Blow My Fuse (Hollywood Demons Book 2)

by Autumn Jones Lake

  “Let me take that.” Audrey grabs the bottle out of my hands and scurries off to the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost ready. Will you help me set the table, Mallory?”

  “Sure.”

  I thought Chaser would be uncomfortable. I can’t imagine he has a lot to talk about with a forty-something real estate tycoon, but he settles into one of the dining room chairs to discuss football with Doug.

  “I didn’t know Chaser knew anything about football,” I whisper to Audrey as we watch them from the kitchen.

  “All men do.” She waves one hand at them. “It’s like a secret language so they always have something to talk about when they congregate somewhere.”

  I chuckle and follow her into the dining room. The evening flows naturally. Audrey’s lasagna is to die for and reminds me of how infrequently I bother to cook anymore.

  “Chaser’s band is opening for Shooting Fences at the Coliseum,” Audrey announces. “This weekend, right?”

  Chaser nods like it’s no big deal. “Three shows.”

  “I heard they sold out fast,” Doug says.

  Too humble to brag about the sold-out shows, Chaser shrugs. “I can get you tickets if you want to go.”

  Audrey and Doug share such a couple-y look that my heart does a happy tap dance. “That would be wonderful,” Doug says. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Saturday?” Chaser grins. “Let us get one show under our belts before you see us.”

  “That works.”

  “The band’s staying at the Golden Sands, next to the arena for the weekend. Maybe we can meet for lunch and I’ll get you set up with tickets and passes.”

  “Sure.”

  “This is huge, Chaser.” Audrey tips her wineglass in his direction. “I think the first time I saw Kickstart play was in front of maybe fifteen people.”

  He chuckles. “That seems like a lifetime ago.”

  The rest of the evening is quiet and pleasant. A far cry from the usual chaos that always seems to invade our lives these days. It makes me long for a fraction of the slice of peace Audrey seems to have carved out for herself.

  It’s still early when we leave her house.

  “You want to go down to the beach?” Chaser asks.

  “That sounds perfect.” Anything to avoid going back to our noisy, smelly apartment for a little longer.

  Since there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than the back of Chaser’s bike, the traffic doesn’t bother me as much as it usually would. Eventually, we wind our way down a secluded lane that opens up to a rocky beach.

  Chaser stops the bike next to a cluster of trees. The crashing ocean replaces the rumble of the engine. I tilt my head back and inhale the salty night air.

  With only the moonlight to guide our way, we traipse through the sand to a cluster of rocks.

  “This looks like a good spot.” Chaser slaps his hand against the side of a rock almost as tall as he is.

  “For you, maybe. How am I going to climb up there?”

  He effortlessly bounds up onto a lower rock and makes his way to the top of the taller one, then extends his hand to me.

  The flat top is narrower than it looked from below. “You have to cuddle up close to me,” Chaser says.

  He drops down and pulls me into his lap. Resting my head on his chest, I tip my head back so I can see his face.

  “Did you have a good time?” I ask. The mood surrounding him seems so sullen.

  “It felt like having dinner with…parents or something.” His lips quirk. “Not my parents, obviously.”

  “I know what you mean. I’m happy for her. He seems really kind.”

  “It’s hard not to like the guy. As long as he treats her well, that’s all that matters.”

  I hum a happy noise and press my cheek against his chest. His heart thumps a steady rhythm, mixing with the crashing waves beating against the sand.

  “This is nice,” he rumbles. “We need more of this.”

  At the longing in his voice, I lift my head. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “I’m sorry things have been so shitty lately.”

  I raise my hand, allowing my fingers to skate over his bristly cheek. “I’m with you for the long haul, Chaser. Our road will be bumpy from time-to-time. As long as we have each other, we’ll survive anything.”

  He ducks his head, burying his face against my shoulder. “I love you so much,” he murmurs.

  I sense there’s more, but he remains quiet after his declaration.

  “Is everything okay, Chaser?”

  “This collaboration with Andrew’s been more work and less fun than I expected.”

