“They’re pink, Penny. Pink cowboy boots.”
“What’s wrong with cowboy boots?”
I don’t say a word, merely raise an eyebrow at her, and she throws the pillow in my direction. “Okay, Miss Sophistication. I forgot that you’re too cool for cowboy boots.”
“Damn right I am.”
“You look hot tonight, by the way. I like your hair like that.”
I touch the bun. “You think? I wanted to wear it down but I had it in a ponytail all day and I didn’t have time to wash it again.”
“You should wear it like that more often. Makes your neck look long—and that’s never a bad thing for a shrimp like you.” She jumps up from the bed and heads to my dresser, where she rummages through my jewelry box. “Can I borrow this?”
I squint at the silver necklace, a cheapie chain I got at the mall a few years ago. “Sure.”
I spray a puff of perfume behind each ear and face myself in the mirror. I applied my make-up with a heavy hand and my eyes are smoky and mysterious looking. My lips are stained deep burgundy and my quick-fix hair makes me seem older. I look like a completely different person than I was this morning.
And that’s exactly how I want it.
“Let’s roll out,” I tell Penny, who has come up behind me to peer over my shoulder into the mirror. “There’s a beer at Jimmy’s with my name on it.”
“Are you okay?”
Our eyes meet in the mirror. “’Course I am.”
Her eyes narrow. “Are you sure?”
“Penny. I’m sure. Can we go?”
I turn to leave the room but she catches my arm. “Was he here today?”
I yank my arm away. “Yes, he was. So?”
She shakes her head at my defensiveness. “Maybe the bar’s a bad idea. Why don’t we stay in, instead? We can see what’s on Netflix and eat a bunch of junk food.”
I roll my eyes at her and push past her to the hallway. “I don’t need to be cheered up, Pen. I’m fine, okay? I’m just bored—I’ve been studying economics for the past two hours.”
I know she doesn’t buy it, but she doesn’t argue with me. Instead she follows me to the front door. “Don’t forget your phone,” she says softly. She sounds sad and I bristle at the implication that I might end up in trouble at some point this evening.
“Let’s go.”
I gesture for her to go out first and turn the radio off before joining her outside of the apartment. Before I shut the door, my eyes flick over the home I’m leaving behind. Empty. Quiet.
Going out was definitely the right choice.
Chapter Three
Cash
“I don’t know what you’ve been complaining about,” Daisy says, joining me at the patio table. “I mean, look at this view, Cash.”
“The view is not bad,” I agree, looking out over the sloping green hill reaching down to thick forest, the mountains in the distance. “If you like that sort of thing.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’d rather it be a city view?”
“No, Dais. I much prefer trees and dirt and forest animals to civilization.”
She makes a face at me. “So limited, Cash.”
“Whatever. Just because you’ve convinced my brother to live on a farm in the middle of nowhere doesn’t mean I have to like Podunk.”
“I didn’t convince Daltrey.” She laughs. “The farmhouse was totally his idea. I think he had grand visions of himself tending to the land or something. Or else he really liked the idea of a riding lawnmower.”
“Hey, I’m awesome on that mower,” Daltrey says from the open sliding glass door. He steps out onto the deck and joins us at the table, leaning over to kiss the top of Daisy’s head. “I was looking for you.”
“Sorry,” she smiles up at him. “I was sick of sitting inside. The view was calling to me.”
“We can go for a walk if you want,” he offers. “Blake was telling me about some trails on the property.”
I don’t bother to hide the derision on my face. Of course little farmer Daltrey is happy to go tramping through the mud in the woods. Lennon is already out there somewhere, probably sitting under a tree and writing in his diary, or whatever lame ass thing Lennon does when he goes off on his own—a pretty constant occurrence.
God, my brothers are losers.
“A walk sounds great,” Daisy says, brightening immediately. “I’ll need to change my shoes.”
