Treat Me (One Night with Sole Regret #8) (3 page)

He was contemplating getting a second mess as he watched the others return with their smaller orders.
Smaller?
He wasn’t sure how anyone could show restraint when it came to crawdads. Especially these crawdads.

He caught the tail end of their conversation.

“I’m a perpetual party, baby,” Owen said as he sat next to Shade on the bench.

“Your perpetual party is in your pants,” Shade said, checking out the line at the counter. It would be quicker and easier for him if his friends would share. The line of four customers seemed long. He tried staring down Madison—of the three, he figured the woman was most likely to succumb to his charm—but she pulled her basket closer and snapped open one of her crawdads, obviously not willing to share a single morsel, the scrooge.

“Better be careful with that kind of party.” Madison laughed at Owen’s expense. “Or you’ll end up knocking up some groupie.”

Shade shuddered as he was reminded that they currently had a knocked-up groupie in tow. Way to ruin his appetite.

“Yeah,” Owen said, his voice barely above a whisper. “We wouldn’t want
that
to happen.”

Too late.
Shade shoved his few remaining crawdads to the center of the table. Few things could diminish his enthusiasm for his favorite dish. Talking about Lindsey was right there at the top.

After a long moment of uncomfortable silence, Madison said, “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t know? It had been a coincidence that she’d brought up the subject? Shade glanced at Adam. Did he lie to her as much as he lied to everyone else? “You haven’t told her?”

“Told me what?” Madison asked, her eyes on Adam as she slurped her soda.

“Nothing.” Adam nodded toward her cup. “Do you want another drink?”

Nice try, Shade thought. “You’d better tell her. It might be yours.” Shade shook his head. “No sense in making this worse than it already is.”

“What might be yours?” Madison asked, frowning at Adam, then at Shade, and then at Adam again.

“It’s probably mine,” Owen said. “Damn party in my pants was bound to get me into trouble sooner or later.”

Once Madison understood the situation—carefree band orgy turned lifelong responsibility—she completely lost her cool, going so far as to threaten Adam with a plastic fork. “How could you do this to me, Adam?”

Amanda hadn’t taken the news quite so hard, but then Madison and Adam had been seeing each other off and on for over a year. Shade was surprised Madison wasn’t angry about him cheating with another woman. Her only concern seemed to be that he hadn’t used protection and might have contracted an STI. Huh. Where did Shade find a woman like her?

“I did wear protection,” Adam insisted.

“Then how could you potentially be the father of this baby, Adam?” She jabbed him with her fork. “How?”

“We all wore protection,” Shade said. They had. He wasn’t just saying that to put Madison at ease.

Madison looked unconvinced. “Then
how
is she pregnant?”

“Wish I had the answer to that,” Owen said.

Shade didn’t remember all the details of their wild night with Lindsey and her friend Vanessa, but he’d fucked them both, he couldn’t deny that. But he was certain he’d used a fresh condom each time he’d penetrated. He sure as hell didn’t need two baby mamas in his life. A loving wife and several kids at home? Sure, he could go for that. But it was hard enough dealing with one court order for visitation—how the hell would he handle two? If Lindsey’s baby did turn out to be his, he’d deal with it. He’d never turn his back on his own child. But he prayed this situation didn’t further complicate his home situation. He was already struggling to stay an important part in his daughter’s life. Was he capable of adding another kid to his mix of responsibilities?

“If you all wore protection, what’s to say she got pregnant by any of you?” Madison’s question jerked Shade out of his troubled thoughts. “Maybe she’s a goddamned liar.”

Maybe. If she was capable of fucking six guys and her best friend in a single night, who knew how many potential fathers she’d spread her legs for. She could have fucked the entire state of Idaho and all of its potatoes for all he knew.

“. . . make her get a paternity test,” Madison was saying. “Prove it isn’t any of yours. Get rid of her once and for all.”

Lindsey had a few more months before she gave birth, so worrying about what could be was going to make for a long summer. “We’ll have one done as soon as the baby is born,” Shade said. “Until then, we’re just playing a waiting game.”

“Fuck that,” Madison said. Shade had never heard her cuss before. She must be really upset. Not that he blamed her. “They can do the test during pregnancy now. You don’t have to wait until she delivers.”

Well, hallelujah! He’d be sure Lindsey had the test as soon as possible. Then the poor sap who had drawn the knock-up-a-groupie card from the
Game of Rock Star
could figure out how he was going to handle the situation before the kid took its first breath. The rest of them could get on with their lives and thank their slow-swimming sperm.

When Madison and Adam started arguing about Adam’s decision to get a vasectomy, Shade shifted uncomfortably on the bench and decided it was a good time to leave. Conversations about permanent nut alterations should never be discussed over a fine meal. He went back to the food truck and ordered all the remaining crawdads for the crew. Soon they were headed back toward the venue with Adam and Madison trailing them on their noisy rented Harley.

“He still isn’t writing any music,” Shade said to Owen as conversationally as possible. He didn’t need to say who he was referring to. They both knew Adam was the catalyst for the band’s creative output.

“I guess he has writer’s block.”

“Any suggestions as to what we should do about it?”

Owen thought for a moment and then shrugged. “I don’t think we can do anything but wait it out.”

“We could try writing something without him.”

Owen turned his head and scrunched his brows at Shade. “Why would we do that? Just be patient. It’ll come to him. You busting his ass about it all the time isn’t going to help.”

Shade had never been a patient man, but Owen was probably right. He was going to confront Adam about his lies—he was sick of the guy getting away with shit—and maybe put a little pressure on him, but perhaps if Shade tried to be supportive instead of adversarial that would help Adam break through this block of his.

“I’ll give him some breathing room,” Shade promised. But only an inch or two.

