“Well,” Roman said the next morning. “Hold your horses. Kym’s agreed to meet them.”
Tom’s eyebrows shot up. “How did you manage to finagle that?”
Roman gave a slight smile. “Passive aggression and emotional blackmail. Mentions of contract breach.”
Tom shook his head, smiling. “I’m not sure that was called for, Rome.”
Roman flicked a pen away from him. “It was. She needs to get a grip and face up to her responsibilities. I’m done with babysitting. She wasn’t the one who was shot.”
He regretted his words, seeing how Tom flinched. “Sorry.”
Tom held up his hand. ”It’s okay. Jeez, though, you really don’t like her, do you? Sure you wouldn’t be happier without her?”
“Not about me. If Bay and Pete want her back, I’ll try and make that happen for them. I don’t have to like it—or Kym.”
Tom leaned back, rolling his shoulders. “We need to get Emily and Dash at that meeting too. The quicker we can get a marketing strategy in place, the better.”
“Agreed. Look, let’s get some dates for the meeting set up.”
Kym drove to Tomas Meir’s houseboat on Lake Washington and parked across the street. She had no idea whether Bay or Tom would be there during the day, but she at least wanted to test herself to see if she was ready. Tomorrow she would go to Hank’s bar for an informal meeting with Bay, Pete, and the Quartet contingent. Her mind had run through all the possible scenarios; she and Bay falling into each other’s arms; Bay and Pete firing her; Roman being disappointed in her. She had dwelt on that last one far too long. Why the hell should she care what Roman Ford thought? Jackass.
Taking a deep breath, Kym got out of the car and slowly walked across the street. She stood where Stu’s car had been that night, remembering how she’d screamed when she had heard the gunshots and how she’d tried to run. She wondered what the hell had happened to that neighbor who had heard her screams. She could feel her body start to tremble as she walked to the gate at the front of the houseboat. Locked. Of course. She leaned her head against the cold metal bars. There was a call button, but …suddenly she felt sick, and whirling around, started to dry heave into a bush.
“Hey, you okay?”
She looked up, her hand over her mouth. A thick-set guy in t-shirt and shorts was looking at her from the sidewalk. She tried to smile.
“I’m fine.”
The guy, who she judged was in his late twenties, nodded, still unconvinced. “Hey, you look familiar. Do I know you?”
Kym gripped the cold steel bar—the gate that had been put into to protect her friend, her sister, her Bay, after she, Kym, had brought the worst day of her life to her. She closed her eyes for a second before replying.
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t think so at all. I’m nobody. I’m no one.”
Emily Moore grinned at her boyfriend, Dash Hamilton. “Happy anniversary, baby.”
Dash looked startled. “Huh? I thought we started dating in August.”
She laughed. “We did …but it’s the one year anniversary of our getting back together.”
“Jeez, already?” But he leaned over to kiss her. “Then happy anniversary, baby. Thank you for making me the happiest man alive.”
Emily kissed him, enjoying the feeling of his cool lips on hers. They had been through so much in the time they’d known each other and Dash was no longer the impetuous, wild boy he had been when they met. Now he was a man, his goofball tendencies reserved for when they were alone.
“Maybe,” he said now, “we should discuss whether we want to move in together.”
Emily smiled. This was what she was talking about. Before, Dash would have bought a house, hired decorators, and told her they were moving in together without once consulting her, just assuming she would enjoy the surprise. One habit she was glad to have broken him of. He’d changed her too, though. She was more laid back and things that used to irritate her no longer did. She enjoyed fooling around with him on their off days and working together on their professional assignments.
Today they would begin again to work on making The 9th & Pine a success. It seemed fitting to Emily that today, of all days, they would start a new chapter. At nine a.m. that morning, Tom had sent her a text message. Jury’s been sent out. We’ll know soon about Lawson.
Thank god.
“Hey, you two.” Pete carried a fistful of beer bottles over to their table and sat down, passing out the drinks. They were in Hank’s bar, waiting for the others to arrive.