“Why don’t you grab a jacket, too,” Daltrey says, running his fingers absently along her arm as she stands and passes. They’re always touching like that, whenever they’re in the same vicinity. It seems to be an automatic thing, something they’re not even aware of. I wonder, briefly, what that would be like—to be so drawn to another person that you simply couldn’t be near them without touching. I can’t imagine it, to be honest.
“So,” Daltrey says once Daisy is back in the cabin. “I think it’s going pretty well so far, don’t you?”
I scowl out at the tree line. “I don’t know if I would go that far.”
“Oh, come on, Cash. We’ve made more progress in the last forty eight hours than we have in all the weeks it took us to record the demos.” He pauses, lowering his voice. “And Blake hasn’t been that bad.”
I snort. “If he hasn’t been that bad, then why are you whispering? You sound terrified.”
He gives me a rueful grin. “Well, he’s been better than last time. How’s that?”
“It wouldn’t be hard to be better than last time…But the guest house does help,” I concede. The last time we were here, we stayed in Blake’s sprawling, uber-luxurious log house, where he could micromanage every aspect of our day. In the proceeding years, he’d had a guest cabin put in on the property so at least now we have some privacy. The cabin is on the small side, nowhere near as impressive as the log house, but I’ll take it over staying in Blake’s guest room any day. There’s also the increased independence—I have a feeling that Dad and the people from the label had talked to Blake as he was no longer treating us like recruits in some deranged song writing boot camp. He hadn’t even given us a curfew—a huge improvement over last time. I had managed to get through forty-eight hours in this cabin, in the middle of nowhere, without wanting to kill him. Or any of my brothers.
Yes, definitely an improvement.
Movement down below catches my eye as a brown-haired figure appears on the trail at the edge of the tree line. Lennon. He makes his way across the lawn before disappearing out of eyesight around the house.
“What’s your plan for the rest of the day?” Daltrey asks. We worked through the morning, playing the demo songs over and over again for Blake, who sat in his leather armchair, in silence, his eyes closed as he listened. When we would finish a song he would sit for long moments without speaking before finally making a single suggestion. “Play it slower.” “Switch the chorus and the verses.” “Do it acoustic.”
I had no idea what he was trying to accomplish. I thought we were supposed to be starting from scratch, not re-examining the crappy songs the label hated on an endless loop. But Reed had answered my frustrated grumblings with a serene, “he knows what he’s doing,” before going back to replay Finality for the tenth time.
After we broke for lunch, Blake informed us that he had several meetings in Seattle that afternoon and evening and we were off the hook until mid day tomorrow.
“Didn’t you hear Reed?” I ask, rolling my eyes. “He wants us to ‘take the inspiration’ from the morning session and write this afternoon.”
It’s Daltrey’s turn to roll his eyes. “God, that dude has such a goody-two-shoes streak. It’s horrifying.”
I laugh, making a mental note to call Reed a goody-two-shoes at some point in the next twenty-four hours. But Dalt’s next words manage to distract me even from the prospect of teasing Reed. “Anyhow, Blake said he didn’t want us playing without him today.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
“Something about us not bein
g ‘ready to create’ yet.”
I want to scoff at the pseudo-hippie bullshit Blake is always spouting, but I’m far too excited about the prospect of an entire evening off. I might actually be able to get out of this Grizzly Adams cabin.
Before I can ask Daltery if he wants to scrap his lame walk in favor of something more fun, Daisy returns dressed in jeans, a windbreaker, and well-worn hiking boots. Plus an ear-to-ear grin. I know immediately that it will be hopeless to try to convince them they’d rather go out with me—if the mere idea of hiking makes Daisy that happy, there’s no way Daltrey will even consider not following through. I say goodbye to them, trying to tamp down the feeling of irritation that I can’t quite explain to myself.
I debate going to find Reed but hear the door slide open behind me once more, a moment after Daisy and Daltrey disappear. “Where is everyone?”
I turn to face Lennon, who has apparently decided our time at the cabin means he needs to go full out hipster—he hasn’t shaved in a few days and he’s currently decked out in a flannel shirt and thick wool knitted cap. I raise an eyebrow at him. “Did you turn into a lumberjack without me noticing?”
