by Emily Snow
“I think he’s going to be alright this time.”
“You said that the last time.” And we argued about it that time. In fact, Lucas was so moody about me confronting him and acting like he didn’t care enough that he handled all his business transactions himself for a week before finally caving and apologizing to me.
“Yeah, well, I think this is it. He scared himself.”
Lucas leaves it at that, but I understand what he’s saying.
Even before Wyatt confronted me about the cutting eight years ago, I was determined to stop. I was afraid of where my mission to cope with all my shortcomings—no, what I felt were my shortcomings—through little slices of pain would take me. I knew that I was messed up, and more than anything, I wanted to fix myself. But even determination has boundaries, and I’m still thankful that Wyatt McCrae caught me before I could break through those.
Heidi pokes her head out of the bathroom door. “Hey, ask him if he knows Sin’s address.” Once again, she disappears, and the soft roar of the hotel’s blow dryer kicks in.
Lucas doesn’t have the exact address, but he tells me the name of the rehab, Melody’s House, which I jot down using a blue eyeliner pencil and the back of a flyer advertising a local pizzeria. Then, he says he needs to go help Sienna arrange an appointment for tomorrow morning. Considering it’s close to ten in Atlanta, it’s, without a doubt, the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.
“Have fun with that,” I state dryly. I start to ask him how things are going with her just to see if he’ll give me a straight answer, but then I decide against it. He’s anxious to get back to Sienna, and that tells me he’s getting his way.
I just hope he doesn’t treat her like crap, and drive her away again, like he had two years ago.
Lucas ends the call on a positive note. His “I love you” makes my head suddenly start spinning. I sink down on the edge of my bed, tapping my fingers together anxiously, until Heidi comes out of the bathroom and calls me out.
“Kylie?”
I lift my gaze to her. She’s managed to coax her curly hair straight, and she’s dressed simply, wearing dark jeans and a red silk bustier that my boobs could never pull off. She’s also frowning at me.
“Why are you staring at a blank TV screen?”
“My brother just said he loves me.”
She shrugs, undaunted. Heidi has four brothers and a very close-knit family, so I love you was a common phrase in her house when she was growing up. Don’t get me wrong. My mom and dad are quick to tell me that. But Lucas? Not so much.
“That’s a good thing, right?” Heidi questions tentatively.
Pressing my palms into the mattress, I push myself to my feet and return to my makeup. “I think he’s falling in love with Sienna Jensen.”
Heidi slides into the chair on the far side of the dresser and begins rubbing globs of Victoria’s Secret lotion on her bare arms. “The chick filling in for you? He’s known her for…what? Maybe a total of three weeks if you count whatever happened between them a few years ago?”
I brush bronzer across my cheeks and shake my head. “Doesn’t matter. Lucas doesn’t act like this. Ever.” As I drag the hairpins out of my hair, I watch Heidi’s face as it draws into a network of worried lines. I can only assume she’s thinking about my brother’s ex-wife, and I swallow hard. “Yeah, I’m hoping it works out, too.”
“Sam’s been quiet lately. Maybe she’s gotten over him.”
Or Lucas is paying her off again.
I force a smile as I turn to face Heidi and then twist around in a slow circle. She rakes her eyes over me before giving me a slow nod of approval.
“Ready?”
“We’re late,” she points out as we leave our room. After I slide into my jacket, she squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. “Hey, stop worrying about your brother. He’s a big boy, so you don’t have to play relationship police. Samantha’s crazy ass has probably moved on, making some poor loser miserable.”
For Sienna and my brother’s sake, I hope Heidi is right.
Since Wyatt and Cal are long gone, and at this point, probably playing the second or third song of their set, Heidi and I walk the four blocks from our downtown hotel to the bar, huddled up close to each other despite the muggy Houston night. I don’t even think about my missing license until we’re about to be carded at the entrance, but then a willowy blonde with giant green eyes, who reminds me of Taylor Momsen from The Pretty Reckless, sidles up to the door supervisor.
