Lilac

by Reid, B. B.

  “Is there some reason you feel attached to that job to keep it while rehearsing and touring with us?” Houston asked instead.

  “That’s not the point. I should be allowed to come to that decision myself.”

  “Why haven’t you?”

  “Because the tour isn’t for three months. I still need to support myself until then. I don’t even know when I’ll be paid for that.” The label had offered me an advance, one I wouldn’t receive until the tour began.

  Sliding a manila folder that was already waiting on the counter, Houston gave me a pointed look when I simply looked from it to him. After a brief staring contest that I lost, I sighed and flipped it open.

  Inside were forms requesting my financial and tax information and what looked like an offer to pay me for rehearsals. It was more than generous and completely unexpected. When I looked up, the question was obviously in my eyes because Houston answered before I could voice it.

  “I need you focused and devoted from this point forward.” The unspoken “to them” was heavily implied.

  “This is a lot of money.”

  “I agree,” Loren chipped in. “Houston seems to think you’re worth it.”

  I guess we were back to square one, where Loren insulted me at every turn. He was a far cry from the concerned friend that he tricked me into thinking he could be last night.

  “That remains to be seen,” Houston argued. “Nonetheless, do we have an agreement?”

  How could I say no to that much money in exchange for quitting a job I hated? It should have been a no-brainer, so why was I hesitating?

  Perhaps it was because they’d so very clearly decided this for me without thinking of including me in the discussion. I didn’t appreciate the high-handedness, even if it did come wrapped in a pretty bow.

  “What if I don’t want to quit my job?” I asked them.

  “That was never an option,” Houston answered, proving me right.

  “Hence why we’re paying you more than you’re worth,” Loren added. “So there’s no reason for you to say no.”

  “I can think of one.” Holding up the offer, I tore it in half with a smile that would make Miss America look like a sourpuss. “You both can kiss my ass.”

  “Love to,” Loren smoothly and immediately responded.

  “I’ll quit Succulent and devote myself to this band when the three of you show me some respect.”

  Loren snorted. Houston stared.

  “And not a moment sooner.”

  Ignoring the plate full of steaming eggs, I pushed away from the island that separated me from them. At the entrance, I peered over my shoulder. Both still stood in the same place, watching me like I was some mystical creature they’d just discovered.

  “Shall we?”

  I was beginning to think my advice to Braxton had done more harm than good. She’d put her foot down and got our attention.

  It turns out it was much more than she’d bargained for.

  Since she refused to quit her job, Houston never let up, no matter how much her playing improved. Not once—not for a second, an hour, or a day in the weeks since. If Houston was on her ass anymore, he’d be in her ass. No doubt that thought had crossed his mind once or twice.

  At least today would offer her some reprieve since we had our first photo shoot and interview with Braxton.

  While the magazine that had been promised the exclusive set up, I caught sight of a familiar face entering Clive’s. I was holding up one of the cracked concrete walls the owner tried to embellish with celebrity posters, neon signs, and photos of patrons and employees. The molded ceiling looked like it would cave any moment, and the floor appeared as if no one had cleaned it since opening thirty years ago.

  This was the most rundown bar the magazine could find in L.A., with Braxton as the centerpiece to commemorate Bound’s “discovery.”

  I snorted.

  If we hadn’t taken Savant’s deal five years ago, this wouldn’t be happening right now. This would not be our reality.

  “The world must be on fire if you’re bothering to show your face,” I greeted the suited man approaching me in a blue tailored suit.

  As usual he’d forgone a tie, so the top few buttons of his white shirt and suit jacket were left undone, exposing the deep-brown skin of his chest. Xavier Gray, recently forty, stroked his beard trimmed close while his dark brown gaze studied me. His black hair was also cut close and had the appearance of waves so deep they made me seasick whenever I looked at them.