He flips me off as he collapses into the chair vacated by Daltrey. “You should learn to embrace this a little bit, man. It might be good for you.”
“In what way would it be good for me?”
He gives me a look that’s almost pitying. “Getting out into nature, on your own, sometimes helps you to understand the way you think and feel a lot better than you would otherwise. I think it’s the quiet, you know?”
Because Lennon is always spouting touchy-feely bullshit like this, I promptly ignore him.
“So, where is everyone?” he asks again.
“Daisy and Daltrey went out to embrace the nature,” I said, not bothering to hide the derision in my tone. “And I have no idea where Reed is.”
Lennon smirks. “Probably still talking to Paige. She called right after lunch.”
“Is she coming out here?”
“Not for a while. She’s waiting for a school break.”
Reed has been trying to convince Paige that there’s no reason to finish her degree—she has a graphic design job with the band whenever she wants to take it. But she has a strong independent streak and has so far refused. I admire her for it, but part of me wishes she would just listen to him—he’s a whiney little bitch whenever they have to be apart for more than a few days at a time.
“Daltrey said we’re off until tomorrow.”
“That’s what I hear.”
Lennon puts his muddy boots up on the edge of the metal patio chair in front of him, taking in the view. “You have plans?”
“I was thinking I might want to get out of here.” I’m pretty sure I’m barking up the wrong tree if I’m looking for someone to join me in a night out. Out of all of my brothers, Lennon is the most reserved. Sometimes his introversion comes across as just being supremely chill. Other times I worry that he might be unhappy in some deep, complicated way that he would never tell me about. Regardless, he rarely goes out the way the rest of us do. Or, rather, the way I do, at least lately.
“Getting out of here sounds good,” he says, surprising the hell out of me. “I’m not sure what’s around, though.”
The last time we had done a writing session at Blake’s we had been prohibited from visiting any bars. But I sure as hell have no intention of following that kind of rule now.
“We could go to Seattle?” I suggest. It’s only an hour and half away, and we have a car here. More specifically, a Jeep, one that both Lennon and Daltrey insisted that we rent for our time in the woods. I suggested another S-Class, but I was roundly shot down.
Lennon shoots me a side-long glance. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
I immediately go on the defensive. “What does that mean?”
He doesn’t back down. “You’re out here to try to calm down some of the attention and speculation surrounding your antics. You think going into a major city to get plastered is the best way to do that?”
I scowl. I know he’s right and a part of me appreciates his bluntness. But damn if I’m not sick of being treated like a problem my brothers had to solve.
“Then we find something local. Even a shit town like this has to have a bar or two, right?”
He nods. “We’ll probably have to listen to country music, though.”
I laugh. “I think I can deal with that so long as it means I don’t have to stay here and look at Blake’s fucking modern art anymore.”
Lennon’s eyes widen. “Did you see that thing in the upstairs bathroom? What is it?”
“I thought it might be a tree. A really, really messed up tree.”
“Looks pretty demonic to me.”
I nod. “Scares the shit out of me.”
Lennon stands. “I think I’m going to go lie down for a while if we’re going out tonight. Meet you down here around nine?”
I nod, wondering how I’m going to pass the next two hours. There’s something about this cabin that makes me feel claustrophobic. Which is stupid, seeing as how half the walls are glass. There’s also the fact that it’s situated on the side of a hill with expansive views of the entire valley and the mountains beyond. But knowing that I’m stuck here with no one but my brothers and, heaven forbid, Blake to distract me, has me feeling almost panicky.
Lennon moves to the sliding door, slapping my shoulder as he passes and it suddenly occurs to me that my little brother might be agreeing to join me at the bar for altruistic reasons. I don’t know if I should find that touching or annoying.
After he’s gone I stare out at the mountains for a long while, counting down the minutes until I’ll be somewhere just a little less quiet.