“It’s alright. They’re with the Toxic Sequel boys,” she says in a husky voice. Raking her hand through her platinum hair, she winks a heavily lined eye at me. “Heidi and Kylie, right?” When I nod slowly, cocking one of my eyebrows, she shrugs. “You’re the only chick with blue hair who’s come in all night. I’ve been keeping an eye out for you for Wyatt and Cal.”
Moving aside, the bouncer jerks his head back into the bar, and Heidi and I step inside. Because it’s already steamy in here from the friction of so many scantily clad bodies, I shed my jacket and ball it up under my arm.
“Thanks,” I tell the blonde.
Her lips curve into a little smile. “Don’t mention it. Wyatt said you lost your ID, and I’m pretty close to the staff.”
It’s impossible for me not to notice the way her voice slides over his name. It’s the same way mine does when my legs are wrapped around his shoulders while my nails are digging into his back. I swallow hard but blame my sudden discomfort on thirst and the guy who accidentally bumps into me. “Glad he’s looking out for me.”
She tilts her head to the side, sizing me up, before she motions for Heidi and me to follow her. As she leads us through the throng of drinkers, she peeks back over her shoulders. “I’m Terra, Hazard Anthem’s manager.”
I’m not terribly old myself—only twenty-five—but Terra hardly looks old enough to be in this damn bar, much less be the band’s manager. I nod anyway as I step over a puddle of what I hope is booze on the floor. She stops to talk to some guy who stumbles all over her. When he grabs her ass, I can’t help but be a little envious. I modify my initial assessment of Terra.
She’s Taylor Momsen with Kim Kardashian’s ass.
“I want a drink,” Heidi says loud enough to be heard over the screech of the guitar and the lead singer, who is a screamer and a damn good one. “Want me to grab you something?”
“Corona?”
“You got it, babe. Get us a table?”
I slink away from Terra, who’s still in deep conversation with the groper, and find a spot close enough to the stage to get a good view of the band but far enough away so I won’t have groupies bumping into me every five seconds. When Wyatt’s eyes meet mine, he grins and winks. He strokes the tip of his thumb over the neck of his Kramer in a slow, deliberate movement meant to make me think of his fingers between my legs.
He succeeds.
“So, you’re Lucas-Fucking-Wolfe’s baby sister?” Terra slips into the seat meant for Heidi.
I give her a polite smile. “Unfortunately.”
“I met him once…in…” Terra darts her green eyes upward, trying to recall the exact location, and then she lowers her gaze, grinning. “2010.”
“At your high school graduation party?” I mean to keep that to myself, but somehow, it slips out.
She’s obviously not offended because she throws her head back and laughs.
“Rock Fest, but I’m pretty sure I’m older than Lucas and Wyatt.”
She says Wyatt’s name the same way she did at the door—with that desperate hush of admiration mixed with desire. I glide my tongue from side to side between my teeth. Plenty of women are attracted to Wyatt McCrae. There’s no reason whatsoever for me to have a negative reaction to this particular one just because she can appreciate a sexy, talented man.
Heidi’s hand reaches down over my shoulder, plunking a Corona with lime down in front of me. “Here you go, love.” I glance back at her just in time to see her give Terra a long look that’s one pa
rt curious and the other part aggressive. “Sorry, did you want me to grab you something, too?”
Sliding out of Heidi’s chair, Terra shakes her head. Her mane of blonde hair flies around her face like a slow-motion shampoo commercial. “I’ve got…” She flicks her green eyes toward the stage. “Band stuff to do, but I’ll catch up with you bitches later.” She winks again.
Somehow, Heidi holds in her snort until she’s out of earshot. “She’s cute.” She takes a swig of her banana bread–flavored beer. I’m a big fan of trying new flavors, but I can’t help but wrinkle up my nose at the bottle. “Bet she gets them a bunch of gigs.”
“Maybe.” I focus my eyes back to the stage. The band has changed songs, and now, they’re playing a metal version of Heart’s “Crazy on You” that literally gives me chills. It’s a feeling that very few bands have been able to bring out in me, and I’ve got a good feeling about Hazard Anthem’s future. “They could probably be managed by a fucking ogre and still hit it big.”
