Out of the Blues (9 page)

“Oh, god, Mason what kind of person do you think I am?” She said and launched into a version of I Will Always Love You that would make Dolly Parton weep with joy.

Mason clapped when his sister finished the first verse and bowed to the table. “Brava. Now shut up and eat your finger foods.”

I finished my breakfast and actually felt better than I had since waking up on the legless sofa, naked, and in a cold sweat because I had drunk way too much and I didn’t know where I was. I handed my plate off to the waiter and watched as Hunter and his new family made their plans for the day, and then this evening. Nothing much, just a bonfire out by the lake with a traditional barbecue. In the south that didn’t mean throwing some frozen burgers or hot dogs on a grill. That meant real pit smoked meats.

“Finally, something edible. And please don’t make this something out of the
Southern Belle Handbook
. Make it simple.”

“Since when do you know what simple means? I haven’t forgotten the chandelier you had over the table at our graduation party, or the real china. There was pink divinity if I recall.”

Mason groaned and hung his head. “You win, Harper. What do you claim as your spoils of war? My head on a pike?”

She grinned; her gaze drifted over me in a way that made me feel like a bull at market. “I’ll have to think about that,” she said with a wink to me and grabbing her mother’s hand, she dragged her out of the chair and they sashayed out of the dining room.

Mason looked up and shrugged. “I have no excuse for her. None. She was crazy as a child. She’s crazier now. I pity you, Hunter, you’re stuck with her crazy.”

“Her crazy is fun,” Hunter said with a smile so bright it could only be true love. “I think you make her crazier, but it’s a good crazy. I enjoyed watching her sharpen her claws on you.”

“Only because they’ll be dull by the time she gets around to using those same claws on you.” Mason reached around me to clap Hunter on the shoulder. He avoided his dad’s gaze. “Anyway, I have business in town. So I’ll see you gentlemen later.”

I watched as he made his way out of the dining room, slowly, stopping at tables of people he knew to chat for a bit and then he was gone. Doug followed not long after that but not before arranging to ride with Hunter and myself to the tailor.

When we were alone, Hunter poured us both a cup of black coffee and looked me dead in the eye and said, “Mason looks well fucked.”

Chapter Twelve

Mason and the self-storage of broken dreams.

Everything that was left of Cody Gillette’s legacy was in a self-storage locker in town. I’d put it all there after he died so that his estranged family couldn’t take it to sell on Ebay. He’d left everything to me and Harper. He’d had his will changed a year before my mother divorced him and I wondered if he knew then that it was coming.

I sat in front of the roll-up door and played with the key I kept in my wallet. I didn’t know if I wanted to go inside. I didn’t know if what I was looking for was even in there. I can’t remember where I packed things. I could have thrown the manila folder out instead of packing it in the things to go to storage.

I’d taken his favorite acoustic guitar with me to school when I left. I had it in my apartment in Napa even now. No one knew it had been his. Hell, no one knew that he was my stepfather. I kept myself off the grid as far as my famous family members were concerned.

Arden hadn’t wanted us in the spotlight, so Harper and I were lucky in that regard. There wasn’t much out there about us. Definitely no pictures, though the paparazzi had tried.

Arden was never actually famous-famous, not really. More like infamous. She was one of those model/starlets more famous for being famous than actually doing anything to make her famous before it was fashionable. That and she had a series of famous ex-husbands.

I often wondered why she’d only had two children, and why with Doug and not her first husband? Cody was easy. He didn’t want kids and by the time he came along in her life she was over having children…her words. I think Arden was pushing forty when Cody came along. She was at least mid-thirties. I had no idea how old my mother was.

Doug just turned fifty. Harper and I were exactly half his age. And Cody was younger than Doug by several years. Hell, Cody would be in his early forties now, if he’d lived. Forty-three or four. I’m fairly certain Arden was nearing sixty, though you couldn’t tell it from looking at her.

She had a fabulous plastic surgeon, one so fabulous she married him. Again, her words.

I finally dragged my ass out of the car and went to unlock the door to my unit. The air conditioning hit me in the face first thing. I paid for the climate controlled unit because of Cody’s guitars. I didn’t want them warping in the southern summer heat.

The light switch was to the side and I turned it on. Fluorescent flickered on overhead, buzzing in the quiet of the morning.

Everyone would be at work now. There was very little traffic, and I made sure to pick a storage place that wasn’t in a heavily travelled area because I was paranoid as hell.

I’d packed my life in boxes and stored everything I couldn’t bear to part with here as well. I had tons of shit from a life lived all over the world, but none of it mattered to me.

