Rockstars, Babies & Happily Ever Afters Page 8

  “Yeah.”

  “Older or younger?”

  “Twin.”

  “Ahh, fuck.” Michael rubbed at the fringed hole over the knee of his jeans. “Is she looking for a gig?”

  “I think she might be. She doesn’t know it yet. I’ll have to convince her.” He took a deep breath and let it out slow. “But I gotta talk to Li about it too. There’s extenuating circumstances.”

  “Like what?”

  “None of your fucking business.” Nick didn’t have time to regret his rope snapping before he grabbed for his typical lifeline—his guitar. “Let’s play.”

  Three hours later, Michael unfolded himself from the couch and stretched out his fingers. “Damn, how much do you charge for these lessons? You about killed me.”

  “On the house.” Remaining seated, Nick gave him a thin smile. “Family discount.”

  Michael snorted. “Family, huh? You looking to make what you have permanent?”

  He wasn’t about to reply to Michael’s question, but he knew the answer already. It was a question he’d been wrestling with for a while. First no condoms, then maybe moving in. And in time, marriage and what came after that. Lila was a traditional girl at heart, and he would give her whatever she wished for because she was his wish. The trappings didn’t matter. Where—and how—they lived was meaningless, as long as they were together.

  So maybe Michael wasn’t just a kid trying on a rock star’s clothes, because one simple question had clarified so much for him. That made Lila’s stepson a damn swami.

  Michael slipped his guitar back in its case then stood gripping it lightly. “Are you going to talk to your sister?”

  “We’ll see.” Something else he didn’t intend to give Michael. Too many variables were involved for him to just make decisions for his sister.

  It was her choice. He could nudge, he could offer help, he could lend an ear. But ultimately, she called the shots. He’d just be there to open the door.

  “I’m not offering her a job,” Michael added hastily. “She’d have to be vetted. What’s her experience?”

  Other than dealing drugs and taking them, not much for far too long.

  Again, Nick kept silent. He rose and skirted Michael to walk to the door. “If there’s something to talk about, I’ll be in touch.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Pretty much. You didn’t like what I showed you today? Send a note to the grievance board.” He propped a finger under his chin. “Oh yeah, forgot. There isn’t one. Guess you’re fucking out of luck.”

  Michael laughed and shook his head. “Damn, you’re an ornery one.”

  “Some of it is an act. Most of it isn’t. Now get the hell out of my place.” It wasn’t his place, might never be his place, and he was reminded as soon as the words left his mouth. But Michael didn’t call him on it.

  Small favors.

  “Thanks, man. Just playing with you today was an honor. For real.” Michael held out a hand and Nick narrowed his eyes before clasping it for a moment.

  “Family discount is a one-time thing. I have no generosity to be abused, so scram, kid.”

  “Gone.” Michael smiled and headed down the hall.

  Nick shut the door behind him, then pressed his forehead into the wood. His heart was still beating way too fast. Side effect of playing with someone new. It never went away, no matter how many times he threw himself into the fire. The difference was that he’d gotten better at hiding it.

  Was Ricki the same? He didn’t think she’d ever been on a true stage, so maybe she didn’t have a problem with stage fright. Other than the lessons she’d taken as a child, he didn’t know when she’d played with anyone else but him either.

  Perhaps she’d have to face that too as she’d faced so much else. Or the burden might be his alone.

  He hoped it was. She didn’t deserve to be hampered with that too. What she deserved was to get a gig playing with Warning Sign on a lark, something she didn’t have to struggle for. An opportunity that just floated on golden wings into her lap.

  He’d be damned if he didn’t try to give her just that.

  Turning back to the living room, he dug his phone out of his jeans. And stared as it went off in his hand.

  Freaking twin thing. No matter how many years he experienced it, he’d always be by turns creeped out and awed.

  “Hey you,” he said without even checking the readout. It would be her. He knew. “Did you know I was about to call you? Frigging weirdness.”

