Last Song (Chasing Cross Book Five) (A Brothers of Rock Novel) (rockstar contemporary romance) (6 page)

(7)

It was eleven-eleven when
the doorbell rang. It sounded like church bells, and it woke Rick out of a very
deep sleep. When Rick sat up and touched his face, he felt like he was sleeping
in a church bell.  He put a hand out and waved it, wishing whoever was at his
front door - all the way downstairs - could see his hand and understand it
meant do not ring the door bell again.

A few seconds later,
Rick’s message failed to be received. The door bell rang again and Rick threw
the covers off himself. He wasn’t going to open the front door, he was going to
find the door bell and punch it. He found the door bell cleverly tucked right
near the open steps, a perfect position that allowed the sound to carry
throughout the house. Whoever decided to put that door bell there and choose
one with such a powerful tone, didn’t take into account someone with a killer
hangover.

Now someone pounded at
the front door.

“What in the hell?” Rick
growled as he took the steps two at a time.

Each step made his
stomach flip, like he had to throw up. It was the first morning in his new house
and Rick fully intended on sleeping until at least three in the afternoon and
then stumbling to the garage, ordering a pizza, and picking up where he left
off last night. After switching from drums to guitar right around one in the
morning, Rick used his cell phone to order a full recording system. All the
gear would be coming within the next day or so and then could really play.
Hell, maybe he’d record the next big hit and hand out free samples of it at a
Chasing Cross show. Maybe he’d call himself Chasing Rick.

Rick laughed as he opened
the heavy front door. The door squeaked and on the porch stood a few guys that
Rick hadn’t seen since a Chasing Cross tour that picked them up three years ago
for one of the legs up and down the west coast.

“Holy shit,” Rick said.

“Holy shit? Weren’t you
expecting us?”

Rick licked his lips and
ran a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know. I was
supposed to have...”

“He doesn’t remember.”

Rick looked at Timmy as
he held a bass in his hands. They used to call him Big Tim because he had
weighed a lot more than he did right then. Next to Timmy was Jackie Spade, a
choppy guitarist with long black hair and a devil smile. Next to Jackie was
Andy, another guitarist. He had more skills, a lead guitarist, but mostly he
played over Jackie’s choppy notes and made them whole. Of course, standing at
the door, with the same perfectly trimmed facial hair, blackest of black eyes,
and pissed off demeanor was Nick.

“You wanted us here
bright and early,” Nick said. “Band practice, right man?”

Rick laughed. The pieces
of the night before slowly started to come back.

Playing alone could only
go so far. Sure, Rick could write the music. He could record the tracks one at
a time, but to play a show, to jam, he needed other people. He needed reliable
people at that.

Now he had it.

“You look like death,”
Jackie Spade said.

“Like the rest of you?”
Rick asked.

“It’s eleven in the
morning,” Jackie said. “I haven’t seen this early since the day my son was
born.”

“You have a kid?” Rick
asked.

“Yup. Little boy. He’s
two now. Lives in San Diego with his mother. I stop down every week or so to
say hello.”

“Wow,” Rick whispered.
“Okay. Guys. Come on in.”

“Get the coffee on,”
Timmy said.

“Get the whiskey out,”
Andy added.

Nick clamped a big hand
on Rick’s shoulder and squeezed. “You want us, we’re here. Make it count.”

Rick laughed and heard
the murmur of voices echoing through the house. He felt alive. Not whole. Not
happy. But certainly alive. He knew these guys would understand everything that
had happened. They had been beat up and battered on the road. They had been
drunk, high, close to death (Nick had a famous story of how he literally died
for about thirty seconds), they had been signed, recorded a few albums with a
slew of other bands, they made money, they spent money, and yet they somehow
survived to see the light of day again.

That’s what Rick wanted. He
stepped back and started to close the door when something caught his attention.
A woman running.

Rick paused and watched
her ponytail dancing behind her head, left to right, left to right. He checked
out her black shirt with hot pink sides, black pants to match, and her pair of
hot pink shoes. She wore headphones and seemed focused on the road. She was on Rick’s
side of the road and when she looked up and saw Rick standing in the open
doorway she quickly turned and crossed the street.

