ALMOST PARADISE

by Williams, Mary J.

  For the good of the band, either Skye told her father not to call until after the show, or he would. She didn’t like his ultimatum but agreed.

  “Think Skye’s dad is an internet guy?”

  “Isn’t everyone these days?” Absently, Jax drummed his fingers on the seat. “The real question is, does Todd Monroe believe everything he reads?”

  Thanks to The Ryder Hart Band’s sold-out tour dates, a social media savvy publicity campaign, and a rapidly growing fan base with a voracious need for information, the members of Razor’s Edge found themselves front and center on every gossip monger’s homepage.

  Since they had nothing to compare, their flash of success seemed bigger than the reality. They couldn’t be called superstars by any stretch. But they were young, talented, and seemingly out of nowhere and on a rapid trajectory toward the top.

  The group’s story sparked people’s imagination. Kane’s screw the world persona attracted a particularly intense following. However, the onstage chemistry between Jax and Skye, the speculation over what happened when the lights went down, sent the cyber world into a frenzy. Every time they looked into each other’s eyes, fangirls, and boys, sighed in united envy.

  Even the most casual online user was bound to run across a juicy piece of gossip. Where his daughter was concerned, Todd Monroe was anything but casual.

  “You’re worried. So am I.” Beck frowned. “She swore her father isn’t abusive, and I believe her.”

  A spark of jealousy, intense and unexpected, skittered through Jax’s blood.

  “Since when does Skye confide in you?”

  “Down, boy,” Beck warned, recognizing the source of Jax’s growl. “We’re all under a lot of pressure. I’m your friend, and Skye’s, remember? Start looking for trouble where none exists, and our speeding train will go off the rails before you know what happened.”

  “You’re right.” Jax took a deep, calming breath. “I’m a jerk.”

  “True.”

  Chuckling, Beck uncapped a couple of beers. Jax accepted the bottle but didn’t drink. Working the edge of the label with his thumbnail, he stared at the passing buildings.

  “The break comes at a good time. I need to decompress.”

  “You need to get laid.”

  Beck had a point. Night after night, his friends enjoyed an endless parade of willing partners while Jax waited for the one woman who could never be his. He liked sex, craved sex. Yet, here he was, living like a monk.

  “Trust me, man. I get your dilemma.” Beck shot him a sympathetic smile. “Skye isn’t your average woman. She’s special, one in a million.”

  One in a lifetime. The truth stared Jax in the face—and scared the crap out of him.

  “She makes us better.”

  “True. Then again, I don’t suffer from a permanent case of blue balls because of her jackass rules.”

  “Her father’s rules,” Jax corrected.

  “Which she agreed to honor.” Beck shook his head as if the whole thing was beyond his comprehension. “Crazy for two healthy, unattached adults to deny themselves one of life’s greatest pleasures. Still, you made your bed.”

  “A spot-on metaphor,” Jax grumbled.

  “Unintentional.” Beck sipped his beer. “Far as I know, Skye didn’t guilt you into fidelity.”

  “The subject didn’t come up,” Jax admitted, his frown deepening. “She didn’t ask, I didn’t promise.”

  “Then why the self-imposed celibacy?” Beck didn’t give him time to answer. “Because sex with another woman would feel wrong? You couldn’t live with the guilt? Bullshit.”

  “I wouldn’t feel guilty.”

  Jax was afraid he wouldn’t feel anything. Sex was great, amazing. He enjoyed the shared experience, the pleasure he gave as well as received—even when the hook-up was a casual one-night stand.

  “The way I see things, your lack of interest in other women hurts Skye.”

  The convoluted logic Beck needed to reach such an outlandish theory boggled Jax’s mind. But, what the hell. Any port in a storm, crazy or not.

  “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

  “No one buys the story that you and Skye aren’t lovers. Believe me, I’ve tried.” Beck rolled his eyes. “Probably save a good fifteen minutes a day if I simply tattooed, they’re only friends on my forehead.”

  “We are just friends.”

  “The truth is boring. So, give them a juicy lie.” Tossing his half-full beer in the trash, Beck met Jax’s puzzled gaze and sighed. “Get with the program, son. Show some interest in other women.”

