by Quinn, Cari
All these voices hammering at my head
Wanting too many slices of me
Bit by bit I give them away
Until nothing but nails in the frame remain
“Wow,” she said softly, passing the notebook to Harper. “That’s pretty awesome. The chorus needs work.”
“Well, duh,” came the muffled reply. “You weren’t here to give it your womanly touch and shit.”
Jazz couldn’t help laughing as she climbed on his legs and picked up another pillow to whale on the back of his head. “Get up, you jerk. We gotta go find Deak.”
“Did someone say ‘find Deak’? Because I—” Deacon broke off, stopping mid-rub on his damp chest. “Lawless.” His gruff tone belied the wide smile that broke across his face as his wife headed straight into his arms.
“About time you showed up.” Harper ran a fingertip over his wet pecs and cast a glance back at Jazz. “Cover your eyes. I’m about to lick this and claim it as mine.”
“You did that already. About a thousand times or so.” Deak lifted her off her feet and kissed her with enough gusto to have Jazz glancing away.
Simon, on the other hand, had emerged from under his pillow and watched avidly. “Hot,” he proclaimed once they were through.
Jazz smacked him on the back of the head again, this time with the back of her hand. “Pervert.”
“So says the one who snuck off for a booty call and didn’t come home all night. All night,” Simon repeated in a singsong voice, kicking his legs until Jazz tumbled onto her butt on the mattress. She quickly tugged down her dress, remembering she wasn’t exactly dressed for horseplay. Or any kind of public play, period.
Deacon frowned. “Booty call? I thought you were visiting Gray’s sick grandma.”
Jazz flushed. God, she hated lying to anyone, especially her bandmates. She was about to apologize for her fib and come clean when Harper booted the door shut and linked her arm around her husband’s waist. “She was visiting Gray’s penis, and it’s a secret from Lila the Romance Killer so shh.”
Deacon unhooked Harper’s arm and stepped closer to the bed. His jaw tightened, but that wasn’t what caused the kick in Jazz’s belly. For an instant, hurt flashed in his eyes. Deacon was a good man, the kind who believed in dealing off the top of the deck at all times. Of all of them, he was the closest to her other than Gray, and they’d bonded more after the contract brouhaha that had nearly ripped the band apart. She knew he felt protective toward her, and after Lila’s decree, her starting something up with Gray now seemed ill-advised at best.
But that didn’t mean she intended to do anything any different. She couldn’t. As much as she loved Oblivion, she loved Gray more.
Hopefully her loves weren’t mutually exclusive. Because she wanted—needed—both.
“That true, Pix?” Deak asked softly, slipping his hands in his pockets as he waited for her answer. Even Simon had gone still and propped his head on his hand to listen.
“Yes.” She made herself meet first Deak’s gaze then Simon’s. “I made a decision that could potentially harm the band if Lila finds out and flips her shit, as she seems likely to do. I knew that, and I did it anyway. If you want to know if I feel guilty, the answer is no.”
“Jazz,” Deak began.
“Let me finish. Please.” She didn’t speak until he nodded. “I’ve been in love with Gray since I was fourteen. It just took me this long to do something about it.” She wrapped her arms around her midsection. “I won’t give him up for anyone. I hope you can understand, and I’m sorry for lying to you about where I went. But I’m not sorry for loving him.”
Harper sniffled from the doorway and waved her hands when everyone glanced her way. “What? I’m pregnant. I can cry at Lifetime movies happening right in front of me.”
Jazz snorted. “Honey, what went on last night belonged on another channel other than Lifetime. Promise.”
“Oooh? Do tell.” Simon grinned and sat up, extending his fist to hers. “I say rock on with your bad self. It’s none of Lila’s damn business, and I, for one, am a card-carrying member of the fuck-who-the-hell-you-want club.”
Jazz gave him a watery smile and bumped her fist to his. “Thanks.”