And now for the band’s other major issue . . . 

“So are you going to tell Lindsey she’s getting that paternity test as soon as fucking possible, or do you want me to do it?”

Owen released a long sigh and returned his attention to the scenery outside. The gnarled trees had already given way to city sprawl. The drive back to civilization seemed a lot shorter than the one that had taken them to the food truck. Of course, they hadn’t stopped to harass cows on this leg of their journey.

“I’ll tell her,” Owen said.

“I’m not sure why you voluntarily interact with her. Do you get off on her attention or what?” Shade would probably never understand the dynamic between that particular groupie and his bass player.

“I don’t know.” Owen shrugged. “It’s kind of nice to be one who’s sought after for a change.”

Shade released a bark of laughter and slapped Owen on the shoulder. “Trust me, dude, you do not want her kind of attention.”

Back at the venue, Owen took the large foil trays of crawdads to the crew while Shade followed Adam and Madison onto the bus. Madison disappeared into the bathroom to change out of her riding leathers—which she looked fantastic in, Shade couldn’t help but notice. Shade took the opportunity to ask Adam how his supposed songwriting session had gone that afternoon.

“Fine.” Adam said, his body stiffening defensively.

Fucking liar.

“So you wrote something?” Shade asked.

Adam refused to meet his eyes. “Yeah.”

Liar, liar, uninspired.

“Is it good?” Shade asked.

“Of course it’s good.”

“I’d like to hear it.”

Just admit you’re fucking lying. Admit it, Adam.

“I’d rather surprise you,” Adam said.

Shade’s jaw tightened. Why couldn’t Adam just say that he hadn’t written anything? Shade fought the urge to grab him and shake sense into him. Shade supposed he’d have to play the asshole—
again
—and force Adam to tell him the truth.

“Is it in your notebook under your mattress? Let’s see it.”
I know it’s still fucking blank, because you didn’t write shit.
Shade headed toward Adam’s bunk, and Adam raced after him.

Adam darted between Shade and his bunk, bodily preventing Shade from going after the notebook. “You’ll see it when I’m ready for you to see it.”

Which will be never, because you haven’t written anything!
Shade wanted to yell, but he managed to keep his shit together. At least a little.

“Just be straight with me, Adam,” Shade said calmly. “You’re not as good a liar as you think you are.” Shade had no problem telling when Adam was lying because junkie-Adam had lied to him innumerable times in the past. It was hard to believe someone who always let you down.

Adam glared at him for a long moment and when Shade refused to give him an out, he lowered his gaze and for once, his guard. “I didn’t write much,” he said and took a deep breath. “Or anything,” he whispered.

At least he was owning up to it. That was a start. Shade figured a guy with a year of rehab under his belt would realize the first step in solving a problem was admitting there was one.

“I kind of figured that,” Shade said. “So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know.” Adam shook his head, a scowl crumpling his dark brows. “I think . . .”

Shade waited not so patiently for him to confess what was on his mind.

“I think maybe I’m too happy.”

That had not been what Shade had expected him to say at all. “Huh?”

“The music always came from the darkest part of me,” Adam said.

And that was what made it awesome.

“It was a balm to my miserable soul,” he continued, his eyes haunted. Worried? Was Adam actually worried about this? “And now that I’m not miserable . . .” He held Shade’s gaze, shrugged, and shook his head.

If he needed assistance, why didn’t he just ask? “Do you want me to make you miserable?” Shade joked. “I’m probably up for the task.”

“I don’t know. If it would help.”

Shade didn’t want to make him miserable. He wanted to help him through this. He offered a couple of suggestions—asking Kellen’s composer girlfriend for opinions or letting the rest of the band try their hand at writing music—but Adam refused to take Shade’s advice. Shade could tell he was struggling. Adam probably felt like a failure, so Shade backed down. Still, he wasn’t going to let the issue rest for long. They needed new material, but he’d give Adam a little more time to sort himself out.

“I’ll work on some stuff this weekend,” Adam promised.

Shade opened his mouth to remind him that Madison would be making him happy all weekend, so he probably wouldn’t write a single word, but he thought better of it. He was
glad
that Adam was happy. There had to be a way to keep him that way and off drugs
and
writing music. There just had to be. Shade would give it more thought and in the meantime try to be supportive. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

Madison came out of the bathroom having changed into her typical country girl attire. Adam looked ready to jump her bones, which was Shade’s cue to leave, though he couldn’t resist offering Adam one more little push on his way out the door.

“I still think you should talk to what’s her face.” Kellen’s woman.

“Dawn?” Adam said.

“Yeah, her.” Shade left on that note, hoping the suggestion would stick in Adam’s craw and irritate him into seeking Dawn’s advice. She might be invaluable to him or not, but Adam wouldn’t know unless he asked.

As Shade walked away from the bus, he checked his phone for the time. Occasionally, he could catch Julie between appointments in the late afternoon. He wasn’t sure why her mother thought it was necessary to schedule every hour of their four-year-old’s life with activity. Whatever happened to just being a kid? Discovering that it was almost five, he decided to risk a phone call. He dialed Tina’s number and leaned against a wall for moral support. He hated calling her. She was always busting his balls.

“What do you want?” Tina asked in greeting.

“Just called to talk to Julie. Is she there?” Hearing his daughter’s sweet voice was exactly what he needed at the moment.

“She’s busy.”

Too busy to talk to her father on the phone for a couple of minutes? “Doing what?”

“She’s on a very important play date with Riley Callahan.”

Shade rubbed at one eye under his sunglasses. There was no use arguing with Tina. He was sure she actually thought Julie’s playdate with Riley Callahan was important. “What time do you want me to pick her up in the morning?”