Pete Espinoza and his husband had started this bar together years ago, just after they’d met at Seattle Pride, a decade ago. It sat Downtown and Hank had been adamant that it was a safe space for all sexualities, not just the gay scene. It became a popular hangout, thanks mostly to Hank’s open, friendly manner and his policy of inclusion. When Pete, a qualified teacher, had moved onto teaching, Hank had taken over the running of the bar full-time, but since Bay’s shooting and the band’s hiatus, Pete had been back to help out.
Quartet had helped out, of course, during Bay’s recovery. Emily, Dash, and the couple had become close, working out showcase evenings for Quartet acts, which meant, in turn, more publicity for the bar. As a result, Hank had offered them the place whenever they wanted for whatever they wanted.
Hank, a towering figure of a man who matched Pete’s height of six-foot-seven and was about as broad across the shoulders, joined them. “Just waiting for the kids now?”
Emily grinned at him. She adored Pete and Hank; they felt like the big brothers she’d never had and Emily knew Bay felt the same way about them. There was something so steady and reassuring about their presence in this family; they gave her hope that everything would be okay.
“God, it will be good to go back into the studio,” Pete said, twisting the cap of another bottle and handing it to Hank.
“Well, this is a good start,” Dash said. “All the band in one place for the first time in months. Once we get through today, Ems and I thought we’d sit down with you and figure out next steps.”
Pete opened his mouth to speak, then looked over at the door as Bay and Tom came in. “Hey, girl.”
Pete hugged his friend. “Looking good, Miss T.”
“Same to you. Hi guys.” Bay did look good, Emily thought, noting the glowing skin and excitement in her eyes. She smiled at her.
“Pete’s excited and I can see you are too. I know we should wait for Kym to get here, but in the meantime, I’ve just had a thought. Come back show at the Paramount?”
Bay nodded. “Absolutely. That’s the perfect way to start things off. Pete?”
Soon they were deep into discussing plans, not noticing the time until Roman came in. His face was rigid with anger, his entire posture fraught with annoyance. “I went to pick Kym up. She’s not there. Look, I’m on my way to the airport. If she’s at the apartment in San Diego, I’ll haul her ass back.”
Bay stood and went to him. “Don’t be angry with her, Roman, please. If you see her, tell her not to be scared about seeing us. It’s okay.”
Tom interrupted them, staring at his phone. “We’ll soon see.” He looked up at Bay. “Jury’s back in. They have a verdict.”
Bay thought she might throw up as they all stood for the judge. Stuart Lawson stood ramrod straight at his defense table, his eyes locked on the jury members who had come in. The judge ran through some preamble, then asked the foreman if the jury had reached a unanimous verdict. The foreman gave the verdict to the clerk of the court.
“We, the jury, in the case of the state of King County, Washington versus Stuart Roger Lawson, on the charge of first-degree attempted murder, find the defendant guilty as charged.”
The court exploded and the judge had to silence them as each charge and verdict was read out. Every single one: guilty as charged.
Bay felt her legs wobble and she had to lean against Tom. He wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her forehead. “It’s all over now, beautiful.
”
Stu looked green, pale, and sweaty. He glanced around at Bay and narrowed his eyes at her. She met his gaze without blinking until he looked away. That’s right, you bastard. You got yours.
The judge was efficient and cold. “I see no reason to delay sentencing in this matter. Mr. Lawson, you are hereby sentenced to four life terms to be served consecutively for the attempted murder, use of a deadly weapon with intent to kill, kidnapping, and actual bodily harm.”
The judge went on, but the meaning was clear: Stu Lawson would never be free again.
“He’ll appeal, of course, but no sane judge or jury would let him out.” Tom said to Bay afterward.
She looked at him. “Now we can move on.”
He kissed her. “Hell, yes. Look, once Roman finds Kym, we can start to plan. It’ll take Emily and Dash a while to set everything up, and I know you’re keen to get back in the studio, but still, you promised me a vacation first.”
Bay laughed, her violet eyes shining. “Try and stop me, Meir.”
