by K. A. Linde
McAvoy walked into the room a minute later, surveyed what was going on, and then reached for a joint. “I’m probably going to need this, aren’t I?”
I ignored them and inserted the EP into our stereo. “Just listen to this.”
The music blasted through our sound system. McAvoy slowly put the joint back behind his ear, Vin leaned forward in his seat, and Miller’s jaw dropped open.
“Is that us?” Miller asked.
“No. I gave someone else the rights to our songs.”
“We sound fucking killer!” Vin cheered.
“Corey put together an entire EP for us.”
We spent the next twenty minutes of practice listening to the recordings. We had put them together to ensure we’d look more professional if Pacific lost interest.
Except Pacific hadn’t lost interest—as much as I wanted them to.
“Hey, have you heard from Pacific lately?” I fucking hated saying Hollis’s name. The guy was an asshole who had preyed on my relationship with Ari. He would have to figure out his place with us before I’d even consider signing with them.
“Hollis sent me the final deets about The Drift tour. He wants us to meet him at the NYC kickoff,” Miller said.
“He wants us to fucking hang out with Donovan and his shit bandmates?” I stood and stopped the track that was playing.
“Bro,” Miller said, “be glad that he wants to see us at all after what went down with Donovan.”
“The motherfucker deserved it for what he did to Ari.”
Signing with Hollis was one thing, but the thought of being around Donovan Jenkins made my blood boil. That asshole had kissed Ari and insinuated that he’d fucked her. It was one thing to want us broken up, but it was another to actually act on it.
“Where is Ari anyway?” Miller asked.
That was a good fucking question. Normally, we’d already be a half hour into rehearsal and working on perfecting the new song I’d dropped on Miller last week. Ari hadn’t missed a rehearsal since we got back together. She might be lost in a mountain of chemistry homework on the weathered couch, but she would still be here.
I was used to singing “Life Raft” to my life raft.
So, where the hell was she?
Incoming call: Grant McDermott
I bit my lip and then silenced my phone. I couldn’t talk to him right now, not here. I’d thought I would have been done with this already and then on my way to band rehearsal like normal. Everything had run over, and I didn’t want to tell Grant that I’d come here.
I glanced around the examination room and then swallowed hard. I couldn’t keep my feet from tapping anxiously on the linoleum tiles as I waited for the doctor to come back. I couldn’t believe I was even here right now.
Incoming call: Grant McDermott
God, can’t you give me a minute, Grant? I deliberately ended the call that time. Maybe he would get the picture.
Knock, knock.
The door cracked open. “Aribel,” the doctor said.
“Hi,” I said softly.
The doctor closed the door behind her and took a seat on the rolling stool next to the computer. “Well, you’re not pregnant.”
I sagged forward in the seat. That was so good to hear. I hadn’t missed a period or anything, but even with condoms, accidents could happen.
“The rest of the tests will come in later this week. A nurse will give you a call to let you know the results. Here’s your prescription.” The doctor handed over a piece of paper. “If you’re still concerned about anything, feel free to give me a call at anytime. I still suggest sending the young man you’re seeing over for peace of mind.”
“I’ll take that into consideration. Thank you.” I folded the piece of paper in half and stuck it into my purse with a sigh.
“Just check out at the front desk before you leave.”
“Thank you again,” I said before hurrying out of the office.
As soon as I exited the office, I pulled my phone back out. My finger hovered over the spot to give Grant a call back. I should have told him about coming here, but I hadn’t wanted to freak him out over nothing. I still didn’t want to freak him out.
“Ugh!” I exited out of the screen and dialed my brother’s number instead.
“Aribel?” he answered.
“Hey, Aaron.”
“What’s up?”
“Just having a slight mental breakdown, and I needed to talk to my big brother.”
“You’re having a mental breakdown?” he asked in disbelief. “What? Is O-chem causing you problems?”
I laughed hollowly. “No. School is fine. It’s more…guy-related.”
