by Cari Quinn
Once she turned back, he was sliding into the end of the song, nearing the part where he’d fallen to his knees the other night. Almost there. He climbed the frets, dueling with Elle, letting Molly’s rich, whisky-soaked voice wash over him as they approached that final pinnacle. And just as he was about to let the music suck him into the end, hell broke loose.
Over his goddamn head.
Literally.
The crack above his head reminded him of the other night, as did the shower of sparks. But there weren’t supposed to be any pyrotechnics at this show. Definitely weren’t supposed to be screams as a large arm of lights swung down from the rafters, seeming to hesitate in mid-air before it landed on the stage—right where Molly had been a moment before.
There was a hiss and a crackle as lightbulbs exploded, setting off more sparks, then another hiss and snapping sound from the back near the control boards. The overhead lights in the club pulsed on and off and then went out completely an instant before a roar filled Michael’s ears. Water streamed from the ceiling, and he was instantly drenched from head to toe.
Somehow he gathered his wits enough to pull the strap of his guitar over his head and set it down on a speaker. Then he grabbed Elle and shoved her toward where Molly and Juliet were trying to step around the shards of glass and still sizzling wires. “Don’t touch anything,” he shouted.
He was about to make sure Ry and West and Jazz were okay when one overriding thought stamped out everything else in his mind. Obliterating everything else.
Find Chloe.
He’d just reached the steps at the side of the stage when a body slammed into his. Hair whipped across his mouth and he brushed it away, squinting to see in the murky darkness lit only by the emergency lights that had popped on over the exits.
It was all he needed to glimpse the eyes he adored.
Thank God.
“Are you okay?” She touched him everywhere at once, searching for wounds. It was such a mom thing to do that even in the midst of insanity, he had to laugh—and lift her off her feet to kiss the hell of her while water poured over them both.
“Can’t—do—this—not—now.” She panted between hungry, frantic kisses. Already the lush, warm shape of her in his arms was familiar to him, refilling the oxygen he’d lost from the terror of not knowing she was okay.
“Have to,” he chanted back, slanting his mouth over hers. “Fucking have to.”
When the fear began to subside, he cupped her face and drew back. Absolute chaos and had erupted in the club, with everyone running and shouting as the water poured down. And he might as well have been glued to the floor, stuck in this moment with Chloe.
Someone tugged hard on his sleeve. “Gotta evacuate, now. Let’s go,” Lila commanded, reaching out for Chloe with her other hand.
He swallowed hard and grabbed his Takamine—no way was he leaving Jimi behind, even if the guitar wasn’t anything but potential wall art now—and followed them down the short set of stairs to begin the arduous push to the exits.
Once they were outside, Chloe wanted to find the friend she’d come with. He knew he couldn’t keep her with him any longer, and besides, he had band stuff to deal with. This was a clusterfuck, and the fire trucks were already screaming in the distance.
“I’ll text you later.” He cupped her face. “Promise me you’ll go straight home with your friend.”
She nodded, her long ropes of wet hair hanging in her face. Even her lashes were starred with water. “I will. Be safe, okay?”
“I will if you will.” He gave her one last hard kiss and tucked her soaked hair behind her ears. “Thanks for coming to the show. Maybe next time it won’t be quite so eventful.”
She smiled and squeezed his wrists. “You were amazing. So good you tore down the rafters.”
Laughing, he gave her a light shove and dipped his hands in his jeans pockets as he watched her walk back to her friend.
He picked up his waterlogged guitar and returned to where Lila and the rest of his band mates and Jazz were clustered near the smaller tour bus they used for local events at the back of the lot. Hunter and Tristan had joined them, as well as Harper and her brother, who seemed to be trying to extricate himself.
“I have to get back to the crew. We checked and rechecked everything but Jesus, something went haywire.”
“Let the firemen and women figure it out. That’s their job.”
“Harp, it’s mine to make sure equipment is up to code and that everything is ready to go. If something goes wrong, it’s—”
“Not an if something goes wrong in this case, Sparks. Something did go wrong in a big way, and I’d suggest you not try to get a job on our crew anytime soon.” Juliet marched past Randy, bumping into him as she went.
Michael cleared his throat. “She’s wet and pissed. Her hair’s all messed up.”
This time, he was the one who got bumped—by Molly, who beelined after Juliet. “Asshole.”
Women. They always stuck together.
Michael tipped back his head and stared at the slice of moon obscured by the thick dark clouds above. In the distance, more sirens were wailing.
So much for being ready to rock.
Chapter 20
Chloe sent back a text to Michael. It was sweet that he worried, even if she wasn’t used to it. She let him know that she’d made it home before stuffing her phone back into her pocket.
“You can stop here.”
Wanda slowed and pulled over. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. It’ll be easier for you to get out of here too.”
“I’m not worried about that. Fifty points if I hit a reporter.”
Chloe snorted and swung her feet out. They were a full block away from her house. “Thanks for the ride, sweetie.”
