by Cari Quinn
“We aren’t married, Chloe.”
Before she could say anything to knock him off track, he outlined all of it for her. The phone call he got after she went to the store, the conversation with his father. He even showed her the texts.
“Considering what I know about Martin Shawcross, if the papers don’t break the story soon enough, he will. He doesn’t want me to be married.”
Her gaze never wavered. He’d told her that he’d kept this secret for days, and her expression never changed. She listened, and she waited.
If he hadn’t loved her before this, her patience in letting him spill his guts would’ve pushed him the rest of the way.
“To me,” she said quietly. “Your father doesn’t want me to be your wife.”
His first inclination was to soften the blow. To make it go away entirely. She didn’t deserve his father’s cruel judgments. But she did deserve the truth. All of it, even the ugly parts.
“No. He takes apart pieces of a person’s life, and he sees what he wants to. He did the same with Lila. He’s said horrible things about her, insinuated things that were even worse. No matter what wayward thoughts I might’ve had toward her years ago, she never had them toward me. My father says otherwise. He perverts everything he can to suit his twisted worldview.”
“So you not being married to me is basically his dream come true. You don’t have to share your money with me.” Her mouth twisted into a smile. “Little does he know I never would’ve accepted it.” She looked away. “Well, any more than I already have. I’ve taken so much, and now we’re not even married—”
“No. Don’t say that. Don’t even think about taking.” He rose and came around the back of the couch. His ideas of keeping his distance were all well and good until he couldn’t be close to her, couldn’t reach out and touch her to reassure himself she was truly real. “Do you want to know what you’ve given me? You’ve given me a life I didn’t think I’d ever have. Forget that, I didn’t think I’d want it. I thought I was happy.” He shook his head. “It took you and Axl to show me what a joke my life had become. Of course my father doesn’t want me to have you. He has no clue what it is to love someone for who they are, not what they have.”
Her eyes filled. “You love me?”
“Christ, yes. Why would I be so fucking mad we’re not married if I didn’t?” He took her hand and traced the spot that no longer held Snake’s ring. It also didn’t hold his, and maybe it never would. “I want you to wear my ring. I want you to be completely lucid when you say yes. Just like I want to give the same thing back to you.”
She curled her fingers around his hand. “I love you too,” she whispered. “I’ve never been more disappointed to not be married.”
He laughed and pulled her into his arms, tucking his chin against her hair. “I’m not giving up on us,” he said, voice low. “I’ll never give up on us.”
“Never is an awfully long time.”
“It is. I have a feeling I’m going to feel every minute of it when I walk out of here, but that’s what I’m going to do.” He eased her back. “I want you to stay in the apartment.”
She gripped a handful of his shirt. “You want me to stay there? Where are you going?”
“I have unfinished business with my brother. I’m going to get through the show tomorrow night, and then I’m going to go talk to the jackass. He’s going to tell me he’s not interested in being in a band, and I’ll accept it. But if he thinks I’ll accept losing him from my life again, he’s got another think coming.”
She smiled and blinked away the dampness in her eyes. “I’m betting on you.”
“You don’t know Malachi Shawcross. He’s one stubborn son of a bitch. But so am I.” He tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’m giving you time and space to see what you want. My being in your way just clouds the issue. The last thing I want is for you to confuse gratitude with love.”
“You’re telling me to stay in your palatial place yet you think I’m not grateful?”
“I think you’ll be able to separate the two just fine if I’m not there to force your hand.”
“It’s not right for me to stay in your house without you. You’ve already been so generous. Too generous.”
“It’s not generous to provide for those you care about. The fact is, if you aren’t there, I will be worried about both of you. That way I’ll know you’re safe and we’ll both be able to take the time to make sure of what we want.”
He already knew. He’d never been more certain of anything in his life.
When she didn’t speak, he smoothed his fingers down the back of her hand. “I haven’t given you any space to figure things out. I’ve been too busy insisting and prodding and pushing. You should get some time to yourself to decide what you truly want, interference-free.” He tipped up her chin until their eyes were closer to level. “Either way, financially you’re covered. If we end up as just friends, I’d consider it a damn good investment to help send you to culinary school and offset your expenses for your son.” He blotted up the tear that slipped down her cheek. “Besides, I’m thinking I’d get delicious meals out of the bargain. And he’ll probably be able to pilot the band jet when he gets older, so win-win.”
“Oh God, Michael.” She arched into his arms, pulling his mouth to hers as she always did. Except this time their rough, desperate kiss was tinged with her tears.
Maybe his too.
“Think about me,” he said gruffly as he pulled back.
“I will. How can I not?” She withdrew something from her pocket and pressed it into his palm, then closed his fingers around it. He knew it was the ring without looking.
The ring he’d wanted nothing more than for her to wear.
“You should have that.” Her throat bobbled. “For safekeeping.”
Nodding, he fisted his hand around the sapphire and went to the door before he lost the ability to leave. “When you’ve made up your mind, you know where to find me, Red.”
Chapter 29
Welcome to the jungle.
