Reckless Obsession (The Reckless Rockstar Series) Page 6

  “Don’t mind him,” Liam says. “He’ll come around. He knows this is what’s best for us. Give him time to warm up to you.”

  “Does he have a problem with women singers?” I ask. “Or just with me specifically?”

  Liam stares at the front door. “He … has his issues. He’ll work through them. This is a good thing.” He picks up a shot glass and hands it to me. “To Bria. Welcome to RA!”

  I clink my glass against theirs, almost as excited about my future as I am curious about Crew. Issues? What issues? And what do they have to do with me?

  Chapter Ten

  Crew

  Seven years ago

  Abby rolls off me and snuggles into my side. “When’s your mom going to be home?”

  I glance at the clock as I remove the condom. “Not for another hour.”

  “Good.”

  “It’s okay, you know. She’s well aware you come over when she’s not here.”

  “That doesn’t mean I want her catching us in bed.”

  “We’ve been dating almost six months. I’m pretty sure she knows we’re sleeping together.”

  She puts her head on my chest. “Why can’t my parents be more like your mom? You know I had to swear to my dad that I would stay a virgin until I got married?”

  I tense under her. “Shit, Abbs. He’s gonna kill me.”

  She grabs my hand under the covers and holds it over my heart. “He won’t find out. But if he did, he wouldn’t kill you. He does like you in his own reserved way. But I’d be grounded until I was twenty-one for sure.”

  “Where did you tell him you were going today?”

  “Work. No … Janine’s.”

  I hate that she has to lie to her parents.

  “Hey, speaking of work, I forgot to tell you Rob got fired yesterday.”

  “The creep who was always staring at you?”

  “Yup.”

  “Thank God. I was wondering when I was going to have to kick his ass.”

  She stares at me, her head propped on my chest. “You’d really have done that?”

  “Hell yes, I would have. You’re all mine, and any guy who looks at you the way you said he did, deserves a black eye and a swift kick in the nut sack.”

  She smiles. “My protector.” She inches her way up to press her lips against mine.

  I love the taste of her. My dick springs back to life, but like Abby, I’m not too keen on Mom finding us naked in bed, so I don’t do anything about it.

  I wipe a piece of hair from her forehead after she settles onto the pillow next to me. “God, you’re beautiful.”

  Her cheeks flush. “Christopher.”

  I kiss her. “It’s true. I think God put you on earth just for me.” I get out of bed. “Wait here.” I run across the room and grab my notebook and a pencil, then jump back in bed.

  She giggles. “Did you get inspired again?”

  “You always inspire me, babe.”

  I sit against the headboard and look at her as words effortlessly flow out of me and onto the paper. She scoots up and sits next to me, looking over my shoulder as I work.

  “Is that the way you really feel?” she asks.

  I drop the notebook and pull her close. “I love you, Abby Evans.” I look her straight in the eye. “I swear I’ll never say that to another woman.”

  “Ever?”

  “Ever.”

  She breaks into a brilliant smile. Then she picks up the notebook and sings the lyrics I wrote, sounding like a goddamn angel. She sings even better than she plays the flute. Every word makes my heart pound. She finds just the right melody to bring the lyrics to life, and I vow to record it exactly like she’s singing it.

  When she’s done, I trap her under me. “Join the band. Do you know how big we’d get with you as our lead singer?”

  “You already have a lead singer, and he’s brilliant.”

  “Okay, co-lead singer. You can play the tambourine or something. That would be so sexy. With your throaty voice you’d be like a young Stevie Nicks.”

  “I’m not singing for Naked Whale. My dad would never allow it.”

  “What if I asked him? I can be very convincing.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Of course. That’s how much I want you.”

  She smirks. “Are we still talking about singing?”

  I lean down to kiss her. “Maybe.”

  She wiggles out from under me. “Let’s get dressed. It’s almost time for your mom to get home.”

  I pull on my boxers. “Are you working tonight?”

