The Seattle Sound Series
Book 4
Alexa Padgett
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the material in this book.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Many Sounds of Silence © 2017 by Alexa Padgett
All rights reserved.
Edited by Bev Katz Rosenbaum and Nicole Pomeroy
Cover Art by Clarissa Yeo of Yocla Designs
For Madeleine
1
Clay
This was one of the last times I’d stand in this spot, ever.
Glancing around campus, inhaling the sharp tang of a late September morning, I reveled in it—that crackle of energy that always accompanied the first day of school. I’d looked forward to day one every year since kindergarten, when I finally got to join my brother at “big school.” For the first time, nostalgia warred with excitement.
In nine months, I’d have my degrees in music theory and finance. I wasn’t going to be caught, as my father had been, without an understanding of the business side of the music industry. That’s what really mattered—more than talent or stage presence.
With my contacts in the music scene, Kai, Dane, and I were sitting in a mighty prime spot. Just where we wanted. Because next year, we were . . . My thoughts skidded to a halt. Why was that guy taking pictures?
We hadn’t blown up big enough to warrant paps on campus. I quickly realized his camera wasn’t pointed at me, but at the long, dark-red hair bobbing away from me. Yep, the photographer was snapping shots of that girl.
I tracked her as she walked across the Quad, near the fountain. Her hair glowed in the sunlight, whipping out behind her before sweeping forward across her face. She brushed it back with an absent-minded hand as she cast a furtive glance back at the photographer. She knew he was there, and if the tiny frown was any indication, she wasn’t happy about his invasion of her privacy.
I totally got that.
She wore gray Toms and jeans, cuffs rolled up to show off a hint of slender calves and slim ankles. Her top was also gray, elbow-length. A kind of don’t-notice-me outfit that blended into the crowd.
Except she didn’t blend. Part of it was the way she held herself—tight, tense, waiting for the next blow. I knew that stance, because it was the one my mother held since she sat my brother Colten and I down to tell us our baby sister, Cassidy, had cancer.
The photographer was still taking pictures of her. Maybe she was a model or actress. I moved forward, trying to catch another glimpse of her face as a niggling feeling of recognition built. Her messenger bag’s strap cut between her breasts, emphasizing them. She didn’t look at anyone; she moved away from the photographer and toward one of the four buildings that housed classrooms on that side of campus.
Because she was alone, I assumed she was a freshman or a transfer student. Finally, I was close enough to see her profile. She didn’t have the wide-eyed wonder of a first-timer, which made the transfer option more likely. I tracked her until a group of girls passed between us.
I blew out a breath, trying to push aside my annoyance and need. Annoyance because of the need.
I wanted to know her, tell her I understood her frustration. But that wasn’t the worst of my ridiculousness. Already, I dreamed about the breathy way she’d say my name when I gripped her chin, tilted her lips up to meet mine.
A man stopped in front of her, and she stepped back when he touched her arm. Her body tensed, mirroring my own stiffening muscles. The pap moved in closer, the predator scenting blood.
Oh, fuck no. Before I realized it, I was once again moving across the open area.
I’d already pictured my fist in the guy’s face when she brushed passed him. The photographer set aside his camera, clearly frustrated he didn’t get a money shot.
A big group of students moved between me and the girl, laughing and joking, glad to be back on campus. If I went after her, the photographer would probably stick around. Craning my neck, I watched her open the door to Bagley Hall. The girl was into chemistry.
I smiled, feeling like a cat who was just given a bowl of cream, especially when the photographer packed up his equipment. Good riddance.
“You’re that glad to see me, Clay?”
I glanced down at Bethany, quickly arranging my features. She was our version of Mel from Flight of the Conchords except Bethany was shorter, way clingier, and pretty much not someone I wanted to see. Ever. She reminded me of those pixies my little sister used to watch on TV. A bothersome one.
I spun about and started walking toward the Music Building. She fell in next to me. I tried hard not to sigh. And failed.
“What’s that about?” she asked.
You. Not getting the hint. “Just tired.”
“That’s too bad. You should take better care of yourself.”
I grunted. She kept trotting next to me.
“I missed you guys. I even stayed on campus, hoping you’d do some shows.”
“Nope. We went home for a while. You know, to see family.” Which is what you should’ve done, too, I thought.
“I took a couple of classes. In fashion design? Oh, and my cousin came to visit. We went to a couple of gigs. Not as good as yours.”
She batted her stubby eyelashes at me. Batted. Them.
I shied away. Whatever she was thinking wasn’t going happen.
“Glad you got to spend some quality family time. So I have to go. I’m late.”
“But it’s 8:30. Next classes don’t start until nine. We should grab a coffee. Catch up.”
She put her small hand on my arm, and I suppressed the urge to shake her off. Bethany’s expression collapsed into one of hurt. I gritted my teeth against the good manners so ingrained in me by my mother. There was only one woman I wanted touching me. The one with the beautiful hair and haunted expression.
“Meeting with my advisor.”
“Then I’ll see you at lunch?” Another hopeful, puppy-dog look.
