by Kylie Scott
Finally, much saliva later, my brother and sister-in-law came up for air. Nice to see their marriage was going strong. I’d been a disbeliever, but it was actually good to be proven wrong. They were both still stupidly romantic and happy. Must be nice for some.
“They love him,” I said.
Ben nodded. “Adrian’s interested in signing him.”
“Shit human. Great manager.”
“We don’t use him for his winning personality.”
“True enough.” I nodded. “You’re letting this guy move in with you? Isn’t that a bit risky? What do you actually know about him?”
“Sam’s checked him out. It’s fine. And it’s not like the place isn’t big enough.”
“True.”
Music filled the room once more, the strumming of guitar strings and distant thump of the guy’s foot hitting the floor. It was when Adam opened his mouth that the magic really happened, though. The boy could sing.
“Hey,” said another voice…one I knew far too damn well. David Ferris, lead guitarist, head song-writer, and my ex, slipped into the seat Lizzy had so recently vacated beside me. Like the one on stage, he was long and lean. Beautiful in his own way. We kind of froze at the same time, exchanging pained looks. So much messy ugly history between us. Young love gone wrong with cheating involved. My fault, not his. I liked to think that since then I’d lived, learned, and grown, etcetera, given it all happened a decade ago. But mostly, I’d just lived. In particular, I’d lived by never letting myself come even close to falling in love again. Love and I clearly didn’t mix if it made me lose my mind and do dumb things. Maybe that counts as learning. Two out of three ain’t bad.
“Martha,” he said.
“Hi, David.” My smile felt so brittle it almost hurt. “How are you?”
“Good. You?”
I just nodded.
Pleasantries exchanged, he shifted the chair back a bit from me and focused on my brother. “Benny, this the one you wanted me to hear? He’s good.”
“Yeah, was talking to him earlier. I’m going to produce his album, get him started.”
“Cool.”
“Got the equipment there, figure we might as well use it,” said my brother. “Keep busy while you take some down time and work on the next album.”
“I think it’s a great idea.”
Lizzy gave me something between a worried/sorry type look. God, I so didn’t need that. David and I had been finished a long, long time ago. While my heart no longer broke at the thought of him, the sight of him wasn’t exactly welcome. I mean, why would anyone want to revisit some of their worst moments? Sure there’d been some good ones in there too, but still. At least he hadn’t brought his wife.
And what I needed right now was some space. “The ice has melted in my drink. I’m getting another.”
“Do you want me to come too?” asked Lizzy.
“No, it’s fine.”
Movements stiff and awkward, I made my way through the crowd. Some interested gazes from strangers tracked over me, but I ignored them all. Flirting and what might follow wasn’t high on my list of interests right now. Luckily, the bar wasn’t far. The place might be packed, but the air-con was pumped up so my makeup hadn’t melted off. Thank goodness. I’d been waiting at the bar for all of about point five of a second when Sam appeared alongside me. First hint he didn’t need a drink, he was facing the wrong way, his gaze still on Ben, David, and the crowd. Second hint was when he opened his mouth and said, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He tipped his chin.
I scowled in return. “Do you need something?”
“Nope.”
“Shouldn’t you be working then?”
The sly sort of curve of his mouth happened again. “No need to switch on bitch mode just because someone expresses concern for you, Martha.”
“Who said I ever turned it off?”
His smile broadened almost imperceptibly. I watched it happen out of the corner of my eye.
“Good to see the years spent in New York haven’t changed you any,” he said.
Not too sure about that.
“I was surprised to hear about your return.”
“Spur of the moment type thing.”
He just nodded, eyes now narrowed on me slightly. Like he could read my mind or something. Heaven help me if he could.
Valentino boot tapping against the hideous sticky beer-stained floor, I scowled some more. Something about the man just brought up my hackles. Like I couldn’t afford to have a soft underbelly. Ever. He knew too much. “Sam, this place is gross.”
“It’s not so bad.”
“Don’t you hate having to wait around all the time?”
