Текст книги "Jet"

Автор книги: Jay Crownover

Соавторы: Jay Crownover
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Chapter 8

Jet

I woke up alone, which wasn’t entirely surprising. What caught me a little off guard was the fact that it kind of pissed me off.

Friends with benefits was all fine and dandy, but after the night before, it felt like there was something else at work that neither of us should be able to ignore. We just fit. We just worked. If two people were ever supposed to be having sex on a regular basis, it was us, and the fact that she had such an easy time walking out after, irked me to no end. I wasn’t arrogant enough to think I was the end all and be all of lovers, but like I had promised her, it was a good time and it bugged me she was gone so soon. I wasn’t sure if it was my ego or something else and I didn’t like it.

I rolled out of bed and hopped in the shower. By the time I was out, my phone was blowing up where I had tossed it on the nightstand the night before. I pulled on a pair of bright red jeans and a black T-shirt and was shoving my feet into my boots and ignoring another call from my dad, when I saw that the first round of missed calls had come from Dario Hill, the lead singer of Artifice. I had worked with him a ton on the last album and they were the main reason we got signed on to tour with Metalfest last year. They were in the big time now and Dario found less and less time to just call and chitchat, so I started to freak out a little, wondering if the old man had circumvented me and tried to get in touch with them about the European tour without my help.

I pushed my mop of wet hair out of my face and twirled the ring that circled my thumb around and around while I called him back. I was prepared to leave a message, but Dario picked up on the second ring.

“Dude, I’ve been trying to call you all morning.”

I picked my guitar up off the floor where I had laid it down last night and ran my fingers over the stings.

“Yeah, I had a late night so I was slow getting to it this morning.”

He laughed. “Sounds fun.”

I don’t know that fun was the right word, more like life-changing, but Dario was an old-school metal head and he wouldn’t understand the significance of any of that, so I didn’t bother to try to explain it. “You could say that. So what’s up? I thought you guys were getting ready to head to Europe on tour for the new album.”

Going to Europe was a big deal. The global exposure was huge and it was just fun and exciting to play new venues and reach audiences that expected so much more. Metal overseas kicked the shit out of American metal any day of the week.

“That’s actually why I’m calling.”

I was mentally preparing myself for him to tell me that having my dad badger him crossed both our friendship and professional boundaries, and I missed a chord on the song I was absently strumming. I swore and set the guitar to the side.

“The band that the record label had planned on going with us fell through. I dunno what happened. They’re out though and we need a replacement act stat. They tossed around a few names, but I’m not stoked on being on the road with any of them for three months. I dropped your name, on the off chance they would be down for it, and I thought the head of the label was going to shit his pants. Why didn’t you ever say anything about them being after you to sign for, like, ever?”

I sighed. “Because I don’t want to sign with anyone, let alone someone that big.”

“Goddamn, Jet, you are one complicated, messed-up dude.”

“Be grateful. That’s how I write you such badass songs.”

He laughed again, but got serious again real quickly. “Come on tour with us. I shouldn’t ask, because Enmity is way better than we are, but it’ll be fun and the exposure can’t be matched. It’s only three months and you know you guys are perfect for it.”

Three months was three months, and being that far away from my mom while my dad was in town to do his worst, made my skin crawl. Plus, I had to figure out what was going on with Ayden. If I left for three months, I felt like I would come back and she would be cuddled up to the first guy she could find who was rocking a tweed jacket with those leather patches on the elbows. I knew what she wanted, but what she actually needed was entirely different. If I was in Europe, I had no trouble seeing her talk herself into going back to boring and predictable.

“I don’t know, man. One of the guys just had a kid and I have all kinds of jacked-up stuff going on here. That’s a pretty big commitment to make.”

I heard him sigh. “Jet, you are by far the most talented musician I have ever met and I don’t just mean because you can rock a metal song, but all across the board. No one is better onstage than you, no one can write a song like you. I get that you’re happy being a big shot in the local scene, but come on now, is that really all this is ever going to be for you? When are you going to see the big picture? How can you realistically pass up the chance to tour Europe on the record label’s dime?”