  “No.”

  “Why don’t you come with me to rehearsal? Sing a few bars. See how it feels.”

  She looks at the floor. “I don’t know. Maybe you shouldn’t push your girlfriend on the rest of the band.”

  “Are you kidding? They love you. Come on. Just one song. Then we’ll see what happens.”

  “Which song?”

  I know exactly what I want to hear her sing. I wrote it as a duet, even though I sing it solo. “‘Across the Room’.”

  Her eyes meet mine. “That’s the one you wrote the day we met.”

  “Maybe I sensed even then you’d be a great addition to the band.”

  She holds up a finger. “One song. That’s it. I mean it, Christopher. I’m not promising anything.”

  I race around the bed and pull her into my arms.

  “Don’t get too excited,” she says. “There’s the whole getting my dad on-board thing, and you know how he hates rock bands.”

  “We’ll start singing Christian music, then.” I wink.

  She laughs loudly. “Naked Whale singing Christian songs? I don’t think so.”

  “You have no idea how far I’d go to get you.”

  She wraps her hands around my neck. “You already have me.”

  “And that makes me the luckiest man alive.”

  We hear the garage door opening, so we go to the living room and turn on the TV. Mom walks in with an armful of groceries. Abby hops off the couch even before I do.

  “Hi, Mrs. Rewey. Can I help you with that?”

  “I’ve got it,” I say, taking the bags from my mom. “What’s for dinner?”

  “I was thinking pot roast. Abby, would you like to eat with us?”

  “That sounds wonderful. I just need to clear it with my dad.”

  “I’ll text him and let him know I invited you,” Mom says, fully aware of Dr. Evans and all his rules. “Seven o’clock work for you?”

  “Seven sounds great,” I say. “We’re going to rehearsal in a few. Abby’s going to try singing today.”

  Mom puts down the milk carton in her hand. “You don’t say? I think that’s a fine idea. You have such a lovely voice, dear. I’m sure you’ll be a great addition to the band.”

  “See? Now why can’t my parents react like that?” Abby says.

  Mom laughs and touches her shoulder. “You’re a girl. That’s the difference. I’m not sure I’d be okay with everything Chris does if he weren’t a boy. I know that’s sexist, but it’s just how it is. Cut them some slack. They only want you happy and safe.”

  Mom’s always been my biggest cheerleader. It’s hard for me to imagine parents being any other way. But Abby’s parents—her father in particular—don’t seem to want to give her any room to become her own person. Hell, it took three months before they would agree to let her come to my house, and then only if my mom was here and they had proof of it with a text from her.

  When we go on dates, they insist we go with another couple, as if that would in some way prevent us from having any alone time. I’ve spent half this year setting up Liam and the guys with random girls from school so Abby is allowed to go out with me.

  Abby takes my hand. I love that she knows she can do that in front of my mom. “I am happy and safe,” she says. “I can’t imagine being any happier.”

  I don’t miss Mom’s proud smile. “I guess I did something right,” she says. “Not that I can take all
the credit. His dad must have had something to do with it.”

  “I’m pretty sure it was all you, Mom.”

  She hums a tune as she puts the groceries away. A Naked Whale tune. I have the coolest mom.

  “Bye, Mrs. Rewey,” Abby shouts over her shoulder as we head out the door. “See you at seven.”

  Abby hands me the keys. She always lets me drive—as long as her father isn’t watching.

  “Don’t forget to stop by Janine’s,” she says.

  “Right.”

  Abby’s dad tracks her phone. Unless Mom has explicitly told him she’s home and Abby is invited to be there, Abby’s not allowed to come over. So she leaves her phone with Janine or one of her work friends. If her parents text her, the friend will get in touch with me, and Abby tells her what to text back.

  I hate all the lying and sneaking around, but I’d hate not being with Abby even more.

  Luckily Jake’s house, where we practice, is right up the street from another one of Abby’s friends. It’s made it quite convenient for her to watch our rehearsals without having to stash her phone somewhere.

