by T. I. Lowe
“’Course not. I’m sexy now, ain’t I?” He grinned, brown eyes dancing in tease. “Ya looking good yourself.” He took his time studying her, happy that time seem to be healing her. Gone were Leona’s long dreadlocks, replaced by an asymmetrical bob with a rich brown hue near the roots and gradually lightening into a blonde at the tips. She was the group’s designated hippie growing up, and from the flowy sundress and Birkenstocks, she still fit the bill.
“What’s all this?” she questioned, rubbing her palms over his facial hair.
“Beards are in, didn’t you know?” He winked, fully enjoying the light banter after dwelling in such darkness for the last several days. He leaned in, and whispered not quiet enough, “Please tell me Kyle didn’t knock up your assistant and then marry her.”
The room erupted into laughter, cutting some of the tension. Leona laughed along with them before reining it in so she could answer him. “No. He married me, but I’m not pregnant.”
“Wha?” He looked at her dumbfounded for a few beats before glancing over at Kyle, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Leona stepped back and wrapped her arm around her teenage daughter, a sad smile brushed along her lips as Kyle joined in wrapping his arm around Phoebe. “Kyle has really been there for us the last two years.”
The room digressed back to that confused state he shuffled in on only minutes ago.
It looked like Kyle and Leona had some explaining to do.
•♫•♫•♫•
Jewels paced the master bedroom, the creamy whites and blues matched the rest of the beach house color pallet. She had decided it was time for a change last fall and it took until the spring to convince Leona to take the renovation on. The petite blonde shook her head, causing the long, wavy locks to tumble around her down-casted face.
Dillon stepped in front of her, halting the progression of her worrying steps, and brushed the hair away from her face. His large hands cupped her cheeks and tilted her head so that she had no choice but to allow him access to her green eyes.
“Talk to me, Pretty Girl.” The deep rumble of his voice soothed her instantly.
“I’m just… I don’t know how I feel about this.”
“At least you didn’t react how Kyle did when he first found out about us.” One of his dark brows lifted, charming her right into a low chuckle.
Kyle had handled his shock by giving Dillon a bloody lip. That was a New Year’s Eve to not be forgotten. They were only teenagers back then, but they were adults now and if Kyle and Leona were happy, then Jewels would get used to it.
“No, I’d never punch her. I just never would have guessed Kyle had been in love with her all these years.”
Her younger brother admitted how he’d loved Leona his entire life to the entire group downstairs earlier, shocking them all again. Not even Leona had known his feelings until last year. Kyle put in the transfer so that he could be there for Leona and Phoebe after Grant’s passing. He had no intentions of pursuing her romantically, just wanted to be there for her to lean on. But the more time they spent together, the more she began to reciprocate his feelings.
Dillon eased over to the foot of the California-king bed and pulled Jewels along with him until she was straddling his lap. “I think best friends make the best life partners.” His words were muffled as he coasted his lips along her neck.
“You do, do ya?” she teased while playing in his thick black hair.
The forceful Italian blood coursing through his veins seemed like a fountain of youth, no wrinkles and no greys dared mess with the enigmatic Dillon Bleu. He carried such a youthful soul, as well.
He growled slightly, pulling her snuggly against him. “Absolutely. Look how well we fit together.”
The heat between them escalated as their lips crashed together, but before Dillon could deepen the kiss, the door flung open.
“Ah gross! Can’t you two ever knock that stuff off?” Will’s upper lip curled in revulsion.
“Perhaps you need to learn to knock first, kid.” Dillon leveled his son with a warning look that clearly said to get lost, but Jewels was already climbing off his lap before he could stop her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, settling beside her irritated husband on the bed.
Will scratched the back of his neck and focused on his more welcoming parent. He tried not to dwell on the fact that her hair was a hot mess. Shaking his head and clearing unwanted images away, he said, “Max is acting weird.”
