Chapter 3
3
Shane Faris
I feel like the center of the fucking universe on stage. I’m a rock god with twenty-two thousand disciples of Faris Wheel singing the lyrics back to us.
No drugs nor alcohol can beat the high of performing live for fans who can’t get enough of you. I have no complaints, but the three months of touring with only a handful of breaks makes it hard on the mind and body.
My hands are blistered and bloody from giving my all every night on the drum kit. I lost a drumstick mid-song when pain shot through my wrist. But there’s no better high than killing it on percussion during the solo to end the show.
I won’t disappoint. I never do.
That’s why the ladies love me. Well, that and my?—
“Shane Faris on drums!” Nikki says, closing the concert. “Thank you, and good night!”
Grabbing the shirt I pulled off halfway through the show, I walk to the edge of the stage and toss it into the audience. Plenty of beauties vie for my attention, but they’ll have to be satisfied with my sticks. I give them to security to choose whoever he wants to give them to. He’ll probably get laid. It always works for me. With a wave, I leave the stage, traveling down the steps.
I ruffle my hand over my hair to shake off the sweat dripping from the ends and move into the dark, where a curtain is pushed aside for me.
“Great show,” Nikki says before drinking water. Soaked strands of her hair stick to the sides of her face. “But I lost my hairband on stage.” She lifts her hair and rolls the cold bottle of water along the back of her neck. She kills it on stage every time she walks out there, captivating the audience with her vocal range and the edge she’s mastered to rock our songs.
No doubt she’s been the key, but we all must hold up our part of the show, or it falls apart for the band.
“I sweat my ass off.” I reach for a bottle of water. It won’t be enough to replace the water I lost during the performance, but it’s a start. “These summer tours are brutal.”
Laird grabs ice from the cooler to run over his shoulder. “Especially in Arizona.” His guitar was left on stage, but the strap left its mark across his body, his neck rubbed raw. My cousin slips on a shirt that a roadie tossed him, then grabs another bottle of water to finish off.
Nikki kicks the toe of her shoe against her brother’s, and asks, “How many shirts have you guys gone through on this tour?”
“Too many,” I joke, wondering why no one tossed me a replacement. “Laird’s end up on auction sites while mine end up in bed with hot-as-fuck women. I consider it a service to sacrifice my garments for their sexual pleasure.”
“Disturbing,” she adds, laughing right after.
“And fucking lies. My shirts make it home with plenty of women. I just don’t keep track anymore. Why would I when I have the best wife a guy could ask for waiting for me at hom?—”
I shove him sideways. “What happened to you, man? You used to be fun.”
“Now he’s in love,” Nikki says, turning just in time to end up in her husband’s arms.
Where the fuck did Tulsa Crow come from?
Lifting our lead singer, he kisses her. He’s a cocky and sneaky fucker, but we all get along, which is good since he’s a part of the family now. She wraps herself around him, and they kiss again like they just met, though they’ve been married for years. He says, “You were amazing on that stage, darlin’.”
I’m with Laird, looking anywhere but at the lovebirds. She is my cousin, and I have no interest in seeing her make out with her husband. I can imagine it’s worse for Laird. Realizing he’s also a traitor, leaving me wingman-less and kicking it with the honeys on my own these days, I don’t know how to feel lately. I’m the band's third member, but I’m starting to feel like a fifth wheel in our lives.
The three other members of The Crow Brothers band saunter over to hang at the side of the stage with us before they’re announced to go on. Thank fuck. This whole lovey-dovey scene was getting on my nerves.
“How is it out there?” Jet asks, trying to catch a glimpse of the audience.
When Tulsa sets my cousin down, she tugs at her skirt, and replies, “Considering the heat, they’re fantastic. I’d keep an eye out for any heat-related situations. Medics are standing by.”
“Okay, I will.” Since he’s front and center playing guitar and singing, he’ll have that same view she had on stage. We’ve toured the past three summers with them since they’re practically family, with Nikki and Tulsa being married and having a kid. It brought the Faris family and Crows together. The two bands touring to support each other was a natural step. But we should step into the headliner spot in the lineup next time.
With an album sitting on the charts, we’ve earned the spotlight.
Laird hits my arm. “Let’s go.” Turning to his sister, he asks, “Are you flying home with Tulsa or us?”
“Are you leaving now?” she asks. Laird and Nikki can’t be visually more different even though they’re twins, but Laird and I have a few similarities in our coloring and build. It makes sense that we didn’t fall far from the Faris family tree when it came to genes.
“I’m ready to go,” I respond, flexing my fingers so they don’t tighten up on me or scab over too quickly. “My hand is busted, and I barely have the energy to stand upright.” Seeing red snake through my fingers, I try to find something to wipe the blood away. “We haven’t had enough time between gigs to let it heal.”
She looks at me, and sympathy creases the corners of her eyes. “You guys go ahead. Get back and get some rest. I’ll fly back with Tulsa.” She studies my hand, and her expression falls into concern weaving through her forehead. “You’ll take care of this before you leave?”
