Born Into Trouble (Occupy Yourself Book 1)

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Okay, shrimp.” Slate’s voice was full of pride. “Take off the blinders.”

  Luce’s fingers got there before his and she pushed the tightly-tied fabric up and off his head, dangling it from her hand as he blinked in the bright light. What the fuck? His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Luce’s hand as he turned in a half circle, looking around in shock. There were amps, guitars, microphone stands, and a drum kit. The wall of glass in front of him revealed what looked like a sound room. Everything, down to the overlapping rugs on the floor pointed to one thing. The space had all the trappings of, “A recording studio?”

  He faced Slate, taking in his brother’s self-pleased stance, hands shoved in his pockets, rocking back on the heels of his black biker boots, a broad smile on his face. “You built a recording studio.” Not a question, but he slowly felt his way through the words, his tone disbelieving. “A recording studio. I’m standing in a live room. In your house.” Slate and Ruby had moved into a house a couple of months ago, not long after he moved out into his apartment. There was a huge outbuilding attached to their house via the garage and Slate had been cagey about what he intended for the space. Now Benny knew. He pointed to the walls of glass. “You built a recording studio in your house.”

  Stunned, he looked around again to see all the guys there, standing slightly apart from the bikers gathered around. As often as the band had played Marie’s, and for all Mitty and Vic lived with Bear for a while, only Vic had gotten comfortable around the rough and ready men who made up the Rebel Wayfarers. Seeing the band there, he couldn’t wait, words boiling out of him. “Sticks and strings? Wanna go? Try it out? See how she flies?” Bonnie was the first to move, and he mentally adjusted how he thought about the band. No longer all guys, she’d blended with them so well, it was as if she’d always played with them.

  He told them what they already knew, the impossible thing Slate had handed him. “My brother built a recording studio in his house.” No more scrimping and saving to get put on a list for studio time, no more stressing about the hours spent behind the mixing boards pushing faders, dollar signs ringing up with every sweep of the minute hand.

  A thought hit him, and he turned to Slate. “I can use it, right?” A disbelieving headshake and grin were Slate’s response, and Benny gave Luce’s hand a squeeze before releasing his hold and striding over to Slate. Gripping the back of his neck, he stared into his brother’s eyes, thrilled that the same love he felt was shining back at him. “Love you, brother.”

  “Love you, shrimp. Happy twenty-eighth. Promise to hang around a while, yeah?” His voice roughened near the end, and Benny barely heard his repeated, “Love you, shrimp.” Pulling him in for a hard, back-pounding hug, Slate muttered, “More than you know, baby bro.” Shared sentiments.

  “Back atcha,” Benny whispered, opening his eyes to find Mercedes staring at them, her gaze evaluating and after a moment, the corner of her mouth twitched and Benny relaxed. It was all good. Every bit of it.

  It was hours later and they were still at it. Long after all the Rebel members had wandered away, going outside where a family barbecue was set up complete with kids running wild in the yard, jumping in and out of the pool, and babies napping in the nursery, music continued to feed out of the speakers. Slate was lounging in a chair behind the boards, while the OY members were scattered around the sound room, tuning and playing softly. They were trying to be patient as Vic messed with his kit for what seemed like the hundredth time that night already.

  Staring through the windows at him, Benny waited until Slate cocked his head to one side, until he was certain his brother’s focus was firmly on him, when he mouthed his thanks. Then, he strummed louder and began to sing, fingers flicking through an old advertising tune. “Oh my brother has a first name, it’s A-N-D-R-E-W. My brother has a last name, it’s D-I-C-K-H-E-A-D.” Laughing, he watched as Slate lifted both hands, flying the bird on both of them, grinning widely at him.

  ***

  Benny could hear Bethany’s frustration when she spoke; over the phone, it even colored her laughter. She hadn’t counted on dealing with this much of a challenge when Iron Indian took on OY, and found to her dismay the band’s history dogged nearly every engagement she attempted. “Gonna crack this nut, Benny. Don’t worry, babe. I have a hundred options in my bag of tricks yet.”