“What’s new with that?” Dillon leaned his elbows on top of his knees and interlocked his fingers, his rigid demeanor was clearly not welcoming.
“More than normal. He’s down in the basement, staring at his guitars like they might have some answer he’s searching for.” His brows furrowed together, clearly worried about his friend.
Dillon shrugged. “They just might. How about go down there and ask him to teach you a new riff or break or something.”
Will eyed his dad knowingly. “You’re just trying to get rid of me.”
“Straight up,” Dillon admitted with no hesitation. “I’ll check on Max later. Now get out.”
With a huff and a wagging finger toward his parents, Will said, “You two behave yourselves.” He slinked back out the door, closing it a little too sharply behind him.
Dillon hopped up and locked the door before pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it behind him. His hair perfectly mussed and a devilish smile showcased his dimples.
“What are you up to, Dimples?” Jewels giggled as she watched her handsome husband stalk in her direction, kicking off his shoes in the process.
Mischief twinkled in his nearly purple eyes as he worked his belt loose. “I don’t feel like behaving.”
“No?” Jewels asked, heat traveling up her neck as his strong hand landed there, feeling her pulse flutter.
“Not even a little,” he said before reclaiming her lips.
•♫•♫•♫•
Will found Max in the same state he had left him, sitting on the couch staring at the guitars displayed before him.
“What’s up, hotshot?” Will plopped down beside him and fixed his eyes on the red Gibson. It was a custom design that Max got to do a few years back. The same sheet music tattoo whirling up his arm also whirled up the white fretboard. “I’m taking that one.” He nodded his head toward it.
That seemed to snap Max out of his trancelike state. He blinked before focusing on the Gibson in question. “The heck you are.”
One sure thing about Maxim King was he was deftly possessive over his beloved guitars, never parting with them easily. At least twenty or so always traveled with him on tours.
Will stood and gathered two acoustics, leaving the red beauty on the stand, and handed Max one before settling back on the couch. He strummed a few chords. “Teach me something, ole wise one.”
Max snorted. “So you can steal my place in the band?”
“You old geezers will have to retire one of these days. Might as well impart your mad skills on me before arthritis settles into your decrepit fingers.”
“You got such an arrogant mouth on ya.” Max narrowed his glare at Will and held it there while his fingers brought the strings to life in a rapid melody, making it impossible for Will to catch the order of the chords.
“Alright, wise guy. You made your point. Now teach me that.”
The two sat on the couch for a long stretch with Max patiently showing Will the riffs. Oddly enough, the guitars seemed to bring him out of his funk.
“What’s wrong, young whippersnapper?” Max mimicked an elderly voice while he watched Will flex his fingers, knowing he made another point that his fingers wouldn’t be slowing down any time soon.
“Nothing,” he muttered, dropping his hands in his lap.
Max rose, stretched his back, and moved to place the guitar back on its display. “I’m starving.”
Will snorted. “Nothing new there.” He put away his guitar as well, standing several inches tal
ler than Max’s six-foot stature. “Izzy has a salad made.”
“It’s wise for me not to be eating anything from Izzy for a while.” He slid a pair of flip-flops onto his feet while shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his shorts.
“What did you do now?” Will watched him curiously.
That twitchy shoulder shot up in a shrug as he said, “I sorta gave her a scare with one of her kids so I could steal a pie. She wasn’t cool with that.”
“I bet not. Where are you heading?”
“I want a hot dog.” Max shoved a set of keys in his pocket before pulling on a lightweight plaid shirt with a country western flair to it. He unrolled the sleeves and buttoned the pearl snaps at his wrists to conceal his tattoo.
“Pinks?” Will asked and Max nodded. “That’s a bit of a haul from here. How are we getting there?”
“I’ve got a set of wheels, but who said you were invited?” He lifted a brow at the kid he’d witness grow before him over the years into the too-sure-of-himself man.
“Come on, man. Let me go with ya.”
