Diving Into Him (8 page)

She blinked at him. Remembering the first and only time she had been to his place, she fought the urge to cringe.

“Are you saying,” Griff asked, crossing his arms, “that you’ll let us use your space if we pay your bill?”

Perry waved a hand at him. “Naw.” He tilted his head, dreads swaying. “But if you’re offering…”

Jett put her hands on her hips. “I’m not.” She gave him a hard stare. He held his hands up, a sheepish grin crossing his lips. “But we’ll practice there, if you’ll have us.”

“I’d be happy to.” He gave her a wink. “Maybe you can stay late, have a drink or two.”

Griff cleared his throat. “No one will be having any drinks at your place.” He put an arm around Jett’s shoulders. “Unless you’re offering coffee.”

Jett rolled her eyes. She didn’t need Griff to play her big brother. Still, it felt good to have someone in her corner—even if he was a tad overprotective. She froze, her mouth dropping open. Her heart slammed in her chest. Turning her head slowly, she glanced over her shoulder to see if Koty had come around from the other side of the building. She couldn’t see him. Bile rose in her throat. Ducking under Griff’s arm, she walked away from the group, lighting a cigarette as she moved. Her hands shook and she had to use both of them to get it lit. She leaned against Griff’s car.

“You’re white as a sheet,” Griff said, joining her. He blew Os into the bright morning sky.

She smoked in silence, her thoughts churning. She replayed the night before, skipping the parts that made her blush. Her breath caught in her throat. She could not remember herself or Koty stopping to grab a condom, and she hadn’t been on birth control pills in months.

“Talk to me, Houston.” Griff nudged her with an elbow.

Any thoughts of sharing corners with Griff blew away like smoke. She shook her head. Taking another drag, she kept her eyes on the ground straight in front of her, concentrating on the sensation of the smoke moving in and out of her lungs. She could not think about anything else. If she did, she was going to have a full blown anxiety attack in front of the men she was supposed to be leading.

She needed to get her shit together, she mused, taking another drag. No leader slept with her band members, potentially getting knocked up in the process. She shook her head at herself.

“If you want to talk about it,” Griff said, letting the rest of the words hang in the air.

She shook her head. “Nothing to talk about.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He watched her, concern in his eyes. There was something else there, too: regret. She swallowed hard. “Don’t get mushy on me now, Whalen.”

He took a deep breath. “It’s just that I miss you, Jett. I miss
us
. We were so close.”

“I know.” She gave him a smile, but still didn’t look at him. If she did, she was going to start crying. Emotions roiled through her, tripping all over each other. For once, she understood why men thought women were crazy. She gritted her teeth. She needed to not be a ball pit of emotions. She needed to keep her personal problems outside of the band. That was what had essentially given Perpetual Smile the kiss of death. “Let’s get going, gang.” She strode away from Griff, dropping her cigarette to the ground. She could worry about everything else later. For the time being, she needed to get more songs written.

She hoped that Perry’s neighbors weren’t opposed to noise.

“Are you riding with me, Costa?” Griff called to her.

She turned. “Right.” She gave him a bright smile and a thumbs up, then walked toward the car again.

Koty ambled around the corner, his hands in his pockets. He caught up with Max. They bumped fists and walked together toward a beat up Taurus that she assumed belonged to Max.

Perry climbed into a car that was about three sizes too small for him. He rolled down his window. “Follow me,” he called to Max.

“Did you borrow your girlfriend’s car?” Max shot back.

Buckled into her seat in Griff’s rental, Jett covered a smile. She couldn’t force the men to get along, but she could enjoy their banter—as long as it didn’t get too bloody.

“I wouldn’t call her my girlfriend,” Perry drawled. He put the car into gear and sped away, leaving a cloud of sand leftover from the winter in his wake.

Griff chased after him, Max tailing them. Jett forced her thoughts away and played co-pilot. “I’ve been to his place,” she said. “He’s been in his neighborhood for less time than we’ve been in Boston. Let’s beat him there.” She had Griff take a shortcut. Twisting in her seat, she made sure that Max and Koty were still behind them.

“Maybe I shouldn’t ask you this.” Griff pushed the car to thirty miles an hour, five above the speed limit. “I feel like I’d be a shitty friend if I didn’t, though.”

Jett sighed. “Then don’t.”

“So, you don’t want me to be a shitty friend, or you don’t want me to ask?” He slowed down as the light ahead turned red.

She rolled her eyes. Tugging her pack out of the pocket of her jacket, she pulled out a cigarette.

