by Cari Quinn
“What was your first clue?” Michael asked, regretting the sarcastic question as soon as it was out. He pushed a hand through his damp hair. “Look, I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at them. Both of them put way too much on our shoulders when we should’ve been focused on our own stuff. Their love lives are some fucked-up BS, man.”
“Dad having another baby, and another on the way. Jesus, the first is barely a year old.”
Michael blinked. “Say what?”
“Oh, yeah.” Mal let out a dry laugh. “Didn’t hear that tidbit? Guy should be getting ready to plan his upcoming retirement and instead he’s having newborns.”
“I haven’t seen Dad since the band signed with Ripper.” Michael gripped a handful of his own hair. “Guess that’s a good thing.”
“Ripper. Ah yeah, about that. Congratulations.” Mal cleared his throat. “You guys have been doing good. Or it seems that way, from what I’ve seen.”
“Thanks.” Mal had texted him a few congrats along the way after different milestones, usually when Michael had clued him in to the latest. But hearing him say it in person, unprompted, was different—and nice. “You’ve seen stuff about us?”
“Here and there. Can’t say I really keep up with the magazines or TV, but I catch what I can.”
Classic Mal there. He cared about pop culture not at all. Celebrities? Fuck that shit. Even if the celebrity was his little brother.
Hell, at times that would’ve been an even bigger deterrent.
“What have you been up to?” Michael asked.
“Workin’ on cars. What else do I do? Not a flashy type like you or Dad. Or fuck, like Mom, for that matter.” Mal rubbed a hand over his gleaming bald head and shoved the invitation into his back pocket with the other. “Some of us aren’t meant for the limelight.”
“Says who? You were the one who got me into playing.”
Mal raised a brow. “You call the messing around we used to do playing? We were worse than a garage band. More like a basement outfit.”
“Yeah, and what we were is what led to me hooking up with Ryan and West when you weren’t into it anymore.”
“You always wanted more. Music’s in your blood.” The corner of Mal’s mouth lifted. “Only thing Dad gave us worth having.”
“Not true. They both gave me a kickass older brother. Even if he tried to sell me for sixteen dollars online when I was nine.”
Mal shocked him by letting out a laugh. “Twenty-six dollars, bartered down from fifty. And I could only get that much because you came with your guitar. Besides, you counter-sold me for thirteen, and that included my fucking glorious Sonor drum set. Damn steal that guy would’ve gotten if our auctions hadn’t been shut down.”
“Your drums.” A buzz skipped along the back of Michael’s neck as he turned toward his brother. “Do you still play?”
Malachi rasped out a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I work at a chop shop. It’d be kind of idiotic for me to whale around on those when I get home every night, wouldn’t it?”
“You still do. Holy shit.”
“How you got that from what I just said, I don’t know.” Mal shook his head. “I play now and then. Mostly keep going over the same songs we used to play.”
“What about ‘In The Air Tonight’?” Michael questioned. “You still play that?”
His brother jerked a beefy shoulder. “I guess.”
“You had a killer sense of rhythm. Have you ever considered joining a band? Like a real band?” My band, but he didn’t say it. Mainly because he didn’t think he could actually force the words past the rock in his throat.
“Me? Dude, are you crazy? I spend my days up to my elbows in grease and shit. I’m not meant for some pussy band. No offense,” he added quickly.
“Pussy is one of the main benefits,” Michael said, keeping his face sober until Mal drove his fist into Michael’s arm. Hard.
Damn, that asshole never pulled a punch. Ever.
“You might need that dick prop in front of you to get girls, but some of us do just fine on our own. Anyway, I gotta go. Just wanted to tell you about the wedding. Hoped I’d convince you to go with me.” That mercurial half smile flitted over his mouth. “Be my date or some shit.”
“I haven’t gone to the last two, so why would I go to this one?” Besides, their mother hadn’t invited Michael, unless maybe his invite had gotten lost in the mail.
Small favor, that one.
