He glanced over at Brave. “I don’t look like a tool, do I?”
Stopping short, Brave stared at him. “Huh?”
“The jacket…” All right, starting with a safe subject seemed kinda lame now. He shook his head and kept walking. “Never mind.”
“Alder.” Brave caught up with him, putting a hand on his shoulder and maneuvering him off the sidewalk, in front of an apartment complex. His forehead creased as he studied Alder’s face. “You don’t look like a tool. Connor doesn’t even own a jacket—the dumbass is gonna freeze in that rank hoodie he always wears. And Tate wears a bomber jacket that went out of style before he was born. Seriously, you’re fine.”
“Okay.” Alder inhaled roughly. Dropped his gaze to Brave’s crazy, knee length boots. They seemed to be made of more metal than leather. He pressed his eyes shut and forced himself to stop dodging the subject. “My jacket’s not why I wanted to talk to you.”
Brave’s lips quirked. “I figured as much.”
Alder swallowed hard. Damn it, why was this so difficult? Wasn’t like Brave didn’t know he was fucked up. Was Alder’s damage that big of a deal?
Their resident head shrink, Ballz, seemed to think so. They’d had a few long discussions which resulted in a ‘In my professional opinion, you need to see a psychiatrist.’
Those words had freaked Alder out. Ballz explaining he’d made the same suggestion to soldiers he’d worked with didn’t help. They were soldiers. Alder wouldn’t even consider what he’d gone through being on the same level as men and woman who got shot at every day.
Ballz had three words for him.
“Focus on you.”
Whatever that meant.
“You know, you’re a lot like dad in some ways.” Brave held up a hand when Alder frowned at him. “Not in being a judgmental bastard who doesn’t know how to love. He wasn’t always like that. He and Mom are toxic together. Because he’s so cold, she threw herself into her work. Because she’s calculating and obsessive, he became completely detached.”
“Not hearing how I’m like him.”
“You get lost in your own head. I remember when I was a kid—you were still in diapers—and Dad came home early from work. Grandpa had just passed away. He sat in the kitchen for hours, drinking coffee and staring at the wall. He didn’t cry. His jaw just hardened whenever anyone came in the room.” Brave’s lips thinned. “Mom found out from his sister that night. And she started yelling at him. Telling him he was selfish for not telling her. He just sat there, nodding. Then he got up and walked out.” He let out a bitter laugh. “I started crying. Valor told me to shut up because I was upsetting our mother. I loved Grandpa—he was the one who got me listening to old jazz music, used to sing with me and tell me I had some good chops.”
“I wish I’d gotten a chance to know him.” Alder rubbed his jaw, trying to remember either of their parents ever discussing their grandfather. “What happened when Dad came back?”
“He apologized to Mom. Didn’t take a single day off work. We went to the funeral a week later and it was like he’d completely shut off his emotions. He checked to make sure Mom was okay. That all the arrangements ran smoothly.” Brave rolled his shoulders and sighed. “You do that. You worry about everyone else. You’ll focus on details, on distractions, and refuse to deal with your own feelings.”
Alder nodded slowly, fidgeting with the buttons of his jacket. He lifted his head to meet Brave’s eyes. “That night…what happened on stage. I remember.”
Brow furrowed, Brave seemed to absorb his words. His lips parted and the color left his skin. “Jesus, Alder. When… How much…” He pressed his lips shut and put his hands on Alder’s shoulders. “Tell me everything.”
‘Everything’ was a lot. But Alder told him. More than he’d told Danica and Jesse—he hadn’t wanted to hurt them with the painful shit. More than he’d told Ballz, because opening up to a shrink was nerve-racking.
Needing his big brother might be childish, but, as fucked up as their relationship had been for years, Alder never forgot who’d been there for him when he was little. Who’d taken care of his skinned knees and taught him how to throw a ball. Who’d explained what sex was and didn’t bat an eye when Alder confessed he was bisexual. The one person who’d always been family.
Alder’s eyes burned with unshed tears as he described the moment the knife had sliced into him. How hot his blood felt pooling around his body. Being scared for Brave while all his strength drained away.