Griff snatched it out of her hand. “No smoking in the rental.” He tucked the cigarette behind his ear. “Did something happen between you and Mr. Jackson?”

Taking a deep breath, she put her cigarettes away. “Not everything is about him.” She tossed Griff a dirty look as the light changed and they inched forward into traffic. “I’m just stressed about playing in someone’s apartment. You weren’t there. You have no idea what we’re about to walk into.” She crossed her arms. “Plus, what if his neighbors given us a hard time? I mean, it’s a really crappy neighborhood, but we probably won’t be able to practice past like ten at night.”

Griff nodded. For the rest of the ride, he didn’t mention either Koty or the band. He handed her cigarette back to her, though, and cracked her window open an inch. “Just this one time.” He sighed.

Watching the smoke from her cigarette curl from her lips to the window, she wondered how soon she would be able to find a new guitarist. With the way things were going, there was no way that she and Koty were going to be able to work with each other.

Jett nodded in time to the beat of the drums, eyes half closed. A smile curled the corners of her lips. Lifting the microphone to her lips, she opened her eyes and belted out the final chorus of the encore song they had prepared just in case. She didn’t expect the crowd at The Groggy Frogg to want them to play another song, but she wanted to be ready. As she prepared to let out the last line of the song, the piano faltered, then stopped altogether.

Lowering the microphone, she turned and glanced at Max. He sat slumped over the piano, his chin tucked into his chest.

“Max,” she yelled into the microphone.

He jumped. Head bobbing, he looked around the room. Bleary eyes finally settled on hers. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“We’ve got to run through this set at least two more times.” Jett pointed the microphone at him. “Go get yourself a coffee if you can’t stay awake.”

Stretching, Max yawned. He got up from his seat. “Anyone else want some?” He stumbled toward Perry’s kitchen, another yawn rolling from his mouth.

“You might as well just bring the whole box in here.” Jett glanced at her own empty cup. Her eyes felt as if they were made of sandpaper. She was glad that they had stopped at a drive-thru for the box of coffee. Perry didn’t even have a toaster, never mind a coffee pot.

Thankfully, he had cleaned up his apartment a little for them. No empty bottles of alcohol littered the floor. With the lack of furniture, there was plenty of room to set up. Perry hadn’t gotten his electricity turned back on, but he had run an extension cord to an outlet in the hallway that was on the second floor’s bill. So far, no one had caught on. Normally, Jett wouldn’t have approved of stealing, but she definitely wasn’t going to pay Perry’s bill.

“Cigarette break,” Griff said, putting his drumsticks down. He stood, stretched, then ambled toward the front door.

Perry stretched out on the floor. Slinging an arm over his face, he closed his eyes. His chest rose and fell slowly.

Wishing she could take a cat nap so easily, Jett put her microphone back in its stand. Reaching toward the ceiling, she stretched the muscles in her back and neck.

“Do you think we’re ready?” Koty asked.

She turned toward the sound of his voice. He stood several feet away from her, his guitar hanging around his neck by its strap. Avoiding his eyes, she nodded. “As ready as we’re going to be.” Nibbling on the inside of her cheek, she looked down at the set list at her feet. She yawned, fatigue crushing her from the inside out. They probably didn’t need to practice anymore, but with the show less than twenty-four hours away, she wanted to make sure that they had it down.

“I think everyone’s exhausted.” Koty plucked a few chords on his guitar.

Nodding, she pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and looked at the time. Her eyes widened. “It’s almost two in the morning.”

“Let’s go home,” he said. He lifted his guitar over his head. Leaning it against his amplifier, he stifled a yawn. He took a step toward her. “You’re going to need all the rest you can get.”

“Aren’t we all?” Perry crooned. “I can’t play a show with bags under my eyes. Women don’t like men who look like meth addicts.”

Jett rolled her eyes, biting back a sarcastic response. She sighed. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Koty was right. Shifting from foot to foot, she considered her options. She could always call a last minute rehearsal right before the show, when they were all fresh. Or she could push them to run through the set one more time, and then they would have almost the entire next day to rest. She cleared her throat.

Before she could say anything, Max shambled into the living room. Coffee splotched his shirt in a Rorschach pattern. His empty hands stretched out in front of him for balance.

“Did you spill your entire cup on yourself?” Jett asked. She nibbled on her lower lip.

Max slumped down on the bench at the piano. His head lolled.

Jett sighed. “Okay, guys. Let’s call it a night.”