  Gray became our manager about a year or so after we signed to Savant. According to him, it was the least he could do after we saved his son, who was now a big-time rapper, from sharing our fate. Raleigh, who’d been nineteen at the time and dead set on fulfilling his dreams, hadn’t been willing to listen to his father. The details of how it led to us stepping in were murky, but what mattered now is that it had done some good.

  Raleigh signed with a record label that wasn’t shady and was now at the top of his game. It was just one reason Carl was determined to take us down, and Braxton was his way to do it.

  “Not quite,” Xavier answered as he slapped hands with me. “How’s it going with your newest addition?”

  “You’d know if you brought your ass down sooner to meet her.”

  He gave me a look as if I were insane. “You mean leave Portland willingly? Pass. I hate L.A. You know that.”

  I scratched my chin, the lie already on my tongue. “It’s not that bad.”

  “So you’re not itching to get back home?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.” He peered at me then. “You sleeping all right?”

  “Like a log,” I answered shortly, hoping he didn’t push. It’s been nearly a year since I gave them cause for concern. I didn’t need to be coddled.

  Reading the “fuck off” written on my forehead, Xavier nodded before letting it go. I exhaled loudly, making him smirk before asking, “Where are your boys?” He immediately looked around as if he could find the answer for himself.

  I shrugged, truly not knowing or caring. Houston and Loren had disappeared, losing interest in the scene as soon as Braxton had been pulled away for hair and makeup. I stuck around to make sure at least one of us was easily found in case…I don’t really know. Braxton would chew off her own arm before ever admitting needing us. She put on a brave face, but I was getting good at reading her.

  With only a couple of months left until the tour, it was time to introduce Braxton to the world. It was only a week ago that we’d finally assured our fans the tour would go on as scheduled. We hadn’t mentioned the fact that we didn’t have a choice. It didn’t matter. Braxton was good and getting better every day. She’d be ready. Houston’s determination not to be bested by Carl would make sure of it.

  Because the alternative, extending our contract in exchange for a guitarist with more experience, made me want to put a bullet in my brain.

  Carl had not only underestimated us, but he’d clearly underestimated Braxton. If she hadn’t impressed us with her performance at that festival weeks ago, he might have gotten what he wanted. We were desperately holding on to the past and too proud to admit that we weren’t ready to walk away. It meant giving up on Bound…and each other.

  Five years ago, I would have jumped off a cliff, confident that my best friends would magically sprout wings and catch me before I fell. Now I wouldn’t so much as cross the street without my own two eyes to guide me. Loren would probably push me in front of a bus just because it’s Tuesday.

  It was an unholy thing to resent the dead, but if I could bring Calvin back to life, I would without hesitation. All so I could kill him myself. We never let him in, so he ripped us apart instead. By the time we’d caught on to the slow yet agonizing rip, it was already too late. Mistrust and resentment had sunk its claws deep, and though Calvin was dead, we still bore the scars.

  The clench in my jaw slackened when Braxton appeared, forcing my thoughts t
o flee.

  Artificial lighting shone on every inch of the dilapidated space. Somehow, she was still the brightest thing in the room.

  The ripped jeans and cropped pullover she’d worn to the shoot was gone. In their place, she now wore a tiny number that stopped above her unmarred knees. The A-line dress had long mesh lantern sleeves and an empire waistline. The black pleated material looked like velvet, drawing the light whenever she moved. She was so damn enticing that I couldn’t decide if she was wearing a dress or lingerie.

  The only thing that mattered was that I couldn’t breathe. Not while my eyes were on her. I’d never felt this clench in my gut before. It was hot, twisting, and painful.

  Demanding.

  Braxton’s gaze found mine, and for the first time, she looked unsure. Even when she was afraid, she pretended otherwise. Braxton Fawn was nothing short of a marvel.

  And right now, she was waiting for me to say something.

