Eight - River
My eyes roam the edges of the packed bar, finding the four boys I shouldn’t want anything to do with. They’ll screw me over, Van says. They’ll take, take, take, he says. But what the hell could they want from me? Certainly not my father or his connections. The only thing connecting my father and me is the blood running through my veins. According to Van, that’s what the boys want. They can’t be serious, right?
My father has been a ghost for nineteen years. Corbin West is a man I know nothing about and vaguely remember what he looks like. All I have is the tiny picture of him holding me as a baby, stashed away in my purse. When I feel like torturing myself, I stare at it, wondering what the hell I did to make him discard me like a piece of trash.
There’s no way I can give the boys the connections they’re desperate for. I tried for years to write to that waste of space, and he never answered. As a child, I didn’t understand what I was doing. All I knew is this man, Corbin West, helped give me life and then abandoned me, and I wanted answers. By the time I was thirteen, I had stopped writing to him, realizing he would never reciprocate my feelings. Every single letter I poured my heart into came back in the same envelope I had sealed. Unopened, with a simple phrase written across the top, return to sender. So, I gave up.
Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I blow out a breath. From across the room, a certain man’s fiery gaze eats me alive from the inside out, heating every inch of me. One look. One simple stare. That’s all it takes to lose my breath and beg for oxygen. Almost as if claws reach through my skin and tear up my insides into a convoluted mess of desire and heartache. The last time I trusted him with my heart, he took off with it down the road without a goodbye. Logically, he was so young; he had no choice, but a phone call or a visit would have let me down easier than just disappearing. Only to reappear years later without a recollection of who I was. I ache for him again, wanting to do all the bad things I shouldn’t. It’s like his fist grips my soul, entangling us together whether or not I want him to.
Searching the crowd, I instantly find those mismatched eyes checking me out like I’m the prey he’s about to pounce on. My damn heart skips a beat when he licks his lips in anticipation. A sultry smirk tugs at his lips, and he nods, saluting me with his beer bottle. Try as I might, I can’t force back the smile from my lips.
If I’m going to dip my toes into poisonous water, I had better make it good and fucking hot. I may not honestly believe his intentions are pure, but I’m all about living in the present. Fuck the future. Fuck the past. This is where it’s at. He’s here. I’m here. And if he breaks my heart into a million pieces, then so be it.
Breaking the intense stare, I huff. If I can’t handle a look without wetting my damn panties, then how am I supposed to handle him kneeling in my office? Shit. I shake my head, turn to the bustling bar, and instruct another worker to stand guard at the door.
“All good?” I shout, leaning over the bar toward Ode. My hips dig into the edges of the bar, and my feet dangle off the floor.
Ode grins, slinging two bottled beers at the men standing beside me. Sweat beads on her brow, but she looks happier than ever with a glow on her cheeks.
“All good,” she says with a wink, taking their cash. She smirks when they walk away, stuffing her tip down the front of her bra. “It’s been a happening night tonight, boss lady!” she says with a genuine grin. “I can’t believe the number of tips I’m getting. You did damn good bringing them in!” She nods toward the ladies rocking out on stage.
Some of the weight eases off my shoulders again, and I swear I can breathe for the first time tonight. Since Ma told me about her diagnosis and how her doctor’s visit went, I’ve felt the entire world on my damn back. Not only do I have to carry our household now, but I have to worry about her health, too.
Ode grabs my hand, squeezing my fingers in hers with affection. The woman staring back at me is not my best friend right now; she’s playing the part of my dotting sister. Of course, not by blood—by bond. “You’re a good manager, Riv. I swear to God, as much as I want you to stay around, you’ll get out of here and live your damn dreams. CaliState, here she comes! You better make room for River Blue West!” A small smile pulls at my lips, and I squeeze her hand in return, letting the terrible full name slide by. Just this time. Because, yeah. I might just live my damn dreams, after all.
“I’ll bring ya with me, babe!” I shout back with a giggle, and she releases my hand, taking another order.
“Nah, bitch! I’m good here. You go live your California dream. I’ll stay here, living my dream,” she shouts back with a grin, winking when the other bartender, Marcus, passes by, giving me a thumbs up.
“Thanks so much for the night, Central City!!” I grin, watching the six-foot-tall red-headed woman banshee screech through the microphone. She stirs up the crowd, promising she’ll be back for the second half of her set after a thirty-minute break.
I smile when she approaches the bar and comes right toward me with intent. She taps the bar, grinning with a wild look dancing in her green eyes.
“You!” she shrieks, pointing directly at me. “This place is amazing!” she says, looking me up and down until her brows furrow. “You know, for a manager, you’re kinda tiny,” she quips with a tiny laugh.