Logically, I knew what he was saying was true, but the part of me that lived and breathed in anger, in fear of what my dad could ultimately do to destroy my mom, just couldn’t relent right away.

“Let me talk to the guys and get back to you.”

Another sigh, and this one I could practically feel across the phone line. “You only have a couple of days, dude. We need to have the opening act hammered down before the end of the week and then we leave the first of March.”

I didn’t feel like that was enough time to turn it around in my head, but I had to at least see what the other guys in the band thought about it, before abjectly refusing it. I was going to tell him “later” and hang up, but he stopped me with what I had dreaded hearing when I first saw that I had missed a call from him.

“Hey, before I let you go, the label got a call from some guy saying he knew you and that he wanted to get hitched into the tour. Do you know anything about that? I told the guys I would ask about it before we agreed to anything, but honestly he sounded like kind of a nutjob.”

Now it was my turn to sigh. I rubbed my thumb hard between my eyes and felt my back teeth click together. It was a struggle on a daily basis not to choke the old bastard out, and the older I got, the harder and harder it got to keep from pummeling him.

“Tell him no. In fact, tell him hell no. If he calls again, tell him you’re going to have security put eyes out for him. He doesn’t need to be anywhere near your tour or near your band.”

Which meant I was going to have to find some other way for him to spend his time, other than making my mom’s life miserable. Maybe the best thing to do would be to just send him off to Europe with Dario and hope that he didn’t come back. Disgustingly though, he was my problem, always had been, and I wasn’t about to pawn his sorry ass off on a friend.

“All right, but seriously Jet, think long and hard about the tour. This is perfect for you and it couldn’t happen to a better guy or a better band. You deserve to get the recognition.”

I grunted a good-bye and shoved the phone in my pocket. I made a quick trip to the bathroom to get my hair under control, ending with the black strands hanging shaggily over my forehead. I brushed my teeth and laced my belt through my pants. It looked like Ayden had already come and gone, because all her girly crap was put away and her normal collection of abandoned clothes was nowhere in sight. I went back to being irritated that she could just bolt on me after last night, and muttered obscenities under my breath all the way to the kitchen.

Cora was puttering around, already ready for work, and looked up at me with knowing eyes when I flopped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

“Did Ayd already leave for the day?”

She came toward me with a mug of coffee and a grin. “She did. She was up early and went running, then left for class. Everything okay with you two? She seemed a little abrupt when she got back from her run.”

I let my head fall back on my neck so that I was staring up at the ceiling. “I have no idea.”

She sat down across from me and I lowered my head so that we were staring at each other. There was something about those multicolored eyes that made a person just know that she saw more and understood more than she ever let on. Cora could read people better than almost anyone I had ever met, and if she had any insight into what was going on with Ayden, I was all ears.

“I think Ayd has more going on under the surface than she lets on. I mean, I’ve lived with her for a while now and she never mentions home or her family, and she never talks about what her life before college was like. Even Shaw has only the basics. It’s like she didn’t exist before moving here for school. Sometimes it’s what people choose not to say that tells the more important story.”

I just gawked at her, because I had no idea how she saw the whole picture so clearly like that. Sometimes it was easy to miss all she had going on because her punk-rock. fairy-princess, persona was so distracting.

“Like you.” She pointed a neon-tipped finger at the end of my nose and flicked it. “You didn’t mention that you went to see your mom yesterday. Why is that?”

I groaned and shoved both my hands through my hair getting gunk all over them. “Because I don’t like to talk about it. Nash has a big mouth.”

“No, Nash is a good friend who knows how hard you are on yourself when it comes to taking responsibility for your parents’ shitty marriage. One day, you’re going to have to recognize that your mom is a grown-ass woman, responsible for all the choices she’s made and continues to make where your dad is concerned. You did your best to help her, to get her out of there, and she clearly doesn’t want to go. That can’t be your burden to bear for the rest of your life, Jet.”

It was pretty much the same thing Nash had told me yesterday, but understanding that they were right, and being able to just put it down and walk away, were two different things entirely. So I told her the same thing I told Nash, “She’s my mom.”

