by F. X. Scully
He throws back a glass of champagne and stages a shudder. "Hey, do me a favor? Run on over to the bar and get me a double of Ballentine's twelve year, neat, would ya?"
I raise my eyebrows and cross my arms. "Are you serious? I'm not getting you a drink. Just go over there and get it yourself. It's an open bar, right?"
"Yeah, but I've already been over there six times. I don't want them to think I'm a drunk or something. And I can't take any more of this damn syrup." He rests the champagne glass on the ledge behind us.
"I'm not getting you a drink," I repeat. "Ask Dash or Ryan. Where are they anyway?"
Roscoe points to a far corner of the room where the two of them are engaged in conversation with two girls. A blond with an apparent boob job and an obsession with pink and a brunette who's all hands—on Dash's arm, his chest, his ass.
I roll my eyes. "Thank god I have my own damn room."
I find myself there less than an hour later. I couldn't take any more of that party, Roscoe's potent alchy-breath or wannabe-pop stars and shameless groupies. I hate myself for it, but I wish Luke were here. I wish things were different.
I settle beneath the soft cotton sheets and up against a mountain of pillows. I'm too lazy to flip through the hundreds of channels to find something decent to watch. And drunk enough from champagne not to bother with the minibar. If Luke were here...
I take a deep breath. But he isn't. He's married to my sister now.
Married. I still can't believe how quickly my entire life was turned upside down. I've done my best not to hold grudges against either of them—especially Shannon—for keeping such a huge secret, but it's been hard. Being back on the road makes it easier. But it isn't the same. Not without Luke.
I sigh again.
What's done is done. He chose to lead a boring suburban life and, as far as I'm concerned, he's an idiot for giving up all of this. I smile to myself and glance around the lavish suite. I'm a part of the band. I stay in the best hotels, have a back stage pass to every event. I'm going to the freaking Grammys and I even get a clothing budget. This is crazy. Better than a dream. I knew one day I'd make it here, but I never imagined it'd be this easy.
The only thing that sucks is that I'm still lonely. I spent yet another birthday in a room by myself. Turning nineteen all by myself, while the guys partied. At least this time Shannon called. But Luke didn't. I guess this year, he really did forget.
The thump and drag of something across the door startles me and I sit up straight in the bed.
"Are you decent?"
Great.
"Yes, Ross. But I'm not in the mood."
I don't know what possessed me to agree to adjoining rooms. But Roscoe won't let me forget about the incident in Florida. Every time we have to stay in a hotel, he insists on either a double, or the room next door. It's a wonderful gesture, marred by the many play dates my ears have had to witness along the way.
The door to his room swings open and he stumbles in, a deck of cards in hand.
"Not now."
"You look bored," he says with a grin. "One game."
"Ross..."
"Please?" He pouts and his facial piercings make the gesture look so ridiculous I can't help but laugh. "Whoop my ass once and I'll leave."
"Why aren't you getting naked with some girl right now?" I ask.
"Did you see the tricks at that party?" He scoffs. "Not exactly my type."
"Fine," I say. "One game."
He plops onto the bed next to me and begins shuffling the cards. "You win, I leave. I win, I stay."
"Stay for what?"
His gaze shifts toward the mini-bar and I groan. "Haven't you had enough for one night?"
"What's that they say about Sugar Crisp?"
I snicker. "You're such a dork." I snatch the cards from him and begin dealing. "Damn it, Ross. Now I want cereal."
"Beat me and I'll buy you a whole case."
"You said you'd leave if I won." I flip the top card over then gesture for him to go first.
"I'm betting by the time this game is over you won't want me to."
I squint through my intoxicated haze, trying to read his expression, but quickly give up, leaning back against the headboard.
Roscoe holds up his card and slams it down triumphantly. "Pick up five."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Luke
I shovel a spoonful of oatmeal into my mouth, swallowing it in one bite. It soothes my throat all the way down and settles like a warm hug from the inside. I've never had oatmeal before today. My mom was a fan of frozen waffles and Pop-Tarts. Or whatever cereal was on sale that week. She didn't cook. Ever.