***
Apparently there are only two bars in the entire town. Some kind of billiard hall that looks way too run down even for me, and a more general, hole-in-the-wall place that we choose by default. The gravel parking lot is pretty full and Lennon ends up parking the Jeep on the grass to the side, behind a battered, mud soaked truck that I figure is older than both of us.
“This doesn’t look too bad,” I say, trying to keep it positive. Lennon actually nods and I have to remind myself that he feels more at home in a low-key place like this than he does in the swank clubs we frequent on tour. Of course he likes it, I think to myself as I follow him up the gravel lot to the door. He didn’t even have to change out of his boots.
As soon as we open the door the noise assaults my senses. Immediately I feel a heavy knot of tension ease from my shoulders. This was exactly what I needed—music, beer, lots of people talking and having a good time. I marvel, not for the first time, that Daisy and Daltrey had chosen star-gazing over this.
Lennon snatches a table and I go up to the bar to grab us a few drinks. No one seems to pay us the slightest attention, and I’m not sure if that makes me happy or not. On one hand, it’s nice to not have dozens of sets of eyes following your every move, which is typical when I’m in any bar on either coast. On the other hand, there is something validating to my ego about the attention. I know that makes me shallow, but I don’t really care. Who wants to be a rock star without any of the benefits?
I bring our beers to the table, sliding one across from Lennon. “Listen to that,” I say, tilting my head toward the jukebox, which is currently blasting an ACDC song. “No country.”
“I’ll drink to that.” We clink our bottles together before each taking a long pull, looking around the room. The clientele is pretty varied, from grizzly looking trucker types to a group of guys dressed pretty much identical to Lennon in flannels and hipster beards. I roll my eyes and turn away, seeking out the female sector.
I grin to myself. The pickings are not nearly so hopeless as I might have feared. Sure, there are several girls rocking the unfortunate overly teased hair, orange-tanner-cursed skin look that I try to avoid. But there are plenty of woman who have clearly dressed for fun—there’s nothing like a pink
mini-skirt to turn a Saturday night around in the right direction.
Before I can point this out to Lennon, I feel a rough push at my shoulder. Looking up, I react just in time to catch the woman who is clearly about to face plant into the ground at our feet. I must overcompensate a little bit, because she somehow ends up in my lap.
“Crap!” she squeaks, trying to scramble down. I place my hands on her shoulders, glaring at the burly set of muscles in a tight t-shirt that knocked into us both and didn’t even pause to see if she was okay.
“Steady there,” I say, lifting her shoulders to place her back on her feet. The entire incident happened so fast that I barely noticed a thing about the girl, but now that she’s standing in front of me, my heart starts to thud in an unfamiliar way. “You okay?
She nods, pulling the hem of her blue dress down into place. “Sorry about that. That douchenozzle knocked into me.”
I laugh at her description. “Douchenozzle?
She nods, pushing a tendril of hair from her face and grinning at me. “Yeah. Total douchenozzle.”
“I must agree.”
I know that I’m staring at her, but I don’t think there’s much point in trying to stop—the girl is gorgeous. She’s short, much shorter than Daisy even, and dressed in a slinky looking cobalt blue dress that clings to every curve in a way that makes my mouth go dry. Her hair is dark brown and pulled up on the top of her head in a loose bun. The tendrils that are escaping have the effect of softening her face, which is slightly exotic looking and covered in a thick layer of makeup. Her brown eyes are smoky and dramatic and make my knees feel weak, even though I’m sitting.
“I’m Cash,” I say automatically, holding out my hand, desperate for her to reciprocate. She takes my hand in her little, pale one and some unknown shiver shoots straight up my arm.
“Samantha. Everyone calls me Sam.”
She looks over at Lennon and it’s like I’m coming up from a cold sea of water—I had completely forgotten he was there. Had basically forgotten where there even was. “Uh, this is my brother, Lennon.”
Her eyes widen and I realize that I’ve probably just given away our identity. Sure enough, she colors immediately and her eyes flick down, away from our faces. “Wow. I mean. Hi.”
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