“Also,” he went on, taking her in his arms. “There’s that little matter of you marrying me.”
Her smile faded a little. “Baby …you know I want to marry you more than anything, right?”
“Okay,” he said, but he frowned. “But?”
“But I want a lot of distance between this court case and us getting married. When we do it, I want it to be for us, not as a ‘fuck you’ to Stu Lawson. I admit, at first, that appealed, but, Tomas Meir, I truly don’t want it to be about that. Can we wait? Can you wait? Let me do this thing with the band, get established, and earn enough to have some sort of financial parity with you?”
She grinned as he rolled his eyes. “I know you don’t care about that, but I do. What do you think?”
Tom nodded, considering. “I get that. I do. I’ll just have to be patient.”
“Yeah, but patient with a lot of dirty sex.” Bay kissed him, smiling. “And when we get to this island, I’ll show you just how dirty …”
“Then you have a deal, Miss Tambe.”
“Will you take my name?” She was laughing now and Tom looked askance.
“And be Tom Tambe? Hell, no. You’ll have to be Bay Meir.”
“That sounds like an old folk’s home,” she grumbled, but they were both laughing. Tom’s phone buzzed and, still laughing, he answered the call. He mouthed, “Roman,” at Bay, who nodded. Tom switched to speaker phone.
“Say that again, Rome, Bay’s listening.”
“I got to San Diego; the apartment is empty. Cleared out. She left a note.”
“Which says?”
Roman sighed. “Don’t try to follow me; I won’t be where you can find me. Tell Bay and Pete I’m sorry and I love them. I just can’t do it. Thank you for everything. Kym.”
Tom cursed and Bay’s shoulders slumped. “Is that it? After everything, that’s what happened?”
Roman’s voice was softer. “I’m so sorry, honey, but I think it’s time we all moved on. You and Pete are the band. We’ll find someone else to play guitar. But you need to accept it. Kym’s gone, sweetheart. She’s in the wind.”
Bay closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. Roman was right.
Let it go. Move on. Look to the future.
Kym was gone.
New Orleans
Kym heaved the keg up into her arms and stomped upstairs to help Cal. He looked impressed as she rolled the keg into place at the bar.
“Damn, girl, you got some upper body strength.”
She grinned at him. It had been four months and six days since she’d left Seattle and picked out one of the few places she had no ties to, but was still pretty exciting to her. New Orleans was hot and sweaty and crowded—and she loved it.
Those last days in Seattle and San Diego as she had planned out her disappearance had been full. She’d sold everything she didn’t need—that had belonged to her and not Quartet of course—dyed her blonde hair a creamy shade of caramel, chopped off a few good inches, stuck some glasses on her face, and boarded a Greyhound bus with just a suitcase. Her beloved Les Paul she’d put in storage, unable to part with it entirely. Her other guitars were all at pawn shops around San Diego. When she got to New Orleans, the heat was almost suffocating, but the motel she’d checked into was cheap, and within three days, she’d scored bar work. After a month at the motel, she’d found a one-bed place near the French Quarter. The bar, Hot Tin Roof, was busy all week, with its blend of jazz and contemporary music and good beer making it a hang-out for tourists and locals alike.
Cal, her boss, a slim-hipped African American, had quickly become a friend and she’d confided her past to him, telling him that she wanted a new life.
“Got it, sugar,” he’d told her. “We all need a do over once in a while.”
She had toyed with changing her name, but decided against it. Instead, she substituted out her last name for her middle name—Mason. She didn’t think anyone would find her, but just to be sure, she kept an eye on what her parents were doing and what Quartet had said about her departure. She also watched what The 9th & Pine were doing.
Because four months after she’d left, the band was on its way to being a huge deal. A huge deal. Emily and Dash had coordinated their re-emergence perfectly. A high profile “comeback gig” (that a concert goer had helpfully videoed and put up on YouTube) hit the headlines. They followed that with a new single—Missing You—and a myriad of interviews where they discussed Kym’s departure by saying it was a “huge sadness, but she needs to do her own thing and we respect that.”