I hoped not. “Got some stuff to take care of.” A blatant lie I hated to give. No way I was eating on campus now. So much for first-day excitement “Bye.”
I trotted into the music building and headed toward one of the empty practice rooms. Sure, Northern U wasn’t Berklee School of Music, but turning down that spot worked out pretty well, because I was still getting an excellent education with state-of-the-art equipment and the chance to double major in finance. Meeting Dane and Kai that first week of school three years ago solidified the rightness of sticking close to home. My family had just gotten Cassidy’s Hodgkin’s diagnosis, and there was no way I could move to the East Coast and be so far away from my baby sister. I worried about her enough, and she was just fifteen minutes down the road. In fact, I would’ve traded anything—including my band’s successes—to make sure Cassidy regained her health.
Here was to hoping. I’d stop by this weekend, pick up one of my guitars, and get the scoop on Cassidy’s latest PET scan.
My class didn’t start until nine, and I hadn’t brought my guitar. I decided to work on scales on one of the grand pianos in the basement of the Music Building, a place Bethany didn’t enter. She’d been banned by the dean after she and Dane broke up.
I’d never understood his attraction. She was tiny, perky, more than willing to help out. But there was something about her I just didn’t trust. Dane said she was fun in bed, willing to try anything, always open to his ideas. Which was a place I would never g
o. Bethany loved to flash those soulful eyes. Eyes that held sharp interest and dark secrets.
I hated secrets and lies. I’d lived with both from my peers and it was the fastest way out of my circle. Much as I wanted to kick Bethany out, I couldn’t tell a girl who was barely tall enough to ride a rollercoaster to get out of my space.
I had, though, when she climbed naked into my bed after a party. Telling her to get out had been a no-brainer—but getting her to actually leave the room had been difficult. Still, I hadn’t fought her territorial growling too hard, because the rest of the females on campus kept their distance. I liked the ability to walk around again without a mob of groupies following me—that had gotten old within weeks of playing our first gig our freshman year. As had the offers for just about anything sexual I could imagine. Not that I didn’t like sex. With the right person, sex was fantastic.
I just wasn’t interested in a long-term relationship. Nor was I interested in a one-night stand. Limited my choices.
Maybe I’d taken my celibacy too far, especially if I was panting after one glimpse of that mahogany hair and pert ass. I dropped my bag and shut the door. Setting the alarm on my phone, I sat down and began to play.
I’d worked through all the minor scales and had nearly finished one of my favorite Prokofiev’s etudes when I realized who that girl was.
My fingers collapsed onto the keys. “Holy shit.”
“I agree that was a really shitty ending.”
I turned on the bench. “Kai.” I fist bumped him. “Good seeing you, man.”
“So what was that about? You were rocking that piece then you got this surprised look on your face and lost your concentration. I’ve never seen you do that before. Well, I don’t see you play the piano often either.”
“I saw Abigail Dorsey this morning. By the fountain. She walked into the science building.”
My frown deepened. I hadn’t liked that dude touching her. That bothered me more than the paparazzi. Kai raised his eyebrow. His arms were crossed and his dark T-shirt rode up his biceps, flashing his tattoos. One was some Celtic design. The one on the other side was Hebrew. He’d told me what they both meant right after he got them our freshman year, but I’d forgotten.
“And we care about some chick because?”
“She’s Asher Smith’s stepdaughter.”
Kai dropped his hands to his sides and his eyes lit up. “Really? Think she can get me an autograph? Maybe a guitar lesson? That guy is amazing.”
I shook my head and picked up my phone and bag. “You don’t play the guitar. You play the bass. And as the son of a rocker, I can tell you that’s the last thing she’s going to want. After you hitting on her, of course. She flattened a guy’s ego this morning in under ten seconds.”
“Aw, stop being a dick. I could learn to rip the chords, especially if a rock legend was teaching me.”
“No, Kai. Don’t do that. Actually, don’t even talk to her. You’d just ask her for sex and then be mad when she turned you down.”
“Didn’t you see those pics of her? When she was at some school in Cali. Dude, she likes to party. Maybe Asher Smith brought her back to Seattle to get her to buckle down. He sure has since he met her mom. I’d be pissed if his music wasn’t so amazing.” Kai shook his head. “Maybe love can help with creativity. ’Cause the Supernaturals are hitting a second wave of awesome I’ve never seen before.”
“Don’t count on it.”
The familiar flush of heat creeped over my skin at hearing the L-word. People went searching for it like it was the holy grail of youth and perfection. It wasn’t. My parents loved each other, and it was hard work for both of them. I was glad they were still together. Most of the time, anyway.
“Asher’s just hit his stride, found some creative juice in the tank. I’m surprised Abbi’s here. I heard they didn’t get along,” I said, picking up my pack before turning off the lights, stepping out of the room, and shutting the door.
“Why are we talking about Asher Smith? Didn’t he get married?” Dane asked as he strode toward us in the hall. He was shorter than me, thin, with a shaggy mop of blond hair. Both his eyebrows were pierced and he had a tattoo crawling up his neck. Some Manga character I figured he’d hate when he was thirty.
