Chapter Twenty-Five Hollis
Chapter Twenty-Five
HOLLIS
Just as Brian, the general contractor, is finishing up with our tour around the club, Pres gets a text from her sister. She lets out a heavy sigh as she reads it.
“What is it?” I ask as I wave goodbye to everyone. “Did she cancel again?”
“Not exactly. She says she can’t get away, but has a short break in forty-five minutes if I want to meet her there.”
Mercury didn’t exactly know this lunch date included me. She just thinks Pres is doing the big sister thing and trying to catch up since they haven’t seen each other in a while.
“At the recording studio?”
She nods. “Honestly, this may be our best bet if we want to see her in the next month.” I snort, and she looks up with a tilted brow. “You think I’m joking, but I’m not. Outside of Sunday dinner, which she only makes time for because she knows Mom and Dad love it, she’s a hard woman to pin down.”
“Well, since you’re still adamant about telling her before Hendrix, I say we swing by. We can even grab some takeout and feed her before she has to get back to work.” I throw my arm around her shoulder, taking full advantage of the loophole that allows PDA in public.
God, her hair smells good.
“I doubt she’s even thought about food today. That’s actually a great idea.”
“See, I’m not just a pretty face.”
She laughs as we get to the Jeep and stop. She turns to look up at me and smiles. “No, you definitely aren’t.”
A wicked grin spreads across my face. “Did you just call me pretty?”
She scrunches her face and gives me an assessing gaze. “You’re all right, I guess.”
I take a step closer to the car to cage her in. “All right? I think you might be lying.”
Her eyes flash with anticipation. “Why would I lie?”
I take another step until our bodies are flush.
“Because I don’t think your heart would be beating this fast if you thought I was just ‘all right.’”
“What do you want me to say?” she asks, looking up at me. My hand stays on her chest, the frantic rhythm of her heart thumping beneath it. “That I’m attracted to you? I think you already know that I am.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it.”
“Why?”
“Wouldn’t you want to know if I found you attractive?”
I can see the question in her expression even though she doesn’t voice it. If? Instead, she asks, “Do you?”
“The first time I saw you, Pres, I thought you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.
You were standing by your locker, and I remember thinking this school might not be so bad after all.
But then Hendrix stepped in between an altercation between Alex Carpenter and me and decided we were going to be best friends. ”
She snorts. “That sounds exactly like him.”
“He was very persistent about it.” I smile, remembering how hard I tried to dodge him those first few days.
I didn’t really do friends back then. Honestly, I still don’t, but like Hendrix, Jonas had been insistent.
In school, forming attachments was messy, and it only got harder when my mom decided it was time to pack up and leave.
But Hendrix wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“I remember that, you know?” she says, looking up at me. “That moment by my locker.”
“You do?” She’d never mentioned it. I just figured our brief eye contact was nothing more than a passing glance for her, and I’d been just another student in the hall.
“When you’ve gone to school with the same kids forever, it’s kind of hard not to notice a new face. Especially when they look like yours.”
I grin. “There you go, calling me pretty again.”
Her cheeks heat. “I don’t think pretty is the word that came to mind.”
“No?”
“Definitely thought you were the hottest guy I’d ever seen.” Her mouth quirks into the cutest little smile.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, but you were also my brother’s best friend.”
“True,” I agree. “But I’m not anymore. Hendrix has a new best friend. He has Zander and the band.”
I search her face, feeling like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff. I know I could fall for this woman—hell, I think I might be already there.
Maybe I always have been.
But what if it ends badly?
What if it doesn’t work out?
I cannot lose her again.
“Yeah, but you’re still my best friend,” she says.
I smile, an understanding settling between us. “And that is one thing that will never change.”
When we pull up to the address Pres punched into the GPS, I look around and then glance over at her, asking, “Is this it?”
She nods. “Yup, why?”
I scan the area again. It’s in an industrial park. The buildings are all very plain, with flat roofs and aluminum siding. There is no signage over the doors to identify one business from another, except for a small sign that reads CS.