Only Cora wasn’t Nash, and she wasn’t the type to accept as gospel why I continued to torture myself over the matter. She put one of her tiny hands on mine and squeezed.

“Right, she is, which means she should be there to take care of you, and be proud of all the amazing things you do. She should be giddy with excitement about how talented her son is and she should be your biggest fan. What she shouldn’t be doing is letting her unhealthy relationship with your dad keep you tied to this town and to her, when everybody, and Jet, I mean everybody knows you could be doing so much more on such a bigger scale.”

I couldn’t argue with her because she was right. Everyone was right, but that didn’t change the fact that I was stone-cold terrified of what would happen to the woman if I just washed my hands of the situation, and let my dad finish dismantling her. I didn’t know if I could live with myself if I let that happen, and no amount of success or personal achievement was worth that risk. I wasn’t even going to mention the offer of the tour with Artifice, because that would just give her more fuel for the fire. If I was here in Denver to keep the old man occupied, there was less of a chance he could totally destroy her.

“It is what it is, for now.”

She lifted a pale eyebrow. “But it doesn’t have to be. Look at you and Ayd. Things can be one way for a long time and then have to change because there is no other choice.”

I just shrugged. “Maybe.”

She rolled her eyes at me and climbed to her feet. “I have to go or I’m going to be late. Stop acting like a typical brooding musician and make Ayd talk to you. By the way, she was totally a ten when I saw her this morning, so way to go, killer.”

That startled a laugh out of me and shook some of the gloom from my current mood. “I told you one day I would have one.”

She laughed and winked at me with her blue eye. “Well, the catch is that you’re totally a ten right now, too, and I don’t think you’ve ever been above a five. You’re good together, Jet, in any form that happens to be. Don’t let her convince you otherwise.”

“Yeah. For some reason, I think that might be a lot harder than it sounds.”

After Cora left for work, I screwed around for a couple of hours and tried to finish the song I was working on last night when Ayden had ambushed me. It was sad and had a melody to it that made something in the center of my chest hurt. It was missing something I couldn’t put my finger on. With my mind spinning about the tour and a certain Southern girl, I couldn’t get it right, so I tossed my guitar in the case and went down to the studio. I was supposed to finish up with Black Market Alphas later on tonight, but the mood I was currently in didn’t bode well for getting anything accomplished, especially if Ryan showed up flashing his idiotic bravado and unearned arrogance.

I tweaked a couple of the tracks, messed around with some of my own, and sent a text to all the guys in my band that we needed to get together to talk. My dad called me three times and I sent all three directly to voice mail. I debated on calling Ayden and decided that the phone worked both ways. If she wanted to talk, she could get in touch with me. After all, I wasn’t the one who left her hanging alone in bed after a night of mind-melting sex.

Before I knew it, the afternoon had blown by and Ryan and the rest of the band were rolling into the studio. It was a shame the lead singer was such a little punk, because the other guys were all cool and I really saw a lot of myself in Jorge. They were getting set up when my phone beeped at me with a text.

I was surprised and admittedly stoked to see that it was Ayden.

Where are you?

At work.

You? Working? ;)

That made me scowl. What did she think I did all day long when I didn’t have a show? Of course I worked, how did she think I paid the bills?

When I feel like it. Why, what’s up?

I wanted to see if you were hungry. My last class got canceled and I’m starving.

I can’t leave. In the middle of a session.

I can come to you.

That was weird. I never let anyone in the studio that I wasn’t working with or in a band with. This place was generally my escape from the rest of the world. This is where I came to get away from all the other stuff I normally couldn’t deal with. Letting her in seemed like a bigger deal than it probably actually was, and it took me a solid ten minutes to text her back.

All right. But you might hate it. I don’t think the guys I’m working with know a single Kenny Chesney song.

Very funny, asshole. What do you want me to bring you?

Whatever. I’m easy.

No Jet, you are anything but that.