“I’m not waiting, I’m working,” he said. “It’s a plus he’s good.” He nodded toward the young man on stage.
“Developing an ear for talent, are we?”
“I’ll leave that to Ben and Dave. And you.” He leaned back against the bar. “Still remember that time you picked Jimmy Page playing on that Texas punk album. That blew everyone away. Davie didn’t know whether to be proud of you, or jealous as hell that his girlfriend had picked it before he had.”
I tried to keep my smile from showing. “It was nothing really.”
“Nothing? For the next month Mal thought you had freaky musical powers and he’d shut up awestruck every time you opened your mouth. Anything that can silence that man is something to write home about.”
It was nice of Sam to remember, even if it was just a little thing, long ago. Some time after Stage Dive’s first album. Mal had been getting into Texas punk, of all things. With his usual irrepressible enthusiasm, he’d play air-drums to his mix-tape non-stop on the tour bus. Jimmy’s always hated punk and wasn’t shy about expressing his opinion, which of course just made Mal double down on it. Texas punk became all we ever heard.
Truth be told, the music was actually pretty good. But no way would I admit as much to Mal. Don’t feed the animals. That’s my motto when it comes to dealing with crazy drummers.
But this guitar track just came out of nowhere, somewhere in the middle of the mix tape. Hypnotic and melodic, but woven seamlessly into this frenzied, fast-paced cacophony. Breathtaking. Me being me, I’d said something totally inappropriate, like, “No way some garage band nobody plays guitar like that.” Mal had fetched me the album cover, and sure enough it turned out the lead singer had sent the song to a friend in a band he’d once opened for, who had liked it enough to lay down a guitar track, and sent it back.
The friend was Jimmy Page. A year or two before he formed Led Zeppelin. Ain’t rock ’n roll a crazy thing?
Sam lingered, still smiling at the memory, and shaking his head. I blushed a little, wishing that his esteem for me didn’t matter quite as much. Time to steer the conversation back to safer terrain. “So why do you say he’s good then?”
He shrugged modestly. “You can hear talent. I can read a room. Ninety percent of this job is situational awareness and threat assessment. He’s got them eating out of the palm of his hand. Makes life easy for me.”
That made sense. “But what if Ben and Dave get recognized?”
“A couple of people have spotted them already, but they’ve been content to leave them be. It helps that the kid on stage is keeping the crowd occupied. But if the atmosphere changes, I’ll get them out the back and Ziggy will have the car waiting.”
“Is that what the phone is for?” I asked, nodding at the cell in his hand.
“We’re keeping in contact.”
“You’re all prepared.”
“That’s what I’m paid for.”
“And here I was thinking you were just hired muscle to make them look important.”
“You think Dave needs me to look important?” Ouch. I take a shot at Sam’s work, he twists my words around to target my old injury. Sometimes I wonder how much he sees the world as a perpetual sparring session. Always reading the situation, finding vulnerabil
ities, turning defense into attack. And always in control.
His gaze slipped to the side. “Bartender’s waiting to take your order.”
“Hmm? Oh.” I turned, getting my thoughts in order. “Vodka and soda.”
Sam clicked his tongue. “Manners.”
“Please,” I simpered. The woman behind the bar just raised a brow, hands already busy making up my order.
“It wouldn’t kill you to be nice to people, Martha.”
“Why risk it?” I handed the woman a ten-dollar bill, the cost of the drink and a healthy tip, thank you very much. Proof I could be nice in the ways that mattered. But Sam had already wandered back to his post by the end of the bar, within closer range of the guys.
Time to go back to the table. Kill me now.
I pasted a smile on my face and pushed my way back through the crowd. If any bastard spilled booze on my boots I’d maim them. It wasn’t like I had the money to replace them these days.
Lizzy still sat in Ben’s lap, leaving my chair next to David free. Yippee. As soon as I sat down, his jaw firmed in a certain way. Fuck. He was going to try to make conversation. I really wished he wouldn’t. “So, Martha, how long are you in town for?”