As my gaze skims back over Wyatt, I bite the inside of my lip. He’s sweaty from the heat and exertion. When he’s in his element like this, playing incredible music, it takes my breath away.
With a thoughtful look on her face, Heidi runs her finger in a circle around the neck of her beer bottle. “You think that’s why Cal and Wyatt are helping them out? I mean, you don’t think they’re thinking about leaving Your Toxic Sequel, do you?”
Wyatt told me before that he has no plans to leave the band, so I decide to take him for his word. “I think YTS will be alright.”
She breathes a relieved sigh before twisting around in her seat to watch the band perform. She taps her fingers on the table, singing along with the lyrics but getting seventy-five percent of them wrong. “You’re right. They are kick-ass,” she says once the song ends.
My sight is still connected with Wyatt’s midnight blue eyes as I murmur, “Absolutely amazing.”
Chapter Eight
My appreciation for Hazard Anthem’s music only grows over the next hour during the band’s seven-song set. The lead singer has a range that reminds me of M. Shadows, and I find myself developing a bit of a voice crush on him. The band performs a little of everything from the angst-filled and powerful to a couple more covers to even the upbeat innuendo-laced music that put Your Toxic Sequel on the map.
The moment their set is finished and they’ve torn down their equipment for the next band, the lead singer maneuvers through the crowd in our direction, seemingly oblivious to the female hands grasping at various parts of his body. Before I can say a word, he jerks me into a hug.
When I go entirely still, he pulls back a little, narrowing his dark eyes. “Ah shit, please tell me you’re Kylie.”
“Yeah, I am.”
He wraps his arms around me again, and Heidi makes a face at his back. “I’ve been wanting to meet the infamous Kylie Wolfe since Cal started playing with YTS.”
“You’re his cousin?” It’s a stupid question. They look similar, except this guy is built and has short, spiky black hair as opposed to Cal’s lanky stature and shoulder-length locks.
“Nate Romero,” he says. When his dark eyes brush over Heidi, he grins. “You must be—”
Since none of us know exactly what Cal has told his cousin about Heidi, she clears her throat. “Heidi Wright. Nice to meet you.” She lifts her chin slightly to take in Cal, who’s walking toward us and clutching two bottles of some specialty beer.
“What?” Heidi’s voice has dropped to the low, seductive purr she no doubt uses on her customers. “No PBR tonight?”
Cal’s lips jerk into a grin. “Fuck you, Heidi.”
“You were right.” When Nate glances back at his cousin, I swear Cal’s olive complexion goes scarlet. “She is fucking hot.” He dips his attention back down to me. “I’d tell you the same, but McCrae would fuck me up in the parking lot.”
Wyatt has mentioned me. In a way, it makes Nate assume that we’re a couple.
Good God, what has been said about me?
I pull at the neck of my T-shirt, stretching out the tip of the sequin anchor on the nautical print. “Where’s your drummer?” I peek around the crowd in search of the bald man who was on stage up until a few minutes ago. As much as I hate to admit it, his skill is almost as mind-blowingly good as Sinjin’s.
Nate turns and scans the area before he finally points to the far corner of the bar. “Ben’s over there with Terra and Wyatt,” he says. Of course, hearing that Terra’s with Wyatt makes my stomach clench. Looking back at me, Nate mistakes my abrupt smile for something else—anticipation. “You wanna go over?”
I consider this for a moment, but then decide against it. There’s a nearly full bottle of Corona on my table—my fourth drink in the last hour—and I’ve gotten to the point where I’ve started to want to hug the bottles. “Maybe in a few.” I jab my index finger toward the small group of women who’ve edged their way up to Cal. One is glancing in Nate’s direction, tapping the cap end of a permanent marker against her hip. “I think you’re being summoned.” I want to advise him that he’s going to need more security soon, that there should already be more security since my guys are playing, but I stop before I say anything. I remind myself that I’m here as a music lover and not my brother’s assistant.
Nate flushes, racking up a few more good points with me because he obviously hasn’t let this world go to his head yet. “Looks like I am. See you in a little.”