  “Hey, Abby,” Liam says when she walks in behind me.

  Jake and Brandon greet her too. She’s been at more rehearsals than not. She critiques us, tells us what she thinks works and what doesn’t. She’s got a great ear for music.

  After we warm up and play a few old regulars, I motion for Abby to take the mic. She hesitantly picks it up. “Is this okay?” she asks everyone.

  They smile. “It’s about goddamn time,” Liam says. “I’m tired of singing all the girl parts this pansy writes.”

  Her hands are shaking.

  “It’s just us,” I say. “This is no big deal.”

  She nods. I motion for Brandon to count it off on the drums.

  My part comes first. I always look at her when I sing, but this time is different. She’s going to sing back to me. I’m as excited as a kid on Christmas morning.

  She closes her eyes at first, which is probably good, because when I hear her voice through the amp for the first time, I almost shed tears. Holy shit. She was made for this. I knew she was fantastic, but with the music behind her, and the way she’s projecting—my God, I know her voice shouldn’t make me love her more, but it does.

  When she opens her eyes and sings the lyrics I wrote because of her, it’s like we’re the only two people on the planet. The music comes to life in a way I never imagined. I sing better. The guys play better. Everything is perfect.

  The song ends, and the garage becomes almost eerily quiet.

  After a moment, she breaks the silence. “So?”

  Liam comes up behind her, hugging her and picking her up. “I think I love you, Abbs. I mean, why the hell haven’t you done that before? I’m pretty sure I speak for all of us when I say you have to do that again. Like all the time. Right, guys?”

  Jake and Brandon don’t speak. I think they’re in shock, but they nod.

  “I told you,” I say. Then I turn to Liam. “Hands off my girl, dude.”

  He backs away, holding up his hands in apology. “Are we all in agreement that she becomes a member of the band?”

  Abby sits on the chair in the corner, looking sad. “You realize my dad will never allow it.”

  “But you come to almost every rehearsal,” Jake says.

  “Yeah, but what about your gigs?” she asks. “If he found out, I’d be grounded for sure.”

  I sit on the arm of the chair. “I told you I’ll talk to him. Even if he says no, we sometimes play in Jersey or New York. It’s only an hour away. He wouldn’t find out about those. Tell him you’re with Janine.”

  “Come on, Abby,” Liam begs. “You have to say yes. We need you.”

  She stares at the microphone stand. Then she looks around the garage, biting her fingernails like she does when she’s thinking hard. Then she looks at me and smiles.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bria

  I love singing for Reckless Alibi. The past few weeks have flown by between all of our rehearsals and the new gigs we got after singing in the bar. And the best part is we’re starting to make money.

  I put most of my White Poison pay toward my credit cards, so I’m back to living on a shoestring budget. The cost of gas to and from Stamford five or six days a week is killing me.

  Hopefully I’ll soon be able to start paying Brett back all the money he’s loaned me. He did it out of love, but let’s face it, he’s a firefighter, it’s not like he’s rolling in dough. I know he had to scrimp and save to be able to help me.

  I still wonder if Mom would be disappointed in me. I mean, I quit college after the first year—college that was completely paid for because I was a child of a 9/11 casualty. It just seemed pointless to sit in a classroom day after day when I already knew what I wanted to do with my life. So I hired voice coaches and dance instructors and image consultants to make sure I was giving off the right vibe to be a singer. Not to mention all the money I spent—Brett’s money—on hiring a band to cut the album.

  It’s not like we’re making bucket loads of cash. Most of what the band makes we put into equipment and advertising. We all agreed to put aside half of what’s left for travel expenses so we don’t end up staying in crappy motels if and when we start touring. Effectively, what I end up taking home isn’t much more than any waitress job I held while waiting for my big break. Is this my big break?

  I thought singing for White Poison was.

  It wasn’t.