Michael set off for Malachi’s address in Encino after the show the next night. Lila had pulled her strings and gotten Jazz to sit in again, because Ryan needed time to heal and it was the frigging Troubadour. Mention a place with history like that and most musicians would give their left nut to perform there.
Jazz hadn’t offered up any appendages, but she’d been happy to assist them. Molly had also been much sweeter toward her sister, since she’d finally realized that they were—to borrow an oft used term—up shit creek without a drummer.
The show had gone off without a hitch, and also without any unexpected fires. Ever since they’d performed at the Blue Rhino, older places made him nervous. He hadn’t started having to carry Mylanta yet, but it still could happen.
At least they’d been able to salvage most of the Rhino, and they’d remodeled a significant portion of it to boot. Lila had made noises about Warning Sign booking another show once it reopened, but Juliet had been adamant about a different lighting crew overseeing things. For a former Boston blue blood, she could pull out some pretty colorful language when needed.
And when it wasn’t.
Harper’s brother Randy hadn’t been to blame for the fire, but jeez, to hear Juliet talk about the guy she still called Sparks, anyone would’ve thought he’d been back at the board with a blowtorch or something.
Michael rued the day those two crossed paths again, if they ever did.
The drive to Encino was uneventful. Evidently, traveling after midnight was a good choice, because the freeways were emptier than he’d ever seen them.
He didn’t turn on music. His only accompaniment was the hiss of the wind through the crack he’d left in the window. He was as awake as he always was after a show, amped and full of energy to burn. That usually led to him finding some cute chick to fuck, but not tonight.
Tonight he was going to see his brother if Mal was still where he’d last lived. If he wasn’t, Michael woul
d drive to the nearest hotel and crash.
The one thing he had no intention of doing? Drinking. He might end up tossing back the contents of the water bottles stacked on his passenger seat, but that’d be all he chugged.
He pulled up at Mal’s old apartment building and cut the engine. The place looked pretty snazzy from the outside. Michael remembered it had a huge pool and tons of amenities, but he also recalled that Mal had picked the cheapest apartment in the place and lived like a bachelor’s miser cousin. Sparse hadn’t been the half of it. In the old days, Mal had barely had a bed, some stuff on the walls—always weird crap like old bicycles or a sombrero he’d picked up in Mexico—a couch and a TV. And his drum set. He’d said that was part of the décor too.
Sure it is, brother.
Michael dug out the apartment number on his phone and went to the lobby to deal with security. He asked if Malachi Shawcross still lived there and got the stonefaced response typical at such places. They weren’t swayed by Michael’s ID revealing the same last name either.
What worked, however, was ringing apartment twenty-two and asking the desk to inform Mal that Phil Collins would like to come up.
Hey, Mal might not admit in public that Phil was his favorite drummer since his friends preferred Lars Ulrich or Dave Lombardo, but Michael knew the truth. And he used it.
He was buzzed upstairs, effectively answering the question if Mal still lived there. He took the stairs to the second floor and knocked on his brother’s door, pushing his way inside without a hello once it opened.
And came face to face with a naked woman.
“Well, hello there. Mal asked me to get the door. Who are you?” The amply endowed brunette trailed a finger over Michael’s still faintly damp T-shirt. He’d hopped right in the car without a shower.
That was him, always making a great impression.
“I’m his younger brother, Michael.”
“I thought your name was Phil?” She wrinkled her nose then waved it off and shut the door. “Anyway, I’m Lucretia. Mal’s in the shower. Want a snack while we wait?”
Since she appeared to be offering him her body as the platter—or at least that was the vibe he got—Michael shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”
“So tell me about yourself. Look at those biceps.” She wrapped her fingers around Michael’s upper arm and squeezed until he detangled himself and aimed for the couch. “You’re in a band. I smell it on you.”
Literally in this case, but he nodded. “Yep. Warning Sign. I’m here to convince Mal to be our drummer.”
“Not gonna happen,” Mal shouted down the hall.
“We’ll see about that.” Michael smiled at Lucretia. “So you’re Mal’s girlfriend?”
“Oh, darling. You’re so sweet.” She sat on the other end of the couch and plucked a glossy grape off the bunch sitting in a bowl on the coffee table.
Surprising for Mal to have a display of fruit, but maybe he was trying new techniques to woo the ladies. Although this one didn’t seem to need much woo.
“That’s me.” Michael gave her a grim smile and directed his attention at the ceiling. “Like candy.”
“I just bet.”
Mal walked out wearing a towel and a snarl. “Didn’t you get the message when I didn’t answer any of yours?”
“No.” Michael glanced at his brother and did a doubletake. He’d seen Mal shirtless at the show but somehow he looked even more massive tonight. “Jesus, dude, did you start doubling for Vin Diesel in the Furious movies or what?”
Mal ignored him. “Lu, do you mind waiting for me in the bedroom?”
“Of course not, honey.” She rose and gave Mal a kiss heavy on the tongue—and under the towel groping. Then she wiggled her fingers at Michael and sashayed down the hall.
When Michael started to speak, Mal held up a hand. “Since I know you’re a Boy Scout in a rockstar’s clothes, I’ll answer your question before you ask it. No, she’s not my girlfriend. No, I didn’t pay her, but that doesn’t morally offend me as it might you. Yes, your timing sucks royally. Anything I missed?”
