Chapter 23
23
brONSON
N o night in New York City is complete without a trip to The High Note.
It’s not the nicest bar in the city, nor is it tucked into the nicest neighborhood, but it’s fun and laid back — making it right up Criminal Records’ alley. Dim lights. Live music. Good booze.
What more could you ask for?
As we approach the bar just after nine, we’re already plenty tipsy. One-by-one, we hold up our IDs at the door, but the bouncer practically waves us in without much of a glance once he recognizes who we are.
Damn, that feels good.
Feels even better when Jonah slaps his credit card on the bar and tells the rest of us to go nuts.
Let’s fucking party.
The High Note bustles with life, packed to the brim with people. The lights are cold and moody, but there are bright neon signs along the walls and splashes of color from spotlights on the empty stage. Various smells fill the air, from perfumes to leather to alcohol. An array of bottles sit in a line behind the bar, shimmering under the lights as several bartenders rush back and forth in front of them, each dressed in black.
So rock and roll.
I look into Jordan’s smiling eyes, and I know it’s gonna be a good night.
With their drinks in hand, she and Chrissy rush off to search for a place where all of us can sit together — which I can already tell won’t be an easy task. Usually, it’s just the six of us; just Criminal Records and Jordan. Now, Knox has Harmony. Addison has Harvey. We have Chrissy and August, too. Our little found family is growing and changing. Not a bad thing at all, I say.
Just different, that’s all.
But I’m really starting to like different .
Finally, they wave us across the bar toward some now-abandoned couches along the western wall. We weave through the busy crowd, a mix of stylish New Yorkers and curious tourists. Some recognize us. Some don’t. Conversations and laughter blend in our ears, along with the pulsing beats of hard rock music blasting from the sound system, shaking the floor as we walk.
The stage along the back wall is small. It doesn’t look like much, but so many brilliant artists have performed on it — ourselves included.
Tonight, it’s empty, but set up for a performer that has yet to arrive.
Once we’re all settled on the couches, Knox raises his glass. “Everybody!” he says. “Bring it in.”
We all hold up drinks, creating a circle of glass. For a moment, Knox says nothing. He simply grins, his eyes hopping from person-to-person with pride.
“To breaking the rules,” he says, toasting.
Rather than instantly repeating the toast, all eyes turn to Jordan for permission.
She smiles and raises her drink an inch higher. “To breaking the rules,” she repeats before taking a large sip from her highball glass.
That’s my girl.
We all shout out in response, our voices lost beneath the bass of the music. While the others sip their drinks, I keep my gaze on Jordan for just a little longer. The booze has already hit her eyes. They glisten softly behind her glasses. Just like her lips, shiny and red.
I can’t help but picture her on her knees, that mouth doing very bad things.
I throw back my shot before the urge to kiss her overwhelms me and I forget where I am and who we’re with.
Before I forget what we actually are.
Friends. Bandmates.
Fuck buddies. Not lovers.
When I finally look away from her, I make eye contact with Addison across the circle instead.
Damn. Of course, she noticed me gawking at Jordan.
Thankfully, Addison says nothing, far too distracted by Harvey’s whisper touching her ear.
After a few minutes of scattered conversation, a server approaches us with a round of shots for the entire table. “Compliments of the gentleman in the corner,” she says as she passes them around.
We glance over, following her extended hand, and our enthusiasm fades.
The Electrics.
Sitting back on a couch with Goldie Locke under one arm and Tesla Kyle beneath the other, Logan Shock smiles. He raises a glass and bows his head as the two girls cackle loud enough for all to hear.
“Fucking hell,” Knox spits. “Of all the fucking nights.”
“We’re in their city, Knox,” Katrina says.
“It’s New York,” he argues. “No one owns New York.”
“They might,” Addison says.
Jonah turns forward, putting his back to them. “Just ignore them,” he says.
I nod in agreement, happy for the free drink.
“And don’t forget,” Jordan says, “we’re working with them now.”
“Whatever,” Knox says with a sigh. He raises his glass to Logan, offering an equal bow before tossing it back. “We’ll play nice.”
Across the bar, Logan smirks.
