Chapter 22
“ I thought we said no chicks.” I step off the last rickety wooden stair into the dingy basement that serves as our practice area and frown at Carson. He has two naked women with him. Again.
“What’s got you in such a poor mood?” Carson sets the top chick aside. The one down low keeps sucking on his dick like it’s a Cracker Jack box and she’s going for the prize.
“It’s band practice.” I shake my head and look at the brothers to back me up. “We have rules.”
“Bros no hos. We make music and don’t do chicks.” Stevie ‘the 8th Wonder’ Meyers aims his brown eyes at me while holding his beat-up dumpster rescue Fender to his chest. He cradles his bass more tenderly than Carson does the girl giving him head.
“Ewww, man.” Levi ‘the Hammer,’ Stevie’s younger brother, leans to the side, pretending to retch on the floor beside his drum kit after Carson ejaculates and the cracker jack girl jumps up with his semen erupting from her mouth.
“Get out.” Carson rises from the sofa. He uses his discarded T-shirt to wipe his junk, then tosses it aside and does up his jeans.
“You’re a total jerk.” Cracker Jack Girl finds her own shirt and puts it on.
“I know, babe,” Carson says. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”
While she huffs and exchanges an exasperated glance with her counterpart, Carson removes my light blue Epiphone from its stand and offers it to me. I take it from him, and he grabs his double cutaway black sunburst Ibanez from a neighboring stand. “Let’s jam.”
And just like that, he’s ready to move on. He’s only a year older than me, but he’s been banging chicks and sending them packing like this the entire time I’ve known him.
“All right.” I strum a few chords, getting interested looks from the girls he’s abandoned. Watching them in my periphery, I adjust my guitar tuning.
“What’s your name?” The blonde wipes the back of her hand over her mouth and comes closer to me.
“Not interested.” I wave my hands in front of me.
“Not asking for a proposal and a ring. Just want a name.” Her heavily mascaraed eyes narrow. “You not into women?”
“He’s into one.” Carson snickers.
“Shut it.” I glare at him. I already told him it’s not like that with Peace. I might not be experienced like Carson, but I know Peace isn’t the type of girl you use and discard.
“Better get a move on, ladies.” Carson fastens his guitar strap. “Or my buddy will get pissy.”
They murmur goodbyes, their heels clacking on the wooden stairs. We start warming up and the discord the girls caused quickly fades away.
“Did you get a chance to work on those lyrics we talked about?” Carson asks me as he plugs into an amp, a sweet one that we got at the pawnshop but that isn’t fully paid off yet.
“It’s done,” I reply. I was stuck on the chorus, but Peace talked me through it. More than talked me through. We cowrote the entire piece a few nights ago, but she won’t take any credit. I gave up pressing her about it for now because I want to keep her and the band stuff separate. I didn’t like Carson flirting with her. I don’t want her on his radar or any guy’s for that matter.
“Great.” Carson ties back his shoulder-length black hair, using an elastic that had been around his wrist, and stretches out his hand. “Let’s see it.”
I pass him my phone. When Peace and I were finished, I dictated the words to my notepad. He looks them over. “This is good,” he observes. “Heavy shit, man, but universal truths. Great song.”
“Getting harassed just because you’re different sucks.” My gut tenses. Peace had some startling insights into the subject matter that made me wonder if my parents told hers what I’ve been dealing with at school.
“We got an opening riff for it yet?” Carson asks, one of his black brows rising.
“I was playing around with this.” I move my fingers on the strings. When I lift my head, Carson nods approvingly.
“Maybe add an e flat.” He duplicates what I played and adds his change, his fingers walking a little slower than mine.
“I dig it.” I tilt my head, thinking and feeling the music inside before I play it. Carson switches to rhythm on his guitar. The brothers join in. Stevie lays down a snaky groove. Levi finds the perfect beat. Car starts singing the words, and the rest of us harmonize on the chorus. Messing around, we get caught up in the music. Two hours go by like minutes. Time seems to fly when we’re practicing, almost as fast as it does when I’m talking to Peace.
“Pick up.” My brow furrows when I get Peace’s voice mail for the second day in a row. Her recorded voice is sweet but not as sweet as the real thing.
Where the fuck is she? This is our time to talk. She always picks up, and I was looking forward to sharing how well our lyrics sounded in practice.
My phone suddenly rings. My mouth curves when I glance at the display and see the caller ID.
“Hey,” I answer. “I just tried to call you. Where are you?”
“Jackson.”
“War.” Fuck. My blood chills. “Is Peace okay?”
“Don’t call her anymore,” he orders.
“Why the hell not?”
“You know why,” he replies. “You’re no good for her. She’s more withdrawn than ever lately and we just discovered her grades are slipping.”
“And you think it’s my fault,” I say defensively, but my chest tightens.
“Of course it is. All she wants to do every day is rush home and lock herself in her room.” He exhales heavily. “Until today, we thought she was doing homework in there and reading but then I checked her call log.”
“That’s fucked up, man. Even for you.” My brows pull together. Peace is sweet and gentle. I’m hard and rough. She smooths my jagged edges, but is this the cost?
“You’re the one fucking her up,” he snaps. “Warned you to leave her be, but you didn’t listen.”
“She’s my friend.” I swallow hard. “If she’s going through something, I want to help not abandon her.”
“I didn’t think you had any staying power in you,” he mutters.
“You don’t know me at all, old man.”
“Like looking in the mirror.”
“What’s like looking in a mirror?” I ask, totally losing the thread of this conversation.
“You’re like I was at your age.”
“Oh.” My stomach sinks. I heard plenty of stories about War. This isn’t a good thing.
“Your dad says you’ve been threatening to quit school.”
“So what?” I pop off.
“That’s your choice.” He shoots back. “A wrong one, in my opinion, though it’s not really my business. But your choice isn’t Peace’s.”
I have nothing to say. I know he’s right about her, even though she doesn’t like school. She does well. She should make it to graduation.
“I want you to find out what’s going on with her.”
“And tell you?” I scoff. “No fucking way. I ain’t no snitch.”
“What if she needs professional help?” he presses. “You gonna keep her secrets if it gets her hurt?”
“No,” I say softly. “Absolutely not.” He thinks she’s depressed. But if Peace was feeling down, she’d tell me. Wouldn’t she?
“Where is she right now?” I need to talk to her now more than ever.
“She’s out with her sister and friends.”
“She doesn’t usually hang out with Harmony.”
“Her mother and I insisted Peace make an effort,” he explains. “She needs to connect with kids who have similar goals.”
Unlike me. Even someone with dyslexia can read that subtext. “You took away her phone. Made her go out to get it back.”
“Correct.”
“And you think I’m bad for her.” I bark out a bitter laugh.
“If you really care about her, you’ll give some consideration to what I’m asking.”
I am and worrying about Peace has me in knots.
“If we don’t see a positive change in her behavior,” he continues, “we’re going to sever her connection to you.”
“You can try,” I growl.
“Peace is my daughter. I’m stronger and wiser than you. If you hurt her, I’ll fucking crush you.”