The Complete Tempest World Box Set

by Mankin, Michelle

  “Fucking A, King. Really?” Bryan’s light brown brows vaulted above his grey-green eyes when my adopted brother reached the part about how he and some douche who had been berating his girlfriend had gotten into it. King had no tolerance for perceived injustices.

  “He most certainly did,” I confirmed stepping in, clasping Bryan’s hand, the tatted sleeve above it more colorful than my monochromatic ones. I slapped him on the back, exchanging a bro hug. Our lead guitarist was a loyal friend as well as an irresistible force on stage. He played his Les Paul with lightning speed few could duplicate. He had a more sedate personality off the stage except when it came to Lace. He had always been fiercely protective of her, even more so now that she belonged to him. I turned and made my rounds to acknowledge the others. “We showed the guy and his two overconfident buddies the color of the grout lines on the floor.” I rubbed my jaw. Though we had won the battle, the soreness from a lucky uppercut remained. I had foregone shaving the last couple of days to hide the bruise. “After it was over, King put his boot on the asshole’s shoulders and advised him that he better learn some manners before the next time we saw him.”

  “To King.” Grinning, Dizzy raised his bottle of Ranier beer. The others followed suit. “You’re one of a kind. Don’t ever change, man.” There was jostling and some murmured comments of agreement as the others recalled times King had done something equally memorable, but all the conversation slowly dwindled as we all remembered why we were really here.

  “Guys,” Justin began. “I’m gonna miss hanging out with you, and I gotta tell you I really appreciate the opportunity you’ve given me here. But I don’t want to waste anymore of your time. I had already guessed what he was going to say just from looking at his face. Beneath the uneven layers of his auburn hair, the lines around his emerald eyes were tight. “I wanted to let you know where I was at and break the news to you first before I talk to Mary because you deserve that much at least. But I don’t really see that there’s much of a choice for me. Besides my dad’s health, I’ve got the trial coming up. The lawyers for the prosecution tell me that it could go on for months.” Silence reigned as he cast an apologetic glance around to each of us. “I also have Bridget, Carter and the baby to consider. They are my number one priority. I’m sorry, but my decision stands.”

  “Sucks, man,” Dizzy said. “I’m really sorry about your dad, the trial thing is an ender for sure, but you quitting right now is leaving us in a real bind.”

  “Yeah, it’s not cool about your old man,” Bryan shook his head. “But it’s not cool for the four of us, either. We’ve all got families and commitments, too.” He swept his gaze around the group, and we all nodded.

  “I get that.” Justin’s jaw firmed. “But I think you also get that in the long run Tempest needs someone with a vision that matches your own, someone who can dedicate their full time and energy to take this band where I think we all believe it can go.”

  “What about the songs we already wrote together?” Dizzy asked, his brows pulling together, his silver hoop piercing flashing as it caught the light.

  “I’m giving you right of first refusal. You can use them on the next Tempest album if you want, if they fit the direction you decide to take the group. But if you don’t want them, I would like to have them back in case I decide to do something with them when things settle down for me.”

  “That sounds alright, I guess.” Bryan raked a hand over his faux hawk styled hair. “But man, your departure puts us back to square one where we were before War left...”

  “Maybe not,” War interjected, and all eyes swung to him. We were accustomed to paying attention to our ex lead singer when he spoke. He had been the band leader before Justin took over. “Lacey could do it. She has a premier voice.”

  “Yeah, she could do it in her sleep,” Bryan agreed. “Only she’s really into the fashion stuff. Music’s taken a back seat, at least for now. Justin’s right though. Tempest does need someone fully committed. Anymore upheaval and we’re gonna lose the momentum from our last tour.”

  There were nods of agreement again.

  “War, you heard anything new from your lawyers about the Morris contract?” Bryan asked his best friend.

  Warren shook his head, his long caramel hair brushing his shoulders. “Charles Morris is an asshole. I don’t think he’s ever going to let me out of the deal I signed with him. He’s totally playing hardball.”