  As always, he was surprised she wasn’t more pissed at how poorly he’d handled things last year, and the year before. Instead, she came off angry at the poor management they’d gotten from Benita, and furious at the venue owners and radio stations who called the band a has-been, pointing her towards booking the kind of dives they were already playing around the Fort.

  Fortunately, those bars had turned into a groundswell of fan activity, and he loved seeing how they were packed, crowds standing shoulder-to-shoulder when OY was on the bill. The people enjoyed listening to the band, and since their last song in a set was guaranteed to always be as well delivered as their first, those folks hung around all night, which the bars loved. The real fans enjoyed their easy access to the band, crowding around between sets to ask questions and take selfies. The regulars at the bars had learned about Benny’s path to sobriety, and now were as big a defender as Mercedes when it came time to deflect innocent offers from newbies.

  Bethy had a broad knowledge of direct-to-fan promotions, and was a wizard at managing social media, so in addition to being their representative at the label, had basically become their general manager, too. Ten places in the Fort vied for eight shows a month. They could have played another eight, but Benny knew what he needed now, and for once, he wasn’t afraid to ask for it, defend it if needed. Lucia helped, reminding Bethy of the three days reserved for group, and then the band needed practice time, so that filled the other two, leaving them Friday and Saturday for shows.

  Every gig got them decent cash, and every performance brought Benny closer to where he needed to be in his own head. Looking out at the crowded floor in front of the slightly elevated stages, heaving with bodies moving to the music OY made, he would watch in fascination as mouths echoed the words back to him, learning every new song, feeding energy back to the band in a way they all needed.

  But larger venues in the area were booked months in advance, and venues in other regions were understandably reluctant to take a chance on what was considered a relaunch band. Especially one that currently had limited airtime on syndicate, Internet, or public stations. They needed an in, and like Bethany, Benny knew all it took was one chink in the dam to pull the whole thing down. They hadn’t found their in yet.

  “You’ll get this, Bethy,” he gave her assurances he felt were needed, and she laughed.

  “I know I will, Ben. This ain’t my first rodeo.” Warmth suffused her voice when she asked, “My nephew doing well? He never calls his aunt these days.”

  The smile faded from Benny’s face. This was the one thing he didn’t have a handle on. Chase. The boy was remote and surly by turns, making Benny worry he’d started drinking again, or something worse, but careful questioning had only turned up the volume on the crabby without providing evidence for Benny’s fears, so he’d backed off. Chase was short-tempered even with Lucia, someone who, next to Benny, was his best friend. He shook his head. “Boy’s got something going on, Bethy. He’s playing well, practicing all the time.” He hesitated before offering, “Almost obsessively. I can’t get a handle on him.”

  “He loves Lucia.” Mercedes’ quiet voice came from behind him, and he swung to look at her, a scoffed laugh breaking from him when she rolled her eyes at his shock.

  From the phone, he heard a slow, drawled, “Maybe I’ll talk to Mason.” Bethy paused, cautious. “See what he knows.”

  Eyes to Mercedes, he answered, “Would be good, I think. His dad would know him best.” He frowned at the face Mercedes pulled as she gave a little jump, settling herself on top of the desk in the corner. “Someone walked in, Bethy. I gotta go.” Goodbyes said, he disconnected the phone and
stared at Mercedes. With one contribution to a conversation she wasn’t part of, she had provided a piece to a puzzle he’d been worrying about for weeks. He was incredulous he hadn’t seen it before, and wanted to be sure of what she was saying. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s loved her as long as I’ve been around, probably as long as he’s known her.” She tipped her head, gaze moving to the doorway past Benny. “It’s nothing you did, Lucia. The young man’s done a good job masking it with the close friendship you have.” Without turning, Benny held his hand out and, moments later, felt the heat of Lucia’s grip as she snuggled into his back. He used her arm around his belly to pull her in front of him, folding her into his arms as Mercedes continued, “But he hasn’t missed the change in this relationship,”—her waving finger indicated the two of them—“and he’s now coming to terms with unrequited love.”

  Sadness stole across Lucia’s features, and he leaned down, touching his mouth to hers in a quick brush. “You fucking see everything, Mercedes. I didn’t see it,” he said, angling his eyes to where Mercedes sat. “How did I not see?”