  “You’re no stranger to hard work.”

  “It’s not that.” He stares out at the sea for a few minutes.

  “Have you asked him about Mark Cutter?”

  “I mentioned it once.”

  “And?”

  He tips his head down and raises an eyebrow. “You’ve met Andrew. He can’t focus on anything for more than five seconds.”

  “It’s probably all the cocaine.”

  Chaser shifts and lowers his gaze.

  “Are you sure everything’s all right?” I ask again.

  He takes a while to answer. “It will be.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mallory

  “Miss Dove, we’re pleased to inform you…”

  I stare at the answering machine as I replay the message over and over.

  I got the part.

  And no one’s here to share the news.

  This certainly takes the sting out of losing the lifeguard role on Shallow End to Pamela. Not that I’m salty about the loss. Or jealous that the show got picked up for a whole season.

  I hurry over to Marilyn’s to share the news before she leaves for the day.

  “I just heard,” she says. “Good girl. I’m proud of you. You’ll nail it.”

  At first, I’m not sure what to think when I show up and they explain I’ll be playing a “wholesome mom.” That wasn’t the part I’d read at the audition.

  “So,” the director explains her vision. “You’re home with the kids all day. The only time that’s yours is that fifteen-minute window in the morning before everyone gets up and demands your attention to enjoy your cup of coffee. Got it?”

  Since I have zero experience with any of that, I feel like a fraud for plastering a big smile on my face. “Got it!”

  “Perfect. Take one!”

  My mug is actually empty, so the acting challenges begin right away.

  “Come on!” The director encourages between takes. “Your husband’s a selfish little boy only aware of his own needs and problems. That coffee is your only joy in life.”

  Well, that got depressing fast.

  The last take I stare longingly into my coffee the moment my fake children run screaming into the kitchen.

  “There!” The director stands and waves her arms in the air. “Cut! That’s the one. Excellent job, honey.”

  “Thank you,” I gush, not used to so much feedback about my performances.

  Chaser’s waiting for me outside and I race over to him, eager to share my news.

  “How’d it go?”

  “Incredible.”

  He picks me up and swings me around. “That’s my girl.”

  “I played a mom who practically orgasms over her morning coffee.”

  “I can’t wait to see that.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chaser

  All my chill vanishes the second we pull into the arena’s parking lot. Whatever nothing-ruffles-me, rock star persona I’ve managed to develop over the last couple of years dissolves with the fumes pouring out of Alvin’s tailpipe.

  Thousands of people fill the arena’s parking lot, waiting to rush past the chain link gates. Mallory clings to my arm, her nervous gaze taking in our surroundings.

  Backstage at the Coliseum, it’s everything I expected and more. Guys in black T-shirts yell at more guys in black T-shirts
while moving equipment. Amps wheel by, suits stand in clusters smoking cigars, laughter from random groupies trills through the air. Noisy, crowded, chaos everywhere.

  We’ve even been assigned our own dressing room, decked out with a mini-buffet of cold cuts and cut up vegetables. I don’t dare eat a bite. Spewing on stage isn’t on my list of rock star experiences I want to have before I die.

  “Are you ready?” Val asks me for the tenth time in less than ten minutes. Our usually cool manager seems to be as nervous as the rest of us.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Are your parents coming, Jacob?” she asks.

  They live not too far from here, so it’s not a stretch that they’d attend their son’s big show. Unfortunately, they won’t make an appearance. Who am I kidding? Make that fortunately. They’ve never supported Jacob’s rock stardom aspirations.

  Jacob growls at her and stalks out of the dressing room, slamming the door behind him.

  “Keep him away from the liquor.” Val points at our newly hired security guard, Robbie. “He’s going to be a godsend,” she mutters after Robbie tears after Jacob.

  “Tired of wrangling us on your own, Val?”

  She stares at me for a few seconds. “With great success comes great responsibility.”

  Val’s not usually one to spout off one-liners of wisdom. “For you or us?” I ask.

  “Both.”

  Not sure what to make of that, I drop onto the cracked leather couch and fiddle with the Gibson.