“It’s so underwhelming,” I say, recalling my first tour of the Creed Agency when I was in high school. Everything in that building was impressive, from its high-rise location to the swanky furnishings and wall-to-wall windows overlooking downtown.
“That’s the point. It’s supposed to be underwhelming. Can’t exactly advertise the place,” she explains as I put the Jeep in Park. Since I moved in, I’ve realized that Presley hates driving and is always happy to hand the task over to me, which I’m more than willing to do.
I kind of want to buy her a new car, though.
This one has seen better days.
“Because of all the high-profile clients?”
She nods. God, she looks good today. I don’t know how she manages to make a simple pair of jeans and a T-shirt look so sexy, but she does. Stop staring, asshole. “It doesn’t completely deter unwanted guests, but it helps. Plus, we have a wicked security system.”
I help her with the takeout we grabbed on the way here, and we head toward the entrance. Other than a camera perched in the corner and a keypad on the door, there is nothing that stands out. But, like she said, I guess that’s the point.
Pres takes out her phone and types something in. A second later, she punches in a code. “Okay, we’re good.”
I grab the door and follow her in, and instantly we’re transported. It’s like walking through the wardrobe into Narnia. Only instead of snow and lions, there’s vinyl and guitars.
The lighting is moody, and the floors are made of warm wood with wool rugs running up the center to dampen the sound. The dark walls of the hallway are lined with records—all gold and platinum. Since we’re in a hurry, I don’t stop to check out the artists, but the sheer volume is impressive.
We head down the hall, past some offices and bathrooms, and then Pres leads us to the sound booth.
Sitting in front of the biggest soundboard in existence is a grown-up version of the girl who used to stomp into my bedroom, critique my music choices, and then come back twenty minutes later with a playlist she insisted was better.
Damn if she wasn’t always right.
While Pres favors her mother’s fairer features, Mercury takes after Lance. Her long chestnut hair is tied back in a practical ponytail at the nape of her neck, and she wears tailored black pants and a cream-colored sweater.
With large headphones held to her ear, she’s so immersed in what she’s doing that she doesn’t even seem to hear us come in.
“See what I mean?” Pres says, leaning against the door. She gestures to her sister. “Total nerd.”
“Come here and listen to this.” Merc waves Presley over, not even flinching at the abrupt sound of her voice.
Pres gives me a what-the-fuck look, and I just shrug. “Bat hearing?” I mouth, and she snickers.
I set the food down and watch my wife walk over to join Mercury at the soundboard. She takes the seat next to her. Merc hands her a twin set of headphones, and Pres mimics her, holding them up to one ear so she can still hear with the other.
Her brow scrunches together as they listen to the track together. She closes her eyes ever so slightly.
She looks so in her element.
Pres talks about Mercury’s talent for music, but she has it too. All the Creed kids do. It’s in their blood, and right now, it’s showing.
The selection must come to an end as both women set down their headphones, and Merc looks at her sister. “Well?”
I lean against the wall, quietly observing the exchange. “It needs something,” Pres says.
“I know, but I can’t decide what exactly it’s missing, and I’m running out of time.”
“Wasn’t this supposed to be your break?” Pres teases. It earns her a glare. She lifts her hands in defense. “Okay, okay. I get it. You’re stressed. Let me listen to it again, and I’ll help you out, okay? But in the meantime, will you do me a favor?”
“What?”
She gestures over her shoulder at me. “Will you turn around and meet your new brother-in-law?”
“No,” Pres says firmly, shaking her head.
“Yes! It was your idea,” Merc reminds her.
They’re face-to-face, arms crossed, glaring at each other. Presley is half a foot taller, but Merc is twice as determined. They both turn to me, and I instantly raise both my hands. “Oh, no. Do not make me decide. I am not voting against my wife.”
An accusing brow rises on Presley’s face. “But you want to, don’t you?”