  “He didn’t want you to. You were vocal about your affection for Lucia.” She grinned. “I’m not telling tales now. Luce knows exactly how you love her, but you never once hid what you wanted, except from her.” With a shake of her head, she said, “Best guess? He wanted this for you, in an abstract ‘I want my friends happy’ way, because Luce, you weren’t trying to hide what you wanted, either, so he knew his affection wasn’t to be. But the heart wants what the heart wants.” Another grin lifted her lips. “Woody was right. There’s no logic.”

  “The cartoon character?” Benny shook his head, having a hard time following Mercedes, as usual.

  She threw back her head and laughed, loud and long, corded muscles in her neck working. Without thinking, he dropped his arms and made his way to the desk, scrabbling at the surface for a paper and pencil. Laughter ringing in the air, firm friendships forged in fire. Solid, holding tight. Memories of times we both share, strong faith because you inspire. He made a face at the last line, shaking his head. Fire. I could change that. He underlined the word, then drew a quick line down to inspire. At laughter in the room, he looked up, startled, having lost himself in the words, which had been flowing fast and easy since he stopped fighting his love for Lucia.

  “Allen.” Mercedes’ laughter rang in the room again because he was so clearly confused.

  “What does my nephew have to do with anything?” It could be frustrating, how she jumped from topic to topic in a way it that made it hard to keep up, but from the beginning, she’d challenged him in ways he needed. Still did.

  “Woody Allen,” Lucia provided, and laughed, leaning her ass against the desk on the other side of Mercedes. He looked at her and shook his head. The two women had developed a close friendship since the night of the show at Marie’s.

  “What?” Fire. Forged in the fire. Firm friendships wrapped with bonds of steel. Bending to the paper, he reorganized lines, scratching through words and phrases nearly as quickly as he jotted them down. My faith in you coloring all I feel. Coloring. Shading. Sheltering. My faith in you sheltering all we feel.

  “Let me hear it.” That was Mercedes, and it was the same phrase she always used. Non-judgmental, patient, but demanding nothing less than his full participation. Always.

  “Laughter ringing through thin air. Memories of times we both share. Strong, promises circled round with love. Solid, holding tight. Firm friendships wrapped with bonds of steel, Faith in us sheltering all we feel. Loving this, feels so right.” He looked up to see two feminine sets of eyes trained on him, and he paused a moment, unreasonably nervous. With a shrug, he muttered, “Doesn’t suck.”

  “No, Bibi.” Mercedes reached out, gripping Luce’s fingers tightly. The connection between these two women—women who meant so much to him in very different ways—was something he didn’t understand but loved seeing. “That doesn’t suck.”

  Twenty-Six

  “Sounds good,” Benny shouted down the hallway in response to a question from Mitty. They were setting up for a weekend run at Marie’s. They’d played this stage enough the set-up could be done in their sleep, so he was letting Mitty run the load-in while Mercedes chatted with Gypsy out by the bar. This meant he was squatted in the staging room alone, going through the microphone flight box, slotting fresh batteries in the belt packs of the in-ear monitors they’d be trying out tonight. They didn’t need them for Marie’s, wedge monitors on the edge of the stage were more than the place really needed, but Bethy had upgraded them from the ones Danny had rigged three years ago, muttering about tools and artists, and Benny wanted to try them out. More sponsors were a good thing. Humming under his breath, he had worked his way through three sets and was grinning at the neon nail polish Bonnie had used to identify hers when there were footsteps behind him.

  He shook his head. He knew Mitty could do this. He knew it, but Mitty was nervous because it was his first solo run, so he’d been checking in with Benny every few minutes. “Dude, I said it sounded good. Go with your gut, man. You got this.”

  When there still wasn’t a response, he grinned down at the equipment in his hands, thumb snapping the battery cover into place on the wireless receiver. “Mitty. Man, you got this.” He put one knee to the floor and twisted in place, grinning widely as he turned around to face the door.