What mattered was in boxes at the back of the unit. I walked past my life to the guitar cases leaning against the wall and pulled the heavy utility quilt off the one I wanted. I didn’t need to open the case to know what was inside but I did anyway. The 1954 black and blue Les Paul was probably worth about fifteen grand without it having belonged to Cody. The rumor was he bought it from Eddie Van Halen, but Cody could bullshit with the best of them. His father had bought it at a yard sale back in the eighties from a family selling off their father’s possessions after he’d died. They didn’t know that a Les Paul Gibson was the Rolls Royce of guitars. This guitar meant everything to Cody. His dad died not long after that in the earthquake. He’d been on his way to see the World Series and hadn’t made it over the bridge.

Cody was trying to make a name for himself and was opening for metal bands back then. He was a kid, maybe seventeen. I wasn’t even born yet.

Cody’s step-mother and his step-sibs had raised holy hell when they weren’t in the will. Just Harper and myself. He left me his house and half of his money Harper got the other half. I got the rights to his legacy. I feel guilty about that when Harper’s love of singing came from Cody’s encouragement. But she didn’t even bat an eye at the lopsided arrangement. I don’t mention how much money I make every year from residuals and shit from Cody’s music. I don’t like to think of myself as a dick, but maybe I am where Cody’s legacy was concerned, even with my own sister.

I can’t license his music for commercials or shit like that. And I own all of his unpublished songs. I could sell any of those and make a killing. I didn’t want people I didn’t know butchering one of Cody’s songs so I kept them hidden away in a safe.

I traced my finger across the surface of the guitar. I’d have to replace the strings if I was going to use it. Seven plus years in storage and they’d be useless. I covered the other guitars up again and looked through the crates of Cody’s clothes and books and other things Cody had at the farmhouse. Everything I could find was here, hidden away from his family.

They’d broken into the house in California and taken whatever they could get their hands on. The cops found his gold records in a memorabilia shop down in LA. I paid to have them back. I still couldn’t find the platinum and diamond records.

The rest of the stuff they’d taken didn’t matter to me, it was just stuff, nothing Cody would have missed. I had security on the house now and every year I thought about putting it on the market. I just never seemed to find time to get around to actually selling it.

I finally found the safe under a tarp wedged in the corner, it was a big fucking thing that I’d bought to hold all of Cody’s papers and jewelry. He had a collection of autographed pictures of people I’d never even heard of stashed inside as well. There was one of him and Kurt Cobain. Cobain was another one who’d died way before his time.

I dialed the combination on the safe and sat down on the concrete floor to sort through the files.

I found the one I hoped contained what I was looking for.

Cody never stopped writing those four years we were all pretending to be people we weren’t. He had notebooks filled with lyrics and notations on key changes and what singer the song would work for. I found the sheet music he’d written by hand and leafed through the stuff from when we were kids. These were the songs that he hadn’t published or recorded for whatever reason. Songs from when he was in love and family was more important than touring.

I found the song he used to sing when Harper and I were kids, and I wiped the tears I didn’t know I was shedding with the back of my hand.

I had everything I needed to arrange something: piano, guitar, bass, and drums. If Cody could play it, he wrote music for it.

He’d left me everything, including the ability to play everything.

And here it all was, locked away in a fucking storage unit in bumfuck Georgia.

I was such an asshole.

I didn’t deserve to be his son.

I closed the safe and took the music from the last four years and that one piece from the 90s along with the guitar. I locked everything up and turned on the radio in the car in time to catch the end of Cody’s last hit song, playing on the oldies station.

How in the hell was Cody Gillette on the fucking oldies station?

And I drove across town. I had someplace else to be and I really just wanted to keep on driving until I was back across the country and my soul wasn’t lying in tatters on the living room floor of the house I’d come of age in…all because I fucked a man on the fucking sofa Cody had broken one night not long after we moved in. He’d sawed the legs off the next day. I think that was the night he found out he was dying. I think that was the night he gave up.

I never even tried.

And I fucked a man.

I wanted to fuck him again.

I had no idea what Cody would think. I’d like to think he was pretty open-minded. He was always the cool dad. Unlike my real dad who just didn’t give a shit.

Like me.

I just didn’t give a shit about anything.

Not even my own fucking happiness.

Chapter Thirteen

In which Kilby is fit to be tied.

The tuxedo fit me like a sausage casing. I stared at myself in the mirrors and shook my head. No fucking way I was wearing this.

“How’s it going in there, Kilbourne?” My brother called from the outer fitting room. I wanted to tell him where to fucking stick himself. I walked out of the cubicle of mirrors and turned for his inspection.

“Oh god,” he whispered, sounding horrified. I looked down at my feet and the high water pants legs. The sleeves of the jacket didn’t quite reach my wrists. The shoulders were okay, just a little too tight but the pants cut me up the crotch and that was not okay.