  Other than being on some YouTube videos taken by concertgoers, my likeness was never shown on signs or promos. My name was never mentioned during interviews given by the band. I never got recognized. That was probably because I didn’t look like myself when I was onstage. They put so much makeup on me, I looked like a different person.

  It’s different with Reckless Alibi. I get to look like me. I get to be me. And even though we’re still a smalltime band, it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of.

  I pull up to the barn, wondering why Liam wanted us here an hour before our scheduled practice. He was very hush-hush about it.

  The usual cars are parked in the makeshift gravel lot next to the barn. Liam’s is the flashiest, no doubt because his uncle owns the largest car dealership in three counties. Garrett and Brad drive decent enough vehicles, ones you might expect men in their mid-twenties to drive. It’s Crew’s car that makes me scratch my head. It’s an old Nissan. It might be twenty years old. Considering he works for Liam’s uncle, surely he has the opportunity to drive something better.

  I see a big white SUV. Its wheels and running boards are gray with slush and street salt. I peek inside on my way by, but don’t see anything that clues me in as to who might own it.

  I slide open the heavy barn door and go inside. A man stands and claps his hands once. “Good. Now that you’re all here, we can get started.”

  I walk over.

  “Bria, I’m Jeremy Halstead.”

  We shake hands.

  “Nice to meet you.” I look at the guys. “What’s this about?”

  Garrett, Brad and Crew look about as clueless as me.

  I sit on an empty chair across from the couch. Jeremy walks in a circle around the furniture in the middle of the barn. “I’m a friend of Dirk’s.”

  I’m confused.

  “Liam’s uncle,” he clarifies.

  Oh. I nod.

  “I’ve got a background in entertainment and I’d like to become your manager.”

  Eyebrows shoot up. Pulses quicken. Excitement emanates.

  Crew says, “You have a pretty nice ride. I’m not sure we can afford you.”

  Jeremy waves him off. “How do you think I’m able to afford such luxuries? By finding garage bands like yours and putting them on the map, that’s how.” He looks at our surroundings and chuckles. “Or in your case, a barn band.”

  “Still,” Crew says. “We’re barely able to cover our expenses and pay ourselves.”

  “I’m no
t asking for any of what you already have,” Jeremy says. “I’ll only take a cut of the gigs I get for you.”

  “How much of a cut?” Garrett asks.

  He hands us each a printed contract. “It’s all right here. This is a standard contract, but by all means, feel free to have your lawyer look it over.”

  By the way he says it, I get the feeling he knows we don’t have a lawyer.

  “We’re booked through April,” Brad says. “And the calls keep coming in. I think we’re doing pretty well on our own.”

  Jeremy laughs. “Yeah, if you want to play in bars the rest of your life. I’m talking about getting you into bigger venues. Amphitheaters and festivals and eventually tours.”

  This gets the attention of everyone. “Tours?” Garrett asks.

  “Eventually.”

  Crew thumbs through the contract. “Yeah, but how much of our souls will we have to sell?”

  “It’s not like that,” Jeremy says.

  “What will we have to do?” Garrett asks.

  “The first thing you have to do is get into a recording studio and re-record your album with Bria. While you’re focusing on that, I’ll start courting record labels.”

  I don’t fail to notice Crew’s disappointment at Jeremy’s mention of adding me to the album.

  I don’t get him. When we’re up onstage it’s like we’re a couple who’s madly in love. He sings to me, not just with me. He smiles. He’s full of an energy that the rest of us seem to feed on.

  But the second he puts down the mic, he goes back to being this, well … jackass. He’s bipolar for sure.

  “What else do we have to agree to?” Garrett asks.

  It’s not lost on me that Liam is not asking questions. It makes me wonder if he already knows all this or is being forced into this by his uncle, who’s practically funded the band until now.

  “I may hire someone to come in and work on your image,” Jeremy says.

  I shake my head. “I’m not wearing tight skirts that show my ass cheeks, and I refuse to paint my face so I don’t even look like myself.”