I stared at the phone like it would explain to me what she meant. The guys in the band were getting restless, so I told her to grab a couple pizzas and a case of Coors Light so I could feed them as well. I gave her directions to the studio. I couldn’t decide between being pleased that she was actively seeking me out or being freaked out about letting her into my inner sanctum. I decided to just hover between the two and focus on work until she got there. Something was going on with the band, half the guys weren’t talking and Jorge was a beat behind on three out of four songs. After the sixth time starting the first song over again, I was ready to murder them all.

I slammed my hands down on the mixing board and flipped off the switch that recorded everything in the booth. I cracked my knuckles on both hands and walked into where they were all glaring back and forth at one another, and where Ryan was scowling at me.

“What gives, dude? Today is the last day we have for studio time and we already paid you for it.”

I twirled the ring on my middle finger around with my thumb and met him glare for glare. This kid didn’t know me well enough to think that I was ever going to be impressed by his youthful overconfidence and mediocre talent.

“What’s going on today? You guys suck, and I mean suck. Whatever you’re doing is garbage and I’m not messing around with it. Did you forget you’re a band and that means you all have to play the same song at the same time? What the fuck gives?”

Ryan puffed his chest up and Jorge threw his drum sticks down. The other two guys frowned at me while Ryan moved to poke me in the center of my chest.

“Watch it. We’re paying you, remember?”

I smacked his hand away and narrowed my eyes threateningly at him. “Yeah. You’re paying me to put together an album that gets you noticed by a major label and gets you signed, not an album that sounds like a bunch of pots and pans falling out of the kitchen cabinet. My name doesn’t get attached to something that isn’t listenable. So, what is the goddamn deal?”

Jorge pounded one of the cymbals with the edge of his fist. “Yeah, Ry, why don’t you tell him what’s going on? Why don’t you tell him how you took all the credit for all the songs I wrote and all the shows we played when that girl from Shred interviewed you? Why don’t you explain to Jet how this new album is a collaboration between you and him, and the rest of us are just the hired help?” He hit the cymbal again. “You don’t need us, right? Why don’t you go ahead and finish the album by yourself, because I’ve had it.”

I took a step back as Jorge rounded the massive drum kit. Ryan had turned a lovely shade of purple and was looking frantically between me and where his drummer had stormed off to. I rubbed my chin and made him meet my questioning gaze.

“Can you write songs? Do you know how to put together a melody and a chorus the way Jorge does?”

He frowned and gulped. “No.”

“Can you play guitar?”

“No.”

“Can you play the drums?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

I rocked back on my heels and crossed my arms over my chest. “Are you a solo artist, Ry? Because if you are, then we need to scrap the tracks we already laid down and start all over.”

He balked at me, and the microphone in his hand dropped to the ground. “No. No way. That stuff we recorded the other day was boss.”

“Right. It was boss, because Jorge wrote amazing songs and you have an amazing band to back you up. Without that, you’re just some little shit jumping around the stage and screaming worthless nonsense. I don’t collaborate with worthless nonsense. You better recognize what you can do for them, Ry, not the other way around, because I guarantee if Jorge walks away I can hook him up with another band in a heartbeat. You’ll just be a memory for some guy somewhere who saw you play that one time. You need to get over yourself, like yesterday, and stop wasting everyone’s time. And if you can’t do that, I, for sure, have more important stuff to do than babysit a wannabe rock star.”

He stared at me in silence, trying to judge how serious I was. I didn’t play around when it came to respecting the rest of your band. I knew that alone I was an all right singer, but that I couldn’t do what I did without the rest of the guys, and a talent like Jorge’s wasn’t to be taken lightly. Ryan and I were in the middle of a stare-down when I heard a low whistle and Jorge called out,

“Who’s the babe? On my god, I’m in love. She even has beer and pizza.”

I looked over my shoulder and saw Ayden setting the stuff down inside the control room. She had a big silk flower in her dark hair and her glasses perched on her nose. She was wearing a pair of skinny jeans that were tighter than mine, if that was possible, and some kind of flowy white top that hung entirely off one shoulder. Yep, she was a babe all right and now that she was here, inside the inner circle, it wasn’t nearly as freaky or as unsettling as I thought it would be. She wiggled her fingers at me in a tiny wave and flopped down in my chair. I lifted my chin at her and turned back to Ryan. On the inside I was wondering why it seemed so right for her to be here.

