill his shoes as our head doorman. Derek wanted a change of pace from the sometimes violent gig of protecting the dancers. "Less drama in the rock world, if you can believe it," he'd said. "And I won't go home every night covered in body glitter. It's a bitch trying to get that stuff off the upholstery in my car."
"Yeah, go ahead," I told Derek and Reese. "I think you two have earned a cold one."
"By the way, Ame," Reese said, hiking his thumb back toward the tour bus. "The band is here. Derek and I helped them unload their gear about half an hour ago. Kat's getting them settled in the upstairs green room."
"Thanks for the heads up." I started for the door, turning my back on Emmett and the guys. The beads of sweat on my forehead had nothing to do with the summer heat. Time to introduce Emmett to Mickey. Em caught up to me, slinging his arm around my shoulder as I led the others inside through Castle Rock's main entrance.
The venue's front hall boasted plush red carpet and a multi-colored crystal chandelier that cast a rainbow of refracted light against the gray stone walls. A pair of stained glass windows on either side featured winged guitars soaring over moats of fire. If Elvis had ever traded Graceland for a castle, I imagined it would've looked something like this.
We padded up a flight of stairs and down the hall toward the High Court green room, stopping in the showroom's bar so that Emmett, Derek, and Reese could each grab a beer. I reached for a Diet Coke and then thought better of it, opting for a Corona instead. I'd have preferred something even stronger to take the edge off of what would no doubt be a tense day, but I couldn't justify drinking hard liquor before noon. My gaze flicked to Emmett, and I thought about Mickey nearly kissing me the night before. On second thought…I reached for a small bottle of Jack Daniels, slipping it into the back pocket of my jeans. Just in case.
Back in the hallway, we bumped into Kat heading for the stairs. She did a double take at the sight of Emmett. "Hey there, stranger," she said, giving him a hug. She cast a questioning look at me over his shoulder. I shrugged. "I let Bronwyn hang back in the green room," she said. "She's watching the band practice." She released Emmett and turned to Derek and Reese. "Could you guys handle the alcohol delivery?" Glancing at Emmett, she added, "I'm sure they wouldn't mind an extra hand carrying those kegs if you're up for it, Larson."
"Sure thing." Emmett grinned. "I could use the workout." He leaned down to give me a quick peck on the cheek before following Derek and Reese to the stairs. As soon as they were out of earshot, Kat rounded on me.
"Wasn't expecting to see him this morning," she said, nodding in the direction of Emmett's retreating figure. She arched her thin brow. "I know I said you barely see the guy, but I didn't think you'd call and get him to hop the first flight here."
I shook my head and held up my hands, taking a step back. "I didn't know he was coming—I swear. He surprised me last night when I got home."
Kat nodded, her gaze flitting toward the green room. "Well, at least that explains why Mickey's been moping around in there like someone killed his puppy." She gave me a sidelong glance. "I'm assuming you didn't show up for your little coffee date."
"It wasn't a date," I insisted, beginning to feel like a broken record. "But no, I sent Mickey a text to cancel when I woke up to Emmett making breakfast this morning. He never responded to the message." I wrapped my arms around my middle, feeling sick. "I didn't mean to hurt him."
"Meh, it's probably for the best." Kat shook her head. "The guy is totally still hung up on you. With Emmett in town, at least he'll take the hint that you've really moved on."
"I guess," I said softly. I wasn't so sure I had completely moved on.
"Don't stress about it." Kat gave a dismissive wave. The corners of her mouth crooked up. "So, out with it! What kind of sexpionage did you and Secret Agent Boyfriend get into last night? Did you show him your Double-O Face—"
"Hey!" I cut her off. "Enough with the bad James Bond jokes. He's FBI, not British Secret Service." I smirked. "Though he would look damn good in a tux, huh?"
"For sure." Kat giggled. "Anyway," she said, flipping her light brown locks over her shoulder. "Royal Flush's gear should be set up on stage by now—we should let them know they can move their rehearsal to High Court."