Oh my god, I can’t win.
Right after Mercury congratulated us with hugs, we regaled her with our edited Vegas wedding story, fed her semi-cold tacos, and then she got back to work.
Or she and Presley did, that is.
I can’t tell if she’s accepted the idea of our quickie marriage so easily because she genuinely believes us or because she’s just so focused on what she’s doing.
Either way, about five minutes ago, after much deliberation, Pres suggested adding another vocal element to the song—someone to play off the male lead in the chorus.
Mercury thought it was the perfect solution. Pres thought so too until her sister said she thought Pres would be the perfect person to do it.
That’s when all hell broke loose.
“Do I think you’d be great at it, Pres? Yes. You have a phenomenal voice.” I give her sister a hard stare. “But no one is going to force you. Right?”
Mercury folds her arms across her chest. “What if I ask nicely?”
Pres scoffs. “Nicely? You didn’t even ask! So far, you’ve just dictated.”
“You did sort of do that,” I agree.
Merc huffs, looking up at the clock mounted on the wall. “Okay, yeah. You’re right. I got a little intense there, didn’t I?”
“A little?”
She slowly blinks.
Definitely not up for humor right now. “Okay, fine.” Pres throws up her hands. “But how exactly do we do this?” Pres asks. “’Cause the only singing I’ve done is in the shower.”
“Thank you, Pres,” she gushes, rushing to hug her. “You’re a lifesaver. And I’ll make sure you get credit, okay?”
“What?” Presley’s eyes go wide, realizing she doesn’t just mean name credit. She means money. “No, that’s crazy. I don’t need to—”
“Take the credit, Pres,” I urge, pulling her into my arms. It feels effortless being able to touch her without rules or boundaries. “You can put the royalties into savings or invest them in the bar. Or buy a new car.”
She snorts. “What’s wrong with my car?”
“What isn’t wrong with your car?”
“Okay, newlyweds,” Mercury interrupts, motioning in our direction. “Love this for you. Truly. But I don’t have time for whatever this is. Go be gross on your own time.”
I let her go, grinning as she slips away to help her sister.
It doesn’t take long to set things up, and in no time, Pres is sitting on a stool directly in front of a large microphone on the other side of the glass.
She looks incredibly nervous.
“Tell me what to do,” she says. I can hear her voice shake through the headphones.
Merc presses a button and speaks into a mic. “Okay, Pres, listen to me. You’re probably not going to like this, but I need you to just go with your gut on this.”
“What?” she practically screeches. “What do you mean, go with my gut? Aren’t you the one who says music is all about precision?”
“I am.” She nods. “Which is why I knew this song was missing something. It was missing you.”
“I am not precise, Merc. I am chaos at best.”
Merc smiles. “I know, Pres. I’m not asking you to be anything but yourself. It’s that wildness in you that will make this song perfect. So just close your eyes and feel it. Let the music take you, and I guarantee it’s all going to be fine.”
I can still see her nervousness, but she tries to shake it off as she sits a bit straighter and takes a calming breath. “Okay.” She nods. “I’m ready.”
Mercury starts the track from the beginning, so Pres can get a feel for it without jumping straight into the chorus. I’ve heard it a few times now, so I know it’s a rock ballad with an emotional chorus about a love that endures.
The male voice is powerful, with a deep, raspy tone that sounds almost perfect. But when it reaches the chorus and I hear my wife echo the haunting lyrics, I know Merc has a masterpiece on her hands.
“Fucking hell,” I mutter, watching the way she transforms before my eyes. She sings with her eyes closed, completely swept up by the music as she sways back and forth.
It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
She finishes the chorus, and her eyes open and land straight on me. For a moment, I feel like the world melts away.
“You really are in love with her, aren’t you?” Merc says.
Without tearing my gaze away from my wife, I nod. “I really fucking am.”
And I have no idea what to do about it.
Because the days are slipping away from me. Soon, it will be November, and my time here will be over.