“I see. Well, this is a first. My little sister is all grown-up.” He chuckled softly.
“This isn’t a joke, Aaron! I just left the doctor!”
“What? What happened? Are you pregnant?” He sounded pissed.
“No! Christ, Aaron, no,” I said, flustered. I hadn’t meant for this conversation to happen this way. I opened the door to my BMW and sank into the driver’s side. “I don’t know how to be this girl.”
“What kind of girl?”
“Look…I don’t even know what I’m saying. I really like this guy.” No way was I about to directly tell him about Grant. He wouldn’t understand why I was dating someone like Grant. “But being with him terrifies me. Have you ever been in that kind of situation?”
“Sure. I know what you mean. You’re in love, kiddo.”
I threw my head back onto the headrest and closed my eyes. Maybe that was all it was. Maybe I was just in love and scared. “We had an argument a couple of weeks ago, and now, I feel as if we’re trying to pretend nothing happened.”
“Aribel, calm down. It’ll be fine. You don’t have to tiptoe around me. I know what happened with Henry over break. I’m sure it will be fine.”
“With Henry?” I asked, sitting up straight.
“Yeah, when you left Le Petit Parlor,” he said, referencing the bar we had gone to after the New Year. “He’s a good guy for you. Don’t let one argument get in the way.”
“I…”
“I’ve got to get back to work, Aribel. If it’s about Henry, then don’t worry. You guys were meant to be together. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mom is already planning your wedding.” He laughed again. “See you, sis.”
The line went dead in my hand, and I stared down at it in shock. Aaron thought that I had slept with Henry? And that we were now dating?
Ugh! Not good.
This afternoon had gone from bad to worse in the span of one conversation.
“She sent me to fucking voice mail!” I threw the phone onto the couch and stormed over to my guitar.
“Maybe she’s busy,” Miller suggested.
“She’s been acting fucked up all day—no, all week. Let’s just play.” I threw my guitar over my head and mechanically tuned her.
“That’s what you get when you deal with uptight pussy,” Vin said.
I didn’t even have the energy to fight him on that. I couldn’t figure out what Ari’s fucking deal was. She had never struck me as the kind of girl who would sneak around and avoid me. My favorite thing about her was her fucking mouth. She wasn’t afraid to say the shit that everyone else held back. She couldn’t start acting like every other chick, or I was going to lose it.
“This might not be the best time, but—” Miller started.
“Then, save it,” I growled. “We’ve already lost most of rehearsal.”
Miller glanced between McAvoy and Vin. McAvoy shrugged, and Vin just looked irritated. Vin needed to keep his stupid mouth shut. Nothing good ever came from a conversation with him.
“Bro, we need to talk about meeting up with Hollis,” Miller continued.
“I don’t want to talk about Hollis right now.”
“We need to get serious about what is going to happen. If you don’t have your head on straight about this, then we need to know now.” Miller crossed his arms over his ch
est.
As a united front, he stood with McAvoy and Vin.
“Chill, Miller. Grant’s in. He’s always been in,” McAvoy said. “Look what he did with the EP.”
“Are you fuckers forgetting the time he said that he didn’t even want to get signed?” Vin asked. “I didn’t fucking forget.”
I slid my hand back through my hair and cursed under my breath. “I explained that shit, and I’m in. Just don’t say anything to Ari about it yet.”
“How can we? She’s not fucking here,” Vin said.
My eyes traveled around the garage, and I gritted my teeth. No, she wasn’t. “Thanks for reminding me, asshole. Now, can we play?”
The guys didn’t argue with me as they picked up their instruments and began playing our regular set. Breathing heavily, I opened a bottle of water and guzzled it before we got to work on the new song I’d given to Miller last week. “Life Raft” was the first song I’d ever written for the band, but with the way things had been going with Ari, I’d been incredibly inspired to put pen to paper. Now hearing the words I’d written about us made my anger simmer until it was boiling over. The fifth time through “White Hot” did me in.