I cast a nervous glance toward the green room and grimaced. "Can't you go tell them without me?"
Kat shook her head firmly. "Nuh-uh. You can't hide from Mickey Ward for the rest of the weekend, honey. Woman up and get your butt in there."
"Aye aye, captain." I gave a half-hearted salute. With a weary sigh, I dragged my feet after Kat toward the High Court green room.
A sweet acoustic melody drifted through the open door, and we stepped inside to find Bronwyn sitting in the center of the room, her cheeks glowing as pink as her hair. The members of Royal Flush sat in a circle around her, serenading her as they plucked away on acoustic guitars. Mickey beat his drumsticks on a practice pad in his lap to keep the rhythm, and Zane, the keyboardist, was seated in the far corner of the room plunking out a harmony on our spare piano. The whole scene was adorable.
Mickey looked up and met my gaze. His hand slipped, throwing the rhythm temporarily off beat. He recovered quickly and turned away from me, his face stretched tight in a pained expression. My heart thumped. I dropped my own gaze to the floor as I hurried past him.
"Good morning, Amelia," Ginger Robbins called. She was perched on the plush gray sofa at the far end of the room. Ginger's red hair was pulled into a sophisticated roll at the nape of her neck, and she wore a black pantsuit and gold chunky earrings with a matching necklace. Though she didn't look more than a few years older than Kat and me, her sharp style made me feel juvenile in my jeans and faded retro Nirvana shirt.
"Hi, Ginger." I waved back and crossed the room to join her.
A petite, dark-haired woman was seated on the couch next to Ginger. I recognized her from the airport the day before—the girl who I assumed was Jack Pearson's girlfriend. "This is Suzie Omara," Ginger said, gesturing to the young woman. Suzie blinked up at Kat and me with her brown, almond-shaped eyes. She was short, probably not much taller than five-foot-four, with a waifish figure and glossy black hair that flowed down to her waist. My gaze was drawn to a long, pink scar on her cheek. The young woman didn't speak, but instead lifted her hand in a shy wave, pulling my attention to the diamond ring glittering on her finger. "Suzie is Jack's fiancée," Ginger explained.
"Hi," I said brightly, extending my hand. Suzie didn't shake it. Instead, she gave me a wan smile and then turned her attention back to Jack as he sang and strummed his guitar. I blinked at her.
Ginger rose from the couch and gently pulled at my elbow, leading me to the corner of the room. Kat followed. "Forgive her. Suzie was in a bad car accident last month while the guys were in Tokyo," Ginger said, her voice lowered. "Jack hopped the first flight back to be with her. He insisted we bring her on the road with us from here on out so that he can take care of her." She clucked her tongue and gave a little shake of her head, casting a pitying glance at Suzie. "The poor thing has been rattled ever since it happened. She barely speaks to anyone but Jack."
"How terrible," I murmured. It seemed the cut on her cheek wasn't the only scar left behind from the accident.
Royal Flush ended their private performance, and Bronwyn clapped and cheered. "That was so awesome!" she gushed. She held up her cell phone in one hand. "I can't wait to go post the video online!" Bron gave an excited squeal and practicall
y skipped out of the room.
"Hey," Mickey said from close behind me. I whirled to face him, forcing down the pesky lump forming in my throat. Mickey's face pinched. "About this morning," he said, but I held up a hand to cut him off.
"I'm really sorry," I said, hoping we could just drop it.
Mickey's mouth pressed in a firm line. "Did something really come up? Or did you back out because I almost kissed you last night?" He rubbed his hand over his face. "Ame, I didn't mean to. It just sort of happened. A reflex, I guess."
"No, it wasn't that." I put a hand on his arm. "Look, Mickey, I have to tell you something—"
My words died in my throat as someone reached from behind me and slid their arm around my middle. I immediately let go of Mickey's arm, letting my hand fall limply to my side. "All the kegs are unloaded, babe," Emmett said, leaning down to give me a quick smooch. He looked from Mickey back to me, arching his brow. "Sorry—am I interrupting something?"