"How are you feeling?" Shannon rubs my back as she enters the kitchen, Ray on one hip and a baby bottle in her hand.
I have a vision of Mom strolling in with a pint of Jack and a cigarette and I have to force myself not to shudder.
"Better," I croak.
She shakes her head. "You need to go back to bed. I'm serious, Lucas."
The way she says my name makes me want to take her with me. I can't get enough of it. Lucas. My mom used to call me Lucas and it pissed me off, but coming from this woman it puts me in the mood every time. I love that she's the only one who calls me that. It makes me feel special. It makes us and everything we have, all that we stumbled into seem just right.
"What about you? Are you feeling better?"
"I'm fine, why?" She raises an eyebrow. "What's that look for?"
"The way you were ralphing this morning, I don't know. I thought maybe there was something you want to tell me." I grin, then scoop the remainder of the porridge into my mouth.
"I'm not pregnant," she says. "It was food poisoning from that chicken."
"I ate the chicken. I didn't get sick."
"You ate the wings. I ate the drumsticks. I told you they tasted funny."
"Same chicken."
"Same restaurant. Could be a different chicken," she says with a shrug. Then she hands me Ray and takes my bowl¸ as I sit back in the chair, bouncing him in my lap.
I'm happy. And not just because I'm married to a hot girl who gave me a cute-as-hell kid and makes me want to get dozens more out of her. But because it finally happened. As ridiculous and impossible as it once seemed, I've somehow managed to find a way to live my dream. I'm halfway normal for once in my life.
I just had oatmeal for breakfast. Shannon places a mug in front of me and takes Ray back. And she just fixed me a cup of coffee.
I'm Ward fucking Cleaver.
Shannon bends over and kisses me on the cheek. She lingers for a moment and I know what she's thinking. If it weren't for the baby, I'd pull her into my lap and take her right here on the kitchen table.
"You should go back to bed," she whispers in my ear, before standing erect again. "The show's tomorrow. Don't you want to be your best?"
I really don't. This sore throat couldn't have hit at a better time. The idea of getting on stage with the band again makes me sick. I haven't talked to my brother since our blow out or Sheila since she found out about Shannon and me. And she probably spilled the beans about my marriage and kid, which means Ross will be even more pissed off with me than he was when I walked out. It was Ryan who called me and begged me to do the show at UI. I'd wanted to say no, but it was my wife, who has no idea what she's asking of me, who convinced me to give in.
She's never seen me on stage. And yes, I fully admit that I'm weak for allowing her to convince me during sex. She kept talking about how hot it would be to see me on stage. How she never imagined she'd sleep with a rock star let alone marry one. She made it sound like getting up on that stage again would be a gift-just for her. How could I say no to that?
But now I wish I had. Because what she doesn't understand is that walking away from it all was the easy part. It felt right in the moment, when I was pissed off at my brother because I thought he banged my girlfriend, or when I thought coming back to Idaho meant I'd finish school and start a life. It was easy to walk away from s
omething as simple as playing the freaking guitar for money when I thought my life would go in that order. But it didn't. I'm not living in a fifties sitcom. I'm living in nineties chaos. I've got the wife and kid and no job. I started school a week ago and never realized until now how much I hate it. And I know it’s because I’ve had a taste of something so much better. Shannon. Ray. The band. I can barely focus anymore. I don't want to read a hundred pages of boring shit every night. I want to fuck my wife and eat oatmeal for breakfast and play with my son. But instead, I have to study. I have to finish school and get a job. And even when I do, it won't pay half as much as a record deal.
I'm an idiot for walking away. And if I go back, even for a second, I might get hooked.
"Can you watch him while you finish your coffee?" she asks, as she secures Ray in his highchair. "I want to grab a shower."
"Of course, babe. Go ahead." I tickle one of Ray's little feet and he lets out a squeal that makes me tingle all over. "Take your time," I add.
Moscow, Idaho
Shannon
My god. The people.