“Yeah,” I lie, the blatancy needed to get back home quicker.
Laird and Nikki exchange a look before he says, “We’ll see you back in LA.”
They lean in to hug but then stop. “Ew.” She laughs, pushing her brother away. “We’re too sweaty for that. Safe travels.”
Laird and I head to the dressing room to grab our stuff. He asks, “You’re not bringing any chicks, right?”
Pulling a tee over my head, I then close my bag. “Nah, not in the mood.” I clean my hands to prep for new bandages, but I might let the fresh air heal me instead and deal with the rest tomorrow.
He chuckles, grabbing hold of his bag. “There’s a first for everything.”
“You’re rubbing off on me, asshole. I used to be fun, getting laid and then skipping town. Now I’m becoming as boring as you without the perks of going home to someone.” I follow him out the door with my bag thrown over my shoulder. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how fast you’re ready to jet after each stretch of shows.”
“Since Poppy is pregnant with twins, the doctor ruled out flying to our shows.” Still walking toward the door, he looks back at me. “Not going to lie, I can’t wait to see her. I missed years loving that woman. I’m not going miss more than I need to for work.”
Work? If that’s all our struggles, efforts, and hard work are to him now, where does that leave me? I was warned about this part of growing up when I was a teen. My dad once told me to enjoy it now because one day I’ll look around and everything will have changed. I just never saw it coming.
The sun is finally setting, but the temperatures are still blazing hot. The desert is quite the sight at sunset. Shades of orange and yellow blend into the remaining blue skies as we head to the SUV waiting to take us to the airport. I toss my bag in the back. The driver dips in to straighten our bags while we take over the second and third rows. After we settle in, I say, “Can I ask you something without you giving me shit for it?”
“I can’t make that deal with you,” he says behind a laugh. When I look back at him, Laird throws his hand between us. I slap mine against his. He adds, “You know you can trust me, Shane. Family first, always.”
“I know.” I lower my arm, staying angled his way. “How’d you know Poppy was the one?”
“Is there a reason you’re asking?”
I’ve started searching for answers for a while now, unsure if I was going to blame them for how I feel or if I’m ready to make changes, like having someone waiting for me at home like he does. Nah, I’ll blame my cousins. “Curiosity is all.”
He turns his gaze out the window, seeming to ponder the question. “It was just different with her.” Looking back at me, he adds, “And I knew it inside.”
“Inside where?” I know what he means, but he still sounds like a fucking sap. And since I never promised not to give him a hard time, I’m obliged to take the shot.
Shaking his head, he chuckles again. “You haven’t met the one.”
“I’m not trying to. I don’t have any interest in what you and Nikki are doing? — ”
“You will.” He plugs in his earbuds, closing his eyes. “Now, if we’re done with this heart-to-heart?—”
“Shut it.” I face forward, too awake to sleep on a thirty-minute car ride. I have an hour and a half ahead of me on the flight. But I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed tonight.
Three hours later, I’m dropping my bag on the floor. Finally home. I lock the front door and head straight for the bedroom. A constant throbbing has replaced the feeling in my hands and wrists. At this point, exhaustion is running through my veins. I’m too tired to fuck around. I grab some packs from the freezer to ice my wrists, then strip the shirt from my body, kick off my shoes, tug my jeans down, and fall into bed.
“Oh shit!” I jump toward the headboard the moment I open my eyes. When my groggy mind catches up to the day, I ask, “What the fuck, Tommy? Why are you here so early?”
“It’s two in the afternoon. I hadn’t heard from you. Answer your phone every once in a damn while, and I wouldn’t have to show up here unannounced.” His tone doesn’t give anything away, so I have to determine whether he’s joking or mad by if the raging vein in his neck comes out to play. It’s nowhere to be seen, so I lie back down again.
Naturally, I can’t sleep. Especially knowing Tommy’s sitting out there twiddling his thumbs while waiting for me. Staring up at the ceiling, I debate if I want to kick his ass for breaking in or get dressed to hear what he has to say. Fuck me. I push off the bed and land on my feet, aiming for the bathroom. I had plans of doing nothing but catching up on sleep today, but here I am, getting up to entertain him. I’m going to need two things to function, though: coffee and a shower.
A morning fuck wouldn’t be bad either, but since I decided not to bring a woman to LA with me—not my wisest decision—I’ll settle for the shower. Even with the water pouring down on me, easing the tension in my shoulders, I can’t remember the last time I hooked up with a groupie.
When was the last time I booked a hotel room? Because I know I wasn’t bringing women back to my sanctuary to fuck. When I need to sleep or shut out the ringing of the crowds in my ears, I do it here. It’s not where I entertain one-night stands.
Coffee wafts into the bedroom, seducing me to the kitchen to find Tommy’s brewed a pot.
He looks up from his phone before tucking it away. He says, “You guys are killing it on the charts.”
I scrub a hand over my face, determined to get caffeine in me before I have any deep conversations. He’s already made himself at home, taking up space on my couch like he intends to stay. I pour a cup and then ask, “What’s so important that you had to break into my house to wake me?”
