Next In Line: A Cake Series Novel

by J. Bengtsson

  “But you don’t think I’m trying to scam you or steal from you, do you?”

  “Jess, don’t even ask me that. Of course I don’t.”

  “What did your mother say—really?”

  “She asked about the burglary and about your situation growing up. My mother volunteers with foster kids, Jess. She sympathizes with the plight of at-risk teens.”

  “There’s a difference between sympathizing with at-risk teens and being okay with her youngest son dating a former one.”

  “Grace dated a foster kid. She met him volunteering at the same place my mom works.”

  “And your mom was okay with that?” Jess asked, more than a little surprised.

  “I mean, Grace was seventeen when she started dating Rory, so my mom could have stopped it if she’d wanted to. They dated almost a year. My point is, Jess, you came to the right family.”

  Her forehead creased. “What does that mean?”

  I tipped her chin up and kissed the worry lines in her forehead. “It means the McKallister family believes in redemption.”

  30

  Jess: I’m with the Band

  I originally wanted to pass on the concert when Quinn sprang it on me, but I knew he wanted and needed me there. How could I deny him? Besides, this was a huge moment for Sketch Monsters. They’d been existing on the periphery, dropping singles while they waited to release their album, so this exposure would be huge for them—game changing. I wanted to be there to watch them take flight.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  Grace perfectly articulated the narrative in my head as we drove past hordes of music fans lined up for entry into the stadium. Granted, most of these people were here for Wylder, but all of them would hear Sketch Monsters play, and I had no doubt they’d be wowed. “I hope Quinn is ready for this.”

  Again, my sentiments exactly. Grace and I were scarily on the same wavelength when it same to our shared favorite guy.

  “Watch him choke. Get up there, open his mouth, and be like uh… uh… uh,” Elliott replied, cracking himself up.

  Okay. Apparently there was one person who wasn’t on our wavelength: Elliott. Both Grace and I reacted with similar openmouthed horror. He glanced between us, his smile quickly fading as he realized his mistake. Elliott should’ve known better. He’d been in the family longer than I had. Surely he knew the McKallisters were fiercely protective of their own, and that even sweet, easygoing Grace would morph into Buffy The Vampire Slayer if you threatened her coven.

  Grace was slow to respond, like water receding in a tsunami seconds before the first wave hit.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “It was a joke, Grace.”

  “Is my family a joke to you?”

  I flattened myself against the door, trying to make my physical presence as tiny and insignificant as possible in hopes I would not be dragged into the impending tidal wave.

  “Of course not. I’ve got nothing but respect for your family.”

  Grace remained silent, peering out the window.

  “Hey,” Elliott said, stroking her arm. “It was a stupid thing to say. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

  And she did—but only in words. Her posture and subdued mood were indication enough that she hadn’t forgiven him in her heart, and we girls all knew, that’s where it really counted.

  “Do you know where our seats are?” I asked.

  “There’s a friends and family section along the edge of the stage. Not that we’ll need many of them.”

  Grace was referring to the lack of familiar faces that would be in attendance tonight. Per Quinn’s request, she was the only McKallister invited. It wasn’t a diss in any way, but rather a form of self-preservation. Quinn was worried his nerves would get the best of him, so he’d asked the others not to come. But Grace was different. I didn’t really understand the dynamics of their relationship, only that whatever they’d gone through together as kids had solidified their bond into adulthood. He needed her here tonight as much as he needed me.

  Plus, not gonna lie, the fact that the rest of the clan would not be in attendance was another reason why I decided to come. Regardless of what Quinn thought his family’s reaction would be toward me, I remained cautiously on edge. Grace and I had yet to speak of the matter, and I hoped to get her take on things later tonight.

  “I have explicit instructions from the man himself to bring you backstage,” Grace said. “So you can give him a good luck kiss.”

  “Explicit instructions, huh?”

  Grace shrugged. “That’s what he said.”

  “Okay, well, am I even allowed?” I asked, unsure what the protocol was. I’d been to concerts before, but never backstage, and certainly never as the front man’s girl.