Well-rehearsed lines. To torture herself, Kym would watch the interviews over and over, searching Bay and Pete’s faces for clues as to how they were really feeling. It wasn’t hard to find. The way Bay would look down at her hands as soon as Kym was mentioned and the slump in Pete’s shoulders. I’m sorry I let you down …again.
She would watch the concert and see how often Bay would glance over to where Kym used to stand, then look away quickly when she remembered her friend wasn’t there. It haunted her.
Now, as she cleaned the bar for opening at lunchtime, she remonstrated with herself. She had a good life now—a happy life. You walked away. Own it. She would—she would own it. She was thinking about applying to go back to school. She could work and study, then find a new career path. She had always been good at art. Maybe that was something she could do.
A wet cloth hit the back of her head and she spun around, grinning. Lee Calhoun, her colleague and new friend, grinned at her. “’Sub bitch?”
Kym stuck her tongue out at him. “Some of us are working,” she said snootily, sticking her nose in the air and trying not to smile.
“Some of us are too beautiful to work,” he replied. Lee was tall, broad, and had the longest beard she’d ever seen on a man. He had the kind of old-school cowboy charm and was desperately in love with his new wife, Ellen, who had cooked Kym some out-of-this-world meals since she’d been in New Orleans. Add that to the fact that Ellen was also a Professor of Law at one of the State’s most prestigious colleges and Kym was well on the way to having a full-blown crush on her too.
“Gonna be busy today.” Cal high-fived both of them as he unlocked the doors to the bar. The scent of the city blew in with the breeze and Kym was grateful for the air conditioning as she caught a wave of the heat of the day.
Cal was right that it was busy—so busy, in fact, that Kym didn’t see him until she was bending down, trying to unblock a line from one of the pumps, and she heard his voice.
“Soda water, please.”
No. No. Her heart began to thump against her ribs. Please, not him. Not now. She stood and turned.
Roman Ford smiled at her, a wide, friendly grin of triumph. “With a slice of lemon too, if that’s okay, please. Hey, Kym, how’s it going?”
New York. No. Miami? Definitely not. Too cold. Vancouver? Yes that was it. Bay stared up at the ceiling of her hotel room. The press tour was almost over, thank god. Even Pet
e, with his usually boundless energy, was exhausted. It wasn’t like touring to play gigs—which they could handle; it was just the endless, repetitive interviews with same old questions—less about the music and more about salacious details. What was it like being shot? Why wasn’t Kym in the band? Had she been fired? What was the story there?
She and Pete, frustrated, had talked to Emily about it, but she had merely shaken her head. “You have to expect this at first, especially when we still don’t have a replacement for Kym.”
Bay rubbed her eyes and Pete sighed. “We just haven’t found the right fit.”
Emily nodded. “Maybe you’re just looking for too much too soon. You’re not giving these people a chance to settle in.”
Both Bay and Pete had grumbled under their breaths at that one, but now Bay sighed to herself. Emily had been right, of course. All the guitarists had been great—well, almost all. There had been that one who had hit on Bay immediately and was swiftly kicked to the curb. They just weren’t Kym.
Bay rolled over on her bed. Five-forty-five in the evening. She was too exhausted to go out and toyed with the idea of room service. Pizza? She considered for a long moment. No. Chinese food and T.V. in bed. Perfect. But first …
Tom answered on the first ring. “Hey, beautiful.”
“Hey, Tommy. How’s your day been?”
“I never thought I’d be bored in this business, but talking money with our accountants all day is making me rethink my life choices.”
Bay laughed. “Isn’t that Roman’s job?”
She didn’t catch the slight hesitation in his voice. “He’s actually taking some time away.”
“Wow.” Bay was actually floored. Roman was a workaholic—even more so than Tom.
“Yep ... anyway, gorgeous, only Portland left and then …”
“Home! I cannot wait, but I’m looking forward to seeing Shae and Otis tomorrow after the interviews.”
Rockstar Untamed: A Single Dad Virgin Romance Page 95