“She insists it’s the last time. Came to me crying last night, drunk off her ass, begging me to get you to come. Says all she wants in this world is for her boys to be with her as a family. Biff wants that too.” Mal rolled his eyes. “I called her driver and sent her home with a travel mug of coffee.”
“But you promised.”
He shrugged. “It made her stop crying.”
“Softie.”
Another shrug. “It’s hard to say no to a crying woman. You gotta have some experience with that.”
“Nah, they usually make me want to cry lately.” Michael shook his head and shoved Tabitha to the back of his mind. “Or more accurately, get drunk.”
“Drunk for sure.”
Wheels spinning, Michael cocked his head and gave his brother an easy smile. “How about we make a deal? One where we both get what we want, and everyone goes home happy?”
Mal crossed his arms in front of his barrel chest. “I didn’t realize you wanted for anything. Big fancy rockstar, making good and making his own money now.”
The faint tinge of pride in his big brother’s voice could’ve bolstered him for months. Maybe years. “I’m getting there. We still haven’t figured everything out yet. The band lineup is still in flux.”
“You will.” Mal’s utter certainty just increased his certainty that it was no coincidence Mal had shown up when he did. Michael wasn’t one to believe in woo-woo crap, but he also knew when the universe had dumped the perfect opportunity in his lap.
Whether or not Lila would agree was another question, but they’d get there when they got there. He needed to get Mal on board first.
If that meant offering a temp role until he got his brother to agree to more, then he would do just that. Whatever it took.
“We have to. We’re on the way up, but we won’t make it if we don’t have the right people in place.”
“Which people aren’t right? That singer of yours is smoking hot.”
“Molly? Yeah. She knows it too, but man, she fills the seats.”
“You’ve got a couple hot ones. Gorgeous brunette and another blond, but I haven’t paid much attention to her. She doesn’t have the same stage presence as the other two, though she certainly goes toe-to-toe with you.”
“Elle, yeah.” Formally Richelle Crandall, or Ricki as she’d once been known. She’d joined the band and started using the name Elle to try to distance herself from her troubled past. Some of them called her Ricki, some called her Elle, but no one could deny her talent. Especially Michael. “She makes me work for it every night.”
“And Ryan and West. I remember you introducing me to those guys back at Christmas one year. Ry, always with the plans. And West had his hair colored Kool-Aid blue.”
“It’s blond most of the time now. Not at the moment though. Usually it just looks like he hacked at it with pinking shears.”
“Sounds about right. So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is Ry’s stuck on drums when he’s always been more comfortable being a jack-of-all-trades. He knows a bunch of different instruments and loves changing up the arrangements of songs. Getting stuck behind the kit is like hell to him.”
Mal snorted. “Some hell, being part of a band with an incredible sound.”
The confidence his words instilled in Michael made him surer with every passing second that this was right. It had to be right.
In his current world of fuckery, this one good thing needed to happen.
“He sprained his wrist and he can’t play tomorrow night. We have gig
at the House of Blues in Vegas. Three of us on the bill, though of course Warning Sign is opening.”
“For now.” Mal nodded. “You do your time, then you move on.”
“Yeah. But without a drummer, we can’t go anywhere. Lila’s gonna rip us a new one.”
“So she’ll nab a studio musician from somewhere. There’s gotta be tons of them.”
“This is our biggest gig yet. You really think now is the time to try to work with some studio type none of us have ever even met?”
“Doesn’t sound like you have much choice. Sorry to say.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Michael took a deep breath. “You wanted to know what the deal was? I’ll come to the wedding. You fill in on drums tomorrow night.”
Mal stared at Michael for a minute, then dropped back his head and roared with laughter. “Jesus fuck, you’ve lost your mind.”
“No, I think I’ve finally found it.” Michael clapped his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “So what do you say? You in or not?”
Mal said nothing, so Michael nodded, dropped his hand and moved back. “I get it. It’s scary to come out on a big stage like that without any experience, or even any real practice time in years. It’s fucking terrifying.”
