“I—”
“We’ve worked too damn hard to lose everything to your inability to control your temper. Not to mention, Joel is signed under Holt’s label. Holt is not only a long-time and loyal friend, but he’s paying us a lot of money. How do you thank him? By pissing all over one of his top artists. That’s why we’re fucking meeting at Vego’s Lounge.”
I consider him long and hard.
I don’t know how many seconds pass. As we stare at each other, neither of us is willing to back down or compromise. His eyes are burning in anger. I can’t remember the last time I saw Loki this upset.
You’re just collecting trophies today, Wolfe.
Honestly, I wouldn’t even know where to start when it comes to justifying my reprehensible actions other than the fact I hated the attention Joel was showering Dom with.
Fuck, am I jealous?
What’s happening to me?
“Rod, you’re a great friend, a kick ass businessman and partner, but I won’t—”
“Okay, I’ll come.”
* * *
Roark is laughing his head off at something Victor Bakhmeteva—the Slovenian former hockey superstar of the Los Angeles Kings turned upscale sports bar owner—says when we make our way to our table.
“Ha, the drummer and roadie,” Victor says when he sees us approaching.
Loki’s cousin Jace was one of the four members of my former rock band. Loki isn’t a singer or a musician, but there’s no way he was going to be left behind. He followed us across the country—and the world—as one of our roadies.
“Hey, Victor,” I say taking him into a bro hug.
“Rod,” he says patting my back. He pulls away from our embrace and turns his attention to Loki. “Are you keeping him out of trouble?” he jerks a thumb in my direction.
“I wasn’t gifted with such superpowers,” Loki sneers.
“That bad?” Victor asks.
“You know when they say God works in mysterious ways?”
“Yeah.”
Loki shifts his gaze towards me. “This one is a lost cause.”
Thanks a lot for the vote of confidence.
“Good one,” my brother says, exploding in laughter.
“Har, har, har.” I’m not nearly as amused as my brother.
“No, seriously, I’m not trying to be funny,” Loki says. “After today, I’m sure even God washes his hands of him.”
“Sounds like the three of you need a few stiff drinks and a lot of good food,” Victor says.
“Well, it would be a start,” Loki says with feigned affliction.
As the two commiserate, I slide into the seat across from Roark.
He greets me with a cocked eyebrow.
I shoot him a, ‘What?’ look.
“In that case, you’re in luck,” Victor says. “I just received a shipment of Stoli Elit Himalayan edition vodka. Only three hundred bottles are produced each year and I snatched ten of them.”
“That sounds expensive,” Loki says.
“Worth every penny,” Victor quips. “I’ll also get your waitress to bring over a platter of smoked salmon—also straight from Russia.”
“Russian vodka it is!” Roark cheers.
“Done deal,” Victor smiles.
“You’re a good man,” Loki pats Victor on the shoulder.
“My pleasure. I have to go, but enjoy.”
“Thanks,” all three of us say in unison.
“What'd he do this time?” Roark asks Loki the second Victor walks away from our table.
Loki sits next to my brother. Both of them are facing me. Great. Over the next fifteen minutes, I listen as my business partner recounts the entire day. He even talks about how tense things were between Dom and I, well before she left for her training. I cringe internally.
Am I embarrassed?
You bet.
But I sure as hell won’t confess to these two.
Luckily, by the time Loki is done, our waitress shows up with our drinks and appetizer. Roark eyes me suspiciously while Tessa places everything on the table. Once we’ve thanked her, my brother attacks.
“I thought you were going to pacify things with Dom? Sounds like you’ve made them worse,” he reprimands.
“Cheers!” I say in response, as I lift my glass. Both Loki and Roark are thrown off, but follow my lead.
“Cheers!” they say before we clink our glasses.
We all take a long sip of our drinks.
Wow.
The vodka is cold, clean, crisp and smooth as silk. Dare I say, perfect.
Damn those Russians!
Maybe Loki’s idea isn’t so bad after all.
