Defile

by Jessica Prince

  Killian rolled his eyes in the long wall of mirrors that extended out in front of us as he moved to the free weights. Picking up a set of dumbbells, he began curling. “That’s because your miserable ass is hungover,” he grunted. “A-fuckin’-gain.”

  None of us knew what the hell was going on with him, or why he was trying so goddamn hard to drown himself in booze, but he only seemed to be getting worse since Will’s death. And we didn’t have the first clue how to help him.

  “Will you just get off it already?” he grumbled before sucking back a bottle of water. “I’m fine. Just having a little bit of fun.”

  “Yeah, well you better get your shit together before we leave for Europe,” I warned. “Last thing we need is for you to cause an international scandal in the middle of a fucking tour.”

  He overhanded the empty bottle into the garbage can with more force than necessary as he snapped, “I said I was fine! Jesus Christ, get off my ass.”

  “Then stop giving us shit to worry about,” Killian bit out.

  Mace wiped the sweat from his brow with the small white towel he’d tucked into the waistband of his shorts, then tossed it into the laundry basket near the door. “I’m out. I’ll talk to you guys later.” Then he disappeared.

  “Fuck me,” Kill mumbled once the glass door shut behind him. “I don’t know what his deal is, but he’s spiraling out of control.”

  I sighed and stood from the bench, moving to join Killian at the free weights. “We’ll try and get this sorted once Garrett gets back in a few days. Maybe with Tate back we’ll be able to get him square.”

  “Speaking of Tate being back….” He gave me a smirk that I wanted to punch off his smug face.

  “Nope, not going there,” I grunted, starting on my bicep curls. “What’s happening between me and Tate is no one’s goddamn business.”

  The humor instantly fled his expression at my comment. “You said the same fuckin’ thing ten years ago, and look what happened. She was our friend too, asshole. She was our family. You weren’t the only one who lost her back then. If you do something to screw this up, so help me—”

  Slamming the weights back onto the rack, I turned and shot him a killing look. I wanted to rage, to plant my fist through his face for getting in my business, but another part of me knew he had a right to be concerned. Tate hadn’t just been mine back then, and she wasn’t only mine now. I might’ve had her in a way the rest of them never would, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t just as important to the other guys as she was to me.

  “I’m not gonna screw this up, okay? I’m trying to fix it.”

  “Yeah well, I just hope you know what you’re doin’,” he warned. “Same shit happens now that happened back then, I’m not sure the band’ll survive it.”

  With those ominous words, he turned and started out of the gym, leaving me alone with my miserable thoughts.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Tatum

  “Stop pouting,” Gina scolded as she pulled me through the doors of The Black Sheep. This was my first ever visit to the bar, but I’d heard plenty about it. Apparently it had one of the best open mic nights in the tri-state area. And the place was a crush, people crammed in just waiting to hear great music. “We’re gonna have fun tonight whether you like it or not!”

  “I’m not pouting,” I called back as we got closer to the U-shaped bar tucked in at the back. “I’m just thirsty, and the wait for a drink is probably gonna be forever.”

  The second my butt hit the barstool, a gorgeous woman with hair only a couple shades lighter than mine stepped in front of Gina and me, asking, “What can I get for you ladies?” The speedy service was miraculous considering how packed the bar was.

  “You’re officially my favorite person,” I informed her. “A double anything as long as it’s strong as hell.”

  “Rough day?” the woman asked with a polite smile as she poured vodka and tonic water into a glass, mindful to use a heavy hand with the vodka.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” I mumbled before sucking down half the contents with a few pulls from the straw.

  Gina gave me a side-eyed look as she asked for a rum and Coke. “I thought we were having a girls’ night. If I’d known I was going to have to carry your plastered butt outta here later, I’d have worn more appropriate footwear.”

  We both glanced down at her insanely high tan platform stilettos. My sweet friend barely topped five feet, so she had a habit of wearing heels to add some height to her teeny frame. “Sorry,” I said around the straw as I continued to drink.