Then darkness. Not a peaceful darkness, but one that trapped him. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. He knew he was dying.
At one point, he’d thought he was dead.
No bright light to walk toward.
Just nothing.
A cage of nothingness, where he could hear the people he loved speaking softly, but they were so far away. He was sure he’d slept, but when he was close to consciousness he imagined his body being placed in a coffin. Lying there, aware as he was lowered into the ground. Screaming without a sound as he was left in a grave, sensing his body rotting around him.
He shuddered as he tore himself away from the morbid images that were still so clear. “I don’t sleep because the nightmares are so fucking bad. I’m being stabbed again. Being buried. Sometimes both if I can’t wake up. The worst thing is I don’t have to be asleep to see it. Without warning, I’ll just…” He ground his teeth. “When I’m distracted I’m usually fine. I’ve been trying to keep busy, but when people ask why I’m being weird it reminds me there’s something wrong with me.”
“Alder, there’s nothing…” Brave shook his head and pulled Alder into a tight hug. “Fuck, I’m glad you told me.”
“When I die, I want to be fucking cremated, okay?” Alder released a shaky laugh, certain he sounded crazy. “Let’s not dig too deep into how that would feel if I’m not really dead.”
Brave’s grip tightened. “If that’s what you need to hear…”
Alder rested his head on his brother’s shoulder. “I don’t know what I need to hear. I just needed to tell someone. And I feel like an asshole for laying all this on you. Danica and Jesse know most of it, but not…not everything.”
“I’m always here if you need to talk.” Brave rubbed his arms and shifted back a bit to meet his eyes. “What happened was bad. Really bad. I don’t think you’re an asshole. I think you’re trying to figure out how to deal with this in a way that’s best for everyone else.”
“Maybe…” Getting everything out was a relief, but fucking exhausting. He rolled his eyes and shrugged. “This is gonna sound stupid, but I really want to change the subject.”
“Doesn’t sound stupid. You call all the shots, bro.” Brave hooked an arm around his neck and gave him a loud kiss on the cheek. “Not sure if I’m supposed to ask, but have you talked to Ballz?”
“Yeah. He suggested some coping mechanisms. I’m doing yoga with Danica when we have a chance. And breathing stuff when I freak out.” Alder left out the whole seeing a psychiatrist thing. They’d discuss that later. Right now, he was done. “I hear you’re working on a new song?”
Brave frowned slightly, but he inclined his head. “Two. And they’re awesome, but…”
“Still missing something?”
“Not sure what, though.” Brave’s arm slipped from Alder’s shoulders as they turned back the way they’d came. They had to catch a cab to the hotel. Hopefully, someone had brought their stuff up to their room. He was fucking beat.
On the crowded street near Time Square, they worked their way through the press of bodies, eyes on the road. Alder spotted a cab and nudged Brave, but Brave held up a finger, cocking his head to one side as though listening to something.
His face lit up and he took off with a wave for Alder to follow.
Where the fuck is he going?
At the corner of the street, a tall black man in a hoodie was playing the violin, a blue ball cap on the ground by his feet for change. A small circle of people had forme
d around him, and children rushed forward, tossing dollar bills into the hat. The man flashed each one a smile without slowing the wicked pace of the bow slashing across the strings.
The song he played was The Arena by Lindsey Stirling. Alder had started listening to her stuff after Tate showed him the video, which was awesome. He now had all her albums. Not that he’d shared that bit of information with anyone.
Dubstep and metalcore didn’t mix.
Stepping right through the crowd, Brave pulled out his wallet. He flashed a hundred-dollar bill.
The violinist eyed him, then shook his head as he finished mid-note. “Dude, I’m not taking your money.”
Brave frowned at the bill in his hand. “Why the hell not?”
“You’re Brave Trousseau.”
More people gathered, some recognizing Brave and letting out little screams. Alder pulled his hood up, hoping they’d miss him. He didn’t mind the attention on stage, but it always weirded him out in the street.
“I am.” Brave held out his hand. “And you are?”