I'm holding my breath as I walk around the side of the stage and I follow Sheila and Coco down the stairs to stand at the very front. I let it out slowly and glance around again at the droves of people before us. The Kibbie Dome is jam-packed. In all the years I spent on campus I've only been in here a few times. A couple of basketball games and a football game. But this...it's completely different than what I expected. It doesn't even look like the same place. It's hot and stuffy, and I imagine will reek by the end of the night.
There are people...everywhere. No. Not just people. Mostly girls. There are thousands of them. All dressed to kill, in the tightest, shortest, most see-through outfits they could get their hands on. And here I am in a pair of short-alls and a tank top.
Even Sheila looks better than me. Not that it's surprising or anything. She's wearing a tight black dress. It's long sleeved, dips in the back showing most of the skin from her lower back to her shoulder blades and barely covers her ass. Coco's in a spaghetti-strap red number that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. And I'm the farm girl in the middle.
"Crazy, right?" Sheila has to yell, otherwise I wouldn't be able to hear her, it's so loud. Between our high-decibel conversation and the massive speakers that flank either side of the stage, I'm pretty sure I'll be near-deaf for a good twenty-four hours after tonight.
I nod, probably looking like a scared little kid.
She hugs me with one arm. "Don't worry, sis. I know this isn't your scene, but it's so worth it. Your man is a god on stage. Why do you think all these girls are here? This is Roscoe Gold! I told you! Didn't I tell you?"
She did. And even after everything that's happened, we've found our way back here. Back to the way we used to be. When she showed up on my doorstep this morning, I thought she'd want to rip my face off. But instead she hugged me, kissed Ray and told me she was happy for me. Then she scolded me for lying, promising to never bring it up again and told Lucas his brother was waiting for him back at the house. We spent the entire day catching up and things feel normal again. Well, at least they did until I got here. Like I told Lucas earlier, I never expected to be married to a rock star—and in a way, I'm glad I'm not. I'm glad this is a one night thing.
Glancing over at Sheila's bright smile, I recall the day I helped her sneak out to that concert in Lewiston. It seems like forever ago now. She's been obsessed with these guys for longer than I can remember. And that night she said they'd be legends. And as I take in the sights and sounds of crazed female fans, I realize my sister was right.
Lights begin to flicker, then dim and there is a hush across the crowd. But only for a few seconds because in the ones that follow the silence, when the first few notes of the first song begin to play, the entire stadium erupts in screams and howls.
"Oh, my god!"
"Roscoe, I've got no plans tonight!"
"Dash, you sexy animal! Bang me like you bang those drums!"
"Ryan! I love you! Ryaaannnn!"
And the worst one of all that makes my head literally snap back, "Fuck me with your guitar, Luke. Fuck me hard!"
Sheila is laughing at my reaction and gently turns me, stopping me from mentally strangling the bitch in a tube dress so tight she looks like she can barely breathe.
"Groupies," she yells in my ear. "No shame. Like, none. You get used to it."
"Besides," Coco says. "No one knows he's married."
"Not that they'd care," Sheila laughs.
I'm suddenly so nervous, I feel sick. It's intensified from what I was feeling this morning and I grab my can of ginger ale sucking it back with rising bile. I'm so jealous. So angry at that girl for talking about my husband like that. Even though she has no clue who I am, it doesn't make it easier to swallow. I don't want girls looking at him, or throwing themselves at him. He's mine. And I don't want to share him with a soul.
The first spotlight flashes onto the stage, illuminating a figure in front of a microphone. Roscoe. He's strumming on an electric guitar and...
The. Crowd. Goes. Crazy.
I thought it was loud before but the screams are so intense I can feel them in my feet. They vibrate along with the sound of a bass guitar that starts up, swallowing the crowd like a typhoon. Everyone is mesmerized, bobbing their heads and swaying to the rhythm. And at that moment, the noise almost seems quiet. That's when the second spotlight spills over his form and I notice it's Lucas who's playing. And the screaming starts up again.