I snort, shaking my head. “Yeah, well, thanks, I guess?” Pursing my lips, I inspect my five-six self and shrug. “Maybe you’re just kinda tall,” I joke back, leaning back until I can look her in the eyes.
She barks out a laugh, throwing her curls over her shoulder. “Touché, little manager!”
Sorcha and I met at a May Field festival at the end of last year. It was the time of my life getting to see so many unsigned bands performing on ten stages in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing but music, food trucks, and tents. Call us hippies or whatever; I never wanted to leave that place. But it brought me something better and the connections I knew I needed. I met with every band as they mingled with fans and took pictures. I got their email addresses and phone numbers, showing them the card I had made up for the event. It was the event that pushed me into the manager’s position. It was the same event I saw those four bumbling idiots from Whispered Words playing their songs for the first time. They stumbled through everything, looking like nervous wrecks on stage.
Their music called to me, though. There was something about Kieran’s voice that had always drawn me to him. Even under the stars as a kid, he made my insides flip inside and out.
“Hi,” his deep voice echoes the large speakers, echoing across the cornfields surrounding us.
The sun beams down on our sweaty bodies, but we don’t mind. Vendors line up along the outskirts of the festival, selling drinks and food. People have popped tents up in the fields to the left, hiding from the sun, but still able to hear the various acts performing today.
My breaths shudder in my chest, looking up at the tall stage. I haven’t seen any of them since they graduated two years ago and ran off into the sunset together. I had heard they started a band in Kieran’s garage, but I never thought I’d see them perform. Let alone here, of all places.
I swallow hard, rooting my feet to the ground. Raising my hand, I block the sun from my eyes, squinting to glimpse the man who was once the stars to my moon—my other half. The boy who played me melodies for the hell of it and calmed my nerves. Here he is in all his rock star glory, waltzing across the tall, curtained stage.
His jet-black hair plasters to his sweaty forehead as the sun beams down. Lifting an arm, he pumps his fist into the air, capturing everyone’s attention when he rips his shirt off. Holy mother of pickles on hamburgers—he’s ripped as hell.
“We’re Whispered Words,” Kieran rasps with raw confidence into the microphone. “I’m Kieran.” His smirk is visible from a mile away. “This is Asher, Rad…” My heart pumps double time at the hero sitting half-naked behind the drum kit, waving to the crowd with that glorious smirk. “And Callum.” Kieran finishes their introductions, twirling back toward the stage. Not once does he fumble over his words, like he’s done it a million times before.
“And this is our first ever live performance,” Rad interrupts, stealing the microphone from Kieran with a light laugh.
“So, give us a little grace?” Kieran asks, surveying the crowd with a grin.
The crowd cheered, chanting them into their very first bomb of a performance. Kieran had several microphone issues, cutting out his beautiful voice. But they played on, earning whistles and claps after the twenty-minute performance. I knew then they’d become something big.
And that’s how they came here. It’s how I knew they were playing and garnering attention from the public. And why I secretly used my full name to get them to come. I thought maybe Kieran would see it and recognize it, but he didn’t. To him, I was always River Blue—never River West.
“Seriously though, River! You didn’t tell me how many people would be here. I swear we’ve never sold out a show before, and this… this is… beyond my expectations. My guitarist, Libby, swore we shouldn’t come here, but I promised her I had met a kick ass representative in you! And see! Libby, you bitch!” Libby meanders forward with a grin, nodding with a chuckle.
“Yeah, yeah, Sore, you really showed me,” she says in a sing-song tone, leaning against the bar. “You must be the little manager that convinced this bitch to bring us here. Love this place; it’s so unique!” she says, jerking her head to all the décor hung up on the walls and the dark skull wallpaper behind me.
“That is me,” I say with a smile, eyeing Asher as he makes his way beside them, examining them up close with the same calculating stare he always wears. “So, what can I get you guys to drink?”
Sorcha bites her lip, grinning when Libby rolls her eyes. “We’ll both have a Jack and Coke. It’s our on-stage tradition.”
“Two Jack and Cokes, you got it,” I say, nodding to Marcus as he stands beside me, mixing their drinks before I can even move.
“And for you?” I ask, raising a brow. Asher watches our exchange with indifference. But if there’s anything I’ve come to learn about the elusive frowny-faced jackass is, he’s always watching and taking every ounce of information in.
“Three Blue Moons and a fucking Pina Colada and add theirs to our tab while you’re at it,” he says, staring into my eyes but nods to the two women gaping at him.
The girls’ eyes widen, but they thank him anyway and take a sip of their drinks.