  “Boy drama?” a woman to Gina’s right asked. The tone she used was more commiserating than curious, making the question feel slightly less intrusive. I leaned forward and noticed three women watching me and Gina with equal expressions of interest.

  “Ignore her,” the bartender said with a laugh. “Lola has a gift for butting into strangers’ conversations.”

  “Hey,” the woman now known as Lola cried in mock offense. “It’s one of the hazards of the job. I can’t help it.”

  “She really can’t,” the blonde beside her giggled. “How do you think we get most of the stuff for our show?”

  “Show?” Gina asked, perking up on her stool. “Wait… Lola? As in Lola Abbatelli?”

  “That’s me,” she replied. “Well, Lola Lockhart now. Nice to meet you.” She offered her hand for Gina to shake. “And these are my friends, Da—”

  “Daphne and Sophia. I know who you are! Omigod! I’m a huge fan of your show!”

  “What show?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

  Gina spun around so fast her honey-colored locks whacked me in the face. “These are the hosts of Girl Talk. It’s only like the best radio show ever!”

  “Oh! I’ve heard it!” I chirped as my eyes bugged out. “You guys are huge in San Francisco.”

  “Is that where you’re from?” the brunette, Sophia, asked.

  “Yeah. But I moved here about two months ago for work. I’m obsessed with your show. When you asked that one chick how she expected to be able to get off with a guy when she was too embarrassed to even diddle herself in the privacy of her own home, I spit my coffee everywhere. It. Was. Great!”

  Lola laughed melodically, everything about her radiating pure class. “Thanks. I’m all about a woman taking her pleasure into her own hands. You have to demand what you want.”

  “Amen, sister!” Gina crowed while I gave that statement some serious thought. Demand what you want. The concept sounded so simple. But what if what you wanted wasn’t good for you?

  “Ooh,” Daphne cooed. “Now I’m really intrigued.”

  I hadn’t realized until just then that I’d spoken the question out loud, and my cheeks burned red in embarrassment.

  “You guys leave the poor girl alone,” the bartender admonished her friends before looking back at me. “Seriously, you don’t have to answer any of their nosey questions.”

  “And this would be our friend, and murderer of all things fun, Fiona,” Daphne said in a teasing tone.

  “Tatum,” I replied, shaking the other redhead’s offered hand. “And this is my friend Gina.”

  “Nice to meet you both. And drinks are on the house since you’ve had to deal with these three,” she said, pointing at Lola, Daphne, and Sophia.

  “Oh no, you don’t have to do that,” Gina insisted. “We wouldn’t want to get you into trouble with the owner.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Fiona waved her off. “I’m sure it’s nothing I couldn’t talk my way out of with a blowjob.” I had been mid-sip when she said that, and promptly began to choke. “Oh God. You should see your face.” She laughed uproariously. “I’m sorry. I was just messing with you. My husband owns the place.” She poured me another vodka tonic and pushed it in front of me.

  “Forgive our tactless friend,” Daphne offered. “Now that we’re all painfully wed, we have to find our entertainment wherever possible.”

  “Don’t you mean blissfully
wed?” Gina asked on a laugh.

  “Hell no,” Sophia scoffed good-naturedly. “Whoever invented that saying should be strung up by their short hairs. Marriage is hardly ever blissful.”

  “Cheers to that,” Lola commiserated, clinking her glass with her friend’s. “It’s work. Is it worth it? Hell yeah. But no one really talks about all the time and energy you have to put into it to keep it good.”

  “You make it sound so… bleak,” I muttered.