* * * * *

The next twenty-four hours passed in a blur. Before Jett knew it, it was time to head over to the bar to set up and do a sound check. She stood in front of the bathroom mirror in her bedroom at the condo. Leaning over the counter, she applied a final layer of red lipstick. She blinked at her reflection with heavily lined eyes, lashes sooty black with mascara. She wore a simple white tank top and her favorite, most broken-in pair of jeans. Shifting from foot to foot, boots tapping on the tiled floor, she examined her reflection a final time.

Leaving the bathroom, she moved into her bedroom. She opened her jewelry box and slid on several silver rings and a few silver chains in different lengths. Nodding in satisfaction, she took a deep breath. She was as ready as she was going to get.

Knuckles rapped on the bedroom door. “Are you ready?” Koty called from the hall.

Within just a few steps, she crossed the space between her dresser and the door. She opened it. Koty wore a Mastodon T-shirt and a pair of relaxed jeans. She shook her head at him. “We are
not
promoting another band.”

He blinked at her with eyes as blue as the ocean. “They’re not even the same genre.”

She made a turn around motion with her finger. “Go change. That’s bad juju.”

Shaking his head, he stepped into his room. She heard drawers open and close as he hunted for another shirt to wear. “Are all musicians this superstitious, or just you?” he called to her. “Should we light candles and sacrifice baby goats while we’re at it?”

She poked her head into his room. Heat flushed her cheeks. He stood with his shirt off, rifling through his drawers. His nipples were hard and the muscles of his abdomen rippled. She swallowed hard and looked away. “No sacrifices,” she said, her voice hoarse.

He looked up, a T-shirt clutched in one hand. “What are your plans for after the show?” He held the shirt open, lifting an eyebrow at her.

She glanced at the plain black tee and gave him a thumbs up. “Probably coming straight home and crashing. I’m wiped.”

“We should celebrate.” He pulled the shirt on over his head.

“I think the bar is doing karaoke after or something.” She shrugged. “I’m sure the guys will want to hang out and get drinks.”

Koty’s mouth twitched, the dimples in his cheeks showing. “I meant you and I should do something.”

Turning away from him, she headed toward the stairs. “I’ll probably be too tired to walk after,” she called over her shoulder. She descended as quickly as possible. Her voice echoed off the walls. “Performing always takes a lot out of me, plus I’ve been super nervous about this damn show.” She bounded down the last few steps. Turning into the living room, she glanced over her shoulder.

Koty stood at the top of the stairs. He nodded, then followed her down.

Guilt tugged at her, but she shoved it away. She needed to focus. She had a job to do. Marching toward the kitchen, she headed toward the refrigerator. She grabbed a bottle of ginger ale and opened it. Grimacing, she brought it to her lips. She took slow sips, the liquid soothing her roiling stomach, despite the taste. Someone needed to invent a soothing beverage that tasted good, she mused as she took a few more sips. Once upon a time, whiskey had been that beverage for her.

Straightening, she twisted the cap back on and tucked the bottle under her arm.

“Griff is here.” Koty opened the front door, his guitar strapped to his back.

“Let’s do this.” She grabbed her guitar and jacket, then followed him outside.

The bar smelled like stale beer and sweat, despite the employee mopping the floor. Jett was the first to step inside. She made a face at the tiny stage.

The men crowded in behind her, each of them holding a piece of equipment. She carried her amplifier and guitar to the stage, then set them down. Head swiveling, she took in the bar. High tables crowded the floor. A couple of dart machines were crammed into the corner. The bar itself took up the most space. A door opened to a patio outside. Jett pressed her lips together. She had expected a bigger space. There wasn’t even a dance floor. Sighing, she turned toward the men and beckoned for them to get started setting up. Someday, if they were lucky, South of Forever would have roadies. Once upon a time, Perpetual Smile had plenty of assistants to help carry in and set up equipment. Those days were gone.

Only slightly worried that sweating would ruin her makeup, Jett threw herself into getting everything unpacked. She plunked the bottle of ginger ale down on top of her amplifier and began unwinding her extension cord. Griff knelt down next to her, a roll of duct tape in his hands. He walked in a squat behind her, taping cords down as she snaked them around the stage.

“I need a drink,” Perry purred. He sauntered into the bar, leaving his bass leaning against the wall. Slipping between two stools, he leaned on the counter.

“Are you serious?” Max asked.

Jett turned around. Max stood in the doorway, his hands tightened into fists. Dark circles marred the skin under his eyes. He glared at Perry. She nudged Griff. “This isn’t good,” she whispered.

He snorted. “They’re your men. Go boss them around.”