“Look, my advice to you is, don’t screw up a good thing. You guys sound good, but only when you play together. Get your ego in check and apologize to your band. I’m not putting my name on anything I’m not proud of, and right now it sounds like garbage. Let’s eat some pizza and have a couple beers and you go make nice. All right?”

He was quiet for a long moment but eventually nodded and begrudgingly walked to where Jorge was standing in front of the control booth watching Ayden as she messed around on her phone. I pushed the door open and almost missed a step when she grinned up at me.

“Hey.”

“Hey, back. I missed you this morning.”

She winced a little and put her phone down. “I’m sorry about that, I just had to . . .” She trailed off with a shrug. “Run.”

I bent over her and put my hands on the back of the chair, so that I was looking down at her, and she had no other choice but to look up at me. There was something in those whiskey-tinted eyes, something potent and clear. This girl was dangerous. I wanted to do things to her, do things for her that I had never wanted before.

“I have to say, Ayd, I prefer it when you run toward me, not away from me.”

She tilted her head back a little and lifted her hands so that they were resting on my waist. A mixture of heat and something more serious coiled in my stomach. I wanted to imprint everything about her on my brain. I wanted to remember every look, every touch, and every taste. The more time I had with her, the more I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was like the melting clocks tattooed all over my forearm; that she was just an illusion, just a dream that I was trying to hold on to before she faded away .

“I wasn’t running away, Jet. I’m just not sure what this is all about and what to do with any of it.”

“Neither am I, but doesn’t it make more sense to try to figure it out together, rather than just muddling through it alone? Whatever it is, it’s working fine for right now, so let’s leave it alone.”

She wrinkled her nose at me, which was too cute with her sexy little glasses on, and I couldn’t resist bending down to kiss her. I meant to keep it professional because we had an audience, but she tasted like coffee, secrets, and a place where I really wanted to be. Not to mention, she got her fingers under the edge of my T-shirt and dug them into my sides. I could kiss her all day—forever—but she went to my head quicker than the booze her eyes reminded me of, and I was still a little pissed at her for ditching me this morning. I gave her a little nip with my teeth and pushed back off the chair, which sent her spinning around with a little squeal.

“Seriously, Ayd. We’re both smart. Why can’t we do this, make sex and something a little more work for us?”

She put her foot down to stop the chair and shrugged a shoulder. “We can. I want to. I’m just trying to be careful about it. When I wasn’t very careful about things in the past, it really left a nasty mark.”

I reached out a hand, which she grasped as I pulled her to her feet. I tugged her into a hug and tucked her head under my chin. We fit together like that was just how it was supposed to be. She put her hands in the back pockets of my jeans and rested her forehead on my throat.

“If you can tell me how we avoid doing that, Ayd, I’m willing to listen. The only marks I want to leave on you are ones you enjoy being there.”

Her soft hair brushed against my neck and she pulled me a little closer. “One day, maybe, but for now let’s just try to enjoy what it is, without all the baggage weighing it down.”

I felt my eyebrows shoot up, but the guys in the band had made their way into the booth, and we were no longer alone. I ran my hand down her spine and tapped her ass with the flat of my hand. She jumped a little and pushed off me.

“I think the dude is normally supposed to try to sell that arrangement to the chick.”

Those amber eyes glimmered with humor, and all I wanted to do was get her naked and put my hands all over her. She was simply something else, and I wasn’t sure what to do with her or with the way she wound me up so fast. I didn’t have time to keep turning it over, because Jorge forcibly pushed his way between us and started pumping her arm up and down in a way that was comical to watch. I took a few steps back and got a beer, while Ryan tried his best to charm her. She looked at them all with big eyes and sat back down in the chair, while they all chattered at her.

I watched the entire scenario in amusement. She was a very pretty girl and could hold her own. I’d seen her handle drunks with years on these guys and not break a sweat, but maybe because I was watching and we had something as yet unnamed going on, she was watching them carefully and not being her usual laid-back self. They were rapidly firing questions at her; how did she know me, were we a thing, what was her favorite band, had she ever heard of them, what was her favorite song, was she going to stick around and watch them play? She just gaped at them until I guess she had enough, and then came to plant herself solidly next to my side. She put an arm around my waist and regarded them as if they were a pack of wolves and not a bunch of oversexed teenaged musicians.