  “Jess, you can go anywhere.” She tugged on my lanyard. “You’re with the band.”

  Grace lived those words. She was always with the band. See, the difference between her and me was that she’d grown up going to Jake’s concerts, so the almighty ‘backstage’ meant nothing to her. I wasn’t even sure Grace realized how rare a life she led. I watched in wonder as she glided confidently through the narrowed halls, sidestepping equipment containers and chatting up tattooed roadies. Elliott and I, not having been fed a steady diet of cool growing up, followed behind, demurely watching her show.

  She pushed open a door that looked as if it should’ve remained shut. But on the other side, standing in a circle with the other members of Sketch Monsters, was Quinn.

  He looked up, smiled, and held a finger up to me.

  “What’s going on?” I whispered to Grace.

  Grace tracked Elliott to the drink table, and once determining he was out of earshot, replied, “Probably praying they don’t choke on stage—uh… uh… uh.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at her imitation of Elliott’s diss.

  “I think he suffers more from tone-deaf boy syndrome than the full-on asshole disease.”

  “I know,” she said, slumping her shoulders. “I’m extra snappy with him. Poor Elliott. In England, at school living a simple life, he was the perfect guy. But back here, with my family… Things are weird. I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out.”

  “Are you thinking of br…?”

  “There he is,” Grace cut me off with a smile and a warning stare.

  Ever the gentleman, Elliott handed us waters. “Here you go, ladies.”

  Quinn joined us, looking relaxed and ready. He gave his sister a hug and greeted Elliott before taking my hand and leading me away.

  “I am lovin’ those tight black pants,” I said, allowing my fingers to discreetly roam over his backside. “You look so good it almost makes me want to start the stopwatch.”

  He cringed. “I can’t believe I gave myself only sixty seconds.”

  “You couldn’t have done it.”

  “If I was fifteen, I definitely could’ve done it.”

  My hand resting on his ass, I asked, “Did you get the hotel?”

  “Oh, I got the hotel,” he replied suggestively. “Did you drop the kid off?”

  “Oh, I dropped the kid off,” I mimicked. “On the car ride over, he was all whiny—I want to go to the concert. But then I pulled up to Casey and Jake’s massive house, and Miles took him around back. One look at the three-story pirate ship play structure and it was all over. He wouldn’t even look at me. Didn’t get so much as a ‘Bye, Mom.’ So, yes, I think he’ll be just fine.”

  “That’s more than I can say. I’m performing in front of eighteen thousand people—most of who did not come to see me play. This has all the makings of disaster.”

  “So why do you look so calm?”

  He shrugged. “Can’t fail if you don’t try.”

  “I think the word you’re looking for is succeed.”

  “No.” His smile spread wide. “I stand by my version.”

  “Okay, then.” God, how I loved everything about this guy. I could easily see a future with him. If only I could keep my pas
t from getting in the way.

  Tucker arrived at the door. “Five minutes, guys, then we’re heading to the stage. Anyone need anything?”

  “Yeah,” Brandon called out. “How’s it coming with those anal beads you promised me?”

  “Brandon, I’ve got my kid with me,” he said, gesturing to the teenage boy beside him. “Can I get anyone anything that doesn’t go in your assholes?”

  “I didn’t know you had another son,” Quinn said. “You’ve been holding out on us, Tucker.”

  “Or… could it be that none of you give a shit that I have a life beyond the four of you?”

  The Sketch Monster boys exchanged looks and replied in unison, “Nah.”

  Tucker rolled his eyes. “Everyone, this is Evan. Evan, these are the guys I told you to stay far away from.”

  Evan had no fear. With his messy black hair, bright-blue eyes, and a vintage rocker wardrobe to die for, he was the epitome of cool teenage confidence. “Actually, I believe your exact words were—‘This is the best group of guys I’ve ever worked with.’”

  “I said no such thing. Someone please shut him up.”