“Ah, to hell with it. Come here. I need a good Jazz hug.” He hauled her into his lap and made her squeal as he squeezed his arms around her ribs. “Much better,” he said, laughing as she squirmed away.
She pulled her dress down her thighs and shot a sidelong look at a suspiciously silent Deacon. He’d moved back beside Harper and she was talking quietly to him, stroking his arm in a manner that reaffirmed how solid a unit they were.
Jazz stared down at the necklace she’d started working through her fingers without noticing. She wanted that kind of unity for herself. And dammit, she would have it. She wasn’t going to give up on her dream of a life with Gray, not after she’d tasted what it could be like to wake up beside him. When push came to shove, nothing else mattered as much.
Not even the band she adored.
“Deacon has a response.” Harper turned to face the room and not-so-lightly pushed on his back to nudge him forward. “Don’t you?”
“Yeah.” He gripped the ends of the towel around his neck. “You have my support, Pix. Always. You and Gray both do.”
She didn’t dare breathe. Her sternum felt too tight, as if it couldn’t possibly hold the bubble of relief and joy expanding inside her. “Really? You mean it?”
He nodded. “I mean it.”
“Thank you. Oh God, thanks.” Jazz scrambled off the bed and launched herself at him, hanging on as he raised her off the ground and made her giggle.
“I see London, I see France, I see someone isn’t wearing any underpants,” Simon sang from the bed.
With a yelp, Jazz extricated herself and ran out the door to her own room. Laughing the whole way.
Once inside her suite, she slumped against the closed door and let the happy tears come. She couldn’t help herself.
Now everyone in the band had given them their blessing but Nick. That would be a little trickier for more reason than one, but she hoped that he would eventually be on her side if not hers and Gray’s. Maybe they could actually make this work.
She pulled her cell out of her boot and fired off a quick text to Gray.
Deak & Simon know about us. They’re cool.
His reply didn’t take long.
For real?
Yes. I wouldn’t care if they weren’t. I’m all in with you.
She bit her lip and started typing again.
Okay, I would care, but not enough to stop.
Me either. No one could make me stop.
She typed a smiley and grinned when he sent back a kissy face.
Aww. She replied once she’d stopped making gooey eyes at her phone.
I miss you.
That statement couldn’t have been truer. They’d been apart, what, an hour? Maybe a little longer? Surely not long enough to miss him. But already an ache was growing in the pit of her belly. She needed to see his smile. Hear his husky voice in her ear while he ranged his long, muscled body over hers and made her whole. She hoped she did the same for him.
I miss you more, sugar.
Her grin spread as her thumbs blurred over the buttons.
No, me.
Doubt that. I’m writing your song. It’s super hot. It’s making me hard.
Tell me more.
About your song or about being hard?
Laughing, she strolled to the bathroom.
Both. Definitely both.
* * *
A few hours later, Gray smiled at Jazz’s final text.
I have to go get beautified now. Time for pedis. I’ll be thinking about you.
God, he couldn’t wait to see her again. It felt like too fucking long already.
He looked up as the front door banged open and shut. Nick stalked inside and kicked off his boots.
“Good morning to you too,” Gray said, returni
ng to the page of scribbling in front of him. He’d gotten into a groove since Jazz had left, no doubt because of last night. Now that Nick had arrived, he fully expected that to end.
The guy was like a thundercloud, pissing acid rain wherever he went.
“Good morning? It’s past noon. As you would know if you’d dragged your ass out hours ago.” Nick dropped into a wingback chair beside the fireplace and threw his feet up on the carved wood coffee table. He pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and shook one out, lifting a brow at Gray’s stare. “Got something to say? Words are free.”
“Nah.” Gray set aside his guitar and went back to his notebook. “Not worth the breath.”
“Let me guess. You want to bitch about me smoking in here.”
“As if you’d listen to me. Besides, maybe I’m worried about your health.”
