Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1)

by Bogino, Jeanne

  Her expression lost some of its warmth. “Well, I’m getting older, of course. As are you,” she said, assuming a wintry smile eerily similar to her son’s. “Far too old to have hair past your shoulders. It was acceptable when you were sixteen, but you’re twenty-six years old.”

  “Twenty-seven,” he corrected her. “In March.”

  “I’m aware of your age. I was present when you were born, remember.” Her eyes slid past him to regard Shan curiously. “And this is…?”

  Shan experienced an odd jolt of recognition. Her eyes were exactly like Quinn’s, crystalline blue and quite beautiful. It was the strangest thing, to see Quinn’s eyes in someone else’s face.

  “Shan O’Hara,” Quinn said, reaching behind him to haul Shan to his side. “Angel, this is my mother, Judith Merrick.”

  Shan shook the proffered hand and could feel her cheeks flushing, aware that she was being examined. “And how do you know Quinn?” Judith asked.

  “We play together,” Shan said nervously. “In the band, I mean. I play guitar.”

  “Oh, yes. That one.” Judith did not look pleased, but Quinn rescued Shan soon enough, capturing her elbow and guiding her to his brother, who was at the bar.

  “She didn’t seem to like me much,” Shan said to Quinn, who did look pleased.

  “Nope,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t fret, though. She doesn’t like me, either. Right, Ron?”

  “You know that’s not true,” Ron said. “She misses you, Quinn. She just can’t say it.”

  “That would make her just like you,” Shan interjected, smirking at Quinn.

  When she turned to order a drink Ron leaned closer to his brother, who looked annoyed. “Spunky,” he said in an undertone. “Nice to see you with a girl who talks back, for a change.”

  “I’m not with her,” Quinn corrected him. “We’re friends.”

  Ron gave him a knowing grin. “You? With a female friend? Especially one who looks like that? Ha!” He nudged him suggestively. “You really like this one, don’t you?”

  “I like her fine,” Quinn said, “as a friend.”

  “I like her, too. She even got you to come here tonight.” He gazed speculatively at his brother. “Maybe this is the one.”

  Quinn escaped from his brother, retrieving Shan from the bar and steering her toward the dining room. “What’s that?” he asked, noticing the cocktail in her hand.

  “A martini,” she said and grimaced. “It’s awful.”

  “Why didn’t you just order a beer, like you always drink?”

  “I thought this would make me look more sophisticated.”

  “Oh, for…” Quinn rolled his eyes. He found their seats, then frowned at the place card beside his. “Well, this ought to be an interesting meal.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m sitting next to my mother.” He took the martini out of her hand and tossed it back before he sat down.

  Dinner was a highly regimented affair. Shan had to watch Quinn to find out which fork went with each course. There was a smaller table at the end of the room just for the children. It was raucous with activity and laughter and she would have felt more comfortable there, especially since here she was seated directly across the table from Quinn and his mother.

  The tension between them was tangible. Quinn was resisting all his mother’s attempts to draw him into conversation, although he spoke readily enough to George, Ron, and all the assorted relatives at the table, excepting Meredith whom he ignored completely.

  “You’re living in Tujunga now, Quinn?” Judith asked him.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m surprised you’re not closer to the beach. You’ve always loved the water so.”

  “No.”

  Judith ignored his boorishness. “How is Dan? And his girlfriend?” A small frown crinkled her brow. “I can’t recall her name.”

  “Fine.”

  Shan felt a tug of sympathy for Judith. She knew firsthand how impossible it was to pull Quinn out of his shell when he chose to resist. “Her name is Denise. And did you know that they’re engaged?” Shan said, kicking Quinn under the table.

  “I hope they’ll be able to manage,” Judith said, selecting a squab with roast pear from a proffered serving dish. “It won’t be easy to support a family on what he earns as a drummer.”

  “Actually, Quinntessence earns quite a bit,” Shan said. “We’re starting to gain a good following here. We just played the Troubadour, in fact.”

