Cross the Line (Blood & Bone Legacy #2)

Prologue

TOO FRAGILE

Dylan

Waiting for a Girl Like You By Foreigner

The smell of old vinyl and worn leather hits me the second I enter the Clemsons’ house. It’s like walking into a living memory—soft, lived-in. It’s been years since I’ve stepped into this house, but somehow it’s still warm, familiar, where time slows down long enough for the past to catch up.

It’s strange, coming here for Bret’s Celebration of Life.

It feels more like a reunion, where his absence is louder than anything else.

He meant a lot to my parents—to all of us.

More than a friend of the family or the head of Left Turn Records—he made everyone feel like they mattered.

A father figure who’d shaped so many lives, mine included, even though I wasn’t his kid.

I glance around the foyer, taking in the scene. And then I hear it—the unmistakable sound of Maggie launching into a tirade in the kitchen. I pause at the archway, angling myself enough to see them before they spot me.

She’s perched on the counter like she owns the place, legs swinging, hair a mess of blonde chaos.

Her twin, Joey, leans against the fridge, patient as ever, arms crossed, and that soft, knowing smile on her face.

Jesse slouches on a barstool at the island, a glass of soda in front of him, attention on Maggie, clearly amused.

“We’re not talking about technical skill, we’re talking about soul,” she insists, tapping her temple dramatically. “Name one band this year that made you feel like your guts were being rearranged in the best way.”

“Paper Skies,” Jesse deadpans.

Maggie rolls her eyes so hard I’m worried they’ll get stuck. “They’re good, but let’s be honest—Paper Skies is one marketing deal away from becoming a brand.”

Joey chuckles. “She’s got a point.”

“Okay, what about Hollow Reign?” Jesse offers. “I hear they’re not signed yet, so there’s all kinds of potential there.”

Maggie huffs. “Kinds of what? Auto-tune?”

I can’t hold back the grin tugging at my lips or the way my chest eases as I’m pulled into their orbit.

“What kind of unhinged righteousness have I walked into?” I say, and three heads snap toward me in unison.

“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence. Graduated to CEO and became too good for us.” Jesse grins, standing to clap me on the back.

I know it’s been a while since we’ve all been in the same room together, and it’s sad that Bret’s passing had to be the occasion to bring us together. “I’ve been busy,” I explain.

“He’s barely old enough to rent a car,” Maggie says, shaking her head behind her camera. “And someone gave him a whole record label?”

I reach over and shove it out of my face.

“I’m twenty-four,” I protest. “Which makes me the only one here legally allowed to drink.” I pluck the glass of amber liquid from Maggie and take a swig. “Good whiskey. Swipe this from Bret’s stash?”

She throws her hands up. “Oh, listen to him—Dylan, the boy genius, CEO of rules and regulations. Next thing you know, he’ll be checking IDs at the door and writing people up for jaywalking.”

“Absolute power comes with an ID scanner and a spreadsheet.” I press my lips together in a sarcastic smile and keep the drink out of her reach.

“Buzzkill,” she mutters, hopping off the counter and grabbing a cookie from a tray instead. “I liked you better when you didn’t have rules.”

“Well, now I have a whole legal department,” I sigh.

Joey steps forward and wraps her arms around me in a quick but warm hug. “Well, I’m proud of you,” she says softly. “You earned it.”

“Thanks,” I say, meaning it.

“What are Wade and Adam going to do with their time now?” she asks.

“Hopefully have spotty reception on their anniversary cruise,” I say, downing the rest of the drink.

Maggie lifts an eyebrow, shoving the remaining cookie in her mouth. “Good strategy.”

I let myself breathe here, for a second.

With these people. The constants in my life.

We grew up in and out of each other’s houses, running barefoot through backyards in the summers, trading secrets we thought were sacred at the time.

Our parents, lifelong friends, were always throwing us together for family gatherings, holidays, and once a year, a weekend spent at Jesse’s house on the beach in Malibu.

Some things I took for granted: the way my dads seemed to find me no matter where I’d wandered off to. Adam’s quiet understanding, Wade’s boundless energy—both of them choosing me, making me theirs. It’s why family—the one you’re born with and the one you choose—has always meant everything to me.

But growing up means moving on, going separate ways, and no one went farther than Morgan Clemson.

I let my eyes drift over the crowd, pretending to admire the floral arrangements, the framed photos of Bret with his family—Morgan as a kid on his shoulders, and staged holiday portraits.