“Oh my fucking god, what have you done to that poor man?” The strident tones of distress and disbelief rang out from another room and for a moment I thought Mason was seeing some other poor man in a horrible suit. His head appeared around the corner followed by his body and the look on his face was probably worse than anything I was feeling. Except for the crotch issue. That was becoming unbearable. Especially with the man haunting my sexual fantasies staring at that particular area.

“I don’t know. The measurements were done in one of the franchise stores in Nashville and sent down. This should fit him.” Hunter had the grace to look sick to his stomach.

“Well, just get another one,” I suggested because this was a menswear store, they had suits all over the place. It shouldn’t be that hard to find a pair of black pants that would work.

Mason sat down on the small settee that was in the fitting room. The harsh overhead lights made his eyes look red and swollen. I didn’t have time to think about it when the salesman came back in and let out a curse that I was sure was not company approved. “What did you do to my suit?” he had the gall to ask.

“Oh no, no, no man, don’t even go there. What the hell did
you
do to that suit is the better question. Get him something else. I mean, seriously,” Mason said, he was in full on diva mode and the salesman looked at him as if his hair was on fire.

“And you are…?” The salesman wanted to get snippy.

Mason’s eyes narrowed and for some reason I pitied that salesman. “Brother of bridezilla who will tear you a fucking new one if her brother-in-law walks into that church on Saturday with his package on display for all of the gray hairs in our family to twitter about for the next twenty years, that’s who. I am brother-fucking-zilla and that is not happening to a good man.” Mason waved his hand in my direction even as he casually flung his other hand over the back of the chair and crossed his leg over his knee. “At least the groom looks good, you didn’t fuck that up, because seriously, you don’t want Arden Monroe in here raising hell. And you don’t want to be the joke of the biggest social event this town has ever had. ‘Where did you get that suit…I bought it at Georges Menswear…oh dear, that’s unfortunate.’ Get me your manager, now,” he said his voice becoming more agitated as he spoke.

Hunter and I just stood there while Mason took over and that poor salesman really didn’t understand what had just happened, not until Doug Foxworth walked in and his brain registered,
celebrity
.

“I’d get the manager, son, because that is bad.” Doug clapped him on the shoulder and nodded mournfully in his good-ol’-boy way and the man left us all to stand here and stare at my painfully encased body. “Kilby, son, I’ve worn football pants with more room in them.”

“I have, too.” I turned and lifted the jacket up to get a view from the back and I swear Mason was going to hyperventilate. “At least the waist fits.”

“Well, that’s looking at the bright side.” Doug forced his son to move over on the settee and sat down beside him. The differences in father and son were immediately on display. Mason had his father’s coloring, his eyes, he even had his jawline, but where Doug was broad-shouldered and short necked; Mason was tall and slender with Arden’s neck. They had the same hands.

“What seems to be the…oh my, yes, that is going to be a problem isn’t it?” the manager hurried in and stopped, changing train of thought mid-comment. I wasn’t too happy having the focus of this group discussion being my crotch. And I certainly didn’t like what Mason’s gaze did to that area when he studied me.

“Not a problem, just give me another pair of pants,” I said because in my world there was always more pants on the rack.

“We don’t have another suit in this style available. We ordered this from the designer and tailored to the measurements sent to us from Nashville. This is…I have no idea how this could happen.” The manager looked as if he was going to pass out at any moment.

“Another tux then. Something?” I was hopeful as I started pulling off the jacket. Hunter had to take one sleeve and pull because the shoulders were too tight for me to get out of without ripping it down the back.

“No, seriously, this is a designer tuxedo, Kilby, not one of their rentals. Harper will kill us all if you show up in a rental.” Hunter handed the jacket over to the manager as I opened the pants and shoved them down my hips. I was used to standing in front of men in my briefs and the now free shirttails of the loose-fitting tux shirt covered my…well, Mason Foxworth was becoming a problem if his very presence made me think about…yep, that, just the thought of him and my dick wanted to stand at attention.

“I could call the Nashville store and see if they have one in stock that will work. We can have it overnighted and altered tomorrow?” The manager offered as he returned the ill-fitting suit to the hanger.

“Does he have to wear a tux?” Mason asked, looking at Hunter. “I mean seriously why does he have to wear a tux? The maid of honor is not going to wear a bridal gown. She’s probably not even going to wear a long gown. I knew Melissa, she’s going to wear a cocktail dress or something that shows her legs. So…” he paused and looked at his father. “What are you wearing?”

“Not a tux. A nice navy blue pinstripe suit, which fit by the way.” Doug looked at his son and back to Hunter. “But I see what he’s saying. You don’t need matching tuxes for the wedding.”