“Here’s to a fun evening out with the boys!”
“Sarcasm won’t get you out of this,” Roark says dropping his glass on the table.
“What do you expect me to do? The two of you are ganging up on me,” I complain.
“Let me help you,” Roark retorts. “Why don’t you and Dom talk it out once and for all?”
“It would surely make life a hell of a lot easier for everyone around you,” Loki jumps in.
I don’t respond.
“You can sit there and stare at us as much as you want, but we aren’t going anywhere until we get to the bottom of this,” Loki warns.
I let out a long sigh and rake my fingers through my hair in frustration.
How much do I tell them?
“Rod,” my brother presses.
“We did talk it out,” I confess.
“Obviously, it didn’t go very well,” Roark says.
“I beg to differ. It went really well.”
“Huh?” Roark grimaces.
“Your definition of really well differs greatly from mine,” Loki says.
I lean into the table. “Things got…”
“We’re listening,” Roark says, mimicking me.
“Intimate.”
Both men frown.
“As in…” Loki lets his words trail.
“You mean…” my brother does this thing with his index fingers, bringing them close and pulling them apart.
“Yeah,” I say with a small nod.
Loki and Roark look at each other before allowing their backs to collapse against the seat.
Their expression is unreadable.
“Finally,” Loki says at the same time as Roark says, “It’s about fucking time.”
“What am I missing?” I ask.
A slight smile curves Roark’s lips. “The prize that’s been staring at you for years, Rod. That’s what you’ve been missing.”
“Dom is something else,” Loki says. “I never dared to go after her for fear you’d castrate me—”
“Damn right he would’ve,” Roark mocks.
“Oh, fuck off,” I spit out.
Roark smirks.
“There’s another reason why Dom was never a consideration… why most of us in your entourage never bothered going after her.” Loki’s revelation surprises me.
I knit my eyebrows together. “Why?”
“She’s had eyes for one guy for a really long time… although he’s blind.” Loki pauses. “The tension between Dom and you has been intense for months. I guess you two getting together was the logical outcome. I’m glad you see more in her than just your sidekick or a little sister figure.”
“Or an untouchable saint,” my brother adds.
“I never saw her that way––”
“Please,” Roark sneers.
“Okay, maybe I have,” I concede. “I didn’t want to fuck up a really good thing. Women come and go in my life. Dom is my pillar.”
“She isn’t going anywhere, Rod,” Roark says.
“And you know that for certain?” I challenge.
“Dom has been with you through thick and thin. She accepts every part of you––the good, the bad, the ugly and even the nasty. She knows what hell you crawled out of. She knew you before you could afford three-thousand-dollar shoes. Not even your addiction days scared her.�
��
“Yeah,” I nod as the unpleasant memories flood my brain.
“At your worst, Rory and I thought we’d lose you to drugs,” Roark says. “Dom wouldn’t hear of it. She forced you to fight and get your act together. She slept in a knapsack on the floor near your bed to be at arm’s length when you needed comfort all those nights you were shivering from the symptoms of withdrawal.” I had no desire to go to rehab no matter how many times my brothers and Dom begged me, so I duped myself into believing I could kick my habit on my own. I was so arrogant and so full of it. After the third nightmarish day, I willingly checked myself in. “She refused to quit on you, Rod,” he says, making air quotes. “She’s this tiny little thing with a mighty will.”
“She is,” I can’t help but smile.
“She’d die for you and I suspect it’s mutual,” Roark says as he runs his index finger along the rim of his glass.
“It is,” I answer without a shred of hesitation.
“And let’s be honest, without Dom, you’d never be Rod Wolfe, the kickass drummer of Random Misconception—one of the edgiest rock bands of our era. You’d never have this extraordinary career nor would you be recognized as one of the Top 100 Greatest Drummers Of All Time. Without her unwavering belief, you’d never have been inducted into the Modern Drummer Hall of Fame.” John Bonham from Led Zeppelin was my idol. I lived to emulate him. Thank you, Dom.