“So, what’s next for you guys? You have to be hitting big soon, right? You guys are fucking amazing!” I gush, leaning my elbow on the counter with a grin, soaking in their magnetic presence.
Marcus works around me, prepping the boys’ drinks and sliding them one by one to Asher.
“Funny you should ask!” Sorcha says, downing the rest of her drink in one gulp. “We haven’t really announced it yet. But I figure we can tell you.” She grins more, waggling her eyebrows.
“Battle of the Bands,” Libby says, taking a little sip.
“In California,” Sorcha says with a squeal, jumping in place.
“Battle of the Bands?” I ask, my heart thumping a little in my chest.
Those types of competitions are so damn invigorating. The raw power from every band performing on stage, competing for the title of winner. Sometimes small venues hold the competition. But other times? It’s big names calling bands from all across the world to compete for a record deal and a little cash on the side. Each of those bands holds more talent than I have in my pinky. It’s stiff competition, but there’s no doubt in my mind they’d win. Hands fucking down, Sorcha deserves it.
“Oh yeah! It’ll be hot as hell. California and the winner gets a record deal with West Records,” Sorcha says, as my heart falls into my ass. “And a million dollars.”
“West Records?” I sputter, moving my eyes between the girls as they nod in confirmation.
Thankfully, they don’t see me slip up when I choke on my spit. Throughout our correspondence, with me begging them to come here—they saw my last name. I’d never admit it to Ode or anyone else, but I sometimes use it to my advantage. Only when I want to score the best bands in the area.
“How do you get into that?” Asher asks, with a rigid posture.
A scary-ass smile crosses his lips, and he tilts his head, almost baring all his teeth. Half of me expects fangs to descend from his gums and for him to go on some sort of psycho-killing spree. Asher’s fingers flex around one of the beer bottles he’s clinging to.
“Invitation,” Libby says, furrowing her brows, looking Ash up and down. “We didn’t sign up or anything.”
“Invitation only, huh?” I muse, trying to keep my voice even. “So, you didn’t have to put in an application?”
There’s no way in hell I’d tell anyone that my brother’s owned that place and that they were the current CEOs of West Records. Nope. No way. People far and wide have already tried that route. They always ask if I still talked to that side of the family or if I had seen my dad recently—what a bunch of friggin’ users. Thankfully, West is such a common last name it never occurs to strangers that I’m a part of THAT family. Well, sometimes.
“Oh yeah, it’ll be at the KC Club this upcoming winter in February. They just announced the invited bands a few hours ago online. It’s their first, and it’ll be the biggest we’ve ever been to. We got a personal email from The West’s themselves, inviting us to compete after they heard us on The Dot and saw a performance on YouTube. I guess playing all these festivals and events has really helped,” Sorcha says with a knowing grin. “And this place, of course,” she says with a wink, setting her empty glass down. “Thanks for the drinks, but we have a second half to get to now.” She and Libby wave at me, returning to the rest of her band on stage.
“Need anything else?” I ask Asher as he stares off at the girls climbing back on stage.
Sorcha’s voice again comes over the speakers, almost louder this time. The crowd goes nuts, loving the intro to one of their most famous songs.
“No,” he shouts in an even tone, watching the two girls rock out on stage with appreciation. “Thanks, River.” I rear back when he tips his head like a gentleman. “For everything.” And then he fucking winks at me. WINKS!
“Uh, you’re welcome?” I ask, twisting my face when a grin plays at the edges of his lips.
“I’ll see you later.” He taps the bar, almost sounding like he is flirting with me. Uh? Was he? No. There’s no way. He’s been nothing but a mouthy jerk this entire time, and yet my stupid heart flutters at his simple thanks and stupid wink. Mmhmm, you stupid organ. Stop fluttering at the sight of that douchebag’s smile.
I sigh, leaning my chin on my palm when he gets lost in the crowd and swallowed whole. My family’s legacy is something dreams are made of. If I was a part of it, that is. Zeppelin and Seger West are the most influential figures in the music industry right now, running West Records, a company every rock musician hopes they can sign with, better than their father did before them. They’ve taken the time to add new acts to their roster and have boosted their worth by millions in only a few short years. Or maybe it’s their weird relationship with their wife. Yeah—their—wife. I’ve seen magazine articles about their poly relationship with her and the two other dudes involved. Who could handle that many guys, anyway?
My eyes drift to the four boys again, huddling together. I wonder what it would be like to have so many guys in one place? And the sex? Jesus, talk about a good time. I’ve had my fair share of threesomes and added two more dicks into the mix? Yeah, I could totally see that. But a relationship? I wonder how well that would work out. Do they ever get jealous? Enjoy sharing?
I shake my head. There’s no time to think about that right now.