“You think I’m scared? Do you know what I used to do?”
“Yeah, I know you used to get behind the wheel and race fuckers as stupid as you, risking all your lives. Believe me, I know. That doesn’t mean you’re not scared to touch the sticks again.”
Mal turned away. “Fuck that shit. And fuck you too.”
“We’ll be at the plane at nine a.m. tomorrow.” Quickly, Michael rattled off the address of the airstrip where Donovan Lewis’s jet would be located to take them to Vegas in the morning.
Malachi didn’t respond. Just walked away and slammed the door shut behind him.
Michael locked his hands behind his neck and bent at the waist, sucking in a deep breath. Either he’d just saved their asses or they were just as fucked as before.
And his brother probably wouldn’t ever speak to him again.
Four
“I still say we could have done this as a road trip. Vegas isn’t that far from LA.”
“I could only get three days off, remember?” Chloe Adams glanced at one of her best friends. Her white-knuckled grip on the arms of the plush airplane seat belied the calmness of Jinx’s voice. She wasn’t wild about letting people know her weaknesses. Flying being one of them, of course.
Personally, Chloe wasn’t worried about the massive personal jet they were on. Or keeping it in the sky. Mr. Lewis only owned the best—this ridiculous Lear jet was only one in the fleet that he owned. Seriously, who owned a fleet of planes other than an airline?
Right, a billionaire, that’s who. Something that was so far out of her stratosphere it was laughable. She’d had to work three doubles, and sell off her precious weekend to Jersey Janice to get time off for this little trip. Dude, she hated Janice.
Almost as much as she hated her job. It was a toss-up, truly.
No, all her worry was at home, in her tiny duplex, with her almost two-year-old son. She pulled out her phone again.
Jinx flipped her braid over her shoulder. “If you FaceTime with the kid again, I’m going to steal your phone.”
She stuffed her phone back into her hoodie pocket, resisting the urge to pout. “There’s free Wi-Fi, it seems stupid not to use it.” And when they got to Vegas, who knew if her little prepaid phone would have a good signal. She’d paid extra for data and minutes for this trip just so she’d be available at all times.
“He’s having grandpa time. He’s fine.”
Her father had cleaned up his act a lot since she’d gotten pregnant. Then when Snake had died, he’d really stepped up. She was still waiting for him to backslide even two years later. It wasn’t like he didn’t watch Axl when she was working. She split up the babysitting between her father and her next-door neighbor with a little girl the same age. And sometimes with Nick and Lila Crandall.
God, the weirdness there.
But her son loved Nick. Sometimes it felt like he loved Nick more than her on the difficult days. All he had to do was bring out his guitar, or hell, even play a pretend one, and Axl was instantly enthralled.
This was how weird her life had become. Her former fiancé’s bandmate was nearly a surrogate dad. She swallowed down the lump in her throat—hard. She hardly ever thought of Snake anymore—she’d been too busy being a mom, being a provider, being everything to a twenty-one-month-old little boy who was becoming a person more and more every day.
Axl would be fine.
Truly.
This was supposed to be Mommy time. The fact that two of the hottest bands in the country were sitting at the front of their jet seemed surreal.
She would be fine. Everyone would be fine.
It was just a few nights away from him. She could totally do this. She used to know how to go out and have a good time. She was only twenty-three, not forty-three. Nick had given her—and her friends—a free trip to simply have fun.
Once upon a time she’d known the definition of fun. And she was more than fine with her nights in with her son, but a tiny piece of her was looking forward to a change of pace.
“He’ll be fine.” Maybe if she said it out loud.
“Damn right.” Jinx hummed under her breath as the plane bounced. “Fuck.”
“Relax.” Ivy clicked back her seat until she was nearly in her sister’s lap. “I’m trying to sleep here.”
“How can you sleep?” Jinx gritted her teeth and squeaked as the plane suddenly increased altitude. “God, how long do we have to be in this tin can?”