  “More like you’re the ball and he’s playing keep away from Mary Timmons,” Dizzy concluded, his jaw turning as rigid as the platinum and brown spikes on his head.

  “Those two have a history,” Bryan mused. “Lace saw the dude coming out of Mary’s hotel room when the tour was in Orlando. He had her lipstick on his mouth.”

  “He was with her when the tour went through Miami,” I remembered. “King and I saw him leave her hotel room there, too. It was really early in the morning after we had been out all night with those crazy Cuban chicks.”

  “Oh, yeah.” King flicked his tongue rudely. “I can’t remember the brunette’s name, but I can still remember how good her mouth felt around my cock.”

  “I saw them together after the benefit concert.” Dizzy’s tone and expression turned reflective. “They were intense. Morris told her they had decades to make up for.”

  “Dude’s married though, isn’t he?” Bryan asked.

  “Divorced,” Justin answered. “Just recently. I saw it on the USA Today website. Bridget goes through all the major publication sites every morning for work,” he explained. “It was in the entertainment section. His ex-wife is with Johnny Lightning from Noir now.”

  Eyebrows were raised including my own. The lead singer of Noir had been out of the limelight so long rumors had started to circulate that he had died.

  “Maybe if one of us talked to Timmons she might be able to do something.” I rubbed a reflective forefinger to the bow in my upper lip like I did with the eraser on my drawing pencil while thinking out loud. “If we’re taking War back.” I gave him a hard look. He had apologized. As a group we had forgiven him, but Dizzy, King and I hadn’t forgotten how he had planned to jettison us on the last tour in favor of a backroom deal he had brokered with Morris, one that would have included Bryan, but excluded the rest of us. “If he’s even interested in coming back.”

  “Definitely interested,” War confirmed his oak hued eyes bright with determination. “I screwed up. It was a rough time. I think you all get that. But I’m in a different place. A way better one. Bryan. Lace. We all are.”

  There were general murmurs of agreement.

  “I’ll talk to Mary Timmons,” I offered. “I’ve been working on something for her.” I could feel King’s dark gaze boring into me. Yeah, I had held back that bit of information from him. But it hadn’t seemed relevant that I share, and it had seemed really important to her that I keep the details of our project private. But these guys were my brothers, almost to the degree King was, even War, considering the way he had stood with us and put his neck on the line for Dizzy, the night April had been kidnapped. “I’m supposed to show her a couple of drawings when we get back to Vancouver tomorrow. I’ll feel things out, try to broach the issue with her then.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Melinda

  “I’m home, Dad!” I yelled. Dropping my overnight bag in the entryway, I stepped into the living room and soaked in the familiar surroundings. The overstuffed couch covered in music sheets with incomplete songs, a vintage Martin acoustic guitar in its stand nearby. The ashtray on the coffee table overflowing with half smoked cigarettes. A plate with two bites of a ham sandwich left on it. My father rarely finished anything. He was ADD in everything including his vices.

  “Hey, Baby Blue.” Shirtless and barefoot, buttoning his faded jeans, my dad shuffled in from the hall that led to the two bedrooms. One once had been mine, though he had made it clear that I wasn’t welcome back unless I gave up the ski cross and reenrolled in school. The master bedroom he somet
imes shared with his business manager. When their turbulent on and off again relationship was on. I didn’t really understand why Ellen put up with him at all or why there was always a never ending supply of women ready to share his bed when she wasn’t there. I guessed it was the mythos that clung to him from all the years he had been the lead guitarist in Reverb. Maybe they were all trying to recapture the glory of their youth by taking a piece of him.

  “Hey, Dad.” I stood on the tip of my toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. The salt and pepper scruff felt like sandpaper beneath my lips. A wistful pang stabbed my heart. I was still a Daddy’s girl even though he was pretty much disinterested in me or just about anything else except getting laid. It had been that way since my mom had checked out on us. She’d been an addict when my dad had chosen her from the groupie lineup on the last stop on Reverb’s farewell tour. She had overdosed on prescription drugs and heroin when I was only four. I tried not to take it personally. I knew after all that she was the one with the problem. But to this day, I wondered why she hadn’t loved me enough to stay.

