Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
“ Y ou know, I’ve heard if you stare at something long enough, it will spontaneously combust.”
I tore my eyes away from the wedding invitation and scowled at my best friend. “Fuck off, Hendrix.”
He grinned, taking a seat on the leather sectional next to me. He had an ice-cold beer in his hands as he propped his scuffed black boots on the coffee table. “Made a decision yet?” He motioned to the heavy card stock in my hand.
Macon and Marin are getting married! was written in bold script above a black-and-white photo. It was all very modern and casual with the date and details listed on the back.
The handwritten note that had come with it was unexpected.
Zander,
I know it’s been a while, and I know it’s a big ask. But please come.
Dad is gone for good, and I miss my brother.
Macon
“I didn’t go to the last one. Why should I go to this one?”
Hendrix gave me a sideways glance as he arched his brow at my harsh tone. It was times like this that I really wished I lived alone. A man should be allowed to be petty in his own damn house.
“Don’t act like that.”
“Like what?” I looked out the window and tried my best to ignore him.
A mother pushed a stroller down the street with one hand while typing on her cell phone with the other.
How very LA of her.
“Your brother’s first wife cheated on him. It’s not like he’s going through wives like disposable cups.” Hendrix had done some serious Ocracoke snooping when this arrived in the mail.
Or arrived at the bar, rather.
“Disposable cups?” I turned and quirked a brow. What a random fucking thing to say.
“My dad was ranting about them at the bar the other day. We use them sometimes for big events like St. Paddy’s Day, and, man, he hates it. Goes on a tirade every fucking time about the waste and its impact on the environment.”
“Yeah, that sounds like him.” I laughed, shaking my head. “He knows he can say no, right? It’s his damn bar.”
Hendrix grinned, shaking his head. “You know he’s been trying to take a step back. Hand off the reins and all that.”
A grunt rumbled out of me. “Well, tell him he’s doing an exceptional job.”
“You tell him,” he grunted. “You talk to him more than I do.”
Hendrix’s family owned a bar. Well, they owned a lot of things. But the bar was their baby. It was also where I’d met the Creed family and found a place to call home here in Southern California.
“You should go,” Hendrix said, motioning to the invitation.
“Yes, you’ve made your opinion quite clear. I think I heard you the first dozen times.” I rolled my eyes.
Hendrix knew my family history. We’d been friends for years. There weren’t many secrets between the two of us, and so he knew just how long it’d been since I’d seen my brother.
It’d been years. Fourteen to be exact.
I could still remember the utter shock I’d felt when I turned around and saw him standing in his military uniform, looking completely out of place in Creed’s.
“What are you doing here?” I said, not even bothering to drop the equipment still clutched in my hands.
“I came to see you,” he said simply.
He looked so different. Older, sure, but he carried himself differently. His eyes were sharp, piercing. The buzz cut the army had given him made his features look severe. Cold even. His eyes lingered on the ink that now covered my skin.
“I sent you letters…before…” His voice trailed off.
Before you ran away.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “How did you even find me?” I asked.
It wasn’t like I’d left a forwarding address when I stole his truck and boarded that ferry out of town. I’d bounced around for months, going from state to state, draining my cash, living on fast food while sleeping in my car until I finally landed in LA. That had been a while ago though.
“It wasn’t easy.”
I caught a flash of pain in his eyes just before he shifted his gaze away from me.
Hendrix always tried to convince me that Macon still cared for me.
In my anger, I’d lash out at him and say he had no idea what he was talking about. After all, he’d grown up in a normal, loving family.
Me, however? Not so much.
Thankfully, my best friend wasn’t easily offended, and he’d remind me of those letters—the ones Macon constantly wrote, even when I refused to reply. The letters I carried with me everywhere.
I looked at my big brother, so official-looking in his Army fatigues. It’d nearly broken me the day he told me he was leaving. But I’d survived.
I’d more than survived. I’d fucking thrived.
Maybe it was time to show him.
I finally set the amp and cable down, settling my nerves. The movement caused his gaze to shift downward.