“You’re killing it on stage. You’re playing the hell out of those drums, and the fans are loving it.”
Holding up my battered hands, I say, “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“You were sent the new contracts. Take a look at them, and if you have any questions, Rochelle and legal can meet with you to explain the details.”
“But?” Leaning against the counter, I drink while he tries to get out whatever it is he’s not saying.
“No but. But?—”
“I knew it.” I laugh, moving into the living room to sit in a chair by the coffee table. He’s still chuckling, but I’m not. He’s not one to beat around the bush. Tommy tells it like it is, so I start to wonder if something’s wrong. “Everything okay?”
He grins like a motherfucker. I should have known he was fucking around. He says, “The band hit the bonuses for the gold records, and we want to lock down the next album with a bigger cut to Faris Wheel. How do you like those apples?”
“I like dollar bills better.”
Chuckling, he stands, leaving his mug on the coffee table. “Yeah, I wanted to stop by to let you know personally. Keep kicking ass.”
“I intend to.” Our hands come together, but he pulls me in for a pat on the back. “It comes natural.”
“Musicians are such a humble bunch.” Pushing me away, he moves toward the door, his laughter trailing him. “Give ’em a stage, and they’ll?—”
“Take advantage of it every time.”
“We’ll go with that version. Hey, I’m heading to Laird’s place next to tell him the good news. We included the band’s requests, but still take a look at the paperwork. As soon as it’s signed, we need to sit down as a band to discuss the next album, schedule studio time, and plan the next tour.” Before grabbing the doorknob, he pulls his phone from his pocket. Texting, he says, “Someone left a handful of messages for you at the offices over the past few days. Serie flagged it because there was mention of a carriage, but she was reading a book at the time, so I’m thinking it was lost in translation.”
My phone vibrates on the counter. I assume with the messages he just sent. “Will do.” Glancing down, I only get a sneak peek, but his explanation makes more sense. “What’s this part about Savage ?”
“That’s the name of the book.”
Didn’t know I was going to be riddling through this puzzle today, or I would have saved it until after the second cup of coffee. Reading the last exposed line, I look up at him totally confused. “Carriage?”
“That’s the part that none of us could figure out. Not even Serie. HR is working with her on being more present at work.”
“Someone looks desperate to get ahold of you.” He opens the door and walks out the front. “Let us know if we need to intervene to file a restraining order. Figured we’d check with you first to see if you recognize the caller.”
“I’m not worried. The house has plenty of security.”
Turning around, he walks backward. “We weren’t worried about the house. We need to protect our people.”
“And here I thought you’d say investment, ya big softie.” I close the door and grab my phone to read the full text messages over coffee.
Scanning the first few lines, the name pops out first.
Cate Farin?
Cate . . . huh . . . Oh wow. No way! Cat?
Damnnn, Catalina Farin. That blast from the past doesn’t disappoint. I scroll through the other messages, but Tommy’s right. I can’t make sense of how a carriage plays into the rest of the messages. I got her name but what the fuck with this number. It’s a few digits short.
Running my fingers through my hair, I track back to that brown-eyed beauty in high school. I came back from our first tour to track her down, but she was gone.
Tommy’s mention of intervening comes to mind when I count how many messages Cat left. Five does seem excessive . . .
Should I give her the benefit of the doubt that she is anxious to reconnect? I’m a fucking superstar, so it’s plausible. Or maybe she’s turned into a groupie looking for one night with a rock star? We had a connection, though too brief, and she was hot back then. Can’t say I’m not intrigued to see what she looks like now.
I could pop by and check her out from a distance since I have nothing on my schedule.
Chuckling, I’m starting to think maybe someone needs to intervene on her behalf with me sounding like a fucking stalker. I do what anyone would do in this situation. I get Rochelle at Outlaw Records to track down an address for me.
I’ll see if I can catch a glimpse of Cat. If not, I’ll find other entertainment in the form of a blond who likes fast cars and partying in the Hills, or maybe I’m more in the mood for a sexy fucking redhead and heading to Sunset. Live music, drinks, and then fun back at her place.
The choices are endless.
The opportunities in LA, or any other city, for that matter, are plenty.
My not-so-little black book of contacts has all kinds of women I can call on a moment’s notice when I’m in town. A quick scroll and text, and the lucky lady will drop everything to spend time with me.
My stomach rumbles, distracting me from later to the here and now. I need food before any good time. I place an order to be delivered ASAP.
I barely have time to order food to the house before I have Cat Farin’s address sitting on my phone.
She was gorgeous in high school and hands down the best-looking girl in our class. But I also remember how she used to make everyone feel like they mattered. I always felt like a rock star around her. And now I am one. Wonder how she’ll react to me if I show up?
I eat with speed, not sure why I’m suddenly on a mission like it’s my life’s work, but I slip on my shoes and grab my wallet and keys to my Ferrari to see what Cat Farin’s been up to all these years.
I’ll check her out, then decide what to do after that.
With nothing to do and less to lose, I drive to the Valley.