“Anytime, doll. Your man’s band is delicious. Extra points for excitement tonight and ingenuity.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Hope he brings that home, too.”
She closed the door and leaned through the passenger window. “He’s not my man.” When Wanda gave her an arched brow she rolled her eyes. “We’re still figuring stuff out.”
“I saw what was left of the couch. You’re figuring stuff out just fine.”
Chloe’s cheeks burned. “That was not on purpose.”
“Never is. Me and Carl have busted up a few couches in our time. We Time is what we called it.”
“Not sure I want that in my brain.”
Wanda cackled. “Just because I’m almost twice your age doesn’t mean I’m dead.” Wanda’s husband was super tall, and she…well, Wanda was about Chloe’s size with five times the boobs. The only time Chloe had been busty was when she’d been pregnant. The girls left her again as soon as she’d stopped breast feeding.
Unfairness seemed to be a recurring theme lately.
Then again she didn’t have the aching back that most of the girls did at Rafferty’s. Small favors in this life evidently.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
“You got it, cupcake.”
Chloe’s feet were aching like the very devil and she didn’t want to walk the five hundred feet up her driveway let alone another block, but her father had texted her with an update at the end of Michael’s show. There were still a bunch of vans waiting outside.
Why the hell was she so popular?
Because your husband was boning a senator’s fiancée. She was paying a stupidity tax for every move she made these days. She crossed the road, then cut through her neighbor’s yard and through the gap in the chainlink fence.
A rustle in the bushes pushed her into a sprint. She really didn’t want to have it out with Daryl—the neighborhood mutt. He was part bulldog, part retriever, all interested in eating shoes.
She got to the top of the lawn and a spotlight blinded her.
“Oh, crap.” Chloe raised a hand against the light. Four more camera lamps zeroed in on her in the middle of Mr. Zulinski’s lawn. Double crap. Couldn’t be her neighbor on the other side. Nope ha
d to be her landlord’s cranky uncle.
She stumbled back, tripping over the edgers along her neighbor’s garden.
“How’s it feel to be married to a home wrecker?”
“Did you have a quickie wedding because you’re pregnant?”
“Is your son Michael’s love child?”
“How long have you known Michael Shawcross?”
“Are you getting an annulment?”
“Are you divorcing him? Is there a prenup?”
“Did you marry him for his millions?”
Chloe pushed her way out of the circle of vultures known loosely as reporters. Another pack of them were trampling through the yard. “This is private property,” she said as loudly as she could.
And shocker of all shockers, she was resolutely ignored.
“Are you still sleeping with Nick Crandall from Oblivion too?”
Her heart stopped at that question. As did her forward momentum. Which only prompted them go at her harder with questions. They definitely smelled chum in the water.
“Keeping it all in the family? You moved onto his wife’s stepson?” The voice was shrill and female.
She whirled around at that question. “You people should be ashamed of yourselves.”
“We’d love to hear your side of things.”
“So you can twist it? I’ve been there before thanks.”As soon as she said it, Chloe wished she could snatch it back.
“Did you receive a settlement from Oblivion? Are you still fighting for it?”
“Did you use it for drugs?”
“Why haven’t you left Carson?”
“How many people were hurt at Warning Sign’s show tonight?”
Chloe hunched her shoulders at the barrage of questions. She scanned for a hole in the wall of reporters. Snake’s case had been thrown out of court almost as fast as he’d started a petition. Watching him shut down after that had been hard enough, the fact that he’d died so soon after had nearly killed her.
She’d lived through the media frenzy for that as well. Suicide? Accident?
Baby on the way.
Now she was right back in the middle of it.
The first time had died down within a few days. Not this time. Everything seemed to have doubled since she’d married Michael Shawcross.
The sirens in the distance didn’t have any effect on the hoard of reporters circling her, or the fact that they were currently trampling Mr. Zulinski’s prized rose garden.
She made a circle, trying to find a way out. She could only imagine what she looked like under the harsh lights of a camera in the dead of night. The sprinklers at the show had ravaged her curls and makeup, and sweating in that tiny venue had done the rest.
Oh, and the absolute lack of sleep from tossing and turning after having sex with Michael.
Yeah, she couldn’t forget about that part.
She probably looked like a bedraggled and cliched single mom from the projects right about now. And only her backbone with a truckload of pride kept her on her feet instead of curled up in a fetal position.
The questions kept coming, but now it was just a confusing jumble of words.
Finally, her name came from the distance. Her father on the front porch of their little duplex holding his shotgun.
Three cruisers, full lights blazing—no sirens by some miracle—put what was left of her neighborhood on alert. Porch lights flickered on, and people came out of their houses in their robes.
All of the curious there to see just how incredibly awful her life had become.
Awesome. She was officially an episode of Cops.
Mr. Zulinski’s lights were blazing in the house and two of the police officers went up to his door. Chloe was left with the rest to disperse the reporters. Her saving grace had been the invasion of private property. They were no longer on the city street across from her house.
In fact, there was probably going to be a bit of destruction of private property if she didn’t miss her guess.