“Right. I’m sure you’re concerned that I’m eating my Wheaties and upping my cardio to maintain my heart.” Nick flicked his lighter and sucked in a breath of smoke, puffing it at the ceiling. “Since you’re so worried about healthy living, let’s talk about the smell coming out of your room this morning.”
Gray froze. Had he smelled Jazz’s perfume or something? Not that he particularly cared about hurting the guy’s feelings, but Nick wouldn’t hesitate to deliver the info to Lila just to be spiteful. Though he claimed to care about Jazz, Gray had his doubts.
Nick cared about one person and one person only—himself.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gray crossed out a line of lyrics. He was already close to done with his song for Jazz, but that didn’t mean Nick would want the band to touch it with a ten-foot pole.
The song was private, but it had come out pretty damn good. Since he hadn’t written anything worth shit in months, he wasn’t about to tuck it away in a notebook to rot. He’d see what Nick had to say then explain to Jazz later. She probably wouldn’t be too mad. It’s not like he named her in it or anything. She’d seemed pleased at the idea that he was writing a song for her. And from the increasingly dirty texts they’d been sending each other all day, she wouldn’t exactly be surprised at the direction of his thoughts.
Damn, he couldn’t wait to get his mouth on her again. To sing her the song he’d come up with and watch that flush creep up her cheeks. So frigging beautiful, that was his Jazz.
“Oh really. Did someone break in to smoke pot last night?”
Gray broke the tip of his pencil. “Don’t start with me.”
“Should I also start with you about the sexy little screamer you snuck into your room?”
Jesus. The Oblivion playlist he’d had playing had only lasted a couple of hours and he’d been too distracted to start it again. So much for thinking they’d mostly been quiet enough not to attract Nick’s suspicion. He could only hope Nick hadn’t yet figured out that the woman was Jazz.
“I told you to lay off,” Gray said in an undertone.
Nick lazily blew out smoke. “Look, I know we’re supposed to play nicey-nice and use this time to bond for the sake of the band. I think a smarter move would be to cut the crap.”
“I didn’t realize we’d ever done anything but sling crap at each other.”
“Yeah, well, consider this my first step toward forging world peace.” Nick braced his arms on his thighs and leaned forward, tension lacing his expression. “If you think I’m not well aware of the kind of shit you’re into, you’re dead wrong. You give off the vibe of a song we’ve all heard too many times before.”
Gray’s skin iced over. He could guess quite well where Nick was going with this. Deliberately, he pushed his notebook aside and grabbed his guitar again. He’d suddenly lost his mojo to write sexy times. “Spell it out, man. I don’t have time to guess what you mean.”
“Here’s a hint.” He kicked back again and waved his cigarette, probably tipping ashes onto the hardwood floor. “Cokehead musician, dead at eleven. Not happening in my Behind The Music episode, pal.”
Gray gripped the neck of his guitar. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I know way too well what I’m talking about. My family’s made up of potheads and powder pushers, so don’t try to blow smoke up my ass. And that’s not even mentioning the baggie you dropped in front of me in the studio last spring.”
When Gray only bowed his head, Nick chuckled softly. “Yeah. Thought so. You remember that day. You know, right after we had that threesome with the girl who wasn’t your girl who isn’t your girl who won’t ever be your girl if you don’t drag your head out of your ass.”
“That threesome was a mistake.”
“You were the party crasher, not me.”
Gray braced a fist on his tensed thigh. “You don’t have history with her. No one will ever care about her the way l do.”
“Convincing me or yourself?”
Gray kicked out at the coffee table, sending it sliding across the gleaming hardwood floor. It crashed hard into Nick’s legs but he barely flinched. “I saw the pictures the other night. I know you still want her. Why don’t you just admit it?”
Nick blew smoke rings at the ceiling. “Don’t think I ever denied it. That doesn’t mean anything else is going to happen with us, or even that it should. When the timing’s fucked, it’s all fucked. And with her and me, it’s been shit since day one for one reason and one reason only.” He leveled his eyes on Gray. “I’m looking at him.”