  “Nicky.”

  Just that one solitary word was enough to make his blood turn to ice. His heart speeded up then slowed down until his pulse thudded in his ears like a metronome. Steady and so heavy that he could feel it throbbing under his hand when he placed his palm on his chest. “Dad?”

  “Daddy’s gone.”

  The sound of Ricki’s tears made his own eyes fill. It was part of an action-reaction chain he had no conscious control over. When she bled, he half expected to look down and see wounds opening up in his own skin.

  Now they were all they had left. Just each other. Their mother had gone away years ago. She wasn’t dead, but she might as well have been for all the contact she had with her children. And now their father…

  “Where are you?” He was already toeing on his sneakers. “I’ll come to you.”

  “I’m at home. At our house. They took him away in the ambulance, and I followed in my car. His heart—” She let out a hiccupping sob. “I’m not sure I can do this, Nicky.”

  He knew exactly what she wasn’t sure she could do, and he wasn’t about to let her make that decision alone. If she had to get high—fuck, if she couldn’t stop herself—well, then he’d be with her. He’d hold her goddamned hand if he had to. Whatever it took.

  He was never going to leave her to handle things on her own again.

  “I’m on my way. Don’t move until I get there. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise me, Ricki.”

  She hesitated for barely an instant. Still, lifetimes passed for him in those few seconds. “I promise. I’ll wait for you.”

  Swallowing hard, he whispered, “I love you,” and hung up before his own jagged emotions had a chance to tear through the break wall of his grief.

  The worst part was that he wasn’t grieving over his father. Not yet. That would come later, or hell, maybe it wouldn’t come at all.

  Who he was grieving most for was his sister, and the last fragment of innocence she’d lost with their father’s passing.

  Nick snatched his keys off the counter and took a quick glance at Spot’s food dish. There was some left, though the little ingrate had been hiding in the closet for most of the day. She wasn’t fond of visitors.

  He understood the sentiment.

  At the last second, he grabbed the notepad Lila left by the phone and scribbled out a message. The words weren’t important.

  All that mattered was getting to his sister.

  * * *

  Walking into an empty house was like stepping into a tomb.

  So it wasn’t totally empty, as a prancing Spot proved almost as soon as Lila set down her soft-sided briefcase. Her cat rubbed against her ankles, already purring. That was a sure sign Nick wasn’t around. He tended to bang things and curse under his breath a lot and Spot preferred orderly silence. They maintained a détente most of the time that only occasionally deteriorated into a paw swipe or stare down contest, so Lila figured they were cohabitating just fine.

  Cohabitating. The thing that had been on her mind all damn day.

  She placed her purse beside her briefcase and scooped up the cat to carry her into the bedroom. She toed off her heels and let out a happy sigh as she padded to the closet in stocking feet. Finally, toe freedom. A tug on the louvered doors and she was facing her many shelves and rods, half of them still empty. She wasn’t a clotheshorse, preferring to buy classic pieces that did double duty. To say she had plenty of room left was an understatement.


  Her drawers were a little more stuffed, but they could always add on another dresser if needed. Not that Nick had a huge wardrobe. His idea of dressing up consisted of retro concert T-shirts and clean jeans. It wasn’t a matter of fitting in his belongings, but dealing with the reality that within one year, she’d divorced one man and would now be living with another.

  Possibly. If she managed to get out the words.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the open closet in the waning twilight. She’d had a late meeting with Donovan, and she’d been torn between hoping the lateness of the hour would mean Nick would’ve stopped by with takeout or that he’d maybe eaten elsewhere. Ah hell, who was she kidding? The only reason she hoped he’d taken care of dinner on his own was because she didn’t want to argue about the whole moving in thing. And when it came right down to it, there was nothing to fight about.