She continued to run by
and Rick could just sense her trying to strain her eyes to see if he was
staring at her.

Which he was.

Rick finally shut his
eyes for a second.
What
are you doing?

All he needed was to drag
some woman into the hell he had created for himself. Even still, he couldn’t
stop. He couldn’t shut the door until the woman was completely out of view.

When he shut the door, he
heard something shatter in the kitchen, followed by deep laughter and a long
string of cursing.

Rick smiled.

Yup, the rockstars were
here...

An hour later, they all
had eaten, filled up on coffee and whiskey, and were already playing. The guys
pulled their cars into the alley and unloaded equipment while Rick dug around
for extension cords and power strips. The entire setup was nothing short of a
fire hazard and there was no doubt in Rick’s mind that they would trip circuit
after circuit, but damn, it was good to see. Old rugs on the floor. A beat up
couch near one of the walls. Cracked leather stools. The smell of booze, sweat,
and damn stone lingered in the air. Rick needed to get a fridge in the garage
still, but he settled for a big cooler packed with ice and beer for now.

When it came time to play
music, they played. The beer was on the ground, the problems left outside.
Rick’s hangover throbbed, but he could ignore it. It didn’t matter right then
about his headache. It didn’t matter that his lawyer had left him a voicemail,
wanting to discuss the options and future of Rick’s presence, or lack there of,
in Chasing Cross. All that mattered was that Rick drummed as Andy and Jack
played guitar. Timmy bobbed his head as he played a heavy bass line that
sounded thick coming through his one speaker amp. And finally, there was Nick.
He took to the mic, holding it with both hands, closing his eyes, and sang as
though he were in front of eighty thousand fans. He leaned forward, he pulled
back, he threw his head back during guitar parts, and he spun around the mic
stand.

That’s what it was about.

It was about playing music.

They ran through all the
songs they knew together. Over ten years worth of playing, touring, and writing
all coming together at once. They played covers of their favorite bands. They
played for an hour before stopping. When they did stop, Rick’s arms hurt. He
loved it. Timmy reached down for his beer and sipped it.

Everyone was content.
Then, Nick spoke.

“What’s up with Chasing
Cross?”

The mood in the garage
changed.

“What’s up with them?”
Rick asked. “They’re something I’m not.”

“Sick of the life?”
Jackie asked with that smile on his face.

“What life?”

“The life,” Jackie said.
“That processed kind of life. They hand you a tuned guitar. They tell you what
to play. It’s the same crowd. The same feel. The same everything. Then you get
into the studio and it’s the same producer, the same sound, the same twelve
songs just rewritten. It’s a process.”

Rick thought about it.

Yeah, some of it really
felt that way. Some of it didn’t. Chasing Cross had always refused to become
processed on stage and in the studio, but something definitely felt off about
the band. However, that wasn’t Rick’s problem though. Not right then.

“Give me a beer,” Rick
said.

“That’s the spirit,” Andy
said. “Now let’s write something new. Together. Right now.”

“Yes,” Rick said.

He twisted the cap off a
fresh beer and drank the entire bottle before putting it down. He didn’t care.
It was time to play, to rock, to do something great.

Rick’s mouth watered for
another beer though. Maybe some more whiskey. Andy and Jackie started talking
about some riffs they had been tossing around. Rick listened and watched,
picking up on the sound, thinking of what to play.

He nodded and smiled. He
stood from the kit to go get another beer.

Yeah, this was the first
day of something big.

**

Sarah went to work even
though she wasn’t supposed to. Her night of sleep went better than she thought.
She fell asleep to the distant sound of her loud neighbor.
The really good looking guy who
played drums.
That’s how she referred to her new neighbor. After
sleeping in, Sarah went for a run alone. Molly didn’t like the idea, but Sarah
wasn’t in a position to be controlled by a dog. Of course, the moment she saw
her new neighbor standing at his front door, staring at her, she thought of
Molly. Maybe the dog had been right. Maybe she should have skipped the run, or
just brought Molly with her.

