Diving Into Him (4 page)

Sweat beaded at Jett’s hairline as the phone rang. She clutched the phone tighter, walking faster with each ring. Stomach clenching, she took a deep breath in through her nose. Then, she let it out slowly. She needed to get a grip. She was a professional, not a scared child in trouble with her parents.

Straightening her shoulders, she paused in front of a gas station. The phone rang again. She dipped her fingers into her pocket and retrieved her pack of cigarettes. She was almost out, and Koty was the one with the cash. She sighed. She had become the kind of woman she had never wanted to be.

“Yeah,” Griff said, cutting into her thoughts.

Jumping, Jett dropped the cigarette. She stooped to pick it up. Fumbling for words, she lit the cigarette. As soon as she inhaled, she felt better, more in control.

“Did you butt dial me?” Griff sighed.

“No, I’m here.” She blew out a slow stream of smoke.

“What’s up?” Unlike the last time she spoke with him, there were no sirens in the background. She wondered where he was.

She dropped onto a bench at the Ashmont T station. Her lips parted, but no words came out. Mind racing, she tried to think of something to say.

“Are you there?” An edge of aggravation crept into Griff’s voice.

She didn’t have much time to waste. “You said you were in Los Angeles.” She took another drag. “What are you doing out there?”

“What does it matter to you?” His voice was light, teasing.

Relief swept through her. He sounded more like the old Griff, the way he had been before things started falling apart in Perpetual Smile. He was suddenly the same person who had held her while she cried on the floor of Phillip’s hospital room after they lost him. It felt like ages ago. Shaking the memories away, she took another drag off her cigarette. “We didn’t get to chat much last time.” She kept her voice light, despite the ache in her chest.

He laughed. “Yeah, how did you make out with the band?”

“That depends on what you’ve been up to.” She tapped ash onto the sidewalk. The head of her cigarette loosened. Scowling, she brought the cigarette to her lips, taking small puffs to relight the rest of it before the cherry fell off.

“Just dealing with some hockey stuff.” She heard the flick of a lighter as Griff lit his own cigarette.

She missed sitting with him, smoking cigarettes and talking about the band. Her heart sank. “Hockey stuff,” she repeated. “Are you training for this season?”

He cleared his throat. “What did you want, Jett?”

Nodding to herself, she sighed. It was time to kill the small talk. “We’re going to play the show.” She paused, waiting for his reaction. He said nothing. “I’ve got a bassist and a keyboardist. We’re meeting tonight to rehearse.”

“You’re serious.” Griff laughed, a short, incredulous bark that was more merry than condescending.

“Of course I’m serious.” She tossed the rest of her cigarette into the street.

“So what do you want from me?” he asked, his tone still light.

Her heart raced in her chest. Wiping damp palms on her thighs, she plunged forward. “I need a drummer.” She let her words sink in. He was probably going to say no. When Perpetual Smile crumbled, he had left without a single word. He hadn’t even called to see how her detoxification program went.

“Why are you telling me this?” He exhaled a long breath. She couldn’t tell if he was still smoking or sighing.

“You’re the best drummer I’ve ever known.” She watched as the train rumbled to a stop in front of her. Watching as people boarded and stepped off, streaming past each other, she crossed her legs.

“You couldn’t find anyone else?”

“Not on such short notice.” Her lips curled into a rueful smile. She wasn’t sure if he was teasing her again, or if he was being sarcastic.

“Shocking.” He lapsed into silence.

A lump formed in her throat. “So when does the season begin?”

He snorted. “You still don’t know the minor league hockey schedule. How long have you known me?” He chuckled. “The season already started.”

She wanted to stick her tongue out at him. She thought of one of the last times she had seen him. They had sat where Perpetual Smile’s tour bus had once been parked, smoking cigarettes until she was ready to go to the rehab facility. Tears sprang to her eyes. He had been the one to get the rest of the band to hold an intervention. He had even convinced Koty to team up with him, against her. Sucking in a deep breath, she pushed the pain away. The past was in the past. “So what are you doing in Los Angeles? Shouldn’t you be playing a game?”

“I’m officially retired,” he said, a smile curving through his words.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Why?” she blurted.

“Thank you for the congratulations,” he said.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” She lit her last cigarette. “I’m just surprised. I figured that after the band went south, you would focus more on hockey.”

Griff sighed. “Jett, I’m not getting any younger. It’s a rough sport. It would only make sense for me to stay in the game if I’d gotten picked up by a pro team by now. That hasn’t happened, and it isn’t going to.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry.” She wished she had been able to attend more than a couple of his games.