  My tongue, unfortunately, had been tied by the vision she made in that damn dress. Her hair had been pinned in a messy knot on top of her head, leaving her neck bare save for the collar around her neck. They’d kept her makeup light, simply enhancing her round eyes, full lips, and long lashes that fooled a sitting duck like me into believing her innocent. Houston and Loren hadn’t caught on yet, but they would. When that time came, Braxton would have a different problem on her hands.

  I didn’t realize I was moving until I was standing in front of her. “You look beautiful.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to think so because I’m practically naked, would you?”

  My eyes widened at that. “Are you uncomfortable? I can see if—” Braxton laid her small hand on my arm before I could finish. The simple touch felt like a brand—like I was already hers.

  “It’s fine,” she assured me. “I’ve worn less in front of a lot more.” She smiled, and I had the feeling it was to put me at ease rather than herself. Fuck.

  I cleared my throat and looked away to keep from being caught in her trance. The door leading to the alley opened, and fucking Houston stepped through. He didn’t notice me watching him because he was already locked on to Braxton, whose back was to him. I watched as his attention dropped to her ass, his lips moved to form a swear I couldn’t hear, and then he turned and stormed right back out the door.

  Loren appeared next, but, of course, he didn’t leave like Houston. He sauntered over until he stood in front of her, and Braxton’s guard immediately rose. For some reason, it filled me with glee, knowing she was more comfortable with me. I could see why as Loren’s dark eyes ran over her, checking her out and offering no apologies for it.

  “Looking good, baby fawn.”

  “Leave her alone,” I immediately barked before I could stop myself or Braxton could speak for herself. What the hell was I doing?

  Loren didn’t even acknowledge me. Reaching out, he fingered the velvet choker around her neck. “Looking damn good.”

  “Thanks.”

  She was calm—too calm, in my opinion. I wasn’t sure I bought it, but it wasn’t my problem.

  Sighing, I stepped away. Braxton had already proved more than once that she could handle herself. She wouldn’t have lasted this long otherwise, and I didn’t need more reason to fight with my best friends. Besides, Braxton had no use for a knight with dented armor. We had two months until the tour, and I didn’t know how, but I’d find a way to shake Braxton from my thoughts.

  Houston returned just as Ingrid, the photographer, was ready to start shooting. She directed Braxton to lie on a red chaise that was out of place in the bar despite having seen better days. With the remaining space left, Houston was placed at the end by Braxton’s booted feet. He immediately slouched his frame, resting his arm along the swooped back and getting comfortable against the padded scroll arm. I caught his gaze roving all over Braxton while she was preoccupied adjusting her position to suit Ingrid.

  Once her back was arched and her hands braced on the cushion behind her, Loren was directed to stand by Braxton’s head. Ingrid wanted the cocky charm he hardly ever needed a reason to display, so with his thumb touching his lip, he gave her that infamous Loren James grin.

  Without direction, having done this dance too many times before, I centered myself behind the chaise, crossing my arms, and letting my hair fall forward.

  Smiling in satisfaction, Ingrid immediately returned to her camera and proceeded to take what seemed like a million shots. I sighed on the inside, knowing this was only the first pose. After switching positions on and around the chaise countless times, the last one with Braxton lying on her stomach alone with the three of us standing together behind her, we moved to take shots by the bar.

  “Doing okay?” I asked Braxton as we waited for Ingrid and her team to adjust the lighting and switch cameras. It was all I could do not to touch her exposed thigh resting near my forearm as she sat on the bar. That fucking dress was so short that I’d caught more than one glimpse of the matching panties she wore underneath. I was surprised the stylist had even bothered.

  “I’m not sure,” she muttered before smiling down at me. “It’s still hard to believe this is really happening.”

  “Seriously?” Loren remarked with a snort. “A little late to get star-struck, don’t you think?” The clinking of glass, followed by the sound of liquid pouring, prompted me to turn my head. I stood up straight when I realized Loren was pouring a shot. The owner stood by the jukebox watching but didn’t say a word.

  “What the fuck, Lo?”