“Are they always like that?”

“When a hot chick is around, they are. Don’t you know most guys start bands, or learn to play an instrument, to get laid?”

She looked up at me and I laughed at the incredulousness shining out of her bright gaze. I handed her the beer and motioned for everyone to get back to work. Now that she was here, all I wanted to do was finish up and get her home, or get her up against the wall, or get her in the back seat of my car. I wasn’t picky, but I was impatient. She was like music, something I craved, something that I felt deep in my blood and I wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“Why do I think that you didn’t need either of those things to get laid when you were their age?”

I looked at her out of the corner of my eye and went back to the mixing board. She followed me and continued to sip on the beer while she hovered over my shoulder. Now that they had such an attractive audience, the boys weren’t messing around and they ripped into the track that they had been screwing up royally with renewed vigor and enthusiasm.

“Because I didn’t. I learned to play guitar because I wanted to write songs. I joined a band because I had things I wanted to say, and jumping around screaming punk-rock lyrics suited me at the time.”

She put her hand on the back of my neck and I shivered a little at the chill, because they were cold from holding on to the beer can.

“And now, you scream and yell heavy-metal songs because you’re mad about your dad and your mom all the time, and it suits you.” She said it as a statement of fact and it made me shiver again, because she was so dead-on. “I can listen, too, Jet. Maybe you can tell me why you’re so angry, and I can help.”

I flicked a couple of switches and played with some of the dials to tone down the guitar. “Maybe when you’re ready to talk to me about those not-so-smart choices, we can have an all-out sharefest.”

My anger had been with me so long, lived in such a dark place inside me, that I didn’t know what would happen if I brought it out into the light. I was scared it was going to have the power to cover everything and burn my entire world to ash. Those cold fingers moved from the back of my neck to my shoulder and she gave it a squeeze.

We stood that way for the next three songs. She just watched as I gave the guys instruction and tried to build the best track of each song I could. At one point, she handed the beer back to me and before I realized it, we had the entire album cut and it was almost midnight. The guys were keyed up and wanted to go out. All earlier arguments had been put to rest because they knew, just like I did, that we had just produced a killer album that would no doubt lead them to getting signed.

I wanted to get Ayden alone and ask her to get naked—except for those glasses—so I declined the invite and tried to shoo them out the door. She stayed put and went about cleaning up the mess that five guys, beer, and pizza had made. I was about to shut the door and lock it when Jorge paused, and walked back to where I was standing. He stuck out his hand and shook it like he meant it.

“You really are an amazing musician, Jet. No one else would have been able to do what you just did.”

I nodded at the compliment.

“And that girl . . .” He blew out a low whistle. “I would be writing songs about her every chance I got, bro. So whatever you’re doing, keep it up, because I totally want to be you when I grow up.”

I snorted and flipped him off. When I walked back into the recording room, Ayden went into the studio and was running her finger along one of the necks of my electric guitars I stored there. She was so perfect, so right, that something flipped upside down in my chest and it made it hard for me to breathe for a second. When she turned back around, her eyes were serious and there was something working there.

“Jet, I had no idea you had all of this going on.”

“What do you mean?”

She waved a hand around the studio and strummed the guitar, making a shrill sound.

“The studio, the way you were with those guys. I had no clue you were like some kind of rock god. The way you made those boys sound, I mean you know how much I hate that music, but you made it into something so beautiful.”

I normally shrugged when people complimented what I could do, but if it made her see something more in me, I wasn’t going to brush it off so lightly.

“It’s what I love to do.”

“It’s more than that, isn’t it? It’s what you were born to do.”

“It is.” All that whiskey and mystery, all the things that made Ayden so much more than all the rest, swirled around and flashed at me. I still couldn’t figure her out but when she grinned at me and hooked her arms around my neck and asked if I was ready to go, the only answer I could give her was “Hell, yeah.”