“So, are you a roadie or something?”
I suppressed a bitter laugh. Not because roadies were beneath me. If he’d visited sooner, I very likely would have answered yes. I’d done everything in this bar—from cleaning the toilets to serving drinks and hauling in instruments. Nothing was beneath me. What angered me was the fact that he’d assumed.
I’d been glued to a guitar since the day he’d shoved that old acoustic in my hand. He knew it was all I’d ever wanted to do since. But he was the big brother with the military career, and I would always be the little brother who had run away.
“Something like that,” I managed to spit out.
He looked around the bar, checking out all the framed portraits and photos on the walls.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” I said, not wanting him to look too closely. There were likely a few notable people he’d recognize on that wall, and I didn’t need a reason for him to stay any longer than necessary. “Besides, I have nothing more to say to you.”
He visibly winced, and I tried not to let it affect me.
I couldn’t afford to let him in again. Not now, not ever.
I’d burned that bridge a long time ago. There was no use in rebuilding it now.
I stared down at the photo invitation. My brother’s smiling face was fixed on his gorgeous fiancée. He looked happy and content.
Complete.
He didn’t need me.
“I don’t want to do the whole wedding thing,” I said. “There will be tons of people, and you know what a big deal it will be for me to show up after all this time. No one needs all that drama. Besides, I just got home. I’m fucking tired, and it’s not like I have a lot of downtime if I decide to take them up on the offer.”
Hendrix gave me a knowing look. Yes, I was making excuses.
No, I didn’t care.
“Then, at least go to the engagement party,” he suggested. “Less pressure than going to the wedding. Fewer people, and it’s three weeks earlier. So”—he gave me a stern face—“you’ll have plenty of time to rest up for that tour you haven’t decided on.”
I’d been making a name for myself as a session guitarist for years. I liked the variety, bouncing around from one gig to the next. I’d filled in for some amazing bands and equally amazing venues. My last gig was crazy. Like life-goals kind of shit. The band—Manic at Midnight—was a household name. The US tour was insane, and I thought nothing could top it.
Until they asked me to come on full-time. Yep, that was right. A permanent member of one of the biggest bands on the planet. Most people would just say fuck yes and then roll around in the pile of cash that was thrown at them. But there was a reason I’d chosen this career path.
I liked being a ghost. I enjoyed the anonymity of showing up and playing the part and then disappearing. I got to enjoy the perks of the job with none of the pitfalls. Of course, the money wasn’t as good, but considering where I’d come from, I was doing pretty fucking well.
But this? This could set me up for life.
It could also be my downfall.
“Doesn’t mean I want to be out of town right before I possibly leave again for months,” I said, knowing I was full of shit. I was anything but a homebody. Last year, I’d seen the inside of a hotel room more than my own bedroom.
“What the fuck does it matter if you’re in North Carolina or LA? I’m pretty sure they have airports out there. Also, I feel no sympathy for a man who will be spending months traipsing across Europe with a rock god like Asher fucking Knight.”
I rolled my eyes. “Asshole.”
“No,” he countered. “I’ve just become an expert at recognizing Zander Green bullshit. I should be certified by now.” He thought he was fucking hilarious. “I could go with you,” he offered. “Maybe hook up with some cute bridesmaid. Or one of those hot tourists you used to talk about.”
I rolled my eyes, remembering the time I’d drunkenly told him about losing my virginity to a girl who had been driving a wayward golf cart. She’d nearly run me off the road. She made up for it by giving me a blow job on her parents’ boat. Pretty sure she was just using me to rebel a little, but I didn’t care. I was sixteen, and she was hot. I’d learned a whole lot from her that week.
“I tell you way too much when I’m inebriated.”
“Yeah, you’re kind of a lush.”
“You’re just not gonna let this go, are you?”
“He’s your brother, Z.”
“I don’t need a brother.” I have you.
I didn’t say it, but I didn’t need to. As much as I’d resisted them at first, the Creeds had dragged me into their crazy little family and adopted me as one of their own.