There’s one of him with my dads—Wade and Adam—grinning like misfits in matching leather jackets.

Another with Jack and Cash, when they were in a band together under Left Turn, all of them looking young and dangerous and absolutely untouchable.

Really, I’m scanning the room for her. Casually.

Or at least trying to appear casual. Not like the guy who hasn’t laid eyes on her in years and still remembers the sound of her laugh like it’s been playing on a loop in the back of his head.

“Have you seen Morgan?” I ask.

Jesse looks at me with a quiet, knowing expression and takes a slow sip of his soda. “She’s around here somewhere.”

I nod but continue to scan the room anyway, like she’ll appear if I want it hard enough.

“It’s been a long week,” Joey sighs. “I can’t imagine what she’s going through…” She trails off, sharing a look with Maggie. Losing Bret was a shock. He was young—relatively. Far too early for a heart attack. That kind of loss puts things into perspective.

I let my gaze drift to the window. Outside, our parents are congregating in the backyard—lawn chairs pulled into a circle, wood at the ready for a bonfire later.

I lean next to Jesse, and laugh.

“My dad’s holding court already,” I say, nodding toward the patio, where Wade’s at the center.

One arm’s slung over the back of his chair, his hand lingering on my other dad’s, shoulder.

He’s gesturing wildly with the other as he launches into some tale that clearly involves dramatic stakes and questionable facts.

I may complain that they’re always in my space, second-guessing my decisions, but I wouldn’t be where I am today without them. I’ve always known I was adopted, but there was never a day I questioned whether I was loved or wanted.

“Oh yeah,” Jesse replies.

Joey shifts closer. “They’ve told the same tour stories for twenty years. How many times do I have to hear about the time they got arrested for fighting with their own security? There are some things a daughter doesn’t need to know.” She groans.

Maggie lifts her camera toward the window, trying to get a good angle. “Like get the memo, that era is over and all that’s left is back pain and lost eyeglasses,” she snickers.

Jesse leans against the counter, sipping his soda like this is the best entertainment he’s had in weeks. “You realize this is what we’re gonna look like in thirty years, right?”

“Speak for yourself,” Maggie scoffs. “I’m aging like a rockstar. Which means total implosion followed by a comeback tour.”

Joey smirks. “So… meltdown at thirty-five and rehab by forty?”

“Exactly,” Maggie says, raising her cookie like a toast. “Legacy.”

A hand clamps down on my shoulder. “Hey, glad you made it,” Wade smiles. “Have you seen my glasses?” He starts moving things on the counter. Maggie’s barely holding it together, nearly doubled over and I think she might break a rib.

“Sorry, no,” I say with a strained voice. “I just got here.”

“Dammit, I swear I set them down here somewhere,” he mutters with irritation.

Maggie releases a strangled squeal, trying to play it off like she has something stuck in her throat and hides behind her camera.

“What’s her problem?” my dad gestures in her direction, oblivious, and I shrug. “If you find them let me know.”

He lingers in the archway.

“And by the way, I do not have back pain,” he says in a serious tone, looking pointedly at Maggie before leaving through the patio doors.

She lets loose and the rest of us follow.

“How did he even hear that? I thought the hearing would be the first thing to go,” she laughs.

“You’re going to hell,” Joey whispers, biting her lip to hold in her laughter.

“If I am, I’m going with a front-row seat and a flask.” She points at Joey. “That is, if the fun police with the ID scanner doesn’t ruin it.” She smirks at me.

“I can have a good time, Maggs—just not the kind that allows you to call the shots. Unless you’re on your knees, asking real nicely.”

Maggie’s mouth drops open with uncharacteristic silence.

Jesse chokes on his soda. “We should stop encouraging her.”

“It’s a lost cause.”

“You think you’re funny,” Maggie scoffs as her mother Sasha breezes into the kitchen. Both Maggie and Joey look like miniature versions of her—fair features and light eyes.

“Maggie, I need you to help me bring out more chairs,” she says.

“Jesse, you get older every time I see you.” She gives his hair a little tousle before grabbing more plastic cups and shoving them in Joey’s arms. “Can you take these into the dining room?”

I lean toward Maggie. “Your mother’s calling,” I whisper with a smirk, and in return I get a death glare that could melt glass.

“Come on, Maggs,” Joey grabs her arm and pulls her out of the kitchen, trailing their mom.

“You’ll pay for that later,” Jesse says, and I nod.

We fall quiet; the gravity of everything settling in between us.