  Soundcheck had gone smoothly. We haven’t met the guys from Shooting Fences yet, but Valerie assures us they’re still thrilled to have Kickstart opening for them.

  Jacob returns a few minutes later with Robbie on his tail.

  “I need to do my warm-ups,” Jacob announces.

  I sweep my arms open wide. The floor’s all his.

  “I can’t do it with an audience. You know that.”

  Actually, this is a new hang-up of his. Normally, I’d razz him, but tonight’s too important to all of us to give him grief. Instead, I hold out my hand to Mallory. “Let’s go check things out.”

  Placing my hands on her hips, I guide her into the jam-packed hallway ahead of me. My gaze drops to the orange, red, and pink straps of her dress. The material clings to her body in a maze of knots down her back, giving her the appearance of a flickering flame as we move through the crowd.

  “You’re beautiful,” I whisper in her ear.

  “Thank you.” Her shaky hands smooth down the sides of her dress. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous tonight. It’s not me going on stage.”

  Maybe not, but Mallory’s been to almost all of our rehearsals this week and has been as excited and enthusiastic as all of us.

  “Is Jacob going to be okay?” she asks when we’re a good distance from the dressing room.

  “He’ll pull it together before we go on.” At least I hope he will.

  Alvin’s side stage, watching the crew set up Shooting Fence’s elaborate set. When they’re finished, they toss some black curtains in front of the whole thing. The guys we hired to be our roadies for this weekend will put together our more modest backdrop.

  I clap Alvin on the back, and he jumps about ten feet in the air. Guess we’re all on edge tonight.

  “You all right, bro?”

  “Yeah, you sneaky motherfucker.” He clutches his chest with one hand. “You trying to give me a heart attack?” His gaze slides to Mallory, and the panic slowly leaves his expression. “Damn, you’re the heart attack.”

  “At ease, soldier.” I smack his shoulder, and he laughs.

  “Chaser!”

  I briefly close my eyes when I recognize the voice.

  “Why is Cokefiend McMassivePenis here?” Alvin asks through the phony smile plastered on his face. “Hey, Andrew!” He waves.

  “Great, call him over,” I mutter.

  “Like he’s not headed our way.”

  Andrew bounds over to us with the gait of a giraffe mixed with the eagerness of a golden retriever. In his never-ending quest to annoy the shit out of me, he stops to gawk at Mallory.

  “I’m not even going to say how hot you are because it won’t do you justice.” He darts a guilty look my way. “And Chaser might kill me.”

  “Hey, Andrew.” Mallory smiles up at him.

  “Are you guys so stoked?” he asks, grinning like someone who doesn’t have to go on stage in front of seventeen thousand people in two hours.

  “Getting there.” My gaze drops to his T-shirt. His Kickstart T-shirt. “What are you wearing, bro?”

  He tugs at the material and stares down at it like he’s just as shocked as I am, then grins. “There’s a photographer from HIT around; I thought it’d make a cool photo.” He gestures to the four of us. “One big happy.”

  “Thanks.” Now I feel shitty for being annoyed with him.

  “Oh! I brought a friend I want to introduce you to.” He turns, searching the area behind him. “Give me a minute.”

  “You think it’s one of Pamela’s Playmate friends?” Alvin asks with hopefully raised eyebrows.

  “No,” I answer as Andrew curls his arm around the shoulders of an older man in a plaid shirt and points him in our direction. “Hold onto your shit,” I say to Alvin.

  Grinning and pointing at his friend, Andrew returns. “This is the man! No one better to work with. Not just in L.A. but the entire world! Mark Cutter, these are the dudes I told you about. Chaser’s a musical wizard. That piece I brought you? This is the genius who helped me arrange it.”

  Am I having a stroke?

  It has to be well over a hundred degrees back here.

  Maybe I’m hallucinating.

  Am I finally meeting Mark Cutter?

  I tune back into the introductions while Andrew’s praising Alvin’s skin-bashing abilities as, “The best drummer since me.”