  She wanted him to live with her. He wanted to live there. Did it really matter what anyone else thought? True, she was still hiding her relationship with Nick from her boss, but they’d been circumspect this long. It wasn’t as if Nick had to shed his address entirely. He could just not…stay there very much while they were still operating in downlow mode.

  If at all.

  Someday soon she’d have to fess up to Donovan. She and Nick couldn’t live in secret forever. It wasn’t fair to either of them. But one bridge to cross at a time.

  Right now, she was crossing the one about not giving a fuck what people thought. She’d been coloring within the lines for so long that she barely knew how to take an independent action without consulting everyone in the universe to see if it appeared unseemly.

  What she should be doing was taking a page from her ex-husband’s book. He was having a baby with his mistress. His mistress who’d obviously been knocked up before the divorce was finalized because she was due this month.

  Lila set down Spot beside her and dropped back on the mattress. Her cat immediately climbed up on her belly and started to knead, which made her laugh. She was so damn ticklish.

  Laughing was so much better than thinking about Martin having babies with a new woman, when he hadn’t wanted the baby he’d made with his wife. Water under the bridge, she reminded herself.

  Jeez, what was up with the bridge metaphors today?

  Anyway, it was unimportant. She truly didn’t care what Martin did with his life. She was just glad to be free of him. Any sense of betrayal about her miscarried child wasn’t something she should dwell on either. Still, it was obvious that if anyone was concerned about propriety, it sure wasn’t Martin.

  And it wasn’t going to be her either, because dammit, she was tired of letting fear rule everything she did. It was time to let want take the reins.

  What she wanted was for Nick to move in. To throw together her breakfast in the morning while she showered—though he could definitely go easier on the whey powder—after they’d fucked like bunnies, giving her no choice but to rush to work. At least she’d smiled on the way.

  He belonged in her home at night, either there when she arrived from work or coming home later himself, after he got back into the swing of practices and band meetings with Oblivion. Touring was another beast altogether, but it would help to see his clothes in her closet and his stuff tangled with hers like it belonged there.

  Like they belonged.

  Now she just had to tell him all of that. An apology might sneak in too. She’d spent a lot of years concerned with appearances. Giving that up was going to be a long-term project, no matter how much she wished she could speed things along.

  So she should maybe call him, see what he was up to. Ask him to swing by with some Chinese and a bottle of wine, and she could spread a blanket out on the living room floor and they could have an indoors picnic. Sans clothes. Afterward, they could have the big talk about him moving in, and then they could picnic again until her thighs turned to jelly.

  “Sex addict,” she muttered, scooping up the cat again.

  She carted Spot over to the linen closet and pulled out her newest acquisition, a lacy throw. Spot immediately tried to eat the tasseled edges, which meant Lila had to tug them out of her mouth about six times between the hallway and the living room. After setting the cat down, she pushed aside the coffee table and spread the throw on the floor. A quick tap of the buttons on the remote and the electric fireplace in the corner flamed to life. There. She smiled. Romantic enough.

  All she needed now was the food, the adult beverages and the naked man.

  Halfway to the bedroom, she stopped and grabbed her phone. Lingerie choices could wait until she ascertained he was actually going to come over. Nothing worse than stripping down and waiting for a man who never showed.

  Not that she’d done that a half dozen or more times.

  Not for Nick. Never for Nick. He was as faithful as a sunrise, which was why walking in to find him gone had made her chest hurt in a way she hadn’t been prepared for. She’d grown used to expecting him. It wasn’t a foregone conclusion he’d be waiting when she arrived home. She’d just been happily surprised so many times that him not being there felt like a loss.

  Yeah, she was ready to share a closet. More than.

  She typed out a quick text.

  LR: Hey you. Hungry?

  There was an innuendo in that text. A subtle one. Hopefully not too subtle. The pulse between her thighs at the thought of him coming home with that look in his eye was already putting her in a bad way.

  Home. She smiled and headed to the counter to grab a banana to stave off her pre-dinner stomach grumbling. Their home.