Gray linked his fingers behind his neck. The truth of what had happened between him and Jazz the night before lingered on the tip of his tongue. All he had to do was say the words and it would extinguish the last bit of hope he saw flickering in Nick’s eyes. But he couldn’t do it. Not just because Nick might run to Lila, but because he understood all too well what it was like to love Jasmine Edwards and not think there was a chance in hell of her ever loving him back.
He didn’t know if Nick loved her. He seriously doubted Nick had the capacity to love anyone. But he had feelings for her, and the idea of stomping on them wasn’t nearly as much fun as Gray had always assumed it would be. Maybe his good mood was making him feel magnanimous.
Or maybe loving someone who loved you back had the power to change everything.
“She’s the most important person in my life,” Gray said quietly. “I know she told you some of our past. The situation with my family, I mean. She’s my family now. Without her, I have nothing.” Am nothing, he added silently.
Nick cracked his knuckles and steadfastly avoided Gray’s gaze. “I told her on New Year’s Eve to go after you.”
“What?” Shock wound through him. “Why would you do that?”
“Because she’s miserable without you. She can’t make a move forward. Even beyond everything else, she’s my friend, and I don’t like my friends being unhappy.”
Gray swallowed hard and ran a fingertip over the spine of his notebook. Was that what had sent her to his doorstep last night? Nick? Was his biggest rival—not only for Jazz, but within the band itself—part of the reason he might have a chance with the woman he adored? “Thank you,” he said finally. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I didn’t do it for you. I did it for her.”
“I understand that.”
“But don’t think that I’m giving you my wholesale approval. I’ve got my eye on you. Not just because of her, but because of my fucking band.”
“Our band,” Gray muttered. “Last I checked, all of our names were on the contract despite the BS you tried to pull with Simon about getting the bigger cut.”
“I’ve spent my life scrapping for everything I have. I don’t expect you to get that, but you don’t turn off a lifetime of having to protect your own interests overnight.”
Gray didn’t respond.
Nick swore under his breath. “Fine, yeah, it’s our band, until you fuck up and the others find out. I’ve kept your secret this long because of Jazz. She doesn’t deserve to find out that you’re a cokehead from me. Besides, she’d neve
r believe it.” He tapped his foot on the floor in time to the ashes he drummed into a leftover mug on the side table next to his chair. “But Simon would believe me, and so would Deacon. Once he finds out, you’ll be on a bus to rehab so fast that your guitar will spin.”
Gray knew very well why they’d kicked their former drummer, Snake, out of the band. That opening in the lineup was what had led to him and Jazz being invited in. Well, invited, sort of. Deacon had wanted them, Simon hadn’t cared and Nick had been vehemently opposed.
Sounded just about right.
“Jazz is a smart girl,” Nick said, dangling his cigarette between his knees. “If you don’t quit that shit you’re into soon, she’s going to find out. And if you kill what’s between the two of you, I’m not going to step back twice. Fair warning.”
“I hear you.”
Nick hauled in a breath of smoke then puffed it out before crushing the cigarette against the side of the mug. “I hope you do, for her sake if not your own. She thinks you hung the fucking moon, man. Don’t prove her wrong.”
Gray nodded and thought of the text he’d received from Cricket an hour ago between texts from Jazz. He’d fought not to even look at it, for it not to matter. But that crawling-ants sensation under his skin that crept back when he went too long without a hit made him weak.
He’d cut back. He’d get the money together and start slowing down. It’d take some time, but he’d wean himself off it. Hell, if he had to smoke more pot in the meantime, even that was better. But he couldn’t have Jazz and the coke.
He shouldn’t.
“I’ve got it under control,” he said softly, struggling to block out the text he’d sent to Cricket.
I’ve got some of your money. I just need more blow to tide me over. Then once I’m back home, I’ll get you the rest of your cash. Promise.