“Haven’t decided yet.” I took a healthy gulp of vodka. Magical potato juice was definitely required.
“She’s going to help look after Gib while Lizzy starts back at school,” provided Ben. “We hadn’t found a nanny we were happy with yet, so…”
“I’m delighted to be filling in.”
David’s forehead filled with worry lines. “You’re going to look after a two-year-old? You?”
“She’s going to be great!” Lizzy couldn’t have smiled any brighter or less convincingly if she tried. “Excellent bonding time between aunty and nephew.”
“Exactly,” I agreed. “Anyway, how hard can it be?”
“What do you know about children?” asked David. “I mean, you couldn’t even keep a mouse alive.”
“That wasn’t my fault.” This was the problem with associating with people who’d known you during your childhood. “It got sick.”
“You killed a mouse?” Lizzy’s expression morphed to something much less confident.
Ben scratched at his beard. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“Only reason you remembered to feed it and give it water was because I reminded you every day,” said David, who really needed to fuck off right about now. Not helpful at all. Not that I expected him to be.
“I would have remembered eventually.” A headache was coming on, I could feel it. “I was sixteen. Everyone’s useless when they’re sixteen.”
“So what was your excuse for the following decade then?” Ben snickered at his own genius.
In true sisterly fashion, I thumped him in the arm. Mostly it just hurt my hand, the muscly bastard. Family and exes sucked. Maybe I should just go back to New York. Out of nowhere, a shiver worked its way down my spine. Nope. New York wasn’t an option.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” said my brother, patting me on the head. Like it hadn’t taken me quality time to get the slicked-back ponytail just right. The idiot. “Sorry, Martha. I have confidence you won’t let my child die like you did the poor innocent mouse. May it rest in peace.”
Meanwhile, open alarm filled the child’s mother’s eyes at the jokes.
“Nothing will happen to Gibby, I promise,” I said, grabbing her hand. “You trust me, don’t you?”
“Sure. Of course.” And that did not sound convincing. Her giving my brother a worried glance didn’t boost my confidence either. Perhaps this was a bad idea. I was a hell of a long way from Mary Poppins. Even if I did happen to love the kid in question.
“Sweetheart, it’ll be fine.” Ben kissed her on the cheek, tightening his hold. “Seriously, relax. We’re just giving Martha shit. But she’s a mature responsible adult and I’ll be right there in the house if there’s a problem. Sam will be there too. There’ll be plenty of people around to help out if need be.”
“Okay.” This time her smile didn’t seem quite so panicked at least. I wished it hadn’t taken the mention of Sam to ease her mind about my inability to look after her child. But such was life.
Shoulders squared and tits out, I presented my most confident face. “I can do this.”
CHAPTER TWO
“You’ve got yogurt in your hair.”
“He threw it at me.” Shoulders slumped, I sat on the carpet, some godawful children’s show blaring from the TV. “I can’t do this. The kid hates me.”
“Martha.” Sam sighed. “He’s two and a half and doesn’t even know you. Give it a chance.”
The he in question, Gibson Thunderbird Rollins-Nicholson, stared rapt at the screen as animated dogs pulled off a daring rescue. Crazy name for a little kid. Being born a musician’s progeny clearly came with the risk of being named after their favourite instrument. Meanwhile, the executive protection officer leaned against a nearby wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest. A small towel was slung over one buff shoulder and he wore workout gear. Guess he’d been making use of the private gym.
Ben and Lizzy hadn’t stinted on the place. A sprawling Georgian Colonial in one of the fancier areas of Portland. Of course, the former ballroom/indoor basketball court had been converted into a recording studio and band practice area. My brother only really cared about two things, music and family, so no big surprise about the remodelling. Not that I’d been counting on them throwing any large parties to keep me entertained. Those wild days of groupies, models, and film stars hanging around and swinging off the chandeliers were long gone. Probably for the best.