  She’d just peeled the banana when she saw his note. Her smile faded into a wash of heat behind her eyes.

  Oh God, his father. What had happened? How bad was it? Dear God, she’d just sent him a text asking about dinner. And sex. He’d think she was the most callous person who ever lived.

  She snatched her phone again and sent another message.

  LR: I just saw your note. I’m so sorry I didn’t see it before. Is he okay? No, of course he’s not okay if you left a note and didn’t call to follow-up.

  Then again, why didn’t he call if things were really bad? Was their relationship still on such a casual level that bad news could be jotted off on notepaper?

  If it is, you wanted it that way. Every time he tried to bump things up a notch, you put him off. So no blaming him now for what you caused.

  She wasn’t blaming him, just…sad. Because maybe he didn’t know what he meant to her, in spite of the I love yous they both used with surprising ease. That was on her.

  Now would be a good time to start.

  LR: If you aren’t ready to talk, or can’t right now, that’s okay. I’m here. Whatever you need, I’m here waiting. I love you.

  She gripped her phone in both hands and exhaled and inhaled until she began to steady. Then she sent a text to Ricki. They’d become good friends since she’d gotten together with Nick, though they couldn’t have been more different. Ricki was a wild child and Lila so wasn’t. Lila had never so much as tried pot, and Ricki had tried everything.

  And that wasn’t relevant in the slightest right now.

  LR: Nick left me a note. Don’t tell him I’m texting you. I just want to know he’s okay. That you’re okay.

  Lila sucked in air, her thumbs hovering over the keys. Bravery came in so many forms.

  LR: I love you.

  She waited two minutes for either of the Crandalls to acknowledge her texts, then gave in and called in the reserves.

  Margo answered on the second ring. “Hey, Lila.”

  “Hey. Where’s Simon? Did he get back yesterday like he was supposed to?”

  “Yeah. He’s sleeping.” Margo’s tone revealed the frown she was doubtlessly wearing. “Why? What’s up?”

  “Nick left a note that something bad happened with his dad. He went to be with Ricki back at their old place. I don’t know where that is.” Lila swallowed hard. “Simon knows.”

  Margo
hesitated just long enough for Lila to question the wisdom of her impromptu plan. She rarely made them, and for good reason. They tended to go sideways.

  But one thing she was exceedingly good at was adapting to the situation. She refused to stand around and wait for Nick or Ricki to contact her when she knew they were hurting. Even without knowing exactly what had happened, she knew that much.

  And for fuck’s sake, Simon was Nick’s best friend. This ridiculous cold war they were engaging in needed to stop. If that meant she had to wade into the fray to bring them back together, even for a night, then she damn well would.

  She’d managed their band for long enough. If necessary, she’d manage their friendship too.

  “I’ll go wake him up. Hang on.”

  Lila paced back and forth beside the kitchen counter. Somehow she resisted checking her screen to ensure no texts had come in. Of course they hadn’t. She was holding her phone.

  Holding her ass too.

  “Lila?” Simon’s sleep-roughened voice made her close her eyes. He didn’t sound like he was in any shape to even give her directions, never mind drive them both where they needed to go. “What’s wrong with Nicky’s dad?”

  “I don’t know. More of the same he’s been dealing with, or maybe worse. Nick didn’t leave me much of a note, and he and his sister aren’t answering. But they’re at their old house in Carson, and we need to go there. You need to come with me,” she added into the silence that followed. “In case it wasn’t clear—I’m not asking you.”

  His abrupt chuckle made her narrow her eyes. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

  “This isn’t about me taking control. He needs me. And you know what? He needs you just as much. Maybe even more. You might not care about that, but I do. If I have to drag you to him by your ear, then that’s exactly what’s going to happen.” She tipped back her head long enough to catch her breath. “How long until you can get over here to pick me up?”

  “Give me twenty.” He clicked off before she could respond.