  Placing his hands on my shoulders, my father swept a measuring gaze over me with red rimmed eyes. “You’ve lost some weight. You look good. Maybe you can keep it off this time.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled, taking a step back so he couldn’t see that his intended compliment had razor sharp edges that sliced deeply. I was all too aware that my weight fluctuated, and I was especially sensitive to criticism from him. Sliding an elastic tie off my wrist, I pulled silken strands of my ebony hair into a ponytail. Even tied back it fell between my shoulder blades now. I had reverted to my natural black because I had been told that the artificial blue color was too jarring for modeling. “You just getting up?” I asked. It was midafternoon. I glanced in the direction of his bedroom. “Is someone else here?”

  “Not now.” He shrugged. “It’s Ebbtide’s night at the Mine. I sent her off to get me something to eat before I head over.” He scratched his head. Waves of black sprinkled with streaks of silver skimmed the tops of his ears. I doubted he had even run a comb through it. The just-rolled-out-of-bed look was one he’d rocked since I had been little. Apparently, it worked well for him.

  “She getting you coffee, too?” I gestured toward the empty bottle of scotch beside his ashtray. Ironically, the one thing in the place that he had finished.

  He shook his head.

  “Well, you look like you could use some. I’ll make it.” I headed toward the attached kitchen. “Then I gotta get going.”

  “So soon?” he complained, resting a narrow hip against the leather barstool that was two decades old like the rest of the decor in the house. Time seemed to have stood still within its walls since my mother’s death. He peered at me through the pass through cut out above the bar. “You just got home.”

  “Yeah. Sorry.” I put the filter in adding a couple of heaping spoons of coffee before filling the reservoir and hitting the on button. “I’m meeting up with Tyler after his game.”

  He frowned. “I don’t like that boy.”

  “He’s not a boy, Daddy. He’s twenty-three. And he’s the best goalie in the Pacific Division.”

  “But he’s also cocky and fools around with a lot of women, baby.”

  “Not that much different than you then, huh?” I shot back without tempering the sarcasm. I questioned the unexpected fatherly concern. He had never shown much interest in the boys I dated before. I didn’t really understand why he would now. Maybe he was grasping for some way to control me since I was out of the house. “I know what I’m doing,” I added to alleviate any real worries he might have. “It’s nothing serious.” A relationship of convenience with one purpose. Tyler didn’t ask anything else of me, and I didn’t expect anything else from him. “Is he the reason that you asked me to stop by?”

  “No. It’s been a month.” Wearing a sheepish expression, his blood shot eyes lifted, the same deep sapphire shade as my own. “I thought maybe you might have reconsidered. I miss my Baby Blue.”

  My stomach churned. So it was manipulation plain and simple. In a lot of ways my dad remained a child, as stuck in the past as the furniture. He wanted to believe that the world still revolved around him like it had when he had been a huge rock star. He still thought he could use his charisma to get whatever he wanted. And it worked a lot of the time. It worked on his bimbos. It worked on Ellen…sometimes. But it didn’t work on me…not much. Less so since he had withdrawn all of his support, financial and otherwise, when I had dropped out of college to pursue my dream.

  “No, I haven’t changed my mind,” I stated firmly looking him straight in the eyes. “I’m doing what makes me happy. Couldn’t you at least try to understand that? Surely you remember how it was for you and Ronnie back when you started Reverb.” His lips flattened. They always did whenever anyone mentioned Ronnie. He still resented his ex-lead singer for the lopsided deal he had cut with their label that diverted the majority of the songwriting royalties to himself. “Everyone said you would never make it. Yet you did. You persevered even though it took five long years before you got your first big break because that was your dream.” I knew the band’s story by heart. He told it often enough, and if he didn’t Netflix offered a dusty documentary that spelled it all out from his and his former bandmates’ perspectives.