  Judith raised her eyebrows and turned away without responding. It was a familiar look, the same one Quinn assumed when he was being a condescending dickhead. Shan turned her attention to her plate, keeping quiet for the rest of the meal.

  After dinner, the guests moved back to the living room, where Ron cornered Shan. He asked her about herself, but didn’t push when she supplied only the sketchiest details. Instead he shifted the conversation to music, complimenting both her voice and her playing.

  She decided she liked Ron immensely. He was warm and down-to-earth, despite his high-powered work and elegant home. Unlike his brother, he was to all appearances straightforward and uncomplicated, and she wondered how they could have possibly come from the same family.

  Eventually Ron excused himself and she looked around for Quinn. He was nowhere in sight, so she went to the powder room where she attempted again to neaten her hair. As she struggled with it, she reflected how good a heroin hit would have felt. She still would have been out of place, but then she wouldn’t care.

  She headed back down the hall, stopping when she heard a familiar voice. “I knew this is how it would go.” Quinn’s words, hard as nails, were coming from behind a door that was slightly ajar. “I’m here for two hours and you’re all over my ass already.”

  “Quinn, stop it.” His mother, beseeching. “I can’t help but worry, having you back in that environment. It’s too much for someone with your issues.”

  “Mom, I’m clean. I have been for almost ten years.”

  “But for you to be back to your old stomping grounds—it’s insane! It nearly killed you before.”

  Shan heard a snort and she didn’t need to see Quinn’s face to know how it looked. “They videotaped the Troubadour show, George,” he said, “so I brought you a copy.”

  “Wonderful,” Shan heard George say. “I played that last song for Brandon Terry and he was quite impressed. Quinn, I wish you’d take me up on my invitation to join us for lunch sometime.”

  Shan gasped out loud. Brandon Terry was CEO of Cardinal Records. She’d have endured crucifixion for a chance to promote Quinntessence to someone like that.

  “Thanks for the offer,” Quinn replied, “but I don’t think it’s appropriate. I wouldn’t want your connection with him to be a factor in establishing a business relationship.”

  “It wouldn’t matter, anyway,” Judith said. “What does Brandon Terry care about a bar band? They’re a dime a dozen on the Sunset Strip.”

  “That’s because the Strip is where the clubs are, Mom,” Quinn shot back.

  “Stop acting like I don’t have a right to be concerned. I can just imagine the people you’re around, like the one you have with you tonight. You know, don’t you, that she’s an addict?”

  Shan’s mouth fell open, shocked. Forgetting that she was eavesdropping, she pushed the door open. “A recovering addict,” she said, “and do you mind telling me how you know that, Mrs. Merrick?”

  The room was dark and masculine, probably Ron’s den. George, looking beaten, was sitting at the desk in the center of the room. Quinn and his mother were stationed at opposite ends of the desk, glowering at each other over his head.

  Judith looked taken aback at Shan’s sudden appearance, but quickly regained her composure. “It’s a simple enough matter,” she said, with a shrug. “Background checks are standard operating procedure at my husband’s firm.”

  Shan was stunned. “You had me investigated?’

  “No,” Quinn spat. “They had me
investigated, and you got caught up in the net. You’re a piece of work, Mom, you know that?” And he glared at George, who wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “I had to make sure you were safe, Quinn.” His mother’s words were obdurate, but Quinn shook his head. “I can’t understand why you, of all people, would choose a profession where you’re constantly exposed to drugs! Why won’t you at least think about finishing college?” she added. “It will give you some options, and it’s the only thing I’ve ever asked of you.”

  “He has finished,” Shan said. “He has two master’s degrees, for God’s sake.”

  “Berklee is a music school, not a college,” Judith said. “And I’d think you’d have gotten this nonsense out of your system after squandering your inheritance on those useless degrees.”

  Quinn’s eyes went glacial and his face closed down completely.

  “Berklee is the most respected music school in the country,” Shan said. “It’s one of the best in the world.”

  Judith waved a dismissive hand. “And most of its graduates are waiting tables during the day so they can play their second-rate gigs at night.”