I eye Tube-dress Girl, but she's too busy to notice my warning stares, mesmerized like everyone else.
As the keyboard and drums join in, the entire stage is lit up in sparks and I shield my face, afraid I'll be burned.
"Pyrotechnics!" Sheila screams. "Relax!"
"Fucking, awesome!" Coco adds.
He's just looking down at his guitar, not even acknowledging the crowd as they scream his name, begging for him to notice them. And suddenly my jealousy fades away to worry. And guilt. He left the band for a reason, because he wanted a different life—a quiet life, a predictable one. And I pushed him into this. I forced him back up on that stage to fulfill a stupid fantasy. One that isn't even close to what I had in mind.
He doesn't want to be here and neither do I.
And as quickly as I come to that conclusion, everything changes. The song. The crowd. Lucas.
The bass becomes more intense, taking over the song and the stadium all at once. The crowd zeroes in on Lucas—Roscoe and the others completely forgotten. Even all the lights except for around him dim. And when he finally looks up, I see a hint of a smile. He's not hating this at all. He wants to be here. I haven't seen him look this at peace in weeks.
The little smirk breaks into a full blown grin when his brother makes his way over to him and they start crooning into the same microphone. And for the first time, I realize my man can sing. Like really sing. And the people around me—not just the girls, but everyone–are eating this little duet up. As the seconds pass, Lucas gets even more amped up. He's playing that guitar like he crafted it himself, like he knows every inch of it, exactly what it needs and when it needs it.
No, he's not playing it. He's making love to it. Touching it the same way he touches me. He and that damn guitar are meant to be. Right up there on that stage. And it scares the hell out of me.
Luke
I was afraid this would happen. But I honestly can't say I'm sorry I came here tonight. The crowd is screaming for an encore and my brother is smacking me on the back. And me? The music has me high as a kite. I'm pretty damn sure it's going to take a hell of a lot to bring me down. Thank god it's just Shannon and me tonight. With no baby to slow us down, I hope she doesn't plan on sleeping.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Roscoe is screaming. "That was...fuck, I don't even know what that was. What was that, bro? Are you tryin' to break my heart?"
The three of them are practically body slamming me now—even Dash who's typi
cally indifferent to pretty much everything. They're freaking out and I can't make out anything any of them are saying. My focus is on the side stage, on the trickle of people filtering through to the back. I see Sheila first, then Coco.
Then there she is. My wife. The hottest girl in here, as modest as she is, she's definitely the most beautiful one. Her eyes look like cat's in the dark. So piercing and blue they're all I see as she approaches us. I wrap my arms around her and she leans her head against my chest. I pull her closer and bury my nose in her hair. It's soft and silky and smells like some kind of fruit I haven't quite placed yet. I've been meaning to ask her, but I always get caught up in the sniffing. I'm weak like that. Even right now, all I can think about his taking her to bed.
"Did you like the show?" I ask.
I feel her nod against me, and I squeeze tighter.
"Want to get out of here?"
She tilts her head to look up at me. "Don't you have an encore to do or something?"
I shake my head and cup her face with both hands. "Ross doesn't do encores. He's greedy like that. In his mind, the encore is the next show or the album."
She sucks on her bottom lip and I brush a stray hair away. "You okay, babe? You look pale."
She nods. "A little overwhelmed." She sighs. "There are a lot of people out there. A lot of...girls."
I laugh. "Jealous?"
She frowns. "Of course not. I'm the one going home with you."
I can tell she's lying, but I don't press. She's right. I could care less about those other girls. She's the only one I want and I want her right now.
But my brother has other plans.
"So, Mrs. Black," He grabs Shannon from behind, pulling her into a bear hug and her eyes go wide again. "You got the bug yet?"
She smiles her gaze flitting around the group. From Roscoe, to Sheila, and back to me. She nods, though I can tell she has no clue what he's talking about.
"Well, good then. That's what I like to hear. Because after tonight, I don't think we'll ever be able to let him go again. We'd never be the same without this guy right here." He slaps my back for the millionth time and I grin back.