  “And Mallory’s the coolest chick around,” he finishes.

  “Hi, Mr. Cutter,” Mallory leans forward to shake his hand, filling the gap since Alvin and I both seem to have lost control of our manners and motor functions.

  “Mr. Cutter, it’s an honor to meet you.” I finally pull my head out of my ass and shake the man’s hand. Alvin does the same, then gives me a subtle elbow bump.

  “Andrew insisted I get my ass down here to see Kickstart live.” In a lower voice, he adds, “he mentioned you might be looking for someone to produce your next record?”

  “Y-Yes,” Alvin stutters. “Yes, sir. We are.”

  “Where’s Jacob?” Andrew asks. “And Garrett?”

  “Jacob’s doing his vocal warm-ups. Not sure where Garrett disappeared to.”

  “Getting head?” Andrew asks with a straight face. “That always calms me down before a big show.”

  Mark side-eyes him, and Andrew shrugs. “What? It does.”

  If this man has put up with Andrew’s tornado of crazy for so many years, producing Kickstart will be a warm, gentle breeze.

  “Vinnie’s here too somewhere,” Andrew says, searching the area behind him again.

  Great, more people to watch me choke tonight.

  “I need to speak to Jared,” Mark says, excusing himself. “Looking forward to sitting down with you, Chaser, Alvin.” He nods to both of us. “Nice to meet you, Mallory.”

  He rests a hand on Andrew’s shoulder and pulls him closer, saying a few things against his ear before walking away.

  Andrew turns to us, thrusts his hips forward and gives us two thumbs up. “Mark’s the best. I mean, he’ll totally papa bear you in the studio. And you can’t get away with any shit under his watch. But he’ll also squeeze out your best work.”

  “Thank you.”

  He slaps me on the back. “No problem.”

  Mallory’s completely giddy and wide-eyed, but she waits until Andrew stalks off in search of the bar, before grabbing my arm and bouncing up and down. “Oh. My. God,” she mouths. “Are you excited?” She stops her little happy dance and her mouth pulls down
. “Is Valerie going to freak?”

  I exchange a glance with Alvin. Val has been frustrated with her inability to get to Cutter. Figuring nothing would come of it, I hadn’t shared with her that I’d asked Andrew for the introduction.

  “Maybe.”

  “Nah, she knows how it is.” Alvin doesn’t seem as convinced as he’s trying to sound. “She’ll be happy if we finally get our asses in the studio.”

  I hope he’s right.

  Chapter Twenty

  Chaser

  This isn’t our finest performance.

  I doubt anyone else notices, but as usual, I can’t help picking apart every single detail.

  “Anyone want to hear something new we’ve been working on?” Jacob shouts into his microphone. Most of his banter tonight has been short and sounded more rehearsed than his usual, easy flowing style.

  The crowd responds with a bellowing, “yes!”

  My earlier solo had been brief and mechanical. It’s time to redeem myself.

  I turn to watch Alvin count off the opening beats to “Queen of the Road.” He executes a signature twirl of his drumstick, but this time, instead of crashing against his cymbal, the stick sails across the stage, thwacking into the back of Garrett’s head.

  He turns and scowls at Alvin.

  “Fuck, sorry!” Alvin shouts without missing a beat.

  One of the roadies races out and grabs the stick, quickly tossing it into the crowd where a bunch of eager fans dive after it.

  When we launch into the chorus, the crowd actually sings along. Something none of us expected since we’ve never played it live before.

  I glance over at Mallory. Hands clasped under her chin, she’s watching with tears in her eyes and mouths, “I love you.”

  This solo comes from somewhere else. Like some cosmic force is using my fingers to play each note.

  The screams from the audience for more thunder against the stage.

  People start chanting, “Candy Jar!” at us, and for the first time since the Bloody Revolver tour, I’m actually eager to play it.

  Not even Andrew standing behind my girl and watching her smile up at him sours my mood. Although, I briefly wonder how much Julius will charge me to fix my guitar if I slam it into Andrew’s face a couple dozen times.