  “But Quinn is incredibly talented! Gifted, and you should be proud of him!” Quinn’s hand closed over Shan’s arm, but she shook him off. “He’s accomplished so much.”

  “And what, exactly, has he accomplished? He can barely afford the rent on that shack you’re all living in. I wish you’d at least get a decent apartment in the city, Quinn, instead of living like some hippie in a commune in Tujunga. Who do you think you are, Wavy Gravy?”

  “Wish I was,” he shot back. “It’d be easier to get a record deal.”

  His mother rolled her eyes. “It’s time you started thinking about the future and got a real job. I know that money is something you never really need to worry about, but—”

  “Mom,” Quinn said, “you can shove your bank right up your gold-plated ass.”

  “You didn’t mind accepting it when it paid your way through Berklee!”

  “That was Dad’s money, not yours. When are you going to back off and let me live my own fucking life?”

  “I don’t appreciate the language,” Judith said huffily. “You sound like a street thug. I’m entitled to tell you what I think. I’m your mother and I care about you.”

  “What you care about is the fact that I’m not living up to your expectations. It’s the only thing you’ve ever cared about, when it came to me.” He finished off his drink and set the glass on the desk. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said to Shan.

  “Running away again?” Judith’s face hardened. “Why can’t you just face me, for once?”

  Before Quinn could reply, Shan spoke up. “Because he has better things to do than listen to you dump on him. I think—”

  “What you think is a matter of supreme indifference to me, dear. If you’re like the rest of his girls, you’ll be gone in an hour.” Judith eyed her with the venom of a cobra preparing to strike. “Quinn’s always had a weakness for a particular type of woman. Groupies, they’re called in your profession. Is that how you met him?”

  “Jesus, Mom!” Quinn exclaimed. “This is too much even from you! Come on.” He grasped Shan’s elbow. “Neither one of us has to stand here and listen to this bullshit.”

  “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, dear,” Judith called after them. “I doubt I’ll be seeing you again.”

  Quinn tried to pull Shan through the door, but she hung back. “Nice to meet you, too. Now I see why he’s so fucked up. How else could he be when he was raised by a ball-busting bitch?”

  George winced and Judith’s mouth fell open. Even Quinn looked briefly startled, but quickly regained his composure. “And on that note,” he said smoothly, “I think we’ll be leaving.”

  He hustled Shan down the hall, out the door, and shoved her onto the Harley. “That went well. Glad I let you talk me into it.” He switched on the ignition, roaring the engine over her reply.

  “Quinn, wait!”

  When Shan looked over, George was on the front steps. Quinn glared at him, helmet in hand.

  “I want you to go home, calm down, and call me tomorrow,” George said, bellowing to be heard over the Harley. Shan reached forward and shut off the ignition, despite the withering look Quinn shot at her. “I’m sorry things didn’t go better tonight,” George continued, at a more reasonable volume.

  “Whose fault is that, George?” Quinn donned his helmet.

  “Actually, it’s both your faults. Yours and your mother’s,” George said, coming down the stairs, “and I, for one, am sick and tired of this foolishness. Call me tomorrow and we’ll talk. We’re going to straighten this mess out once and for all.”

  Quinn sputtered and George cut him off. “Fine. Don’t call. Just come for Christmas dinner,” he said. “At our home, which is also your home. Your family’s home.”

  “Last time I saw Mom, she told me to get out of that home and not to come back. I’m only respecting her goddamned request!”

  “That was five years ago.” George shook his head. “Good lord, I’ve never seen anyone hold a grudge like you do. You’re so damned stubborn!”

  “I’m stubborn? What about her? She’s still trying to run my life. And so are you, apparently.”

  “I’m sorry about that, Quinn,” George said. “I didn’t enjoy invading your privacy, but your mother was frantic. We wouldn’t have to resort to such measures if you’d just talk to us. We all love you, you know. Especially your mother.” Quinn snorted and he sighed. “She misses you. She can’t say it, but she does. She cries sometimes,” he added gently. “She’s crying right now. I think she’s suffered enough.”

  Quinn looked down at the ground, frowning.