Mason nodded and pulled out his phone. “What are Harper’s colors?”

We all looked at Mason like he was speaking a different language.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he said and rolled his eyes. I could hear the phone ringing on the other end from way over here. I could hear Harper answer breathlessly with a threat. “Morning, bridezilla, I have a question. And please stop freaking out, it can be fixed if you will calm down long enough…” He waited while Harper told him his mother was a canine and he was born out-of-wedlock. “Love you too, sweetie, now if you’re finished yelling at me for something that is unfortunate but fixable, will you please send me a picture of Melissa’s dress? And tell me what your colors are…and so help me if
Steel Magnolias
comes out of your mouth I will climb through this phone and beat you with the bouquet.”

He put the phone on speaker and pulled up the picture text his sister sent him. “Her dress is a deep teal, very jewel tone, and my bouquet has lavender, lilies of the valley, and a purpleish cabbage rose in the center. I didn’t choose any colors really. Melissa picked the gown she wanted and Arden designed my bouquet. We have minimal décor, a lavender runner on the aisle, and white and purple flowers. It’s not ostentatious, I swear, but Mason, what’s the problem? If you love me, you’ll tell me.”

I could hear the tremor in her voice. I know she wanted her day to be perfect and for all of his teasing I knew Mason did, too. “Kilby’s tuxedo was butchered by the tailor. It’s not fixable. So I thought I’d get him in a really nice suit and match the shirt and tie to your colors.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice still wavering. “Oh, okay, that’s good. Hunter’s tux is okay?”

“Fits him beautifully. He’s going to look stunning. Just Kilby’s. They messed up his measurements somewhere and it’s horrible. Poor man looked like…hey, Harper, don’t cry, it’s okay, I’ll fix it.”

“It’s not the suit. It’s…I wish I’d eloped. I hate all of this planning. We could have been married by now. And Mother is getting on my last nerve.”

Mason turned off the speaker and put the phone up to his ear. “Honey, just ignore her, let her do what she does and then do what you do. We’ve had plenty of practice at it.” He ducked his head and left the room as the call turned personal.

Doug sat on the settee and looked down at his feet. “I should go rescue my daughter. Arden…Alice was a great woman, but Arden is who she is all the time now and…I should really go take her to lunch or something so Harper can have some peace.”

Hunter found his jeans and handed over his car keys. “We only had the wedding because…” he didn’t finish, and I could tell my brother was upset that his bride was crying on the phone to someone other than him.

“It’s all right, Hunter, we’ll get through it. Arden might drive us all to drink before the weekend is over, but we’ll get through it.” He stood up and clapped Hunter’s shoulder, then mine and left us in the fitting area.

I found my jeans and pulled them on and sat down on the settee to wait for marching orders. I tried not to look my brother in the eye, because I’d lied about fucking Mason Foxworth. Well, not lied, technically I did not fuck Mason, he fucked me. Big difference. We fucked. Not much difference. And now we were avoiding each other and I was turned on by just his voice and that bothered me.

“We’re going to talk about it,” Hunter said eventually.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said. “End of story.”

But I knew it wasn’t. Not as long as Mason Foxworth was pushing all of my buttons and there were at least two more nights to share a bed…yeah, this story was just getting started.

“He looks at you like you’re a temptation he is trying hard to resist, just so you know,” Hunter said, not letting it go. He walked into the room of mirrors and adjusted his tie. I could see Mason standing right outside the room, his image reflected in another set of mirrors. He was talking to his father, his shoulders rigid, his face carefully blank. I could tell he could see me as well. His gaze locked with mine; the careful was replaced by a hint of fire that had me shivering.

“Yeah, well, what do you see when I look at him?” I hadn’t meant to ask because asking would validate Hunter’s suspicions.

“Lonely, Kilby, I see lonely.”

He wasn’t wrong about that either.

I was very lonely. But a fling with a straight man, or not so straight man or whatever the hell Mason was, was not going to cure my lonely so what exactly was I going to do about it.

“I’ll be even lonelier when I go home, best just leave it alone, Hunter.”

“But you had sex with him, however you want to shape the lie. And that’s a step in the right direction isn’t it?”

I looked over at him and stopped lying. “Not if we both end up hurt in the end. He’s not even aware that he’s in a closet and…well, I can’t seem to break out of mine. So please, Hunter, don’t make this worse. I let him fuck me. There was alcohol involved. It’s not even a molehill.”

Hunter gave me a pitying look and I went out to start the search for something to wear for my brother’s wedding. At least with Mason in charge I knew I’d be in good hands.

I shivered again, refusing to remember how incredible Mason’s hands felt on my body as he traced my tattoos. Because if I let my mind go back to last night I was not going to get out of this fucking nightmare unscathed.