“I know what she’s done for me.”
“Do you really?” Roark doesn’t allow me to answer. “She shot the videos of your killer renditions of ‘Kashmir’ and ‘Black Dog’, figured out how to edit them and uploaded them on Xanga—when most of us couldn’t even spell the word.” Xanga preceded MySpace and YouTube. “And she was only fourteen at the time. Gideon would have never discovered you without them.” Gideon Wilding is the Samaritan who gave me my big break. “I know you’ve been best friends forever, but what she’s done for you goes above and beyond the call of duty. And you kept your promise to watch over her no matter where you were in the country or the world. I think it’s been more than mere friendship between the two of you for a very long time. Neither of you were willing to see it.”
I’m speechless.
“At least with Dom, you know it’s about you.” My gaze drifts to Loki. “It’s not about what you can do for her. She doesn’t care about who you can connect her to. She isn’t waiting for you to push her career to the next level. It’s not about your money. Even though you’re a bigshot, it’s still about you, the person. Few people will ever experience that kind of unconditional friendship.” Loki’s words further silence me.
After a few short minutes, I find my voice again. “I recognize what we share runs deep.”
And now things are different between us.
Maybe I never should’ve touched her.
We sit there in silence. It’s almost as if Loki and Roark give me time to process it all.
“So how did things go from pretty fucking amazing to the colossal mess I witnessed today?” Loki asks.
“We had a big argument yesterday morning.”
“What happened?” Loki asks.
“She’s hiding something from me. I just know it.”
“What do you mean?” Roark asks.
I share with them the highlights of the discussion that led to our big fight.
“I think someone hurt her, but she won’t open up to me,” I conclude.
“Maybe she’s had a few asshole boyfriends. It doesn’t mean she wants to revisit the past,” Loki says. “Heck, I’ve had my fair share of crazy flings I’d prefer to forget.”
“Same here,” my brother chimes in.
“I think it’s a lot more,” I argue.
“You’re making a whole lot out of nothing,” Roark counters. “You hold Dom on a pedestal, it amplifies everything about her.”
“Are you saying my suspicions are unjustified?” I challenge.
“What I’m saying is you took a big step in your relationship with her and all of a sudden, you’re demanding to know everything about every guy she’s ever been with. How would you feel if she came poking into your past?” my brother asks.
“I wasn’t poking. I care,” I comb my fingers through my hair, irritated as hell at his accusation.
“Rod, it’s true sometimes Dom retreats into her own little world, but give her time. Have you even defined what’s going on between the two of you?”
Roark’s question throws me for a loop.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Are you seeing her casually or is this more?” he explains.
“We haven’t gone there yet. We blurred the lines of our friendship—”
“More like you stomped all over them,” Roark chuckles.
“Thanks for stating the obvious,” I roll my eyes at him.
“Just being helpful,” he grins.
“As I was saying, everything happened so fast and it was far more intense than I expected.” I don’t want to go into more details than I have to. “And now things are awkward. Not to mention, she’s out on a date tonight with another guy and it’s driving me to drink hard liquor.”
Loki and Roark drop their eyes to my tumbler at the same time.
We all laugh.
“Who’s the guy?” Roark asks.
I give him the lowdown.
“Fuck awkward and fuck Joel,” Roark says. He’s never been one to mince words. “One evening isn’t enough for him to seduce her—”
“They’ve been text buddies since she was in Europe,” I tell him.
“It doesn’t mean a damn thing, Rod,” Roark snaps.
“Decide what you want with Dom and go after it,” Loki says. “The Rod I know doesn’t hesitate nor does he second-guess himself.”
“I agree.” Roark voices his opinion.
The Rod you know is tripping all over himself because of a girl.
“What if I’m not enough or what if I’m incapable of giving more?” Old insecurities creep to the surface. “Dom seems like the kind of woman who would want—no, need—more. I don’t know if I can go there. Heck, I don’t even know how to love or how to be loved.”