  George reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to come home, son. I know you’re still angry at her, but can’t you do it for me?”

  Quinn slipped out from under George’s hand, mounted the bike, and fastened the straps on his helmet. The engine roared again.

  “Christmas dinner,” George persisted, shouting again. “Four o’clock.”

  When Quinn didn’t answer, Shan slipped her hand under his jacket and poked him, hard.

  Quinn gunned the engine again, hesitated, and said, “I’ll think about it.” Then Shan had to grab for his waist as he peeled out, roaring up the driveway in a most satisfying manner.

  chapter 28

  The next morning, Shan was up bright and early. Christmas hadn’t involved any real celebration for her since before her mother died, so she was excited for this holiday that would involve some actual festivities. She had gifts for her roommates and Dave, as well as something extra special for Quinn: an African djembe drum that she’d seen him examine several times at the Guitar Center. It was a beautiful piece that cost almost three hundred dollars and she’d raided her guitar fund to pay for it.

  She could hear that her roommates were up and about, so she went downstairs to the kitchen, where she found them preparing a pancake breakfast. Everyone was pitching in except for Quinn, who was nowhere in sight.

  She knew he’d been upset last night. They’d gotten home around nine and he’d disappeared into his room almost immediately, not to be seen again for the rest of the evening. When she’d gone to bed, she could hear him in there, playing the Yamaha keyboard. She listened until the wee hours and she could still hear him playing when she finally fell asleep.

  “Good morning,” Ty said cheerfully. He was half filling glasses with orange juice, topping each with a healthy dollop of champagne. “Ready for a little good cheer?”

  “Sure.” Shan swallowed her methadone, chased it with a glass of water, then accepted a drink. “Merry Christmas,” she said, taking a sip and nodding her approval.

  “Methadone and mimosa,” Dan laughed. “Talk about a happy holiday!” He was smoking a joint as he poured batter into the skillet over which Denise was presiding.

  “Did Q go out?” Shan asked, moving to the stove to t
ake charge of the sausage.

  “Yes, but he’ll be back anytime,” Denise said. “He went out early, to…”

  The front screen door slammed and Quinn himself appeared. “Good morning,” he said, tossing the van keys to Dan.

  “Mission accomplished?” Dan asked, catching them with a grin.

  Quinn nodded. “What mission is that?” Shan asked.

  Quinn didn’t reply. “What can I do?” he asked instead, and Denise handed him the spatula.

  After breakfast, they gathered around their small Christmas tree, which was woefully underdecorated. Dan’s parents had contributed a box of green and red glass balls and Denise had a few ornaments, but nobody else owned any holiday decorations. Shan had fashioned some construction paper chains and she and Denise spent an afternoon stringing popcorn, so the tree was still pretty, in a Charlie Brown sort of way.

  They all had modest gifts for one another. When Shan opened Quinn’s gift to her, she discovered a shoe box filled with wire and hardware doodads, and she shot him a quizzical look.

  “Keep digging,” he directed. He didn’t smile, but he’d been fairly subdued all morning.

  She pulled out a handset. “A telephone?”

  “Yup,” he said. “I’ll install it for you, in your room. That way, when you tell Oda what a dickhead I am, I won’t have to listen. The closet door doesn’t block the sound, you know.”

  Shan turned beet red, but the rest of them were laughing. Even Quinn’s face bore the ghost of a smile and, when he opened her gift to him, he was astonished. “What were you thinking?”

  “I got a deal on it,” she said smugly, which wasn’t true.

  “Bullshit. I know exactly how much this cost, because I’ve been coveting it for months. You’re supposed to be saving for a new electric, so you can get rid of that crappy Peavey.” But he was untying the bow, pulling the drum from the nest of paper she’d swathed it in, positioning it between his knees. He experimentally slapped it once, twice, then he was banging out a riotous 6/8 groove that made the champagne glasses vibrate.

  When he stopped, they all applauded. “Incredibly rich timbre. Needs tuning, though,” he pronounced and beamed at Shan. “You had no business spending so much money, but I fucking love it. Thank you.”