“Miss Adams?”
She raised her hand. “Here.”
“Ma’am, I need you to come with me.” Two female cops pushed through the crush of people, hands on their batons.
“Gladly.” But instead of helping her make a path, one of the cops clamped a hand on her upper arm. “Hey. I’m the one being harassed here.”
“You’re actually the one that is trespassing. The homeowner would like you charged.”
“What?!” She twisted. “What about the twenty reporters that cornered me?”
“We’ll be dealing with that as well. For now we’d like to take a statement.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Seriously. What the hell was she supposed to do now?
“If you could just come with me ma’am.”
“Are you arresting me? I have a child. I can’t be arrested.”
“You should have thought about that before you trespassed.”
“Do you see all these reporters? I had no choice.” She felt her voice rising from anger to hysteria and forced herself to bring it back down to normal. Shrieking wasn’t going to get her anywhere. “And where were you when they were camping on my lawn for the last week?”
“Were they on your lawn or across the street?”
“Across the street,” Chloe said with gritted teeth.
“Then they were only a public nuisance. And we were advised, and came to take care of the situation a few times. You, Miss Adams, have been a recurring problem for your neighborhood.”
“Me?” She felt like a damn parrot.
“I’ve been here several times in the last few years. I’m starting to recognize your street name.”
The officer’s tone was dry, but Chloe still wanted to crawl right into the sewer drain. From the reporters after Snake sued Oblivion to the insane period after his death, there had been far too many reporters camping out on her street over a very short span of time.
Now this.
At this point she needed to move to the other side of the country.
The officer and her partner brought her down the sidewalk and turned onto Chloe’s property. Thankfully her father had the intelligence to put the shotgun away. He stood on the porch, his hands on his hips.
“Thank you, Officer. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get her out of there.”
“And you are?” She held a tablet, a stylus poised over the screen.
“Oh, yes. I’m David Adams, Chloe’s father.”
“Do you reside here, Mr. Adams?”
“No. I’m just here to watch my grandson.”
“May I come in, sir?”
“It’s my house, dammit.” Chloe stomped up the stairs and through the door. “Is Axl all right?”
“Sleeping.”
“Small favors,” she muttered. Once inside, the fatigue that she’d been battling all night dropped over her like a tarp on a ninety degree day. “Can I get you some coffee?”
The officer’s eyebrow spiked. She cleared her throat. “That would be lovely.”
“Dad?”
“I’m good.”
Chloe had a feeling she was going to need it. She dumped coffee into the basket of her old school Mr. Coffee and brewed a pot. “Sit down. I’m assuming this is going to take a while.” She leaned on the counter of her small galley kitchen. “Or do I need to go with you?”
The officer set her tablet on the round table she had shoved in the corner. Usually it was just Chloe and Axl eating, so they didn’t need much room. The little duplex didn’t afford a lot of extra space. What little they had was used for a play area for her son.
Right now all of his toys were neatly put away thanks to her father. Otherwise her house would probably look about as close to a destruction zone as her front lawn.
“I’ll do everything in my power to do this as an informal interview. If your neighbor presses charges, which I’m fairly sure he will based on my information, then there may be a court date.”
Chloe closed her eyes. “I d
on’t have a record,” she said stiffly. The hiss of the last of the water steaming out from the plastic top of her machine prompted her to move. Simple things like pulling down mugs for herself and the officer evened her out. Autopilot had her gathering cream and sugar onto a tray and bringing them to the table.
The officer sat down and folded her hands over the tablet. “Can I be honest with you?”
“That would be refreshing.” Chloe set the mug in front of the woman.
“A simple apology goes a long way in clearing these things up. And possibly a new rose bush.”
“If only it were that easy.” Chloe sat down with her own mug chock full of sugar and cream. “But if that would help I’d be happy to do all of the above.”
“Good.” The officer took a sip of the black coffee with a sigh. “All right, let’s start at the beginning.”
Three hours later Chloe had spewed out her entire history to the officer and signed her life away in a report. They’d been interrupted a half dozen times by the officer’s partner as well as various communications with the radio on her shoulder.
They managed to get the reporters off her lawn, and even off the street thanks to a bullhorn. And while Chloe was eternally grateful for the empty street, her son didn’t take too kindly to the racket.
After she got the officer out of her house, she got to spend the next two hours curled into a car bed with her son because he didn’t want to sleep in mommy’s big bed. A blink later her alarm was bleating out of her phone.
She dragged herself to the shower so she was at felt like a human. She got ready for the lunch shift at the bar which meant she had to be there for ten to get the place ready. She checked on her son before she left, but Axl slept blissfully on. She found her father on the couch with Lori when she got to the bottom of the stairs.
“Dad, you’re still here.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t sure if you’d need me today.”
An unwelcome flood of guilt washed over her, along with a healthy dose of relief. She was starting to get used to relying on her father. Truly it was the only way she’d been able to raise Axl on her own. He may not have been an incredible father to her, but he was a damn fine grandfather.