“David was right, I don’t know a thing about children,” I said, feeling deeply sorry for myself. “I figured I spent years running around after rock stars, catering to their every whim. How different could it be? So he’s shorter and doesn’t know how to express himself particularly well. All Mal ever did was babble incoherently at me. Some days I basically had to wipe the drool off that maniac’s chin. After him, Gibson should be a dream, right?”
“Not so much, huh?”
“Not so much.”
“What’s wrong with your eye? It’s a bit red,” he asked, leaning closer.
“Huh? Oh, it got yogurt in it too,” I lied, turning away. “I’ve been rubbing it.”
“Ah.”
Thank goodness my thick makeup covered the rest of the mess. Sam plucked a Kleenex from a box nearby and wandered closer, inspecting my dairy product-splattered hair. The intoxicating scent of clean male sweat filled the air as he leaned in. His gray tank was faded and old. But good Lord, did it do amazing things regarding leaving the bulk of his arms on display. All of his skin glistened and my stomach tumbled and tightened. It felt almost like nerves. Though I did not have a crush on the man. Because how ridiculous would that be?
His hand came toward me and I flinched. Dammit.
The hand paused ever-so-briefly and even with my eyes askance, I could feel his gaze drilling into me, searching my face. He can see it. Of course he could see it. No amount of makeup was going to hide that sort of thing from Sam. Whatever else his virtues and vices, the man was good at his job. And his job was violence. Recognizing it, and knowing how to prevent it. Still, it grated on me to show any sign of weakness. I’d rather be an overly proud bitch than a weak and wounded little thing any day of the week.
Then the pause was over and the hand continued forward. “Just cleaning you up,” he said, his voice deeper than the ocean.
“Yeah, I…” Shit. “Thanks.”
Ever so carefully, he lifted a thick strand of my dark hair and wiped it clean. His movements were cautious and slower than usual. I ignored the way his brows had drawn in ever so slightly.
“Maybe I should start shaving my head like you do,” I joked, disliking the way-too-loaded silence between us. “If he’s going to make a habit of throwing food at me.”
A manly grunt.
“Bet it cuts right down o
n the styling time and I’d save a bundle on shampoo.”
“Sam-Sam-Sam-Sam-Sam.” Gib threw himself at the big man’s back, little arms latching around his thick neck. Of course the kid loved him. It was just me he hated, his own flesh and blood. Lovely.
“Hey, buddy. You behaving yourself?”
Gib nodded his head up and down with much enthusiasm, the little fibber.
“Then why did poor Martha have yogurt in her hair?”
The kid just shrugged. “Want Mom.”
“Your mom’s at college. She’ll be back later.”
“Daddy?”
“He’s busy working right now,” said Sam in soothing tones. “You need to hang out with your Aunty Martha for a while. Your folks will be back soon, okay?”
“No!”
“Gibby—”
“No-no-no.”
“He’s big on repetition,” I said, wincing at all of the noise. For little lungs, the boy sure was loud.
“You can have fun with Aunty Martha.” Sam’s smile was so hopeful. “Hanging out with Aunty Martha’s great, isn’t it, buddy?”
“No-no-no.”
“Who could have guessed he’d say that?” I whispered. “Though to be fair, I’m kind of with him on that one.”
One of Sam’s brows arched, his gaze turning speculative. “You could be fun…in certain situations.”
I shut my mouth tight before it even had a chance to hang open.
“If you wanted to be.”
“Oh, really?” I cocked my head. “If I wanted to be in the situation or if I wanted to be fun?”
“Either. Both.”
“Huh.”
Gib patted Sam’s thick shoulders all affectionate like. Damn. The man’s muscles had muscles. How much time did he even spend in the gym? Not that he was preening or arrogant. I’d never met anyone less into worrying about what he looked like. It was all work-work-work for the man.
“What are the dogs up to today?” he asked Gib.
Immediately, the child raised his chin and “aroo-ed” at the top of his voice. As howls went, it was pretty spectacular. This task completed, he climbed off the big man and ran back to his former position standing in front of the TV.