Max didn’t know why Will was all of a sudden attaching himself to him like white on rice, but he had no real reason to refuse the kid a slamming hot dog. “Meet me in the garage. Hurry it up.”
Those long legs had already disappeared upstairs before Max finished speaking. Will yelled from above, “Sweet. Let me grab my shoes.”
A few minutes later, Will rushed in the garage nearly out of breath, but froze at the new addition to the auto collection. In the midst of three sleek SUV’s, one top-of-the-line Jeep Wrangler, and a half dozen shiny Harleys sat an outcast.
“Dude, tell me you didn’t buy this piece of crap.” Will wrinkled his nose while eyeing the rusted late-model pickup truck. Hints of baby-blue peeked out in a few spots, letting it be known that at one point there had been actual paint on the beat-up body.
Max moved to the driver’s door. “Language,” he mock-scolded, allowing plenty of sarcasm to coat the word. His eyes went wide with bogus outrage.
“Man, if that’s the worst I ever say,” Will retorted.
“Ya preaching to the choir on that one, kid.” Max held his hands up lazily.
Will circled around the poor excuse for transportation. “Seriously, why this?”
Max pulled two worn cowboy hats out of the back. “What happens when we parade around in your pop’s tricked-out Escalade?”
“Lots of attention.”
“Yep. He’s broadcasting. I ain’t feelin’ up to that today.”
“I get it.” Will nodded his head.
“Good. Then get in and let’s go.” He tossed one of the hats and Will caught it one-handed.
“What’s with the hats?”
Max shoved the other straw hat on low and refrained from rolling his eyes at the kid’s naivety. “To hide your purdy mug. Come on, man, wake up and stop with all the questions.”
“Oh,” Will drawled out as the lightbulb blinked on with understanding. Shoving the hat on low, Will plopped onto the vinyl seat and slammed the door, leaving a dusting of rust on the garage floor.
Max slid in and after trying to start the engine a few times, the truck coughed heavily to life. He worked on syncing his phone to the impressive sound system that was way out of place and clearly a new addition. A few moments later, heavy guitar riffs filled the cab of the truck, then the heavy bass kicked up to rattle the windows.
“‘Santa Monica’? Really?”
“Straight up. Everclear should be on your playlist as a lyrical lesson.” Max turned the volume up even louder as one of his all-time favorite bands crooned out in a harsh declaration of wanting to find themselves a new place and wanting to see some palm trees.
The ancient pickup truck puttered down the Santa Monica Boulevard, owning it. Both cowboy hats ticked to the thick beat Everclear delivered as the guys sang along to the top of their lungs, releasing pent-up frustrations in a creative way until they were close to becoming hoarse.
Halfway to the best hot dogs on the planet, both guys morphed back to just listeners. The more relaxed expression on Max’s face from their earlier jam session began to harden again, lines forming along his brow with lips pressed firmly together. Now his eyes were trained on the palm-tree-lined boulevard as though it may have held the answer he needed.
Will kept stealing side glances, worrying the mood would carry to the stage that night. He wished Max would talk to him. Nervous to broach the subject, Will decided to try another approached as he leaned forward to turn the music way down.
“Stella is hawt! I ain’t ever seen grey eyes like hers before.”
“Who?” Max mumbled distractedly, not taking his attention off the road.
“Leona’s assistant.”
Max finally glanced over, but quickly went back to studying the highway. “Ain’t she too old for ya?”
“Nah, man. She’s only three years older.
“Like father, like son.” Max snorted.
“Mona is older than you, too. Only by a few months, but still…” Will threw it out there, but wished he hadn’t when Max’s face crumbled. Clearly, the problematic nail had been hit on the head. “What’s up with you?”
Max worried his thumbnail between his teeth, not wanting to answer, but the burden weighed too heavy. “We split.” His voice barely had enough volume to confess the two words, but from Will’s quick intake of breath, they were received.
“That sucks, man.”
