Relentless Rhythm (Tempest #4) (16 page)

Pick between my lips, I twisted the tuning key on my SG tighter until the tone lined up on my Snark. Then I closed my eyes, and leaned back against the headboard, thinking about April.

Big effing surprise that.

I remembered the passionate expression on her face as she’d told her story.

I wanted to see that look on her face again. While I undressed her. Caressed her. Made her come.

To me the band she wore on her left hand was no longer a deterrent. She didn’t love him, and that asshole definitely didn’t deserve her.

I strummed through a couple of chords that sounded good before tucking the pick underneath the strings near the headstock and grabbing my beer off the nightstand. I took a long swig before returning to my task. I wanted to capture through music the indescribable way she made me feel.

How had Justin put it?

Oh, yeah. I’d known April was different from the rest the first time I’d ever laid eyes on her.

“Yo, Dizzy!” Lace’s voice carried back to my room. “You decent?”

“As close as I’ll ever be, sister mine,” I called out. “I’m in the bedroom playing my guitar. I’ve got my shirt off, though.” For some reason I played better that way, the way we performed on stage. Lace wouldn’t care. She’d been around me and all the guys in various states of undress since we’d started the band in high school.

“Hey, how’s it going?” she asked, breezing in my room, all fresh and lovely.

“Good.” I gestured toward the beer. “You want one?”

“No, Diz.” She tsked. “I don’t drink anymore, remember?”

“I forgot.” I raked the hair out of my eyes. “High on love and all that shit.”

“Actually yes, asshole.” She flopped down bouncing on the mattress near my bare feet. “What were you playing? I heard it when I let myself in. Something new?”

“I was just messing around.” I shrugged.

“Play it again.”

“Sure, but it’s not ready yet.”

“I know, Diz. I know how you are. You’ll pick it to death, but sometimes it’s good right from the start.”

I nodded, and went through what I had without changing a thing.

“One more time,” she demanded, closing her eyes, tilting her head to the side, her severely shortened blond hair sliding over one cheek. She hummed a counterpoint bass line while I played this time.

“Shit, Lace.” I stopped playing and grabbed a pencil and sheet music from the bed. “That’s bloody fantastic!”

Her brows rose. “I know right!”

I jotted down the notes quickly. “Sucks not having you in the band anymore.” I looked her in the eye.

She stared right back, lips pressing together as if choosing her words carefully before she spoke. “It was my life at one time, but it’s not as important anymore. Except for Bryan, that is.”

I nodded. “I see that. I’m happy for you both.”

“Even though we broke up the band?” Her expression revealed the turmoil and guilt I knew she still felt.

“Yeah, even so.”

She sighed. “Thanks. It means a lot for you to say that.”

“I mean it, Lace.” A crease formed between my brows, and I sucked on my lip ring, giving my next words the same careful consideration she’d given hers. “I haven’t always made you a priority the way I should have.” Seeing April and her family and the way they stuck together, willingly sharing the burden of her stepdad’s care had opened my eyes to some things. “You probably would’ve been with Bryan a long time ago if I hadn’t interfered.” I’d pressured Bryan into choosing allegiance to the band over Lace, and that had driven a wedge between the three of us. “Because of me you ended up with that loser Martin instead.”

“It’s ok, Diz.” She looked away. “It all worked out in the end.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?”

She turned back, eyes the same amber shade as mine swirling with intense emotion. “We all have our scars from the past.” She set her hand over mine where it rested on the guitar. My eyes glassed up. We weren’t a touchy pair. Thanks to our fucked up upbringing. The art of simple affection didn’t come naturally to either of us.

“Yeah, I guess we do.” I agreed softly.

“Dizzy, I worry about you. Do you ever…” She trailed off, looking down and fidgeting with microscopic lint in the bedcovers. “I still think about those times when we were kids, after Bryan moved in downstairs. I remember you crying. It was always after Sean and his thugs came over. The times you made me hide under the sink. Tell me he didn’t…”

“You don’t wanna know,” I cut her off. She looked at me, and I knew that she
did
know.

“Dizzy, no.” She covered her mouth making a choking sound in her throat. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Her voice was muffled and raw.

“Think you know the answer to that one.” I moved off the bed, my movements agitated, turning my back to her. I could feel her eyes on me as I put away my guitar.

“You need to talk to someone. You can’t let stuff like that fester. Just like the crap Martin did to me. It messes you up.”

My hands shook a bit as I closed the latches on my case, but when I turned around, I had it together. “You asked. I told you.” My voice was as clipped as my words. “Now don’t ever mention it again. To me. To Bryan. To anyone. I’m not gonna say more about it. Ever. As far as I’m concerned it’s over and done with. In the fucking past. My shit to deal with how I see fit. Not fucking yours.”

She flinched, her face closing off even before she looked away.

Shit. How did I start out with an apology and end up here?

I let out a shaky breath. “Sorry.” I sank down on the mattress beside her, forcing myself to reach for her, to touch her. She stared at our joined hands for a moment before she lifted her head, her eyes wet with regrets we both shared thanks to our worthless mother.

“It’s ok,” she whispered. “I always knew, I guess. I’m sorry, too, Diz. So sorry.”

I was running late. I never ran late, but I couldn’t seem to keep my mind on track since Saturday.

Dizzy Lowell, rough edged inner city rocker right there in my suburban stereotypical family two car garage childhood home. It’d been surreal, yet it hadn’t been, and that was the thing I kept coming back to, how right that collision had felt.

I shrugged out of my wool jacket.
Snap out of it
, I told myself for the umpteenth time as I spun the combo to open my work locker in order to hang my jacket on the peg inside.
He only fits because you want him to
. I had been busy building a vivid fantasy world around the guy, the fact which he was quite aware of thanks to my innocent little brothers.

A beautiful fragrant pink peony greeted me as I opened the door. A small piece of paper fluttered to the floor. I quickly closed the locker, glancing around, my heart slamming against my ribs.

Reassured that no one else had seen, I crouched down to retrieve the note while bringing the perfectly shaped flower to my nose and inhaling deeply, its fragrance so real and fresh. “Risk. Daring. Beauty.” The words were handwritten in a definite masculine scrawl on the outside of the folded paper. I peered inside it. My breath caught. “You’re too good for him.” It was signed by the man who dominated my thoughts.

Well that wasn’t going to get any better after this.