  “Avert attention away from Skye?”

  “Bingo.”

  Jax liked the idea. Skye took to performing like a seasoned pro—she radiated genuine love for the audience, and they loved her in return. However, as Kane often said, nothing came without a price. Her payment was the unsubstantiated gossip she needed to explain during the daily phone calls from Todd Monroe. Whatever her father said, after she hung up, the tension in her expression, the stiffness in her shoulders, was palpable.

  “If my picture is taken with another woman, or two, Skye will be off the hook.”

  “Pictures are a good place to start.”

  “What else?” Jax asked, leery of Beck’s knowing smile.

  “For optimal effect, Skye should cultivate an admirer. Or two.”

  “Fuck that.” Jax was tempted to knock the smirk off Beck’s face. “Better yet, fuck you.”

  Jax raised an eyebrow as Beck doubled over with laughter.

  “Damn, son. If you could see the look on your face, you’d laugh too.”

  “Was your idea a joke?”

  “Dead serious,” Beck assured him, wiping the moisture from his eyes. “Find a woman who understands the game, a sweet little temporary playmate who’ll enjoy the public attention, and the privacy of your bed.”

  “While Skye does the same?”

  “Stop focusing on the wrong thing,” Beck scoffed. “From what I know about Skye, she won’t jump at the first pretty face to come along.”

  Jax agreed. Still, he’d like some reassurance.

  “Tell me why?”

  “Because while you, Kane, Morgan, and I are a bunch of hairy, slobbering, amoral bastards, Skye isn’t.”

  “She’s a good person.”

  “Sweet, not boring. Kind, but no pushover.” Beck’s mouth curved into an ironic smile. “She doesn’t judge, though Lord knows we give her enough reasons.”

  “Sounds like you could be in love with her.” The idea didn’t sit well with Jax, but he understood the inclination.

  “No,” Beck shook his head. “Not with Skye.”

  Surprised by the almost-confession, Jax couldn’t think of who else Beck could mean. They rarely spent more than a day or two in any city, and the only woman Beck saw on a regular basis besides Skye was Zoe Hart—beautiful and sexy as hell to be sure. Also, very happily married.

  While the drummer enjoyed a robust sex life, like the rest of them, he didn’t have time for romance.

  The answer came to Jax in a flash. Well, hell. He looked at his friend. Could Beck be in love with…?

  “Joplin?”

  “What about her?” Beck’s response was more of a challenge than a question.

  Jax dumped his untouched beer in the bin next to Beck’s. Why was love such a minefield? If he had the answer, he’d be a shrink, not a musician.

  “Nothing. Guess I’m tired.” Rubbing his eyes, Jax stretched his legs to their full length. “Never would have guessed first-class travel and a full schedule of concerts would take so much out of me. Not that I long for our former life.”

  “I don’t miss the van,” Beck agreed. “Or sharing a bed with Kane.”

  “Or the coin-operated washing machines—when we could scrape up enough change to do a load.”

  Jax hadn’t worried about clean underwear for close to six months, fresh pairs simply appeared in his h
otel room dresser drawer. One of the many luxuries they quickly learned to take for granted.

  “Figured I’d sleep better in a room of my own.”

  “You aren’t wired for a full eight hours. I, on the other hand, would gladly take ten,” Beck sighed. “Morgan has no mercy, waking at an ungodly hour for our daily workout. I doubt he’ll be any better on vacation.”

  “Two weeks all to ourselves. No schedule to keep, no members of the media to charm.” Jax already felt restless. One thing was certain. He refused to sit around and worry about Skye. “We should do something. Rent a cabin in the mountains or a beach house. Unless you plan to head home for a visit.”

  Beck’s father died when he was only three years old, leaving his mother a single parent. From all accounts, Sandy Kramer was every kid’s dream, a cross between a saint and a stand-up comic.

  “Mom’s off on a cruise of the Greek islands.”

  “A gift from you?”

  “She worked her ass off to keep a roof over our heads. I’ll never be able to repay the sacrifices she made.” Beck grinned. “Feels damn good to pamper her a little.”

