She legit winks, I guess because that’s what you do when you deliver extra garlic sauce to rock icons.
“Thanks, Izzy.”
“You need more water, hon?”
I have to block Casey who raises a fist to his mouth to cover his laugh.
“Please.”
“You got it, sweetie.”
She’s never called me sweetie. Ev. Er.
“I was wrong,” Casey wheezes out. “She might not sleep with you, but I bet she’d babysit.”
∞∞∞
Dinner improves from there. Izzy eventually leaves us alone, and Casey gets wrapped up in pursuit of tiny chicken parts. Yeah, this afternoon is borderline fun, which is exactly why I’m not at all surprised when three almost-rock stars thunder to our table.
“No fucking way!”
We hear Derrick before we see him. Everyone hears Derrick.
“Dude! You held out on us,” he barks at me.
I shrug. “Hey, guys. Luke and Casey are in town.”
“No shit!”
Hope Luke was ready to be tackled by a six-foot-two drummer. Parker is more civil with a normal handshake, and Reece nods. Kind of. He never got used to sharing air with his idols.
Derrick, though?
“Oh, wings? Ah yeah!” He helps himself to a handful—a handful!—and drops to the empty chair beside me. Parker and Reece pull up chairs from a neighboring table.
“Wha’re ya doim im hilly?” Derrick pushes through a mouthful of chicken.
“Just passing through,” Luke says. “Wanted to say hi quick.”
Derrick nods, swallows, and grabs Luke’s glass. “Right on.” He reaches for my napkin next. You know, so as to wipe hot sauce off his face in a gentlemanly manner. “How long you in town? You have to run?”
Casey shrugs. “Not really.”
“Hell yeah! You have to come by our place then. It’s right down the street. You probably passed it.”
Fuck!
“Uh, I’m sure they don’t want to see our shitty little place,” I say. Except my voice is more strained than playful. Luke is too smart to miss that.
“Is this the band house you always talked about? We’d love to stop by.”
The other guys look ready to shit their pants. Especially when he says, “Actually, Jesse played your new track for us. Mind if we discuss it a bit?”
“Seriously?” Parker’s voice cracks, and I know I’m screwed.
The exchange from hell continues on in a distant plane around me as I pull out my phone. How to get rid of Mila… We need groceries? Not long enough. Spontaneous fumigation appointment? FML.
“You okay, dude?”
Someone says that. To someone. Me? I look up. Five sets of eyes watch me slowly tuck my useless phone back in my pocket.
“Just checking my messages.”
“Oh to see if—ouch!” Derrick reaches down to rub his shin.
“We should hit the rehearsal room first.”
∞∞∞
No. Everyone agrees first is the rowhome tour of hell. Damn, the devil will be so bored with me when I finally get there for real.
I push through the crowd to reach the door first. “I need to grab something from my room quick.” If I can at least give her—
“Hey, Jess.” Her smile fades as the foyer fills with former targets. Victims. Enemies.
“Mila Taylor?” I’ve never seen Luke flustered. Never. But that’s my specialty: turning normal shit into documentary fodder.
I clear my throat. “Yeah. We’ve kind of become friends.”
Now I’ve pissed her off too. I’m on a roll.
“Friends? Right. Friends.” She forces a smile and offers her hand. Luke takes it with robotic grace.
“Wow. Been a while,” he says.
I’ve also never seen Casey look ready to punch a girl before. “What brings you above ground? Lucifer give you vacation days or something?”
The guys snort behind us.
“Right. Well, clearly you have plans I didn’t know about, so I’ll leave you to it.” Her lips are so tight, it’s amazing words even escape through them. Oh I’m in a shitload of trouble.
“Wait, you all know each other?” By his grin, Derrick didn’t catch the tone or any of the previous exchanges.
“We go way back,” Casey says.
“Really? Wow! How…” We can see the moment when Derrick joins the rest of us in the present awkwardness. “Ohhh. She talked shit about you too, huh?” At least it shuts him up. Or not, when the silence turns from awkward to unbearable.
I clear my throat. “So how about heading over to the studio?”
Bodies are already moving toward the door before the matching chorus of yeps, sounds good, and okays joins in.
“I’ll catch up with you,” I call after them. Except it’s Mila I have to catch when I turn around. I follow the sound of dishes banging in the kitchen. Back straight and fist clenched around a spatula, she’s prepared for battle—or murder. Death by pancake-flipper. I dunno…
I’ve never been great at hiding my amusement.
“What’s so funny?” she snaps.
“Just calculating how long it will take you to kill me with that.”
She glances down at the weapon, and her shoulders relax with the twist of her lips. “Quite a long time, I reckon.”
“Bet you’d get bored.”
“Bet you’d stop me first.”
“You’ll just have to tie me down then.” I reach from behind and close my hand over hers. Air releases from her lungs as she lets go of the utensil to lace her fingers with mine instead.
“Friends, eh? Is that what we are?” she says, leaning into my chest. I cross our arms around us to force us closer.