“Fuck this. I can’t play this shit anymore.” I removed my guitar strap and thrust my cherry red Gibson back onto her rack.
I didn’t miss the glance that Miller and McAvoy shared before agreeing we should take a break.
“If you have something to say, why don’t you just say it?”
McAvoy shrugged. “You’re acting like an asshole.”
“What else is new?”
“Normally, I’d say let’s go get fucked up and find you some ass to make it all better, but…” Miller said.
“But what? Let’s go.” I grabbed my jacket and headed to the door. “I’ll drive.”
The guys followed me out without complaint. Even if they had one, I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t care that I was acting like an asshole. I’d been in a shitty mood all day. I’d thought that the EP and rehearsal would have helped things, but it hadn’t. So, now, I was going to go back to things I knew worked for numbing the pain and dousing the anger.
We walked into The Ivy League and grabbed a table in front of the empty stage. A hot waitress sauntered over to our table with a round of beers. Her tits bounced in her tight white tank top.
“Hey, guys. My name is Kat, and I’m new here.”
Vin chuckled behind me. “Pussy.”
I cracked a smile, and she blushed deep red.
“I, uh…brought you these from Hurst.” She leaned over and placed beers in front of us.
“Thanks, Kat,” I said, reaching for my beer.
She pushed her dark brown bangs out of her eyes. “You’re Grant McDermott, right?”
“The one and only.”
“I love your music,” she crooned.
“Well, why don’t you pull up a chair and tell us all about it, pussycat?” Vin said. He raised both his eyebrows at her.
“Pussycat,” she mumbled. “I’ve never heard that one before.”
“Ignore Vin. He’s a five-year-old stuck in a ’roided-out body,” Miller said.
Kat giggled and leaned her hip into my chair. She had on this skimpy little skirt, and all I could think about was how a couple of months ago, I would have grabbed her by her waist, tugged her onto my lap, and found my way up that skirt.
But somehow, I couldn’t harness that feeling. All I could see was that her hair was the wrong shade, her lips were too full, her eyes were too brown. She just wasn’t Ari.
I stood abruptly, forcing Kat to take a step away from me. “I’ve got to take a piss. Here, Miller will take care of you.” I pushed the girl onto Miller’s lap and then left the table.
I skipped the public restrooms and walked backstage. Hurst, the owner, was lounging in the back room. I nodded at him.
“Grant, my man!” he called, jumping up. “When am I going to get you guys back in here? Are you too big to play my venue?”
We slapped hands together, leaned in, and clapped each other on the back.
“I’m never too big for The League, Hurst. I’d play tonight if I had my guitar.”
“You don’t bring it with you everywhere?”
“Not tonight.”
“Where’s your girl anyway? Isn’t she the other thing you bring with you everywhere?” Hurst asked.
I shrugged noncommittally. I didn’t want to talk about Ari. “No idea. I’m here for the booze.”
Hurst nodded his head. “Trouble in paradise. I’ve got just the thing.”
I followed Hurst out of the back room and to the bar where he fixed us a couple of shots. After three or four, I felt a thousand times better than I had earlier. Why had I decided to let up on the drinking anyway? I could drink and have a girlfriend. It wasn’t like Ari didn’t drink, and I could control myself.
It was just that when I was drinking…I didn’t want control.
I wanted another drink.
A smile split my face as I poured alcohol down my throat. It was a welcome reprieve from thinking. I’d given up that shit when my dad went to jail. And just because he was coming back and Ari was acting like someone else didn’t mean that had to change. I could fucking forget everything all over again.
I stumbled back over to the guys as a band took to the stage. It was some chick singer with four guys playing instruments. Normally, I didn’t dig chick bands, but then she picked up a fucking badass seafoam-green Fender guitar. Her fingers played across the strings like the guitar was an extension of her body. I understood that right there.
“Hey Kitty Kat,” I called. “Get us another round, will ya?”
“You haven’t even had your first one,” McAvoy pointed out.
“I found Hurst.”
