Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
HENDRIX
After growing up around the music business and working for my dad, I thought I understood what went into preparing for a tour of this magnitude. But when the time comes actually to prepare myself to go on one, I realize I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.
Like, how do you pack for several months? We’ll have some downtime and breaks, but I’m not sure I’ll come home for all of them.
And then there’s my house…
What am I supposed to do about my plants? Will my car battery die if I just leave my car in my garage for a month or more? What if I accidentally leave cheese or something in my fridge? If I open it, will I have a full-on hazmat situation on my hands?
Okay, the last one is a bit of a stretch.
But my car battery dying is a real thing, which is why I loan it to my sister, hoping it’s still in one piece when I return.
I also hire a landscaping service, put my mail on hold, and give Pres a key so she can keep tabs on everything.
When it comes to packing, I just toss in everything I can think of and hope for the best. It’s not like I won’t be able to grab stuff along the way.
This band travels in absolute luxury.
Manic at Midnight used to do the whole tour bus thing before Zander joined, and then their fandom grew to the crazed lunatic status it is now.
While many bands still enjoy the nostalgic feel of a bus and the convenience of not having to pack your shit up every other night, Manic’s security team hates it.
Guarding a five-star hotel that’s used to hosting high-profile clients is much easier than keeping track of multiple buses while overworked musicians fight over bunks, women, and fridge space.
Plus, let’s face it, who wouldn’t rather spend a night in a luxury hotel than be crammed in a tour bus with five other dudes?
Not me.
“Hey, big brother.” Mercury’s sing-song voice echoes behind me in our parents’ kitchen.
I’m rifling through the fridge, looking for a soda, and I peek my head out to look at her.
She’s got her long brown hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail.
It’s our last family dinner before Zander and I leave on tour.
“Hey, little sister.” I parrot back at her in the same tone.
“You ready for tomorrow?”
I shrug, grabbing a Coke before shutting the door to face her. “Ready enough.”
“You gonna give me your autograph before you leave?” She pops a hip against the marble countertop and gives a mischievous grin.
Sometimes I forget just how grown-up she is.
Dressed in designer jeans and a creamy white top, she looks more preppy than rock and roll, and it’s hard to believe she just put in a ten-hour day at the recording studio with an up-and-coming goth band.
It feels like yesterday she was blowing up my phone, crying over her first middle school boyfriend.
“Will you sell it on eBay?” I ask, joining her at the kitchen island. I pop open the can and take a sip.
She folds her arms across her chest and scoffs. “I would, but I doubt it would go for much.”
I press a hand to my chest. “Harsh, Merc. That’s just harsh.”
She simply shrugs, then swipes my Coke and takes a long drink. When she’s done, she sets it down in front of her as if it had belonged to her all along. “If you want hype, go find Pres. She loves talking about music.”
“And you don’t?”
“I do,” she agrees. “But it’s different. She loves the emotional aspect of music. I love perfecting it.”
“God, you’re a nerd.”
“A music nerd,” she says, correcting me with a smile. “Which is how I know you’re going to do great on this tour. You’re a brilliant musician, Hen.”
She beams up at me, and I am once again struck by how grown-up she’s become. “Brilliant, but not famous?”
Her smile transforms into a wide grin. “You’re a bass player. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” I snort a laugh, and she hooks her arm in mine. “Come on, rock star. Let’s go find everyone else.”
The everyone else she refers to is sitting in my parents’ giant family room, which overlooks the Pacific. It’s dark, and the sun has sunk below the horizon hours ago, but you can still hear the rhythmic crashing of waves outside.
That sound used to calm me and lull me to sleep at night.
Now, it’s just pure nostalgia. Hearing it reminds me of home.
My mom is the first to notice us. Her silvery-brown curls are pulled into a loose knot, and she’s dressed down in lounge pants and a long cardigan. “You found him,” she says, not bothering to rise from her spot next to where she’s wedged herself between my dad and the sectional.
“I just look in the most obvious location. The—”
At first, I think she’s pausing for dramatic effect, but then I feel her body tense and turn to see what’s got her so worked up.
Standing by the window next to Zander, looking slightly out of his element, is Asher Knight, the lead singer for Manic at Midnight.
My eyes dart back to my little sister, who stands perfectly still, staring at him. Completely starstruck.