  Jax would see his parents when the tour hit Australia. With Joplin’s help, he planned a VIP experience from a weekend at a four-star hotel to front row concert seats. He couldn’t wait for them to see how far their son had come.

  “What do you say? We’ll grab Kane and Morgan and play the rest by ear. Be like old times.”

  “Sounds good,” Beck sighed. “Maybe we can triple team Morgan, get him to explain the sunglasses and skulking around. Whatever bug crawled up his ass is damn exhausting for the rest of us.”

  Morgan claimed he was press-shy, nothing more. Preferred to let his music do the talking. An obvious pile of crap.

  “Hiding out from the mob?” Beck pondered the possibilities. The crease between his eyebrows deepened as the idea took root. “Witness protection would explain a lot.”

  Jax found the idea ridiculous. Beck wasn’t laughing.

  “Take a second,” he reasoned. “You think Uncle Sam would allow Morgan to join a high-profile world concert tour?”

  “Seems unlikely,” Beck conceded, but he didn’t look convinced. “Have to admit, we don’t know much about Morgan’s past.”

  “Unless you find irrefutable proof, keep the conspiracy theories to yourself.” Jax didn’t have room on his plate for anything else. “I trust Morgan, don’t you?”

  “Sure.” Scrubbing a hand over his face, Beck sighed. “You’re right. We need to get away.”

  The limo pulled into the underground parking garage, stopping alongside a private elevator. They made the ride to their rooms in silence, Beck unconsciously tapping his foot to the piped-in version of Feelings. Once a drummer, always a drummer, Jax chuckled.

  Joplin greeted them the second the doors opened. Face flushed, her green eyes sparkled like emeralds.

  “Finally. I started to wonder if the car took a wrong turn on the way back from the airport.”

  “Traffic was heavy.” Jax checked his phone, wondering if he missed her call. “If you needed us, you have my number.”

  “Big news. Big.” Joplin hustled them down the hall. Impatient, she snatched Beck’s keycard from his hand. “Only in person big.”

  “Shouldn’t Kane be here?”

  “He already knows.” Joplin cleared her throat as the flush on her cheeks moved to her neck and below the collar of her blouse.

  Oh, boy, Jax sighed. Whatever Kane did to disconcert the normally unflappable young woman, Joplin hadn’t recovered. Thankfully, Beck seemed too enchanted by her enthusiasm to notice anything was amiss.

  “I had to tell someone or burst.” She took a breath. “Ready?”

  “Yes!” Jax tossed up his hand. “Tell us.”

  “Savior has skyrocketed to the top of the Billboard Hot 100.”

  Jax’s head spun. Reaching out, he grabbed the side of the table, taking a seat before his legs gave out.

  “Number one?” Beck spoke, his face drained of color.

  “Yes!” Joplin bounced up and down, the heels of her red pumps clicking against the hardwood floor. “Cross the Line is number six.”

  “One and six?” Jax tried to swallow, but his throat was so dry, he almost gagged. “Two songs in the top ten?”

  “Three.”

  “Three?” Beck’s voice was little more than a squeak.

  “Rapid Fire debuted this morning at number eight.”

  “Hallelujah,” Beck whooped.

  Jax and Kane wrote most of the band’s songs. Rapid Fire was Beck’s baby, his and Morgan’s. He twirled Joplin in a circle, her laughter bubbling.

  “What’s all the noise?” Grumbling, Morgan walked from his bedroom into the living room of the shared suite. “Is the hotel on fire?”

  Setting Joplin back on her feet, Beck grabbed his writing partner.

  “We’re a hit,” he crowed, forcing Morgan into an awkward, stumbling semblance of a jig. “Certified.”

  “Certifiably insane.” Morgan grinned, unable to maintain a bad mood in the face of Beck’s exuberance. Over his shoulder, his gaze found Jax. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Rapid Fire is number eight.”

  “With a bullet,” Joplin added.

  “Hear that, my morose friend?” Beck gave Morgan a sloppy kiss on the cheek before he flung open the balcony doors, grabbed the rail, and shouted at the top of his lungs. “A freaking bullet, world.”