There was nothing for me back in Ocracoke.
“If you don’t want anything to do with Macon, at least go back and say your piece. You owe it to yourself, if nothing else. Give yourself that closure, and then you can finally say yes, make us all proud, and then promptly forget us all, like all famous people do.”
I purposely ignored that last part. “When I left, I promised myself that I’d never go back.”
He gave me a wry grin. “When I was eighteen, I promised my sisters I wouldn’t sleep with their friends.” He gave a half-hearted shrug. “Some promises are meant to be broken.”
I roared with laughter. Eventually, the room became silent again, and I looked over at him, my arms folded across my lap. “You think I’ll have regrets if I don’t go?”
“I think you’ll never be able to put your past truly behind you until you face it. You either need to forgive and make amends, or say what you came to say and walk away.”
I looked down at his messy handwriting. “So, shit or get off the pot?”
He chuckled at my choice of words. “And my parents wonder why I’m still single.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” The words came rushing out of my mouth the instant I stepped out of the Norfolk Airport.
It was sweltering.
I’d forgotten how suffocating the humidity here could get around the summer months. I could not fathom why anyone would willingly choose to have their wedding in this kind of weather. I couldn’t really fathom why anyone would choose to get married in the first place, but that was an entirely different conversation.
With my duffel bag in tow, I managed to locate my rental, and I was on the road in no time.
I already wanted to turn back and go home. But I knew I would never hear the end of it if I did. Hendrix was a glass-half-full kind of guy. He had two parents, a fuck ton of siblings, and thought the world began and ended with the word family .
He hadn’t lived the kind of life I had—with a poor, deadbeat dad throughout a childhood that could only be made worse with the death of a mother. I’d spent the first few months of my adult life trying to put as much distance as I could between me and my father.
Just knowing I could be anywhere near him darkened my mood and made my heartbeat kick up a notch. Macon had said in his note that he was gone, but hadn’t elaborated.
Was he dead? Did he move away? Incarcerated?
Maybe I didn’t want to know.
After a couple of hours, I’d made it most of the way down the coast. By the time I hit Hatteras, it was evident that summer was in full swing. Minivans and SUVs lined Highway 12 as people made their way to Ocracoke. The closer I got, the more my anxiety started to take hold. By the time I finally got into the queue for the ferry, I was sweating.
And it had nothing to do with the heat.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath.
I glanced around as the line trudged closer to the shore. It was now or never. I could either keep going or I could turn around and forget this had ever happened.
Macon wouldn’t even know I was here.
My heart pounded in my chest.
It had been fourteen years since I’d stepped foot on that island.
Fourteen fucking years since I’d walked out the door of that shitty little house.
I’d sworn I’d never go back. If I never heard the sound of that ferry or smelled the salty brine of the ocean through my car window, I’d be just fine.
More cars shuffled up the road as the sun began to set. Macon’s engagement party was tomorrow. If I didn’t go now, I never would. I’d turn this car around and not stop until I saw palm trees.
Eventually, my indecision made the decision for me. I got to the front of the line, and I was directed onto the ferry.
The last one of the day.
I swallowed the lump in my throat as the boat carried me home for the first time in years.
It was dark by the time the boat docked on the other side.
Driving off the ferry, I felt numb.
I wasn’t sure what the correct emotion should be. Should I feel angry? Nostalgic? Happy? Whatever I was supposed to feel, I didn’t.
I just felt… nothing .
My phone started to vibrate next to me, and I hit the Answer button on the steering wheel, thankful I’d synced it before I left.
“I just saw you got off the ferry. You doing okay?” Hendrix’s voice came through over the speaker.
“What do you mean, you just saw I got off the ferry? You’re tracking me now?”
Our friendship was very strange.
“Do you remember when my dad had us all download that app last year?”
I tried to think back to the Creed family Christmas. I’d had a lot of mulled wine and spiked eggnog, and then my memories got a little fuzzy after that.