“Rod, it’s called baby steps,” Loki points out. “I doubt she’d expect a marriage proposal on day one.”
“I’ve never dated before,” I remind him. “I’m likely to disappoint her. I’m not sure I want to risk jeopardizing our friendship because I’m not boyfriend material. If I lose her, I might lose myself,” I admit.
“For fuck’s sake,” Roark slams his hand on the table causing a few patrons to turn in our direction. “Stop letting Rachel fuck you up,” he growls. “I told you that the last time we talked about Dom. And for the record, you’re dead wrong.”
“About what?”
“You do know what love is.”
“I––”
“I love you, little brother. I’d like to think it’s mutual.” Roark’s comment surprises me. He isn’t one for sappy talk.
“Stop being an idiot,” I volley. “You know it is. Although right now I hate you for busting my balls.”
“Just doing my brotherly duties,” he grins. “Rory loves the hell out of you even if you made it a point to butt heads with him as often as you could growing up. We stepped in when Rachel checked out and River left our asses dry. Fucking losers.”
You don’t choose your parents.
I’ll spare you the sob stories of how many nights I cried myself to sleep begging God to give us a better mother because Rachel Chalmers was a pretty shitty one. River Wolfe is our father, but our parents were never married. Dad kept drifting in and out of Mom’s life. Around the time Roark turned six, Dad disappeared for a very long stretch. According to Nana Irene, he was involved in some pretty shady shit––always flirting with the wrong side of the law, but never getting caught. Then one day, he popped by again. Nine months later I was born. A year after my birth, Dad was still around. Since Mom thought he was finally ready to grow some roots, she started campa
igning. She wanted Dad to man up and build a safe home for his boys. Mom worked menial jobs her whole life, but her obsession with self-help daytime TV shows paid off. She had saved enough for the down payment on a tiny no-frills house in a not so great neighborhood. Rory was there when Mom flashed a wad of cash in front of Dad. She didn’t trust banks. She hid her money between her mattresses. I know, very cliché. Apparently, Dad agreed to Mom’s request. She was thrilled.
Ten months later, we were all packed and ready to move out of the Fashion District, except the movers never came. By midnight, it was obvious Dad wasn’t going to show up either. He was gone. So was Mom’s life savings. She hit rock bottom and started drinking again. After a pretty angry rant, she handed Rory a duffle bag stuffed with clothing, a few baby bottles, and fifty dollars. She told him she needed space, and then pushed us out the door and slammed it shut in our faces. Rory was fifteen. Roark was thirteen. I was nearly two. On that night, my brothers slept outside of the front door—with me curled up in Rory’s arms—hoping Mom would come to her senses. She didn’t leave her rented house the next day nor did she open the door. Starved and afraid, my brothers sought refuge at a neighbor’s house. Linda had small children. She taught them how to take care of a toddler. A week later, Mom still kept shouting for us to get lost every time we knocked on her door. Desperate and under Linda’s guidance, Rory called Nana Irene—Dad’s mom—to ward off Child Protective Services. For the better part of my childhood, I bounced from Mom’s to Nana Irene’s place whenever Mom checked out—which was often. With few career options, my brothers enlisted as soon as they could. In time, Mom grew more verbally abusive, predicting I’d turn into a thief like my asshole of a father. At twelve, she declared she was done being a mother. Nana could have me. She changed her mind a few months before my sixteenth birthday.
Thanks to music, I turned my rage and rebellion towards my drums. Aaron’s parents bought me a secondhand set of drums when I was forced to move back with Mom. I kept them in the small shed in the backyard. Without their generosity, I would’ve had to watch my dream vanish.
Living with Mom was toxic. The only reason I stayed under her roof longer than I should’ve, was Dom. The minute I was able to get her away from her own dysfunctional mother and her line-up of douche bag boyfriends, I was out.
Torrid Love: Friends to Lovers Romance (Bad Boy Studs Book 1) Page 14