He laughed. “I’m not. I get to focus on music now.”

“Is that why you’re in LA?” Twisting her lips to the side, she looked down. She should have known that Griff would try to sign with another band. He was too talented not to.

“Sort of. You said you need a drummer.”

“I was going to ask you.” She shrugged, even though he couldn’t see her.

“I figured,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?” she sputtered. Her heart raced. He couldn’t possibly mean that he was going to join her. It couldn’t be that easy.

“I’m broke,” he said, “and I want to play. I don’t want any drama, though.”

She swallowed hard. “So are you saying that you’re in?”

Griff cleared his throat. “I’m saying that, if you can stay sober, this could work.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve been sober for months. If you’d bothered to call once in a while, you would know that.” Her hands curled into fists. She stared down at the dwindling cigarette, wishing that she had more. “Why don't you trust me?” She wanted to also ask him why he had sent Koty to pick her up from the treatment facility instead of coming himself. Tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered looking up to see Koty instead of Griff. He had been the last person she expected to ditch her. She squared her jaw. She would not let her past taint her future. If she was ever going to truly start over, she needed to let go completely.

“Did you hear me?” Griff asked, cutting into her thoughts.

“What did you say?” She bit down on her lower lip, cheeks blazing.

“I said, I’ll join South of Forever on one condition.”

Her heart leapt into her throat. Tears rolled down her cheeks. A smile curled her lips slightly upward. “What is it?”

“I’ve been in LA, talking to different booking agents I knew from when we were in Perpetual Smile. One of them has agreed to scout your show.”

Jett’s jaw dropped open. He knew her better than she’d thought. “How did you do that?” The tears dribbled faster, splotching onto her jacket.

“If we can land the agent,” he continued, “I’ll stay.”

She blinked, still processing his words. She let out a long breath in a whoosh. “Wow.”

“I’ll take the next flight out.” She could hear the smile in Griff’s voice. “See you soon.”

They hung up.

She remained sitting in the shelter of the T station, staring down at her phone with numb hands. Her cigarette dangled from the corner of her mouth. She let it drop to the ground. It rolled past the toe of her boot and into the street. A smile broke out across her face, curving her lips. Griff was joining South of Forever.

She wondered why he was going out on such a limb for her. If he wanted to get back into the music industry, he could have signed with any band he wanted. He could have secured the booking agent for himself. Lips sagging, she stood from the bench. Relationships, she decided, were confusing—even friendships. No matter what she did, something always went wrong. She wished that she had asked Griff why he had walked away from her and Perpetual Smile.

Keeping her head down was the safest bet, even if only for a little while.

Jett stopped at her and Koty’s condominium only long enough to grab her guitar. The house sat empty, lonely. She wondered if Koty would be opposed to getting a dog. It would be nice to always have someone to come home to—even if it was a furry mass of jumps and slobber. She had never had a dog. Her father couldn’t afford one, especially after losing her mother.

Someday, she decided, she would buy herself a dog. The condo didn’t have much of a yard, but it sat in a sprawling complex. Several of their neighbors walked their dogs back and forth around the neighborhood. None of them worried about getting hit by a car or anything.

She wondered why she had never considered getting herself a dog before. It was true that New York was no place to raise a puppy, and she had hardly been home enough for a pet, anyway. Still, she could have enrolled it in some kind of doggy daycare. Plenty of her neighbors did that. She could have even gotten a cat.

Arriving at the studio, she climbed the steps three at a time. She had lived a lonely life. Maybe keeping her head down wasn’t the best idea. Maybe she just needed a change of scenery. Boston, she decided, might be the best thing for her—if she gave it a chance.

Withdrawing her key from her pocket, she inserted it into the lock. The door knob twisted easily, though, and she paused. She couldn’t remember the studio’s owner, David, saying anything about needing the studio that day. Biting down on her lower lip, she nudged the door open. Sweat dampened her palms. The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up.

Piano music floated through the air, light and haunting. She paused in the doorway. Koty sat at the studio’s grand piano, back bent. He leaned over the keys, fingers splayed, dancing with the stroke of each note. His voice floated to her through the air, strengthened by the light accompaniment of the piano.

“And I can’t even cry, because you were never mine,” he sang.

Her heart stopped in her chest as recognition flowed through her. She had scribbled those lyrics down on a scrap of paper, unable to do anything else with them. She hadn’t even showed him. Eyes narrowing, she wondered when he had found the piece of paper—and where. She had figured it was gone forever. She did vaguely remember posting it onto their blog. Maybe he had gotten it from there.