My throat tightened, and I made a little coughing noise. Mickey's gaze shifted from Emmett to me. Understanding dawned on his face. "Oh," he muttered, and I caught the pain that slid behind his eyes. Mickey recovered quickly and extended a hand toward Emmett. "I'm Mickey Ward," he said, his voice gruff.
"I know who you are." Emmett squinted at Mickey for a few long moments and studied him. I bit the inside of my lip, anxiety pulling my chest tight as I waited to see what he would do next. Finally, Emmett's face relaxed into a wide smile. "It is so great to meet you, man!" He pumped Mickey's hand up and down enthusiastically. "I must've played the whole Double Down album cover to cover at least a hundred times when it first came out. You've got some killer drum solos on that record." Though I was relieved they weren't pummeling each other's faces (yet, anyway), I nearly groaned. Of all people for my boyfriend to get star struck over, it had to be Mickey.
"Glad you dig it." A wicked grin played on Mickey's lips. He glanced at me. "That's the one with your song on it, Ame."
Emmett's brows shot up. "'Gamblin' Grace' is about you, babe? No way!"
"Way," I said meekly. Bet on love but fell flat on my face/Guess that's what I get for gamblin' with Grace… An old, familiar pain rose to the surface. Mickey wrote that song about our breakup, and then it became their second big single. As if being heartbroken wasn't bad enough, I'd had to relive it every time "Gamblin' Grace" came on the radio for months after that. It was a Billboard Top 40 slap in the face. I hated that song.
"Well, it was nice meeting you," Mickey said to Emmett before shifting his attention back to me. "I'll take a rain check on that coffee, Ame." There was an almost imperceptible bitterness in his tone, but I knew him well enough to pick up on it.
"Come on," I said, grabbing Emmett's hand. "I'll introduce you to the rest of the guys." I pulled him away from Mickey before things could get ugly.
After my honey had met Ginger, Suzie, and the other members of Royal Flush, I brought him back down to my office. For the next half-hour, Emmett typed away on his laptop while I worked on contracts at my desk. Neither one of us spoke, and the silence only worsened my feeling of shame over Mickey. I hadn't exactly told Emmett about our history yet. It wasn't so much that I was lying than I'd just sort of…failed to mention it.
Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. "I have to tell you something," I began, pushing my chair away from my desk.
"Yeah?" Emmett looked up at me from his laptop with interest.
"Mickey and I…" My voice trailed off as I tried to find the right words.
"Used to date," Emmett finished for me.
I gaped at him. "How did you—?" I closed my mouth, a blush forming on my cheeks and neck. Of course my FBI beau would be well aware of my past romantic history. For all I knew, with a snap of his fingers, the man could probably have someone draft a full report on my Facebook relationship status changes over the past decade.
Emmett closed his laptop and set it down on my office couch. "I saw the way he looked at you," he said simply. "That was the look of a man who knows he had something good and lost it. Plus he mentioned that 'Gamblin' Grace' was about you—there's definitely a bad breakup story behind that song."
"It's kind of complicated." I dropped my gaze to the floor. This wasn't going to be a fun conversation, but I owed it to him.
"How so?"
"We were sort of almost engaged once."
"I see," Emmett said, his even tone not giving away what he thought about that little bombshell. "What happened?"
I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "We dated for a year and a half before Royal Flush really took off. I was managing the band at the time, and the guys decided they wanted to drop out of college and focus on touring. I wanted to stay in school and get my degree." I chewed my lip for a moment. "I thought the proposal was his last-ditch effort to get me to go on the road with them. I said no. We broke up, and the guys hired Ginger. The rest is rock 'n' roll history." I looked meaningfully at Emmett. "It was a long time ago. Five years. Mickey and I are totally different people now."
Emmett grunted, a cryptic noise that could've meant pretty much anything. It wasn't the response I was hoping for. I rose from my desk chair and slid his laptop over so that I could sit beside him on the couch. "How does that make you feel?" I asked, searching his emerald eyes.