“Dariel Boyd.” The man straightened, holding his violin loosely at his side. “I do a cover of your song, Subsist. Be cool if I could play it for you.”
“Be even cooler if I could sing along.” Brave shot the man a sly smile when his eyes went wide. “Then I’ve got an offer you can’t refuse.”
Dariel smirked, turning the mic toward Brave. “Music first. Talk after.”
Folding his arms over his chest, Alder leaned against the closest wall, not sure what should worry him more. His brother quoting the Godfather to a random street performer.
Or what Reese’s reaction would be to whatever this ‘offer’ was.
All the chaos in Brave’s mind settled the second he heard the violin. A huge claw still dug into his chest as he tried to absorb everything Alder had told him, but Alder wanted a distraction. He’d asked about the new songs.
Brave couldn’t fix what had happened to his brother. He couldn’t take away the scars, or the nightmares. He couldn’t erase the memories he’d hoped Alder would never have to deal with.
But he could give him the music.
This wasn’t the first time Brave had considered adding a violin to the band, but he’d never gone further than watching a few popular YouTube videos to see if anyone clicked. When none did, he moved on with his life.
The way Dariel played grabbed Brave by the throat and made it hard to breathe. He only got this excited when a song came together he knew would be a hit. The more he heard, the more he felt like he’d found that missing piece.
Fucking crazy to get this worked up about a guy he’d just met. Especially since he wasn’t thinking with his dick.
Stupid thing had to be broken though, because Dariel was fucking hot. But Brave didn’t waste any time wondering why his body didn’t react to the other man. Fans would. They would lose their minds the second he made his debut.
Yes, he was already thinking that far ahead. Dariel obviously liked Winter’s Wrath. He knew their music. He played their songs like he belonged on that goddamn stage.
People all around had their phones out, recording him and Dariel as they worked their fucking magic. By the end of the day, Winter’s Wrath’s fan page would be filled with questions about ‘the new guy’. Probably asking when they’d see him again.
And Brave hated disappointing his fans.
He set that aside as one of the points he’d bring up to Reese if she—for some crazy reason—didn’t understand his vision.
When the song ended, people started shouting requests. He smiled as he leaned close to the mic, using his sly, sultry tone to get their attention. “I hope you’ve all got tickets to our show tomorrow night!”
Everyone cheered as if they did, but he counted only about a dozen people who were definitely hardcore fans. The rest were caught up in the excitement. Which made them potential fans.
“Now if you don’t mind, I need to steal this man for a sec.” Brave turned off the mic and grinned at Dariel. “You’re fucking incredible.”
“Thank you.” Dariel snatched up his bill stuffed ball cap and emptied the money into the violin case laying open on his amp. “Look, you stopping to sing with me was…amazing. But I don’t know what you could offer that I’d—”
“I want you to join the band.” Brave held up his hand when Dariel looked ready to interrupt. “Hear me out. I’ve been looking for a way to add another layer to our sound. You’re it. We’re working on a new album and the violin would give the music the depth it’s been missing.”
Dariel nodded slowly. “I can see that. But I’m gonna have to pass.”
This couldn’t be happening. Brave pressed his eyes shut, rubbing his temples as he tried to make sense of what Dariel had just said.
Stepping up to Brave’s side, Alder placed a hand on his shoulder as he addressed the violinist. “Hi, Dariel. I’m Alder. The sane Trousseau brother. And I understand this all sounds nuts.”
“Just a little.” Dariel placed his violin on top of the money in the case. “If you’re holding auditions, I’m so there. But like this?” He motioned around him, at the thinning crowd, then to himself. “To be blunt, I’m working my ass off for a real chance to get noticed. I have a good following on YouTube. I’ve had offers. I took a look at the contracts and said no because they wanted me to change too much.”
“We’re not asking you to change.” Brave looked over at Alder, who was shaking his head as though to tell Brave he needed to back off.
Dariel wasn’t saying ‘No’ to Alder, so maybe he should let them talk. So long as his brother figured out how to close the deal.