  “Ok. Ok. Don’t get all huffy,” he grumbled. “Man, I’ve got a killer headache.” He grabbed the Tylenol bottle from the bar and shook out a couple of caplets. I snagged a glass from the cabinet over the sink and filled it with water, passing it to him without thinking. This was a familiar afternoon routine. His eyes softened after he took the pain relievers. “I really do miss you, sunshine.” He leaned over the bar and ran the back of his knuckles down my cheek.

  “I miss you, too, Daddy.” Missed him, was too easily manipulated by him and pathetically craved his approval.

  “Come to the show with me tonight.” He gave me the begging puppy dog look. “Please. Just for a little while. Sing a song or two with me. Surely, you can spare your old man a little bit of your time.”

  • • •

  This is a bad idea! My inner voice shouted at me. A really bad idea! Yet, here I was doing it anyway, following behind my dad and his current hanger-on, some big boobed blonde who wasn’t much older than I was.

  “Where do you want me to put the Les Paul?” I asked him, keeping my head down when we reached the stairs to the stage. It was Saturday night and still early, but the place was already happening. The Mine was one of the busiest bars downtown, even more so now that the Tempest guys had started making it their designated hangout. The dance floor was packed, bodies gyrating to Pit bull’s latest hit.

  Placing his hand on my waist, my dad spoke close to my ear with instructions to make himself heard over the music.

  I nodded, hit the stairs and set his guitar next to the synthesizer before casting a peek over at the bar on the downstairs level. My heart lurched and stuttered like an old Chrysler. April commanded her customary spot surrounded by thirsty patrons. Every barstool in front of her was filled and customers were bunched behind those, waving credit cards or cash eager to get their drink orders filled.

  The sleeves of her black Diamond Mine tee were rolled up. The blinged-up lettering across her chest sparkled in the new pendant lighting over the bar. Her long brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail like mine, only longer and straighter. Her big smile made her jade eyes sparkle. Once it had been me perched on the edge of the second barstool from the right leaning in making some silly or dramatic comment to earn that smile. She looked as though she was doing just fine without me. In fact, I had never seen her look happier. My heart burned with smoldering embers of regret. I understood why she hated me and wouldn’t talk to me. I didn’t really blame her. But it still hurt.

  I shouldn’t have come. I knew she would still be here. Why would she quit the job she loved so much just because she and Dizzy Lowell were together now?

  “Stay and do a couple of
numbers with me,” my dad begged as the recorded music trailed off. He gave me the wide innocent eyes again.

  I shook my head, determined not to succumb to his act a second time. If I had been smart, I would have gotten the hell out before April noticed me. I didn’t need this kind of stress. I had enough pressure on me with my shaky finances and another ski competition coming up.

  But something in me rebelled, that inner part that chimed in to keep things real. The one that usually got me into trouble. It had gotten insistently bolder with no dissenting voices around to temper it. That part put a figurative hand on her imagined hip. How dare April say she is your best friend? Did she even try to understand how you felt when you discovered her in bed with a guy she knew you were interested in? Sager right there with you to witness your humiliation? Lesson learned. I wasn’t good enough for a one night stand with a guy with a rep like Dizzy. Certainly I wasn’t relationship material for a thoughtful guy like Sager. Apparently, I was only useful to April as an alibi for her affair with Dizzy. At least I’d had enough dignity to walk away from all of them with my head held high despite the fact that my world had been falling apart around me.

  Well, fuck that. Fuck him. Fuck her. Fuck all of them. That had been my thinking that terrible night when I had picked up the phone and given April’s husband a heads up as to what his wife had been up to while he had been away.

  And fuck this shit right now, I thought. April might want to pretend that I didn’t exist anymore, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

  I had made a mistake, but I refused to bear all of the blame any longer.