She glanced over at him. He wore headphones. A notebook balanced on his lap. He held a pen between two fingers, playing with one hand.

“And I can’t even cry,” he sang, slower, drawing out the notes. His voice was husky, resonating through the small space. He repeated the line over a four-note piano melody, singing at a higher note. His voice sent shivers down Jett’s spine.

Heart twisting in her chest, she shook her head. It was ironic that he was working on that song—two lines that came to her one night while she couldn’t sleep. It was one of the first nights they spent in Boston, in a hotel room with two beds. She had stared into the darkness across the divide between them, wondering if things would be different if she had picked him over Perpetual Smile.

He had never been hers, though. Her lips twisted to the side. She had used him as a rebound when Phillip died. She had used him in a lot of ways. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she leaned against the door frame as he launched into the two lines again. He dropped his voice even lower, testing out different levels and throwing in nonsense lyrics. His free hand never stopped scribbling notes.

She needed to let him go. Lifting her chin, she nodded to herself. He deserved better than the hot mess that she was. Blinking, sooty lashes brushing against olive skin, she decided to stop pining for him. It would be easier said than done, of course, but she had to at least try.

Crossing the space between them, she sat on the piano bench next to him. She slipped on a pair of headphones and dropped in, playing a harmony with his melody. He glanced over at her. A crooked smile danced on his lips. He removed his headphones, letting them dangle around his neck. Sitting that close to him, she could smell his sweat and deodorant—or maybe it was cologne. He smelled amazing, a blend of cool and spicy. His smile sent a tingle through her body. Heat bloomed low in her belly.

She needed to focus. She nodded at the notebook in his lap. “Any luck?”

“Sorry for taking off.” His blue eyes bore into hers.

She blinked. “What?”

“I know that you don’t need a guard dog.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I just got used to it being you and me against the world.” He blushed.

She couldn’t take her eyes from his. She felt herself lean toward him. Her heart swelled, warmth washing over her. He might deserve better, but she wished that she could have him.

Ducking his head, he leaned down. His lips brushed hers. Her breath caught in her throat. As her eyes fluttered closed, the door to the studio banged open. She jumped, jerking away from Koty.

Max stood in the doorway, chest heaving. Sweat beaded at his hairline. “Am I late?” he asked.

Jett twisted the silver band she wore around her thumb—the only ring she wore anymore. Once adorned with rings that each meant something different to her, her fingers looked bare in comparison. She hadn’t been able to wear the ring that Phillip once bought for her while she and Koty were dating. It just wouldn’t have been right. Wearing the ring felt like regaining an appendage.

She twisted her lips to the side in a wry grin. She still wasn’t entirely sure what she and Koty had been doing. “Dating” seemed too strong a word when most of what they did happened in a hotel room—or on Perpetual Smile’s tour bus.

“Chloe wouldn’t stop crying when I tried to leave, so I thought I might be late.”

She glanced over at Max. He took a step into the studio. Pushing his hair back from his face, he looked from Jett to Koty. Her lips parted. She had no idea whether she should try to distract him from what he had almost seen, or if she should tell him that he was perfectly on time.

Perry strode in behind Max, his bass strapped to his back in a soft case. He walked with his hands jammed into his pockets. He wore ear buds. His head bopped to the music. Brushing past Max, he strutted deeper into the room. “I’m here,” he purred. He plucked his ear buds from his ears and gave Koty a nod. The nod he gave Jett dripped with a deeper meaning. He puckered his lips, heat lacing his eyes.

Max cleared his throat. “Are you in the band, too?” He held his hand out to Perry. “I’m Max Batista, keyboards.”

Raising en eyebrow, Perry stared at Max. “Where’s your keyboard?”

Max’s mouth dropped open.

“You didn’t bring your equipment?” Perry snickered. “This
is
a professional band, you know.”

Jett licked her lips. “Thank you for coming, gentlemen.” She wanted to look at Koty, to see what he thought, but she was afraid that what she might see in his face would have nothing to do with either of the other men. Standing from the piano bench, she jerked a thumb toward the large instrument. “Max can use that.”

“We were just working on a piano-driven song,” Koty added from beside her.

Without turning her head, she could feel the heat from his body. She took a step away from him.

“Still.” Perry sniffed. “What kind of musician travels without his instrument?”

“I didn’t think I’d need it tonight.” Max shrugged. “Plus, with Chloe screaming, I was mostly focusing on getting out of the house.”

Perry shook his head. “Have you ever even been in a band?” He crossed his arms.