“Anyway, he had all the kids join his ‘circle’ or whatever so we could keep tabs on each other.”
All the kids. The Creeds had a way of adopting a lot of strays. Me included.
“So, wait.” I paused for dramatic effect. “He can track us? Anywhere?” I let that sink in for a second. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing in my situation.
“You know, I’m not gonna think about that right now. We’re focusing on you.”
I let out a snort as I tried not to glean too much joy in his discomfort. Hendrix wasn’t exactly known for being a saint.
“I’m okay,” I tried to assure him. “I boarded the ferry like a good little rock star, and I’m headed into town as we speak.”
“Aww, listen to you calling yourself a rock star. So cute.”
I rolled my eyes. “I did that for your benefit. I just wanted to prepare you for the imminent brush-off.”
He laughed. “Gotcha. Good plan.” Silence settled before he spoke up once more. “So, you’ve made up your mind then? About Manic?”
I let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Yeah, I have. I signed the papers and everything.”
My agent was ecstatic, to say the least.
“Jesus. It’s about fucking time. Do you know how big of a deal this is?”
Yes. Yes, I did.
It wasn’t every day a band like this had an opening. Their lead guitarist had fucked up. Badly. And they wanted to distance themselves from the scandal as quickly as possible and move on. When I came aboard to fill his spot at the beginning of the US leg of their tour, I thought I was just another hired gun, as usual.
But something had just clicked.
Working with those guys was like filling a missing part of my soul. If it was just about the music, I would have said yes before the question even left my agent’s lips.
But it wasn’t. It was so much more.
It was press tours and photo shoots. Groupies and paparazzi. All the shit I’d avoided since I’d started this job.
All the shit I hated.
“This is great news, Z. It’s gonna be epic, I promise.”
“You sound like Saul.” My agent.
“Yeah, well he’s a smart dude. It’s why my dad set you up with him.”
The sign for Ocracoke loomed ahead of me.
“Speaking of your dad, can you tell him?”
There was a pregnant pause.
“You don’t want to do that yourself? Isn’t this, like, a special moment or some shit?”
Lance Creed was more than just an adopted sort of father figure to me.
He was also my manager, my mentor, and the man who’d molded me into the musician I was today.
“Yes, but you’re his assistant.” I grinned.
“Oh, fuck off.” He tried to sound irritated, but I could hear the amusement in his tone. “You know I’m only helping him out until I figure things out. Besides, it has one perk.”
Like insider information on potential deals. It was nice, not having to keep this from my best friend.
“You headed straight to your brother’s house, or are you checking in somewhere?”
The thought of seeing Macon tonight made my stomach lurch. “I think I’m gonna find some food, and then I’ll figure it out from there.”
I didn’t mention I didn’t actually have anywhere to go. Accommodations in Ocracoke came mostly in the form of private rentals. Hotels were few and far between and booked months in advance.
I’d known this when Hendrix talked me into going, but I hadn’t mentioned it. It wasn’t the first time I would be showing up somewhere without a place to stay.
Although it was sort of ironic.
Back in my hometown with nowhere to sleep but my car. Just like the good old days.
“Okay, good luck.”
“Thanks.”
I was going to need it.
I drove around town for what felt like forever.
In reality, it was probably five minutes.
Ocracoke was a lot of things. Big was not one of them.
It felt like nothing had changed, and yet everything was different.
Maybe I was the one who had changed. Maybe a bit of both.
I was apprehensive about stopping somewhere for food. What if I was recognized? Not in that way. I highly doubted anyone here would recognize me from a concert. I just didn’t want any locals to see me and word to get around to Macon that I was here before I had the chance to see him. I hadn’t exactly RSVP’d.
But a guy needed to eat.
Driving down the main road, I found a restaurant I didn’t recognize. Some sort of taphouse. The parking lot was full, and when I pulled in, I could hear live music coming from inside.
Well, live-ish.
Karaoke.
I inwardly shuddered. But where there was karaoke in Ocracoke, there was a large crowd of tourists. Most locals would avoid this shit like the plague. But just in case, I threw a baseball cap on and grabbed a hoodie.