  “Relax,” he snapped back before I could say more. “It’s not for me.” Holding out the shot glass filled to the brim with vodka, he patiently waited, silently daring Braxton to accept it.

  Her brow rose as she studied the drink. “Is this appropriate? We’re working.”

  “Don’t know, don’t care. Drink up.”

  I watched her chew her lip, utterly unaware of the torture she wrought before finally snatching the drink from Loren and tossing it back.

  “You seem to have the most vices,” she grumbled when Loren immediately poured her another. This time she didn’t hesitate.

  “It just means I’m the most fun, baby.” Just as he was getting ready to pour Braxton her third shot, Houston appeared, snatching the bottle from Loren and setting it back where it belonged. “Party pooper.” Houston didn’t respond, walking off with Xavier again while Loren remained unbothered, resting his elbow on the bar by Braxton. “Feel free to thank me for loosening you up.”

  “I’d rather die first.”

  Eyes moving around the makeshift studio, Braxton missed the way Loren admired her like she was gold at the end of a very long and bleak rainbow. When her gaze landed on me, I realized she’d caught me staring.

  “You don’t talk much, do you?” she observed with a rare smile.

  “Only when I have something worth saying.”

  “Think you can teach your friend?” Throwing her thumb over her shoulder, she indicated Loren, who was preoccupied texting on his phone. I knew he had heard every word. He just didn’t care.

  Laughing, I shook my head, making her pout. “I’m a drummer, not a miracle worker.”

  Houston only returned when Ingrid was ready to go again. It didn’t take a genius to know that he was avoiding Braxton. If she noticed, she didn’t let on. It was even less likely that she cared. We were just all lucky we’d chosen to be rock stars and not porn stars.

  This time when the camera snapped, she seemed less like a fish out of water. Braxton was a natural if her Instagram was anything to go by. Her problem had been our presence.

  The next round of shots was us standing under the spotlight Ingrid’s team created with the decrepit bar as our backdrop and Braxton front and center. I admit I was a little eager to see the final shots when I’ve never cared before. Braxton added an element to Bound that we would never have considered if we hadn’t been forced. Whether the change would do some good remained to be seen.

  After Braxton changed
into black skintight leather pants and a corset, mercifully simple, the magazine took their final round of shots in the alley using a smoke machine to add mystery to an already enigmatic reality.

  Whatever.

  When I realized it was time for the interview, I knew the hardest part had yet to come. Back on the chaise again, Braxton sitting between Loren and me with Houston perched on the arm next to me, we all pretended we weren’t scared shitless as we waited for Holly, the reporter, to begin. It wouldn’t be the first time an interview had gone wrong.

  Goddamn Loren.

  As if he could hear my thoughts, Loren blew a bubble from the gum he was chewing before popping it obnoxiously.

  Fuck.

  “So,” Holly began with a bright and reassuring smile that only made me more eager to get this over with, “on behalf of Plugged magazine, we want to thank you for sitting down to talk to us. First, I want to say how terribly sorry I am for your loss. Calvin’s life and the legacy he left behind was precious to us all, but for you, it must have been like losing a brother.”

  Holly paused, waiting for a response or even a proper reaction to the reminder that Calvin was dead. Clearing her throat when we simply waited for her to ask an actual question, she glanced down at her pad before stumbling on.

  “W-while Calvin can never truly be replaced in our hearts, we’ve all been on pins and needles to see who Bound would deem worthy for this next era. Braxton, did you ever think it would be you?”

  Braxton inhaled so subtly that if I hadn’t been sitting so close or so wrapped up in everything she did down to the flutter of her lashes, I would have missed it.

  “I assumed I had a better chance sprouting wings,” our fallen angel answered with a nervous laugh. “Sometimes, I think Punk’d has been revived, and my life is the pilot episode.” I wanted to reach out and hold her hand when I caught her nails digging into her thigh, but that wasn’t the message we were here to send. “If someone asked me six weeks ago to list a million impossible things that could happen before I died, playing for Bound would have been one of them.”