“Ah,” McAvoy said as if that explained everything.
“Um…beer?” Kat asked, skirting around the table toward me.
I slung an arm around her and pulled her closer. “How about something a little stronger?”
“Anything you want,” she murmured, fluttering her eyelashes. She slid a piece of paper into the front pocket of my jeans. “I get off at two.”
“Whiskey. Make mine a double.” I released her and fell back into my abandoned seat.
“Bro, you think that’s a good idea?” Miller asked, eyeing the piece of paper I pulled out of my pocket.
“I was fucking moving in on the little pussycat while you were gone,” Vin sulked behind me.
I tossed him the paper. “Have at it.”
Miller looked relieved and seemed to relax for the first time tonight.
“Hey, everyone! I’m Killian, and we’re Bank Avenue. Thanks so much for having us out tonight.”
The crowd at The Ivy League applauded softly, except for a group near the front. They went crazy. Likely, they were people the band had brought with them.
But once they started playing, I couldn’t figure out why they didn’t have a large entourage.
“Hey, McAvoy, send out a blast, saying we’re at the League tonight.”
“But we’re not playing,” he said. His eyebrows knit together.
“The drinks are flowing. The music is really fucking good. I want our crowd,” I said, sinking back into my chair. “Make it happen.”
“Grant, sorry I missed your calls earlier. I got stuck at school and just got home. Call me when you get this.”
I ended the voice mail and frowned down at my iPhone. It was strange for Grant not to answer my calls. That was the third one in a row.
After I’d spoken to Aaron and calmed down, I’d realized that I was overreacting. And some of his advice sank in. Maybe I was just in love and scared about what that meant. I had never been in this position before.
I’d treated love like my chemistry homework. Every equation had an answer, and when combined properly created a fixed outcome. But there were no fixed outcomes with Grant. There wasn’t even an equation. It was just a whole lot of insanity.
&
nbsp; I didn’t want to be afraid of it, but in my world, nothing changed, and Grant was an unbelievable amount of change. When I had lived at home in Boston, I’d thought that I was stifled in such a controlled environment, and maybe a part of me had been. However, living in a world without any control wasn’t exactly me either.
The only thing I really knew was that I needed to talk to Grant and figure everything out. Grant got my blood boiling, raised my heart rate, and ignited passion within myself that I hadn’t known existed under my cool exterior.
I didn’t want to lose that. I didn’t want to lose him. And I needed to lay it all out there like I always did. Either he accepted me, or he didn’t. I lived life, freaking out over whether or not Grant would fit into my world and whether or not I’d fit into his. On so many levels, we already did.
Cheyenne appeared a couple of minutes later in a skintight black dress and stilettos with all her curly red hair piled on top of her head. “Hey, why aren’t you dressed?” she asked.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Why are you so dressed up?”
“Didn’t you get the memo? The guys are at the League.”
I scrunched my eyebrows together. “They don’t have a show tonight.”
“Well, they blasted all over social media that they’re there and want all their fans to come down for the show for some Bank Avenue group.”
“I’ve never heard of them.” I entered the name into Google. There weren’t many hits, but I found a small website that showed the band. “Oh Jesus.”
“What?” Cheyenne came around and glanced over my shoulder. “Oh.”
The lead singer was smoking hot. She had pixie-cut black hair and exotic almond-shaped eyes. In the picture, she had on black leather pants and a tiny lace bra with electric-blue high heels.
“Now, why would the guys want to go to see Bank Avenue and have all of their followers see them?” I asked.
“Someone wants to fuck that girl.”
We glanced at each other, and Cheyenne sighed. “Come on. I’ll do your makeup.”
Ten minutes later, I was in a blue strapless dress that Cheyenne had insisted on. She was coating my face in products. I’d drawn the line at her messing with my hair. I wasn’t going to the League to party. I was going to find out what the fuck was going on with my boyfriend. I knew that I’d been off, but that didn’t mean he had a free pass. We’d been there before. He should know better.