When I shimmy back onto my seat, Heidi casts a sharp look in my direction.
“What?” I ask.
She runs her thumb around the neck of the bottle she’s been nursing for twenty minutes. “We’re going over there.”
I put my Corona to my lips and tip it back, drinking it entirely too fast. My nose is burning when I slap the empty bottle onto the wooden table. “If you feed me that bullshit about claiming Wyatt, I’m probably going to—”
She cuts me off. “Hey, Kylie.” I press my lips together, waiting for her to continue. “You need to get your tipsy ass over there and claim Prince Albert.”
“He got rid of that,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Whatever. Point is, you’ve said it yourself, that this is it for you guys, that you’re done with the games once we go home. So, why the fuck are you just sitting around and wasting the time you have left?”
This is another reason why Heidi and I get along. I’m not close to many women because I’ve felt the bitter sting of disloyalty, and it’s left a foul taste in my mouth, but Heidi tells me like it is. She doesn’t hold anything back even when her thoughts are all over the place.
“I’m not tipsy,” I tell her.
She stands and adjusts her tight jeans. “And I’m not sober, Ky.” She grabs my hand, hauling me off in Wyatt’s general direction. As she passes Nate, Cal, and the women they’re mingling with, she skims her hand across the crotch of Cal’s jeans.
He stiffens and screws up signing the R at the beginning of his last name on the breasts in front of his face.
Wyatt’s eyes drink me in long before I step into his bubble. “Bluebird.” His hands touch the first thing he can grab, my forearm, and he brings me to his side. This is such an intimate gesture that my lips part slightly. Completely hypersensitive to my every move, his head bends a little. “You’re fucking me up again,” he says so softly that only I can hear him.
Right. And he’s not doing the same thing to me? As his delicious scent of cologne mixed with sweat teases my nose, I dart my tongue across my lips. Before I can make a fool of myself, I glance away from him to Hazard Anthem’s drummer. “Your sound is incredible.”
Wyatt’s mouth moves against my ear, and I can feel his labret slide up against one of my earrings as he opens his mouth to say something. I go perfectly still because I know he’s about to say something that will result in him owning my panties by the end of the night.
Then, he pulls away, grinning suggestively. As he introduces me to the drummer, I realiz
e he’s thinking of a hundred creative ways to fuck me in this bar, and it sends a thrill of pleasure through me.
“You’ve already met Terra, but this motherfucker is Ben Dillinger. Ben, this is Kylie and Heidi.” Wyatt jerks his head from me to my best friend, who’s standing a couple feet away, typing something into her phone.
Ben, who’s short and muscular with a shaved head, lifts his chin a little, acknowledging us. “Good to meet you,” he says to Heidi as she slides her phone into her bag.
She takes his outstretched hand and gushes over how much she loved the set. Then, she excuses herself and struts away, her mission to find Cal obvious.
Ben turns to me. “Been wanting to meet you since this shithead joined up with us in Albuquerque last year.”
This catches me off-guard, and I’m unable to keep a frown from making a momentary appearance across my face. When did Wyatt go to Albuquerque? For that matter, why did Wyatt go to Albuquerque? I dart my eyes up to him quickly, but he’s focused on something else. Typical dick move, Wyatt.
Because I can feel Terra’s enormous green eyes burning into me, I steer the subject in a slightly different direction. “You’re playing there in two nights, right?”
As Ben bobs his head, a tiny pierced woman with a shock of platinum and jet-black hair slips between us. She murmurs, “Excuse me,” and then slides a shot glass into Ben’s hand. After he downs the amber-colored liquid, he gives her one of those looks that makes me melt. It’s the look that’s not only full of desire but also that chaos-free kind of love that I crave.
“Thanks, babe,” he says.
She grins and wipes her fingers down the front of her ripped jeans before holding out a hand to me. “I’m Ivy, Ben’s girl.”
I grasp her hand, surprised at how firm her grip is. “Kylie Wolfe. Good to meet you.”
I can’t help but like Ivy because instead of mentioning my connection with Lucas, she immediately replies, “You play pool?”