Mercury is not typically the fangirl type.
She once accompanied my father as his date to the Grammys and walked right up to the Artist of the Year to share her thoughts.
She was half his height and barely in double digits, but that didn’t stop her from informing him that his latest album was pitchy and pedantic.
I say usually, because there is one exception.
And that is Asher Knight.
It’s usually something we love to tease her about relentlessly. But right now, I feel kind of bad, because this has got to be mortifying.
Even I’m a little embarrassed for her.
“Hey, man.” I step forward, offering my hand, when it’s clear that my little sister has entered a state of full paralysis at that point. “Good to see you.”
“You too,” he replies, taking my hand. “Lance has been trying to get me over for dinner for a while. Glad I could finally make it, and we’re thrilled you’re joining us on tour.”
“Me too. Although I wish it were under better circumstances,” I say. He nods in agreement, his eyes briefly shifting to Merc before focusing back on me.
“It is what it is,” he says, running a hand through his unruly dark hair. “We’ve all been working nonstop for what feels like forever. I’m glad Evans is taking some time for himself. He needs it.”
Zander catches my gaze, and his eyes dart to Mercury as if to say, “What the fuck is wrong with her?” and “Do something before it gets weird.”
I make a mental note to kick him later because why the hell doesn’t he just do something?
“Uh, yeah. That’s awesome. Hey, have you met my sister Mercury?” I blurt out, feeling like an asshat. Good job, Hen. Put the focus on your statuesque little sister. That will make things better.
Zander stares at me, the corner of his mouth twitching as if trying hard not to laugh at my slip-up.
Asshole.
Mercury, suddenly cured of her temporary paralysis, turns her head to the side to stare at me with a look of horror and betrayal. Sorry, sis.
“No,” Asher grins, clearly unaffected by my sister’s discomfort and my sudden lack of social skills. “Can’t say that I have had the pleasure. Nice to meet you.”
Did I mention that Asher is Scottish? He comes from one of those snobby families that have fancy titles and castles.
Pretty sure he’s a lord or some shit, but he left all of it behind to become a musician.
I’ve never really heard the whole story, but I don’t think he keeps in touch with the mom and pops anymore.
You can still hear it in his voice, though. The hint of aristocracy. The impeccable manners. The charm.
Mercury swallows audibly and turns to face him.
“Mercury just graduated last May and is working at the recording studio.” My dad beams. Mercury’s cheeks flame red from embarrassment. “She’s become quite the asset over there.”
Ash’s brow furrows. “Wait, did you work with Mason’s Revenge?”
“Yeah, a couple of months ago.” Mercury answers, which is a bit surprising. I was starting to wonder if she had forgotten how to speak. “Wait, you know the guys from Mason’s Revenge?”
He grins. “Yeah, I met Mason a couple of years ago at a festival when he was in a different band.” He shakes his head, amused. “They were terrible, but Mason is fucking brilliant. Didn’t know it was you they were working with over at Creed’s.”
She manages a shrug, acting more like herself now. “I use my mom’s maiden name when I’m at work. I want people to listen to me because I know what I’m doing and not because my name is on the door.”
“Why can’t it be both?”
“It can be,” she agrees, and I find my eyes darting between the two of them, before turning and walking over to Zander. “It should be, but right now, I need to be sure.”
“What the fuck is up with that?” Zander says under his breath, pointing to Asher and Mercury.
I shrug. “What do you mean?”
He stares at me for a beat and then just shakes his head, just as the doorbell rings and pizza arrives.
After the dozen or so pizzas were hauled in, the whole family pitched in by grabbing plates and napkins and then helped themselves to drinks.
Family dinners at the Creed house are never formal occasions.
Cash and Taylor arrived at some point during the mayhem, and the presence of a three-year-old only intensified the craziness.
“Are you glad Elena and Marisa stayed home?” I ask Zander as we dig into the pizza. I do my best to cram three slices onto my plate, while he sticks to two.
“Hell yes,” he answers. “Usually, I’m all for the insanity this family brings, but with how on edge Elena has been over the past few days, it’s the last thing she needs.”
“She’s on edge? About what? The tour?”
He nods, and we take a seat in the dining room. Mercury has apparently gotten over her fangirl freak-out, as she and Asher excitedly ramble on about bands they both know and various other things they have in common. Zander looks across the table and smirks.