  His smile faded quickly when he saw it wasn’t Mitty standing there, and every muscle in his body locked in place in unpleasant surprise at his visitor. “Benita.” He hardly recognized his own voice, loud and angry in a way that shocked him, not realizing he had so much bottled up. With effort, he stopped himself from following those emotions, digging into his psyche to find out why she had so much power still, instead simply staring at her. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “Hi, Benny.” Fuck him, her voice was soft and small, uncertain in a way he used to like. He’d liked it when she was unsure of herself; it was the only time he felt he had the upper hand in their dysfunctional relationship. Now, with what he had found with Lucia, he knew needing to have the upper hand was a sign that dysfunctional wasn’t even the right word for what he’d experienced before.

  So different, what he and Luce had. They’d been finding their way through this new territory together, discovering things about each other and themselves which were good, and right, and held the promise of so much more.

  “Don’t fucking ‘hi, Benny’ me. You got no place here, and you know it. Made it clear when you called two months ago, you got no place. Why are you here?” A call Ruby hadn’t been around to interrupt, but Mercedes had played bouncer, taking the device from his fingers and hanging up on Benita as soon as she realized who was on the phone. He pushed off his knee and stood, holding his ground with some effort when she took the first step towards him. “No closer, can’t hardly stand your air from here, would rather it not choke me.” Her flinch at his words caused him a moment of discomfort, but then he remembered everything that had happened over the past year and a half. The only parts she’d been present at were the bad ones, ones that were in response to shit she’d stirred up, so he tried to set aside his discomfort as he had the need to analyze his responses.

  “Benny…” She trailed off, and he shook his head.

  “What do you want?” She wouldn’t have made this trip for old times’ sake, so maybe asking bluntly what her end game was would pry the information out of her. “Know you, know you want something. What do you expect to get out of me?” She had taken two or three quick steps before he got his hand up, palm flattened towards her. “Said I didn’t want you any closer, bitch.”

  This didn’t get a flinch but earned him a scorching glare. She hated the word, hated the c-word even more, and being around the Rebels, he’d learned a number of very unattractive ways to refer to women when they were being bitches, and he’d pull every one of those out if needed to make her keep her distance.

  “I understand OY
is doing well. I believe you’ve got a twelve-show run lined up. Isn’t that right?” Her head tipped slowly to one side, chin down in a way he figured she thought looked cute, but on her, looked like she was trying too hard. “Thought you could use a seasoned tour manager.”

  This was the first he’d heard about a tour, but he had skipped a scheduled call with Bethy that afternoon, not worrying about it since she knew about their gig here tonight, would know they’d be getting ready for the show. Benita kept talking. “Figured if I showed up, you couldn’t say no. At least I hoped you wouldn’t say no.” Her eyes flashed, and she smiled at him. “I know how you like things, Benny. I can make everything easy for you.”

  Another two steps from her had him retreating again, finding the wall with his back, and then her hands were on him. Even through his tee, her touch on him had bile rolling up the back of his throat as every encounter with Benita flashed in front of his eyes.

  “You…” He was panting for breath, trying to force down the vomit surging upwards, shaking his head even as his hands came up, gripping her wrists and tearing them away from him. “Goddammit.” She twisted one hand free, and fast as a striking snake slipped it down the front of his pants, cupping his cock and balls with a firm squeeze that had the expected result.

  Tipping her face up, she fucking smiled at him, the look one he remembered well, the one she wore just before she got whatever it was the spoiled bitch wanted. Took what she wanted from him, regardless of what he said. A sound registered and he looked up from Benita to see the door closing slowly, swinging shut on an empty hallway. This broke through his shock, and he pushed her away, hard, not giving one fuck that her nails scored him as her hand pulled free. Also not giving one fuck that she stumbled, falling backwards, reaching out with a hand to catch herself against the wall. “Benjamin.”

  At the shocked and scolding tone, her Wyoming accent harsh and flat, nothing like the lilt of Lucia saying his name in the Spanish way, Benny threw back his head and laughed. I’m stronger than this, stronger than she made me. I’ve got Luce, and she’s everything I need. Shaking his head, he spoke through his laughter. “You got no place here, Benita. Don’t want your brand of crazy, don’t need it. I see now I never did. Don’t you see? I never needed you.” He felt his face twisting, memories of every hated thing she’d done nearly overwhelming him.