“I appreciate that.” Daniel’s lips spread into a warm smile that would drive Winter’s Wrath fans out of their minds. Then he sighed. “And I’m tempted, but your manager won’t go for it. I’m not getting my hopes up for nothing.”
Alder approached Dariel slowly, his tone low. “I get it. Two metal heads coming at you like this doesn’t seem legit. And we do have to work things out with our manager. But she trusts Brave’s instincts. Consider this another offer. I’ll leave you my number. We’re here for a few days. If you want to come meet the rest of the band and take a look at the contract, give me a call.”
Brave was damn proud of his brother—he was handling this like a pro. He coughed to cover a laugh when Alder stuffed his hands in his pockets, coming up empty. No matter how often Jesse got on his case about carrying a pen and a sharpie for signatures, he always forgot.
Shooting Brave an amused grin, Dariel pulled his phone out of the pocket of his hoodie. “Just give me the number, man. I got a sharpie if any of your fans, still hanging around, want you to sign something.”
Thanking him, Alder recited his number, his expression curious. “I don’t get many requests to sign stuff unless we’re at an event. Do you?”
“Sometimes, if people follow my channel.” Dariel leaned close to Alder, his lips curving at the edges. “Usually some hot twink wanting some action though.”
Alder’s cheeks reddened as he nodded. “Yeah, I can see that.”
“Damn, you’re perfect.” Brave watched Dariel beckon the fans over, moving to his side as they surrounded Alder. “You know how to work a crowd and you have no shame.”
“I’m a pansexual guy that got kicked out of the army a year before DADT was repealed. I give zero fucks about what people think of me.” Dariel’s expression hardened. “That gonna be an issue?”
“Absolutely not.” Brave knew Reese liked keeping their sexuality low-key, but when his relationship with Malakai wasn’t a threat to Shiori’s career, he wouldn’t fucking hide. No way in hell would he let anyone tell Dariel he couldn’t be out and proud. “I get this is all happening fast—”
“Nothing’s happening at all yet.” Dariel gave him a sideways glance, a devilish smile on his lips. “I got your brother’s number. Give me yours too. I’ll call one of you tonight.”
“Sure.” Brave put his number in Dariel
’s phone as the fangirls started his way. “Not sure why you need both.”
Dariel chuckled, leaning close to whisper in Brave’s ear. “I’ve never done brothers before. Shy boy over there might need some convincing.”
Well then… Brave laughed and shook his head, turning his attention to the fans. On the cab ride, he repeated Dariel’s words, figuring Alder would find them as funny as he did.
The band needed Dariel. Let him believe he might get laid if he showed up to check out the contract. Maybe he’d like Connor. The guy sucked dick like a porn star. They only needed a chance to prove the violinist would be fucking set if he joined Winter’s Wrath.
Glaring out the window, Alder let out a sound of disgust. “He’s just looking for some action.”
Inclining his head, Brave folded his hands behind his head. “Then he’ll fit right in.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
A nice big fancy room. New clothes from a spontaneous shopping trip. The day had been a Cinderella story, Fairy Godmother and all. Shiori still couldn’t believe Sophie had come all the way to New York just to congratulate her on hitting ten thousand likes on her fanpage.
The gift Sophie had given her to celebrate—while they were at a restaurant so expensive Shiori was afraid to order water—was still in the elegant, dark brown gift bag, surrounded by tissue paper. Where it would be safe.
As soon as Shiori saw the purse, she fell in love. The blue and green checkered design with the black and red diagonal stripes giving it an edgy racecar style. The leather was soft and sleek and the sporty look would fit with all the colorful new clothes she’d gotten.
But she’d heard of the Louis Vuitton brand. The purse had to be expensive. Ducking into the bathroom, she’d Googled the purse on her phone. When she could breathe again, she returned to the table and told Sophie, as politely as possible, that there was no way she could accept the gift.
When Danica let out a heavy sigh, Shiori was confused, but after the following, hour-long lecture Sophie gave about how her appearance reflected on the agency, on how Diverse Faces models deserved the best and she should get used to expensive gifts…
Diminished (Winter's Wrath Book 2) Page 26