Just as I was about to go inside, I got a text from Lance.
Lance
Congrats, kid. I’m proud of you.
I sent a quick text back.
Me
Thanks. It’s all thanks to you.
Lance
No, I just helped you shine. You’ve always been a diamond.
I didn’t really know how to respond to that. As a kid who had never received praise growing up, I had become an adult who didn’t really know how to accept it. Luckily, he knew this about me and simply followed up with another text.
Lance
Enjoy your time away. Just don’t forget, you signed an NDA. You can’t tell anyone until the official announcement is made.
Me
Got it, boss.
I was only going to be here for a day anyway.
The less I told my brother, the better. It would make it easier to leave all this behind.
Slipping my phone in my pocket, I headed inside.
I was used to loud bars. I liked loud bars. They were my lifeblood and my church.
But this? This was like walking into the middle of a rabid catfight on speakerphone.
God, my ears are bleeding.
Whoever thought it would be a good idea to give drunk people free rein to a microphone was truly evil.
The person currently up on the tiny stage was massacring a Johnny Cash song. I had the sudden urge to pull out my phone and record it for Hendrix’s older brother, who was named after the singer.
But even I wasn’t that mean, even though the grouchy fucker kind of deserved it.
I headed straight for the bar, opting for a drink first.
This might not have been my smartest idea. But then again…it wasn’t like there was a drive-through Taco Bell in Ocracoke.
Like the rest of the place, the bar was packed. I squeezed myself between a guy in a Hawaiian shirt—clearly on vacation —and a gorgeous woman. At first, I thought they might be together, and I quickly pulled back, not wanting to interrupt a date. But then I noticed the body language and something else that caught my eye.
A flash of white hidden behind the woman’s dark hair—an earbud.
Had I not noticed that she was alone, in a karaoke bar, I probably wouldn’t have been so hung up on that one tiny detail.
People wore earbuds for all sorts of reasons. Music, audiobooks, podcasts—all valid reasons. But some also found they helped with sensory issues. We had a bartender back at Creed’s who never worked a single shift without a pair.
But then why wouldn’t she just leave? Why willingly sit in this musical nightmare?
I examined her a bit closer. In a sea of flip-flops and shorts, she stuck out like a sore thumb. Her black jeans fit her like a glove, accented her generous, feminine curves. Everything she wore screamed money—from the manicured nails to the Louboutin bag that hung beside her.
Hendrix had sisters. They told me things.
Her dark hair was styled perfectly with soft waves that brushed the olive skin on her bare shoulders.
She was flawless.
Flawless and perfect.
And she probably knew it.
Living in LA, I’d met dozens of women like her, and I swore, once you met one, you’d met them all.
I stepped forward, intent on one thing and one thing only—getting my hands on an ice-cold beer. If I was going to make it through the next twenty-four hours, I was going to need it.
The guy in the Hawaiian shirt to my left was talking loudly, his actual date—or wife—indulging him as he complained about the cost of groceries while he flagged the bartender for another overpriced drink.
The irony.
I glanced over at the earbud woman, who was still seated quietly to my right. As I turned, my elbow accidentally nudged her phone, causing the screen to light up. My eyes instinctively glanced down.
I’m a nosy motherfucker. What can I say?
Miss Louboutin was, in fact, willingly sitting in a karaoke bar, by herself, drowning out the bar with her earbuds. But that wasn’t the most interesting thing about her.
And her music taste was… startling .
Metallica’s S&M album cover looked up at me while I tried to keep my mouth from gaping open. Maybe it was just a fluke. Maybe she just hadn’t bothered switching the song between Taylor Swift singles.
No hate on T. Swift. That woman was a legend. But she had a type of fan, and Miss Louboutin over here fit the mold perfectly.
The polished princess took a sip of her red wine, and then the song flipped.
The Smiths.
Her gaze finally turned toward mine.
And my night just got a whole lot more interesting…