My mom was old-fashioned. With a capital O. She’d made my brother and me promise not to get body art, and because my mom didn’t ask for a lot, I was cool with her request.
“Saw your ex already,” I said, letting my lip curl with disgust. “She was lying in wait for me. Expected a lunch invite. Because, you know, superfan.”
Dane leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “We broke up over three years ago—we were still in our freshman year then. And she’s more of a stalker than a superfan.”
“Now she’s got her sights set on Mr. Banjo-player here,” Kai chuckled. “Thanks to Mumford and Sons and The Avett Brothers, the banjo is sexy. The new guitar and all that.”
“If that was true, we would have traded you in for a cellist,” I said without any heat.
Kai loved to tease me about the banjo, but when we’d started featuring it in our music, our songs—and following—took off. I could play it and the kick drum at the same time, a trick I’d practiced from the time I was seven when my dad let me start playing on his old set down in the basement.
“Bethany can look all she wants,” I said. “From a distance. She just can’t touch. And I wish she wouldn’t talk to me. She’s creepy.”
“Dude, she’s like a third your size,” Dane said.
“That’s part of the problem. We can’t be from the same species.”
“She claims to love you,” Kai said.
My shoulders tensed and I glared at him. “Love and rock-and-roll don’t mix. Like pickles and chocolate—two great tastes that, when put together, turn awful.”
Kai snickered while Dane scratched his head, considering. “Not buying that. Nessa’s pretty awesome. Your parents are tight. Why don’t you follow that example?”
“Clay thinks he saw Asher Smith’s stepdaughter here,” Kai said to ease my building tension.
I never spoke to anyone about my dad’s affairs because that was the family line, and Kai and Dane assumed the long list of names linked to my father’s were to sell more magazines and website clicks. But Kai also knew how sensitive I was about the topic. I shot him a glance of sarcastic thanks.
“I’ve seen her. She lives across from Ness and Jenna. From what they’ve seen so far, she seems fairly quiet and serious.” Dane shrugged. “Maybe she pulled her shit together. Kinda would have to after those pics went live, right? I mean, she was a mess in those.”
“Who cares?” Kai rolled his eyes. “Now’s the time to live it up, baby. It’s not like Asher’s going to ride her about it. He did crazy shit when he was her age. Part of why he’s my hero.”
“I don’t think she’s a partier,” Dane said. If Nessa told him that, he’d run with it.
This was another reason why I was against long-term relationships. Dane couldn’t have his own thoughts anymore.
“I read an article about him—did you see it? Went live last week. He talked about how he was hurt and did lots of stupid stunts because the girl he wanted was with someone else. The girl turned out to be Abbi’s mom. They’re all settled in, playing family.”
“She’s hot,” I said. “Abigail. Cool name, all old-fashioned. Probably why she’s such a partier.”
“Invite her to our show next week,” Kai said. “Maybe she can talk Asher into coming.”
I shook my head again. “If my folks find out she’s here, they’ll ask me to befriend her.”
“Something crawled up your ass. So you have to be nice?” Kai asked. “It’ll get you closer to Asher. And to Abigail.”
“Nah, man, I don’t want to use her like that.” Mainly because I didn’t want to get too close. My reaction to her—from a distance—had been electrifying. What if I actually met her? I could already see the headlines: Local Rocker Screwin
g School Party Girl. Both Go Up in Flames.
Nope. Not happening. Famous people couldn’t stick it out. Look at Brangelina. If that paradise blew, then I didn’t stand a chance at dating some chick with her own famous-people problems and hang-ups.
“It’s like you have feelings,” Kai mocked.
I shrugged. “I feel just fine. For the right people.”
Kai snorted, thinking, no doubt, about my lack of dating the past year and a half.
“Hookups don’t count.”
“Yeah. All three of ’em last year. What are you up to, man-whore?” I responded with more rancor than any of us expected.
“Did you get Abbi’s number?” Dane asked as he pushed between us.
Both Kai and I had some inches on him, but Dane was quick. Plus, he’d studied ten different kinds of martial arts growing up, so he knew all kinds of ways to break me into pieces, fast.
“You did that at least. Right?”
“I didn’t get her number because I didn’t talk to her. And you guys aren’t going to bother her either. She’s a hot mess.” A beautiful, famous hot mess. “We don’t need that shit in our orbit.”
I glared at both of them until Dane threw his hands up in the air.
“I’m not dirty macking your girl. Got my own. Chill, dude.”
“She’s not my girl. Look, we’ve got to make this semester shine. We’ve been working hard for that contract. We’re not screwing ourselves over because of some chick.”
We entered the classroom. Each of us studied various aspects of music, and this was our only course together this year. I missed hanging out with Dane and Kai on campus more often, but I was glad to see the light at the end of this slog. Double majoring was a huge time commitment that kept me busier than either Kai or Dane. I’d gotten better at juggling, but there were still days when I questioned my commitment to so many courses.
“Whatever you say, bucko. But I can tell. You like her,” Kai said.
Seattle Sound Series, The Collection: Books One to Five Page 74