  Grace tugged on my arm. “We better get to our seats before the stadium goes dark and we have to stumble over people.”

  “Hold up,” Quinn said. “She still needs to wish me luck.”

  He swished me into his arms and dipped me back. His lips pressed into mine, first soft, then insistent, and finally aggressively sucking on them as his tongue circled around mine. I sank into the kiss, reflexively moaning, completely oblivious to the helpless onlookers.

  “Is anyone else as uncomfortable as me right now?” Mike asked, raising his hand. “Anyone?”

  “I don’t like it all that much,” Matty admitted. “But only because it makes me look so bad.”

  “Okay.” Tucker grabbed the back of Quinn’s shirt and pulled him away. “Fun’s over. Let’s go.”

  Once he was gone, I followed Grace out the door, unconsciously trailing my finger along my swollen lips, smiling. If only I could wish him luck all day long.

  From the darkness, a single spotlight rolled over the stage, and all that could be heard was the low, rolling beat of the drums, soft at first, then growing with intensity until I could feel it in my throat.

  The spotlights stirred, the stage was lit, and Sketch Monsters came bursting to life. I wasn’t sure anyone in the stands was prepared to be rocked the way those four boys shook the stage. Song after song, each one better than the last until it was all brought to a screeching halt. Sketch Monsters had arrived at their showcase song—Grace’s breathtaking ballad, “Promises.”

  This would be the first time she’d hear it put to music and played live, and I could feel both her excitement and apprehension. She needn’t worry. Grace’s song was always going to be the shining star of the show, and somehow the crowd knew it. Phone flashlights rose to the skies as Quinn stood in a single spotlight with only the strum of his guitar and the hypnotic melancholy of his voice, prompting the listener to want to break from the pack and go save him.

  Gradually the tempo increased as Quinn was joined first by Brandon on the drums and then Mike on the bass, and finally by Matty on the guitar, where he made those strings scream until they reached a soaring crescendo. And then suddenly nothing: empty air until Quinn’s voice rose from the shadows and he sang the song’s final, sorrowful notes.

  So mesmerized was I by the performance, I hadn’t felt Grace gripping my arm until the audience erupted in applause.

  “Did he just…” Grace couldn’t even form the words necessary to express what had happened on stage. It was a masterpiece, pure and simple, a song with the capacity to live on. This was why Quinn had wanted her here: to witness the moment their song took its first breath.

  “I don’t know what he just did, but it was amazing,” I yelled over the melee.

  From his place on the stage, Quinn sought me out. Sought Grace out. He placed a hand to his chest, then pointed her way. A tear rolled down Grace’s cheek. Whatever meaning she’d placed on Quinn’s gesture was enough for her to seek my shoulder to cry on… not Elliott’s. The moment did not go unnoticed. Elliott looked on, troubled.

  Quinn launched into their final song, a rock anthem that would bring the hearts he’d just broken back to life. I watched, amazed, as he expertly controlled the crowd. This wasn’t something that could be learned. You had it or you didn’t. And Quinn had it. The day we met, I’d suspected he’d be a star, but actually being here to watch it happen went beyond my wildest dreams.

  As excitement mounted, the crowd surged. Screams filled the night sky. The popping sounds. The music. The confusion. The panic.

  “Jess,” Grace cried. “Jess!”

  Sketch Monsters would go down in history—just not as they had planned. See, while it was true that, after tonight, no one would ever forget their name, these four deserving guys would never get their moment of glory.

  They would never get their triumphant bow.

  What the band didn’t know, what I didn’t know, what most of the eighteen thousand people in the stadium didn’t know, was that the first shots had already been fired.

  31

  Quinn: Run for Cover

  I’d dreamed of this. But that was all it had ever been—a dream. Tonight, on this stage, the guys and I had come together like an industrial-sized magnet, sucking everything into our core. Life was about to change for us. I could feel it.

  The beat dropped at a spot in the song it wasn’t supposed to drop. No, it didn’t just drop; it stopped. I looked back to Brandon for answers just as an unknown force slammed into my shoulder. I stumbled, falling backward onto the stage.