“I don’t know what we are. It’s just—”
“No.” Her hair brushes against my lips as she shakes her head. “You don’t need to explain. It’s the nature of what I do, what I’ve done. I guess… It’s just never hurt before.”
Her voice is soft. “Where did you come from? You’ve made things very complicated for me,” she mutters, and see, that’s funny.
“I’ve made things complicated for you?”
I feel her smile when she burrows in my arms. “I suppose I can appreciate the challenge you face as well.”
“Oh, is that what you suppose?” I turn her around to align our bodies in a completely different pitch. The biology of my reaction is basic science, and she groans.
“Don’t you have to go meet your friends?” Her warning doesn’t match the way her hands slide down to lock our hips together.
“You’re my friend, aren’t you?” I move enough to elicit a gasp.
“You need to go before your other friends get concerned.” There’s no conviction in her counsel.
More in her arousal, so doubtful, my damsel with a hammer to all resolve. This assault on conviction, her mission to make me lose my mind…
“Jess?”
I drop my gaze to hers. “Yeah?”
She runs her fingers down my cheek, along my jaw. “Where do you go?”
“What?”
Her eyes narrow in search of something behind mine. “Sometimes you’re… not here.”
A shrug is a great way to pretend to be confused. A kiss for goodbye.
“I should head over to the practice room. See you later?”
Mila Taylor reads me like a flashcard. And I know her nod is also a lie.
∞∞∞
Luke Craven and Casey Barrett own Grammys. Oh, and an Oscar for the song in that motorcycle movie. So when the NSB superstars tell you your shit is good, it’s probably okay that your brain explodes. I’m still grinning when Luke and I lean against the brick exterior of our practice building.
“So Mila Taylor, huh?” His lips curl into a smirk as he squints at traffic on the cross street.
My shoe scrapes at an imperfection in the sidewalk. “Shit. I know, dude, okay?”
“You know what?”
“How
fucked up it is. It’s just—”
“Did I say that?”
My gaze flickers over to find humor in lieu of critique.
“Would I shack up with Mila Taylor? Hell no, but I’ll tell you one thing, love her or hate her, the chick has zero tolerance for bullshit.”
I release a breath. “Ha. No kidding.”
“What I mean is, her presence says a lot about you. I couldn’t imagine any guy being good enough to attract that dragon.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Awesome. Thanks, man.”
He grins and crosses his arms. “Seriously, dude. I’m not surprised it’s you. You’re the real deal, and if Mila Taylor thinks so, then it’s only a matter of time before the world knows.”
I grunt and drop to a step. “Yeah well, it’s not that simple.”
Luke lowers himself beside me. “It rarely is.”
I rest my elbows on my knees, staring out over the street. “How did you do it, man?” My voice shakes as blood starts pounding through my body.
“Do what?”
I glance over, hoping he’s distracted enough for me to retract the question. His fixed stare allows no chance of that.
“Recover.”
His sigh is hard to read. “You think I’ve recovered?”
“It sure looks like you’ve got your shit together.”
“Yeah? Well, it’s not about recovery. It’s about finding something worth fighting your ass off to keep.”
“Holland?”
“Holland, music, Casey, Callie. You keep adding to that list until the thought of losing it is unbearable.”
“That simple, huh.” It wasn’t meant for him, but he laughs.
“Simple? Fuck no. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I needed counseling, rehab, meds, and a ton of support to get here, and it never goes away. You don’t recover. I’m still fighting. Every day. Every damn minute, I fight.”
I let out a nod. Shoulder Luke is hard to ignore. Real Luke makes it impossible.
“What if I can’t?”
“Can’t what?”
“Fight.”
“Everyone can fight.”
I shake my head against the sudden burn of tears.
Just enough to fight, fight. Hold tight.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Overrated. Garage band wasted.
Dead eyes, swirling flies, so many lies.
Lies. Lies. Lies.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I crush my eyelids with my palms. No… Please no. Not now. Not in front of Luke!
Breathe. Just—
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Stop crying!”
Thump, thump, thump.
“Why do you think you’re here? No one wants you!”
Breathe!
“Shut up, you little fucker!”
“Jesse, hey.”
My shoulder moves, pressure on my back.
“Hey, man!”
I blink. Why is it so dark? Where’s Parker? Parker!
No!
No, no, no!
I jump up.
They’re screaming upstairs. I cover my ears because no matter how many times you hear them, the words don’t lose their power. The left side of my face throbs. I count the heartbeats in my cheek. One-two-three-four. There’s a cadence, so poetic this pulse. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four. I press my fingers against the heat and find the slick sensation of blood. I hold out my hand out but there’s no proof in the darkness.
Breathe. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
I won’t. Not today.
The padlock rattles outside, and panic rushes into the song. One-two-three-four. The lock siphons all air from the basement. Breathe. One-two-three-four.
Jesse!
Jesse!
Who’s that? They never call me by my name.