He was silent for what seemed like an eternity. With each passing second, my heart sank lower into the depths of my stomach. I fought back the urge to cry, afraid I would break down if he didn't say something soon.
Finally, Emmett shrugged. "The past is the past." He reached for my hand and squeezed it then lightly traced a line up my arm until he reached my cheek. His palm opened and cradled my face. "All that matters to me is the present." Emmett leaned forward and dipped his mouth to mine for a slow, sweet kiss. Relief flooded my chest, and my heart gave a happy thump. As far as talks about exes go, that could've been so much worse.
"Get a room, you two," Kat called dryly from the doorway.
I pulled away from Emmett. "We've got one. This is my office." Smirking, I grabbed a green throw pillow off the couch and tossed it at Kat. She ducked at the last minute, and the pillow sailed past her out into the hallway.
"Yeah, yeah." Her voice dripped sarcasm. Kat retrieved the pillow and heaved it back at me. Then she wagged a finger at Emmett and gave him a mock stern look. "Don't distract her for long, Larson," she said. "There's tons of work to be done—we've got a sold-out show tonight."
CHAPTER FOUR
"Thank you, Atlanta!" Jack thrashed about, his wavy hair shrouding his face as he screamed into the mic. Jack Pearson had been hailed by Rolling Stone as "Kurt Cobain reincarnated" and with good reason—not only did his throaty vocals resemble the style of Nirvana's lead singer, but with his long, straw-colored hair, dark brows, and piercing blue eyes, he was practically the late grunge rocker's doppelganger.
Beside him, Chad struck one last power chord on his ivory Fender Stratocaster guitar. The sound reverberated throughout the room for several long moments before Chad dropped the guitar and let it hang from his shoulder strap. "Wooooo!" he screamed, throwing up devil horns with both hands. The crowd roared back at him.
Behind the drum set, Mickey dropped his sticks, letting them crash against the cymbal. He shook his dark hair out of his face and lifted up the front of his Pearl Jam T-shirt to mop the sweat from his forehead, exposing a set of perfect abs. A group of girls in the front row whistled and cheered.
"Holy crap—you could grate cheese off those things!" Bronwyn's eyes bulged at the sight of Mickey's six-pack. She looked back at me in disbelief. "You really used to date him?"
"Uh-huh." I bit the inside of my lip. Mickey did have a really nice body. Seeing him in action during their set had taken me back to those nights in college when a twenty-three-year-old me would stare adoringly at him from the front row at each performance. Emmett cleared his throat behind me, jarring me from my reverie. Whoops. I reached back and fumbled for his hand, grasping it firmly in mine.
"That was awesome!" Bronwyn gushed when the band reached the wings.
"Thanks!" Zane said brightly. He reached down into the white cooler I'd set on the floor just off stage. Wading through the ice, he pulled out two beers and handed one to Mickey. They popped the tops off and clinked their bottles together.
Sid Malone sidled up to me, a sly grin playing on his lips. "Hey, Amelia. Bet ya can't guess what song we've got planned for the encore."
I wanted to gag. Please, not that.
"'Gamblin' Grace,' huh?" Kat guessed. Zane and Sid rewarded her correct answer with a couple of high fives.
Mickey glanced at me, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. "Royal Flush can't make the big return to A-town without playing the song that put us on the map. Gotta give the home crowd what they want." He tilted his head back and took a large swig of his beer, heaving a refreshed sigh as he pulled it away again. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "It feels good to be back." Mickey checked his watch and cupped his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. "Hey, Jack!" he yelled over the roar of the crowd. "We've got twenty minutes till the meet and greet. Let's give 'em one more tune."
Jack stood off to the side, his face plastered to Suzie's. He pried his lips away from hers and considered Mickey with a lazy smile. "Let's do it," he said. He gave Suzie one more peck and strolled back on stage, causing a crescendo in the cheers from High Court.
Deception at Castle Rock (Amelia Grace Rock 'n' Roll Mysteries Book 2) Page 4