  It was only then I heard the pop of gunshots. And the screaming.

  I lay there for a second, the breath knocked out of me, as I tried to clear my head. What was happening? Everything was moving in slow motion, like an illusion. I stared up at the ceiling. Wait, no ceiling. I was outside—on my back. On the stage. I looked down at my body, wondering why it refused to move. At my guitar, her elegant white wood splattered in blood. Wait, whose blood? And why did it suddenly feel like a brick was lying upon my chest?

  I pulled Lucia over my head, discarding her unexpected weight. Turning my head, I looked back for my bandmates. No one was standing. Or lying down. I didn’t see anyone at all. My head spun, trying to comprehend. Jess. Grace. My eyes shot open. Full clarity. Jess! Grace! I flipped to my stomach, staying low, crawling. My only thought was getting to them, protecting them. Arriving at the edge of the stage, I swung my legs over and landed in a heap onto a pile of overturned chairs, pain searing as I rolled to the ground from there. It occurred to me then that these had been Jess’s and Grace’s chairs. And Elliott’s.

  Where had they gone? The gunshots continued, but I no longer cared. I had to get to them. Willing my limbs to work, I hauled my heavy body off the floor and went in search of the woman I loved and the sister I’d promised my whole life to keep safe. If I failed now, what would it all have been for? I grew stronger. Steadier in my gait. My breath started coming back to me in waves.

  Only a minute ago, this area had been packed with bodies, and now it was largely empty. Where had everyone gone? It was then I saw movement on the ground. The area wasn’t empty at all. Upon closer investigation, there were hundreds, maybe thousands of people crouched under chairs, behind trash bins. And some—the unluckier ones—cowered in the open with nowhere else to go. Jess and Grace were somewhere in here. Strength in numbers, I hoped.

  And then as quickly as it had started, the shooting stopped. All that could be heard throughout the arena now were screams. Had the gunman left? Was he reloading? Maybe he’d killed himself. Or maybe he was lurking somewhere, methodically searching for fresh victims or trails of blood to finish off the unlucky. Was I one of those?

  Something familiar caught my eye—long, shiny black hair and the intimate curve of a back I knew all too well. Jess. She was turned away from me, motionless.
On the floor. Under a chair. I sucked in a breath, wanting to scream her name. But I remained silent because I knew if I called her name and she responded, I’d put a target on her back. I dropped to one knee, fearing the worst.

  “Jess?” I whispered, my hand shaky as I gently touched her.

  She jerked, her head twisting, and upon seeing me, her body swiftly followed. She clutched me, touching my face, my ears, my neck.

  “I thought you were dead.” She gasped for breath through the tears. “I saw you go down.”

  Now it was my turn to grab her face, checking for injuries. “I’m here. You’re not hurt, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Where’s my sister?” I asked.

  “She’s here,” Elliott said, in a low, unsteady voice. “She’s safe.”

  I looked under the chairs to see him shielding Grace’s body with his own. I would never make fun of this napping hero again.

  “Grace, no.” Elliott tried holding onto her, keeping her safe, but Grace crawled out from under him, silent, and crept toward me. I could see the trauma in her eyes. I hadn’t been able to protect her from this. Such a fail. I opened my arms to her and she sank into me, sobbing.

  “You’re okay,” I said, smoothing her hair as I muffled her cries. “Shhh, Grace. We don’t know where he is.”

  Elliott followed her out from under the chairs, again shielding her as he scanned the area for impending danger. And so he should. We were sitting ducks. Jesus, what were we doing huddling here in the wide open?

  I passed Grace off to Elliott, trusting in him—not an easy thing for me to do.

  “Quinn,” he said, his eyes widening as he pointed to my shoulder.

  It was then I saw that Grace was covered in my blood. Grabbing the back of a chair, I hoisted myself back up to my feet. Something was wrong. I knew it now. My black shirt disguised the blood somewhat, but it was there and spreading.