They’re here, the demons, and I jerk away when one grabs my arm. Another. How many hide in this basement?
One-two-three-four.
Jesse!
Call 9-1-1.
Just give him a sec. He’s having a flashback.
Parker? Parker!
“I’m right here, brother.”
I clench my eyes shut.
“Does this happen a lot?”
“Not anymore. Not like this anyway.”
I shake my head.
“Where are you? I can’t see you!”
“Right here.” His voice is soft. Too soft to be coming from upstairs. I force my eyes open, and…
“Parker.” His name shatters on my tongue, and he pulls me into him. Tears of hatred, relief, terror explode from my eyes onto his shoulder. His arms tighten around me.
“We’re here, brother. We’re here.”
I nod but can’t let go. He might not be there if I do.
People leave.
“Jess?” This voice is strong and full of fear. It’s close, and Parker starts to pull away to let it in.
The air thins, one-two, one, three—I shake my head and reach for him, but he’s gone—They leave. The darkness steals them all.
“Jesse.” Gentle hands rest on my cheeks, force my gaze into glacial crystals.
“Mila.”
She nods, and I recognize the look of relief that so often accompanies my journey back to consciousness.
Her arms constrict around me, replacing Parker’s warmth.
“You go back there, don’t you?” she whispers so only I can hear.
There’d be too much to say, so I close my eyes and refill my lungs.
“We should get him back to the house.”
∞∞∞
Overrated, garage-band wasted, talent-jaded
They said
My eyes snap open. Air shoots into my lungs.
Destined for rejection, binding imperfections, nothing but objections
They said, they said
I roll out of bed and fumble for my notebook. A pen, my guitar, and I’m in the dim lamplight of the living room.
Attractive fraud, where’s your army now to defend the legend that only exists in
Could have beens
Would have beens
Should have been vapors afraid to face the wind
“Jesse?”
Bm. A. Passing G to Em? No, two beats. Two. I play the progression again.
Attractive fraud, where’s your army now?
There are other words in the room now but I can’t hear them over the ones screaming in my head.
Could have been,
Would have been,
Should, should, should have been
Too hazy for a spotlight
They said
“He’s okay.”
“But look at him! It’s like he’s not even here.”
“Yeah, he got the music.”
“The what?”
“This is what happens when the music comes. He’s writing.”
“This is normal?”
“Nothing about my brother is normal.”
Couldn’t be
Shouldn’t be
Wouldn’t be if not for helping hands that cower under streetlights
“So what, we just leave him like this?”
“Basically. You can’t stop it.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know. Hours? Days?”
“Days?”
“He left us for three to write ‘Jonas.’”
You’re special
She said
A fucking god beneath the fraud
She said
Could be
Should be
Won’t be
Unless she collects
the lies she tells
“He needs help, Parker.”
“It’s who he is.”
“Is it? Or is it who you need him to be?”
“Fuck you, Mila. You exploit him as much as everyone else. How much was the paycheck for ripping him apart?”
I’m no god, just a piece of hell
Here to tell you how it is
∞∞∞
Voices drift from the kitchen. This house is great at turning private conversations into murky public broadcasts. I listen for clues, but only get enough to know I’m not supposed to hear.
I don’t have to. I know this conversation by heart.
Mila is sorry but this isn’t what she signed up for. I’m too fucked up to fake a career, and she’s not equipped to deal with it. She wishes us the best. Maybe call her if I get my shit together. Until then, we should concentrate on getting me help. Do they know how to stage an intervention? She knows all kinds of random shit. Bet she knows how to do interventions too.
My chest tightens as I trace the indent of the woman I’m starting to need. It’s a vacuum, painful as it sucks my heart back into the shadows. That’s the problem with secrets. Once they’re exposed, they become connections. Connections that rip out a chunk of your soul when they snap. It’s why my heart tucked itself safely into the depths of me, beyond reach, further protected by substance clouds and casual encounters. Connections bleed. Connections hurt.
Vague memories of last night filter through my head. The music has finally let me go, as evidenced by how I’m awake in my bed. There were witnesses with me, watching, judging, but I can’t remember more than that. I have to assume Mila was one of them.
Footsteps tap toward me from the kitchen. By their delicate gait, I know what’s coming. My heart, that beating defector that crept into view against my will is about to pay for its betrayal. Ripped out. Shredded. Grated into a pulp that will watch as its connection packs her suitcase and delivers the sentence it deserves.
This is the problem with secrets.
Her eyes are heavy when she opens the door. Apologetic. I can’t look anymore and squeeze mine shut.
“Don’t.”
“Jesse—”
“I’m serious, Mila. Don’t soften the blow. Just go.”
“What?”
“I don’t hate you for it. I don’t even blame you.” My voice breaks, and self-hatred fills my throat with bile. “People leave.” Everyone. Everyone.
No one wants you.
Why do you think you’re here?
No one wants you.
No. One.
Except the sounds move in the wrong direction. Closer?
Limelight (NSB Book 4) Page 13