Sarah ended up crossing
the street, something she regretted the second her feet went from the curb to
the street. How did that look to her new neighbor? He looked at her and she
crossed the street... almost as bad as almost calling the cops on him on his
first night in his new house. By the time Sarah got back, showered, and
dressed, she heard the sound of live music playing. Apparently the new neighbor
had a little band. It was the final straw for Sarah to just give up and go to
the office. There was always work to do there. People to see, animals to help,
paperwork to sift through, and employees to deal with. Her staff was small,
consisting of only four extra people, but sometimes that was more than enough
for Sarah to handle.

When Sarah came through
the backdoor she saw Linda in a white coat, reading something.

“Hey Linda,” she said.

“Sarah? What are you
doing here?”

“Just stopping by.”

“It’s one in the
afternoon. I’m here until six, you know that, right?”

“I know,” Sarah said and
smiled.

They each took turns
working a longer day in the middle of the week. It helped to break up the
schedule and gave them each some extra time off. The practice had grown but
Sarah didn’t want it to become too big. She liked getting to know all the
people and animals, but she liked having freedom too. Plus, she didn’t
necessarily need the money to survive. It was fun for Sarah. The one thing her
grandmother told her as a young girl was to find something she loved and do it
forever.

“Everything okay here?”
Sarah asked.

“Always,” Linda said.
“The little kid, Stevie, has another iguana out there. If you want...”

“No, I’m just popping
in,” Sarah said.

Linda frowned. Even
though Linda was muscular and strong from an intense exercise routine she kept,
reptiles bothered her. She was able to mask it in front of patients, but she
confessed her secret fear to Sarah during the interview process.

“You’ll be fine,” Sarah
said.

“You know they have tails
like razors?” Linda asked. “They could slice you open...”

“Wear gloves,” Sarah
started to laugh.

“Not fair.”

Sarah gave a wave and
went into her office. She sat behind her desk and looked at the pictures on her
desk.

What the hell am I doing
here?

The question posed itself
and so did the answer. Sarah was there to avoid her new neighbor. She’d only
seen the man twice - once in the dark, once at his front door, but why did it
matter? She felt threatened by him for some reason. Maybe it was because there
wasn’t many men her age in her close neighborhood and the ones that were near
her age were already happily married with a family of their own.

Sarah made it all of ten
minutes before calling Susie. She offered to treat lunch but Susie couldn’t.
The baby had just gone down for a nap.

Of course.

Sarah went through emails
and then the papers on her desk. She found a note and saw that she had a
meeting with the accountant in a few weeks. Usually she would scramble the week
before the meeting to get all the necessary documentation together, but right
now seemed like a good time to do it.

Three hours later she
emerged from her office caught up, but unsatisfied. She thought about Molly
half the time, wondering if she was sitting alone, barking at all the music
being played. Sarah snuck out without saying goodbye to anyone and drove home.
She opened the door to find Molly on the couch, in her usual spot, waiting.
They had their normal greeting and Sarah offered Molly a treat as a little
peace offering before grabbing her leash for a walk. She planned on going to
the alley to see what exactly was going on behind her house and she hoped
having Molly with her would help to ease her nerves and maybe send a message to
her new neighbor.
Her
handsome neighbor.
Even though Molly was pound for pound a happy,
lick-your-face, smiling all the time kind of dog, maybe Molly would growl. She used
to growl at old Mr. Henders all the time, so maybe she’d growl at this new,
loud neighbor.

“Ready?” Sarah asked as
Molly sat the front door.

The dog barked and Sarah
opened the door.

They went through their
normal routine before Sarah cut left. She walked down the sidewalk and then
turned left again, going down the small hill that would take her to the alley.
A few kids peddled by on their bikes, arguing about a baseball game. Molly
stopped and watched the kids go by. As a puppy she would have been tugging at
Sarah to follow the kids on the bikes, but as a mature adult, Molly knew
better.