  “Not at all!” Lola continued. “Nothing in this world is worth having if it doesn’t take work. I mean, how fulfilled would you be if you got an award for just showing up? You wouldn’t. Think of it like this. You’re building a house for Habitat for Humanity, and you have blisters and splinters from all the work you’re putting into creating a home for a family in need. You fall into bed each night completely exhausted, your entire body aching, but you’re still smiling because you know what you’re doing is good and right, and you’ve actually achieved something great. And when that family gets a look at their new home, they feel just as grateful as you do. A marriage—or any relationship, really—is exactly like that. Some days are better than others. You’re both going to screw up, usually him more than you,” she added with a wink, “but if you bust your ass every day to make the person you’re with happy, and they do the same, each of you gets to go to bed at night smiling at what you’re steadily building together.”

  I stared down, unseeing, into my new drink as I played Lola’s words over and over in my head.

  “You know,” Sophia started, her voice so soft it drew my attention to her. I could feel her friends and Gina watching us closely, but Sophia’s understanding gaze held me completely captive. “I’m not going to assume I know exactly what you’re dealing with, and I’m certainly not going to press you to pour your heart out to complete strangers, but from what you said earlier, it sounds like you’re struggling to forgive someone you’re still drawn to?” All I could do was nod at her assessment, my words lodged in my throat. “Then maybe fate’s not done with you yet,” she continued. “I can only speak from my own personal experience, but I’ve discovered that you can fight your feelings all you want. In the end, they’ll always win out. Closing yourself off to avoid heartache won’t do a damn thing. There’s no avoiding pain like that, because your heart’s already decided, whether you like it or not. All you can do is brace and hope for the best.”

  “Maybe not the most comforting advice, but it’s the honest truth,” Fiona chimed in, giving me a sympathetic smile as she nudged my drink closer. “And because of that, God created alcohol. Drink up.”

  I did as ordered, returning the squeeze Gina gave my hand as she drank her rum and Coke.

  “Okay!” Lola clapped. “Now that we’ve gotten the heavy out of the way, it’s time to sit back and enjoy some kickass music with our new friends.”

  Gina hadn’t been wrong when she said I wouldn’t regret coming out with her. The bands and solo performers who hit the stage were unbelievable. I’d loved some of them so much that I’d recorded bits and pieces and texted the videos to Camden to share, knowing he’d get a kick out of it since open mic nights were how he’d gotten his start.

  He’d replied back after the third video of one guy saying, You should totally manage him, babycakes. Go introduce yourself!

  I’d scoffed, laughing off his suggestion and pocketing my phone. Turning to Fiona, who was still tending the bar, I called out to get her attention and leaned in. “These acts tonight are great!” I shouted over the music. “Seriously, how do you find these guys?”

  She rested her elbows on the bar top and replied, “Social media is a beautiful thing. We have them audition for us first before picking who we’re going to let perform. My husband and I have been tossing around the idea of hosting small, private concerts a couple times a year, but finding the right connections is proving to be harder than we thought.”

  At that comment, I was hit with an idea. “Give me your phone number.”

  “Why?” she asked, studying my face curiously.

  “Because I might have some connections.”

  Her eyes went wide as she scribbled her digits on a napkin and slid it over. “Are you serious?”

  “Yep. I’ll call you later this week with more info. That cool?”

  “Absolutely! You make it happen and you and your friends will drink free for life!”

  I laughed and turned back to the band currently on the stage, letting the music wash over me like warm, soothing water. Gina and I hung with our new friends for a while longer, chatting intermittently between performances, but every time someone got on that stage whose music I connected with, all conversation faded from around me. I had tunnel vision, unable to concentrate on anything else.

  I was lost in one woman in particular when I felt a prickling sensation on the back of my neck. The tiny hairs on my arms stood on end, and as I glanced toward the door, I knew exactly who I’d see. I sensed him the moment he entered the bar, a sixth sense I’d only ever had for Declan Forrester kicking into high gear.

  He was moving through the crowd, his head down to obscure his face from view, but I knew in my bones that it was him. A baseball cap obstructed his face, and a long-sleeved button-down shirt hid his recognizable tattoos, but there was no mistaking the sudden buzz in my veins.