“Well,” Addison says, shrugging it off, “I’m not gonna let that ruin a perfectly good evening.” She opens her hand to Harvey. “I wanna dance and you’re gonna dance with me.”
Harvey drops his hand onto hers. “Oh, I guess I will,” he jokes as the two of them hop up.
“Us, too!” Harmony says, fiercely grabbing Knox’s arm and hoisting him up. “I love this song.”
Knox throws on a pout, but his eyes scream yes as he leaves with her.
Without a word, Chrissy curls her fingers around August’s lapel and drags him reluctantly toward the dance floor.
Jonah nudges my arm, his brow furrowed. “Hey, you think those two are... you know ...” He makes a fumbling gesture with his hands.
I shrug noncommittally.
“Jonah?” Katrina says, her voice small across the table. “Would you like to dance?”
Jonah smiles at her. “Yes, Ms. Benton,” he says, setting his empty glass down. “I would be delighted.”
She grins, her cheeks bright and pink from drink, and the two of them leave as well, swallowed up in the New York City crowd.
And then there were two.
Jordan makes an amused sound as she glances around the empty table. “It’s like senior prom all over again,” she jokes.
I nod.
Then… I silently extended my hand to her.
She looks at it for a long moment, thoughts and questions moving across her eyes. A memory, too, perhaps. I did the same for her before at the aforementioned prom.
Jordan smiles softly and takes my hand.
The lights shift above us. Spotlights turn toward the stage, the music’s volume dimming slowly as a man in full punk gear and a pink mohawk jumps up onto the empty stage.
“Ladies and gentlemen of New York City,” he announces into the microphone to waves of shouts and applause. “Put your beautiful hands together for tonight’s special guest. Coming at you tonight from our nation’s capital… the one, the only, Christian Myers!”
Jordan’s jaw drops. Her head whips toward the stage, along with everyone else who heard that name.
Everyone knows Christian Myers, the former lead singer of rock and roll’s former number one band, Cobraville.
Jordan’s hand slips out of mine as Christian takes the stage. The last time we saw him, he was... well, a complete wreck would be an understatement. He was far too thin, his face gaunt and aged far beyond his actual thirty-something years. His hair was long and unkempt. He lived life on the edge, never too far away from a vice of some kind — a fact that almost killed him and outright destroyed one of the biggest bands in modern music history.
Christian now stands tall on the stage in a pair of jeans that fit him well and a black T-shirt that just says whoops. His blond hair is trimmed and perfect, the multicolored spotlights filling it with color. He’s put on some healthy weight, his cheekbones no longer protruding out like a skeleton.
He’s clean. Sober.
And clearly just as handsome as ever.
When he smiles, the ladies in the room gasp. Jordan included.
“Good evening, New York,” he says as he holds up his classic red electric guitar. Behind him, a drummer takes his place next to a bassist. “Let’s rock.”
When Christian strums his guitar, the room fills with an explosion of music; the catchy beat leading to a song no one’s ever heard before.
I look at Jordan. She watches him with wide eyes; her look softening the moment Christian starts singing.
“I'm the devil in your dreams, the sinner that you crave,
Gonna make you beg, baby, for every little taste,
Hold on tight, 'cause I'm about to lose control,
When I get my hands on you, I just wanna rock your world!”
Hell, even a piece of me tingles inside at the sound of his voice. Cobraville was a huge inspiration to us in our early days. Criminal Records wouldn’t be where we are now if Cobraville hadn’t paved the road first.
But all good things…
When the song ends, Christian scans his loving crowd. His eyes find Jordan beside me and he grins. He winks. He does what every rock god does to make the ladies swoon for him.
Jordan bows her head, her cheeks bright and pink.
I sit back, my fists curled tightly.
Without thinking, I glance across the bar, suddenly locking eyes with Logan Shock. Tesla and Goldie are leaning forward, their attentions fully on the show in progress. But Logan stays back, his face hardened in thought.
As he looks at me, he raises two fingers to his eyes, his nails painted jet black. Then, he points at Christian, a silent warning of… something.
Way ahead of you, Shock.
I keep a nervous eye on Jordan’s star-struck smile as another song begins.