Ivy rolled onto her side. “Tin can?” She looked around. “Do you have eyes? This is a luxury jetliner with seats the size of tricked-out leather movie recliners. You know, like the theater we go to when we splurge for a movie?” The light dinged over their heads. “Oops, my cue to sit up.” A humming sound came from Ivy’s chair as she raised it back to a more upright position.
Chloe shook her head and folded her hands over her stomach, holding her phone to her middle. Okay, that jolt was a little more than turbulence.
The stewardess came down the aisle. “Bear with us, folks. The pilot just pulled up into higher airspace to avoid a storm. We’ll level off in a few minutes.”
Jinx snapped her window shade shut. “Yeah, I can’t watch our fiery plummet.”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “Drama llama.”
“Shut up.” Jinx slammed her head back as they veered a bit to the left then leveled out.
“See, there we go. Nothing to worry about.”
“Miss,” Jinx called to the stewardess.
She came back down the aisle. “Yes?”
“Could I get an adult beverage? Preferably one that includes vodka?”
“Absolutely. We have a fully stocked bar.”
Jinx perked up. “How stocked?”
“Top shelf for everything. Is Grey Goose all right? Or would you prefer Ketel One?”
Her brown eyes bulged. “All right, now this I can get behind.”
“Easy, tiger,” Chloe muttered.
“Actually, I think we all need one. Time to get a little lubricated before we land. Vegas, here we come, baby.”
“No thanks, I don’t—”
“She needs one most of all,” Jinx interrupted.
“I concur,” Ivy said.
Chloe pressed her lips together. She needed to lighten up. They were in Vegas—well, currently over the Mojave, if her watch was correct. It was only an hour flight.
She deserved to go and hang with her friends. Even if Nick had to practically drag her to the airport to get her to leave the house.
“You know what? Yes. I’d like a vodka tonic with lime, please.”
“That’s more like it.” Jinx clapped. “The same times three.”
“What if I didn’t want a vodka tonic?” Ivy popped her head up.
“What do you want, then?”
Ivy sighed. “Vodka tonic.”
“I thought so.”
The stewardess gave them an indulgent smile. “I’ll be right back, ladies.”
Jinx leaned into Chloe, her eyes fixed on the broad shoulders of Oblivion’s bass player, Deacon McCoy. “So, which of those delicious babes are you focusing on this weekend?”
Chloe snorted. “You’re on drugs. I’m so not interested in a rockstar again. Nope.”
Jinx winced. “Right. But you’ve been off the market for ages.” She tapped the ring on Chloe’s hand. “Even if you keep wearing that little ice chip.”
Chloe used her thumb to straighten her ring. “It’s just easier.” It didn’t even feel like her ring anymore. More like a little guardian angel against dealing with men. Of course, some nights at Rafferty’s, it was more like a neon challenge sign over her head, but mostly a deterrent.
“Well, this weekend isn’t about easier. It’s about fun. And it’s past time you get back on the horse. Or a studly male in this case.”
“I don’t jump into bed with people, Jinx. You know that.”
“Maybe it’s time to loosen up. You have a prime twenty-three-year-old pussy that is rotting away.”
Chloe crinkled her nose. “Nice.” She sighed. “Besides, this girl has given birth. There’s nothing prime about my…anything.”
Ivy turned in her seat and peeked over the top. “Seriously, you’re a hot redhead with curves that make men drool. You’re prime everything.”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “Also, every one of the guys in Oblivion is married.”
Jinx slumped in her chair. “That’s unfortunate.”
The stewardess came down the aisle with a tray of drinks. Jinx perked up again. No plastic cups on this flight. No, these were tall glasses with garnishes and thin straws with perfect wedges of lime on the rims.
Not like the half-dehydrated lime scraps from the restaurant Chloe worked at. These were fat and juicy. She could tell just from the looks of them as the woman set the drinks on their tables.