“Yeah. You got any advice for your little brother who accidentally got married in Vegas, then realized he wasn’t but really wishes he actually was?”
Mal sank to the couch in the spot Lucretia had just vacated. “Okay, no. I don’t. You got married? What the hell?”
“We didn’t finish the ceremony, but we thought we had. It’s a long story. You up for it? Nah, never mind. I don’t really want to hear what you’re ‘up for’ with Lucretia down the hall.”
Mal shocked him by grinning. “She’s enthusiastic. She probably has a friend or two if you’re looking to get over the missus. I couldn’t really tell from that crazy ass story. Married, seriously?”
“Yeah. Drank too much whisky. I don’t recommend it, though damn, I got the most amazing wife and son out of the deal.”
Whom he might have already lost, if Chloe changed her mind and decided he wasn’t what she wanted long-term.
“Wait, son? You knocked her up too? Damn, what kind of whisky was that?”
Michael had to laugh. “No, she came with the boy. His dad was one of the dudes who used to be in Oblivion. You know Elle in my band that you manhandled? Well, Axl’s dad was Snake, Elle’s brother Nick’s best friend.”
“Hold up. Way too many names, and also, I didn’t manhandle anyone. She was in my way so I helped her to move. Little Ricki.” He shook his head and adjusted his towel. Good thing, since he’d been on the verge of showing off things Michael didn’t want to see.
“‘Little Ricki’ flipped out on Lila and said she didn’t want you in the band. The word beast was used.”
“Did she now? I’d probably be hurt if I gave a shit.” He stretched his arm along the back of the sofa. “Tell me, am I supposed to care that she doesn’t like me? Or that Lila’s been on my damn jock for almost two months straight when she didn’t so much as send me a Christmas card for the last five years?”
“When you put it that way…” Michael shook his head to clear it.
He’d had a long drive, and he was more fucked up about Chloe than he wanted to admit. And Mal was so authoritative he could’ve probably convinced Michael to shave his head and join him at the chop shop.
Not that he’d bother. He much preferred Michael staying out of his lane.
“Why do you want me in the band so damn much?”
He had a number of reasons, not the least of which was that Ryan was hurt and had little interest in being their drummer full-time. But the biggest was much simpler.
“Because you’re my big brother, and I fucking miss you. When we were on stage together, it felt like something special. You fit with us like you belonged there. Didn’t you feel it too?”
Mal rubbed a hand over his head. “I told you, I’m not meant for the stage.”
“Oh yeah? Why the hell not?”
“Because I lost someone after the last time I performed, all right? And I don’t want to sit here and pour out my heart to you, because the truth is I don’t fucking have one left. So if you do, good for you. I wish you well.” Mal rose. “If we’re done…”
“Actually, no, we’re not done. I’m camping out here for a while. My wi—Chloe has my place, so I need somewhere to crash.”
Mal’s brows lifted. “You gave your non-wife your apartment?”
“I’m hoping she’ll still want to be my wife when this is all said and done. In the meantime, I’m giving her space.” Michael grabbed one of the couch pillows and tucked it under his head as he stretched out. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll take the sofa.”
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t. Did it ever occur to you that maybe you’d cramp my style?”
“No. You’ll just fuck her and make me listen.”
Michael turned out to be correct in his assumption. Six long hours later, he wished he’d remembered to bring in his bags from the car. Headphones would obviously be a crucial part of staying at Mal’s.
One night there turned into two. Two turned into three. Three turned into more.
In no time, Michael had missed a couple of rehearsals, one for the biggest night of all—the Spectrum Awards. He hadn’t formally decided not to go, but apparently between being all stoic and shit with Chloe and moving in temporarily with the sex machine known as his brother, he’d lost some of his mojo.
They didn’t need him for the telecast. His band could handle stuff just fine without him. Yes, they’d be performing, but only one song and Elle could do fulfill his role. She’d be thrilled to take on lead duties for once.
He didn’t want to abdicate his responsibilities. Hadn’t he just given Chloe a big ass song and dance about becoming a good man for her? Too bad that only seemed to take precedence when she was actually part of his life.
“All right, asshole. You’ve spent enough time desecrating my sofa.” Mal kicked the end of it. “Either shell out for rent or get gone.”
“Where’s the brotherly love?” Michael rolled over and groaned. He’d been in the middle of a particularly good dream about a naked Chloe too. She’d baked him a cake inscribed with the words “lettuce pray” which he didn’t get, but dreams were weird.
“In that crater your ass created in my couch. Look, if you love her this much, why are you still here?”
Michael debated acting tough, like Mal would in the same situation. But he was not his brother, and his toughness had vanished in the face of many days of radio silence. “I’m giving her time to decide I’m the love of her life.”
“Or to forget about you.”
“That’s a possibility too.”
“While she’s living in your pad and running up your utilities.”
“I think I can cover her wild Wi-Fi and hot water usage,” Michael said drily. “God, you are so romantic. My dick is practically quivering.”