“No doubt.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
Max left his nail alone and shook his head. “Nah. Right now I just want to eat a hot dog.” He pulled into the busy little place, lucking up with actually finding a vacant parking space. Max left his funk in the cab of the truck, and sent out a challenge to Will as he slid on a pair of Logan’s aviators wanting to blend in more. As they stood in line, Max nudged Will’s arm with his.
“What?”
“Hot dog eating contest. Winner gets the Gibson.”
Will was naïve enough to think he had a shot at the coveted guitar and shook Max’s hand automatically. “You’re on.”
Max grinned knowingly as he ordered two dozen chili dogs and two large sodas. Maybe he could push down the hurt clawing at his gut with the food and a little friendly competition since the pie didn’t cut it earlier.
The guys were actually able to go unrecognized. The only odd looks they received were over the obscene amount of hot dogs they ordered and then commenced to devouring. In the charismatic world of Maxim King, he declared it a successfully normal afternoon…
Or it was until he had to park in the median on the boulevard so Will could puke underneath the sparse shade of a tall palm tree.
Leaning out the truck as he pushed down on the rusty horn, Max hollered, “Come on, lightweight! We gotta hit it!”
Will shuffled back to the truck and slowly slid back inside. The rest of the trip back to the beach house was filled with miserable moans and gagging.
Later on, Max strolled up the back deck of the beach house where everyone was gathered. They all seemed ready for the concert and were just catching up with Leona and Kyle. Seeing the newly married couple caused his heart to squeeze in pain, reminding Max of how he had squandered his chance.
“Hey, hey,” Trace welcomed, drawing Max’s unfocused attention.
“Yo,” he muttered.
“Where have you been and where’s Will?” Jewels demanded while braiding Grace’s long black hair.
“We grabbed some hot dogs.” As Max eased over to the deck table the sounds of violent retching came from the side of the house. “He’s okay. Thought he could out-eat me. Guess that’s a lesson learned.”
Jewels was instantly up and out of her chair, but Will came around the corner looking pale before she got too far. “Will, you should have known better than to try out-eating Wormy.”
“Hey!” Max spoke up, while gesturing to his not-wormy physique. Jewels glared at him, so he thought it best to let her
slide.
Will moaned as he staggered into the house with Jewels following him. “Let’s get you some antacids,” she offered along with a pat on the back.
“Thanks for the invite,” Mave snapped.
“Figured you were busy eating salad.” Max gave Mave a wry smile, causing his brother to reciprocate it with a punch in the arm.
“Not cool,” Mave muttered, heading inside as well.
“How many dogs did Will eat?” Dillon asked, his feet kicked up on the deck table with his hands laced behind his head. Always laidback.
“I think he managed about nine.”
“And you?” Logan asked, mimicking Dillon’s pose on the other side of the table. His aviators concealing the amusement twinkling in his golden eyes.
“Thirteen, but then I grabbed a few more for the drive home.” Max shrugged before heading in to shower, leaving the guys chuckling.
FIVE
“Mess Around”
-Cage the Elephant
“What If I”
-Meghan Trainor
Tate pushed through the guarded door of the green room that was actually grey. He found the band hanging out as they always did before a concert. Three black leather couches and a few plush chairs were occupied by the guys as well as Blake and Ben. Both Mave and Will were using a set of barstools as makeshift drums while the others watched on. The family had already been escorted to the VIP section up front of the arena to catch the opening show, so now was the bands calm before the show.
Well, that was the plan…
“Interview time. Max, you may want to put a shirt on,” Tate said, eyeing the half-dressed guitarist, also noticing no shoes were on his feet.
Max looked up from the guitar he was lazily strumming. “Why’s that?”
“This is a live interview for Entertainment Now, and they want to feature you.” Tate picked up the shirt resting on the arm of Max’s chair and signaled for him to put it on.
“Why’s that?” Max repeated, not making a move for the shirt.