Her stomach churned as she stood from the stage. “Perry,” she growled.

He turned from the bar. His dreads swished about his torso. Cocking his head, he gave her a smile. “Do you want a drink, too?”

“If you don’t get over here and help us set up,” she said, shoving down the nausea swirling in her stomach, “I’m going to projectile vomit all over your bass.”

Perry blinked at her. His eyes darted to the bass leaning on the wall, naked and unprotected, then back to her. Eyebrows furrowing, he gazed at her. “You wouldn’t.”

She plucked the bottle of ginger ale from her amp. “If I stop drinking this, I will.”

Eyes narrowing, he tossed his dreads over his shoulder. “Fine, but I’m still getting a drink.”

“
Now
.” She dropped the bottle of ginger ale and put both hands on her hips. She forced her eyes to burn holes into his face.

Scowling, Perry pushed away from the bar. He stomped over to the stage and grabbed a roll of duct tape.

Jett smiled in satisfaction. Bending back over, her smile was quickly replaced by a fresh wave of nausea. Groaning, she retrieved the bottle of ginger ale from the floor of the stage. She took small sips, gritting her teeth against the taste.

“Are you gonna make it?” Griff wrinkled his nose at her, forehead creased.

She nodded. “Nerves.” She wasn’t so sure, though. She had never been so nervous before a show. Her mind again flashed back to the night she and Koty had sex all over their first floor. Just the memory alone made her dizzy. She gripped a tall speaker for support. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Max and Koty at the switchboard. Max pointed to different settings and knobs, explaining how to connect their equipment to the bar’s speaker system. Koty nodded every so often, one thumb hooked through one of the loops of his jeans. Jett’s eyes roved over the curve of his ass, and her stomach tightened, heat shooting through her body.

She exhaled, gritted her teeth, and turned back to her own job.

Even with Perry slowing them down, they managed to get set up in under an hour. Jett wiped sweat from her hairline with the back of her hand. She stood in front of the microphone. “Check, one, two,” she purred into it.

At the switchboard, Max made adjustments.

People trickled into the bar as they finished setting up. Drinks in their hands, they milled around, eyes glancing at the stage every now and then. Most of them looked more annoyed than curious. Jett felt her stomach flip.

“Ready?” Griff whispered in her ear. “It’s time.”

She nodded to him. He slipped behind her and sat at his drums. She gave Max a thumbs up. The rock music piping through the bar’s speakers died. Swallowing hard, she took a deep breath in through her nose. She hadn’t had time to huddle with her band the way that she used to with Perpetual Smile. Without the music, the eyes of her audience swiveled to the stage. Beside her, Koty strummed a couple of notes. The sound reverberated in her chest, tingling down into her toes. Perry struck a deep note on his bass. The sounds intertwined, soothing her spirit. “Let’s rock,” she told her boys. Then Griff’s drums thrust them into their first track.

The bass crunched, crisp drums booming through the small bar. Jett took a deep breath, then belted out the first line of “Day of the Dead.” 

“Running with my mother’s kiss on my cheek, a mournful goodbye, too scared to speak.”

As she sang, her eyes darted through the crowd. None of the bar’s customers looked like they might be from a record label. Then again, she had become accustomed to the suits that the CEO of Perpetual Smile’s old label, Simon 1056, had worn. Maybe Griff’s guy from Los Angeles was more relaxed, a T-shirt and jeans guy like Koty.

She brought her attention back to the audience, eyes burning into theirs. Connecting with them was the most important part of performing. If she couldn’t move them somehow, it didn’t matter how well the rest of the band played. They could play every note perfectly, but if they didn’t own the crowd and manipulate their emotions, nothing else mattered.

Beside her, Koty launched into his guitar solo, Perry’s bass line slowly weaving back into it. Griff’s drums kicked back in and Jett threw herself into the final chorus. As she exhaled the first word, Max’s piano looped in and out of her voice. Letting her eyes close for just a moment, she took in the bar’s acoustics, reveling for only a second in how amazing South of Forever sounded. For only having a couple of weeks to put things together, they had done okay. Maybe she was biased, she mused, but they had done
more
than okay. A wolfish grin spread her lips.

The song ended. Jett eyes opened. She held her breath. The audience blinked back at her. Then, slowly, they began to applaud. The sound of clapping filled the small bar. Several whistles echoed off the walls. She grinned, pleasure thrumming through her.

“Thank you!” She held her microphone up in a salute. “We are South of Forever, from right here in Boston. How are you guys tonight?”