  From a distance, I watched as his head came up, those intense silver eyes landing on me. It was as if he’d sensed me as well, a gift both of us had had since we were seven years old.

  I knew in that moment that he’d been right. We were in each other’s blood. And a part of me feared there was no getting him out.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Declan

  I’d been sneaking into The Black Sheep’s open mic nights since they first started. I never brought any of the other guys with me, afraid that more than one of us out in a public setting would draw unwanted attention. That bar was the shit when it came to hosting some of the best undiscovered talent I’d ever heard play. And I got off on the high the music gave me. It was the same high I’d tried chasing with drugs and booze years before when I stopped feeling like I was in control of my own life. The same high I started losing my grasp on around the time the band hit it big and we had too many other people to answer to.

  Back then I’d been so swept up in the fame and notoriety that I’d lost my passion for what I did. It took losing Tate to pull my head out of my ass. But without her there to share in it, the joy that once fueled my soul whenever I created music was dull and unsatisfying.

  It wasn’t nearly as heady as when Tate had been a part of it, but at least these open mic nights helped spur my creativity to some extent. So I’d donned my poor attempt at a disguise and headed to the bar alone.

  But when I walked through the doors, I instantly felt her gaze penetrate my skin like laser beams. Lifting my head just enough to see from under the brim of my ball cap, I scanned the area, coming to a stop at the bar where she sat on a stool beside Gina. Her stare held mine, unwavering, as I tipped one corner of my lips up in a smirk. Tate tracked me the whole time as I worked my way through the crowd into an unoccupied booth in the back. Once there, I took a seat, lifted a hand, and curled my finger in a gesture that told her to join me.

  She leaned over to Gina, whispering something in her ear that sent her attention my way. A knowing grin teased the blonde’s lips as she nodded and waved Tate off. A few seconds later, she arrived at my table, sliding into the seat across from me.

  “Is this an attempt at a disguise?” she asked with a teasing smile, reaching across the table and flicking the bill of the cap.

  “It’s worked for me so far.”

  “Hmm.” Her lips scrunched to one side. “Well, I don’t know how much longer it’ll save you from the masses. I clocked you the second you walked through the door.”

  Propping my forearms on the table, I pressed closer and lowered my voice. “Sweetheart, that had nothing to do with my disguise.”
r />   One of her perfectly arched eyebrows quirked up. “Oh really?”

  “Really. My blood still hums to life whenever you’re around, and I’m guessing yours does the same.” Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink, and I knew I’d hit the nail on the head. “Am I right, or are you going to lie to yourself about that too?”

  Her expression turned defiant at my challenge. “Are you baiting me?” she asked in a way that told me she already knew the answer.

  “You tell me.”

  “I think you are,” she replied, leaning in as well, just to prove she wasn’t backing down, just like she refused to back down when we were kids. “And I’ll call your bluff. Yes, I knew the moment you walked through those doors before I even turned to look. You happy now?”

  “Immensely,” I answered honestly as a full-blown smile stretched across my face. Tatum’s attention darted down to my lips and I flicked my tongue out, reveling in how her eyes grew hazy as I wetted my bottom lip before pulling it between my teeth and biting down, giving her a show of exactly what I wanted to do to her lush mouth.

  The spell was broken when a waitress stopped at the table, asking in a bubbly voice, “What can I get for you guys?”

  I lowered my head so she couldn’t see me and opened my mouth, prepared to answer when Tate spoke up, cutting me off. “Jack over ice for him, and I’ll just have a water.”

  The server scribbled our order on her pad and took off a second later. I looked up at Tate and asked, “Pretty presumptuous of you. How’d you know I didn’t want a beer?”

  Her grin was playful as she shook her head. “You only drink beer when you’re relaxing with your friends privately. When you’re out in public, it’s usually Jack, or tequila if you’re in the mood to party. And seeing as you showed up here alone, I’m guessing you came for the music, not to tie one on.”