  “Is he right?” Morgan requested confirmation. “Or should we reserve a padded cell?”

  Jax understood the stunned wonder in Morgan’s voice, he was in the same place. Nothing seemed real.

  “A physical copy will be delivered to each of you on Tuesday. Framed. Until then…” Joplin opened her iPad. The screen sported proof—the latest digital edition of Billboard Magazine.

  “They like us, they really like us,” Morgan shouted, pumping his fist in the air.

  “Kane needs to be here.” Jax took out his phone, eager to get his oldest friend in on the celebration.

  “Don’t bother,” Morgan called out, rifling through the bar’s built-in refrigerator. Triumphant, he stood clutching a bottle of champagne. “Kane’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Joplin frowned. “He was in his room not ten minutes ago.”

  “Called me a couple of minutes before you arrived. Just like him not to mention Billboard, the bastard,” Morgan chuckled, setting four crystal goblets on the counter.

  Jax handed Joplin a champagne-filled glass, taking another for himself.

  “Did Kane share his destination?”

  “A week in St. Moritz. Countess whatshername has a castle.”

  “Countess Larraine,” Joplin said, her voice devoid of emotion. “Delilah.”

  “Right,” Morgan nodded. “Must be fake. Whoever heard of countess named Delilah? Sounds more like a stripper.”

  “She married the title.”

  Unaware of the effect his news had on Joplin, Morgan joined Beck on the balcony, glasses in one hand, the bottle in the other.

  Jax didn’t miss the sadness in Joplin’s eyes and cursed. Whatever happened, changed, then changed again between the two; he didn’t doubt for a second Kane was to blame.

  Countess Delilah Larraine wasn’t a name he was likely to forget, but the woman’s face eluded him.

  “Tall, thin, dark hair?”

  Joplin shook her head. No longer in the mood to celebrate, she set aside her champagne.

  “Picture a Kardashian, with less class and a Texas twang.”

  Ouch, Jax winced. Joplin was not a fan.

  “Right, she lives in Dallas. Why is she in Phoenix?”

  “Was in Phoenix.” Joplin took a deep, steadying breath. “Apparently, Countess Delilah has nothing better to do than follow the band. I, on the other hand, work for a living and need to make some calls.”

  Before she could rush from the room, Jax took
her hand. He wanted to tell her Kane wasn’t worth the effort, but the words would be hypocritical. He knew from personal experience how hard giving up on someone you cared about could be.

  “I wish I could tell you he’ll change.”

  “I wish…” Patting his hand, Joplin shrugged. “Even the smartest woman occasionally does something stupid. I’ll survive.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  Joplin paused at the door.

  “Call Skye as soon as her plane lands. Give her the good news.”

  Anxious to hear the excitement in Skye’s voice, eager to hear her voice, period, Jax picked up his phone, then stopped.

  “Morgan? Beck?”

  “What?” Beck stuck his head into the room. “We hit the charts again while I wasn’t looking?”

  “Maybe next week.” Jax shoved his phone in his back pocket. “Wanted you to know I won’t be around for the next few days.”

  “What about our trip to the mountains?” Beck scratched his chin. “Or did we decide on the beach?”

  “Flip a coin. You and Morgan have a good time.”

  “At least tell me where you’re going.”

  “Oregon.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ♫~♫~♫

  THE TAXI STOPPED at the end of the street in front of a small blue house. The paint was faded and peeling, the cement walkway cracked and chipped. However, the postage stamp lawn was freshly mowed, and a row of bright yellow pansies lined the walkway.

  Whatever the Monroe family’s economic situation, someone took the time to turn their house into a home.

  Jax paid the driver. Standing in the driveway, he slung a backpack, his one piece of luggage, over his shoulder. For the first time since he rushed onto the first available flight, the pitfalls of not calling ahead sank in.

  What if Skye wasn’t home? Silly of him to think she had nothing better to do but sit around the house twiddling her thumbs.

  Only one way to find out, Jax reminded himself as he stood rooted to the spot. Walk to the door and knock. He wiped his hands on his jeans. Seemed telling his muscles to move was one thing, spurring his legs into action, another.