Max’s eyebrows furrowed. “Who are you?”

Jett opened her mouth, then pressed her lips together, unsure whether she should try to play referee or let them get it out of their system.

“I’m Perry Armstrong. I just finished touring with King Riley. You’ve probably heard of them.” Perry swung his bass down from his back and knelt on the floor, unpacking the instrument.

“I’ve seen some posters,” Max said. He crossed his arms. “Do you only play their tours?”

Perry blushed, his cheeks turning bright red under his dark skin. “I recorded their first album with them.” He gritted his teeth, glaring at Max.

Lifting her hands, Jett tried to change the subject. “Let’s get started, guys.”

Both of the men ignored her. “Only their first album?” Max cocked his head. “Why aren’t you working on their second album?”

“Why don’t you run back to your little high school band?” Perry stood. He towered over Max.

Max held the other man’s gaze. “What are you trying to say?”

Perry jerked a thumb toward Koty. “I’m saying,” he said, pointing another finger at Max, “that neither of you belong here.”

“Whoa,” Koty said. He crossed the space between him and Perry. “How do you figure?”

Perry snorted. “You used to sing in a boy band.”

Eyes wide, Max turned toward Koty. He gaped at him. “Wait, what?”

Jett stomped her foot on the hardwood floor. Their heads all snapped in her direction. “We have three weeks to write and practice four or five songs. We don’t have time for this testosterone shit.”

“Can’t we just use some Perpetual Smile songs?” Max nodded toward the piano. “I can figure out the melody for a few more.”

Perry muttered something under his breath. He plugged his bass into the studio’s amplifier, shaking his head.

Jett ignored him. “No, Max.” She inhaled slowly through her nose. She had picked these men. She needed to remember that they weren’t her first picks, and needed some conditioning. “Simon 1056 owns all of the rights to Perpetual Smile’s music. I’ll probably never get those songs back.” Koty’s arm brushed hers. She flinched. Shooting him a look, she moved away. Her boots clicked against the floor as she paced. “We have a drummer, but he’s on the West Coast at the moment. He won’t be able to join us right away. We’ll have to start writing without percussion.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Perry purred. “All of King Riley’s songs are piano driven.”

Gritting her teeth, Jett looked him in the eye. “I don’t care what King Riley does. We are South of Forever, and we’re going to do things our own way.”

“You mean
your
way?” Perry gave her wide, innocent eyes.

Her fingers curled. Glancing at the door, she resisted the urge to walk out. Instead, she addressed the others. “Do any of you have any songs written or started?”

“Everything that
I
wrote belongs to King Riley.” Perry sighed, drawing it out. “And by ‘everything,’ I mean all of their songs to date.”

Jett lifted her eyes toward the ceiling. She probably should have researched Perry before seeking him out, she surmised. She would have bet her last cigarette that there had been friction within the band, causing them to eject him. She needed to work with what she had, though. She turned to Max. “What about you?”

His cheeks flushed. “I have something,” he stammered.

“Want to share?”

He shook his head quickly.

She sighed.

“Why don’t we keep going with what we were just working on?” Koty asked. He stood next to her again.

She pressed her feet into the floor, resisting the urge to move away from him. If the other men noticed that Koty was practically chasing her around the room, they might think that something was going on. She needed to not repeat her mistakes. There would be no dating within South of Forever. “We’re starting from scratch,” she announced, as if she hadn’t heard him. “Let’s pick a theme for our first song.” She wished that Phillip was still alive. He had been a genius at writing songs on a whim. Stuffing the ache in her heart away, she reached for Koty’s notebook.

Moving to Boston was her fresh start, not a relocated pity party.

“Let’s start strong,” Perry purred, “and write a song about sexual frustration.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Jett.

“That would be easy for you, wouldn’t it?” She gave him a smirk. “Let’s make it bass driven. Give me a strong line.” Pride thrummed through her. Poising a pen over a fresh page in the notebook, she nodded to Perry. Maybe starting with nothing wouldn’t be so hard after all.

“No way,” Max said. “It should be a piano driven song.”

“Why don’t you shut up?” Perry strapped his bass on. “At least until you have more songwriting experience.”

Jett watched as Max’s jaw worked. He gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowed.

“Piano can be sexy,” Max said. He turned to Jett. His eyes pleaded with her. “I can work something that is deep and slow.”

Lips parting, she started to tell him that it might work. Perry was the more experienced songwriter, though. Besides, Max looked more like a kid who wanted to impress his new friends than someone itching to play a melody. She closed her eyes. Maybe she had made a huge mistake.