9. McKenzie
NINE
McKenzie
After choosing my song, I disappeared to the bathroom and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the cracked glass as I washed my hands. What would Brennan think if he could see me now—if he could know me? No longer the gangly teenager who wore her heart on her sleeve but a woman whose soul had been shattered, the pieces forming a mosaic of misery.
I splashed some cold water on my face and blotted it dry with a wad of paper towels before prying my tinted ChapStick from my pocket and swiping it over my lips. My skin looked a bit ashen, so I dabbed the plum color on my cheeks, blending it with my fingers in an effort to bring some life back to my complexion.
It was dangerous to wander the streets of Brennan after dark. Too many shadows lingered there in dim alleyways, waiting to rob me of the few happy memories that hadn’t yet been tainted by grief.
I forced my focus to Luca who had shown up looking devastatingly handsome in a leather jacket with his unruly hair. God, I wanted to tame those strands, gripping them between my fingers while he buried his face in—
Whoa. My thoughts screeched to a halt. He was Katie’s friend—Katie’s very hot friend. But still. It was a bad idea. He wouldn’t be sticking around Nashville forever, and even if he was, his reputation was that of the love ’em and leave ’em variety.
Even so, the image floated back into my mind like a cloud. It was the alcohol. The shots and the Bushwackers had gone straight to my head. At least, that’s what I told myself. Because why else would I be entertaining such absurd thoughts? He was a rock star. Well, a former rock star, but fame like his didn’t disappear overnight, if ever. I was just some girl, a friend of a friend. I’d seen enough during my internet searches to know I wasn’t his type.
And yet…
The devil on my shoulder protested with more tantalizing visions, each one more delicious than the last. During those late-night googling sessions, I’d noticed a very distinct through line. He was never photographed with the same woman twice. Gossip columns and fan discussion boards had much to say when it came to Luca Sterling’s abundant extracurricular activities. Maybe it wouldn’t matter if I was his type. Perhaps he wasn’t that discerning when it came to the women who fell into his bed.
It was a terrible idea. But I longed for a balm to numb my pain, even if only for the night or for a moment. All I wanted was to forget.
Armed with a new mission, I strutted back to the table where my Bushwacker was already waiting for me.
Luca took a bite out of his burger, and I couldn’t help but imagine him taking a bite out of me. I leaned forward, wrapping my lips around the straw in the frosty cocktail in front of me. He could whack my bush anytime.
Oh God. Did I shave?!
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked, taking a sip of his soda.
“What? Yeah, of course. Why?”
He nodded toward me. “Your face just got really red.”
“It’s just the alcohol,” I lied.
He dipped a fry in ketchup. “Is this your song?”
Caught up in my own daydreams, I hadn’t even realized it had started to play.
“It is,” I said, the first verse of “Welcome to the Black Parade” by My Chemical Romance filling my ears.
A genuine smile spread over his face. “This is one of the best albums of all time. They’re my favorite band.”
“Mine too.”
They had also been my brother’s. After Brennan died, I clung to anything he loved as a way of keeping a part of him with me.
“There’s this My Chem cover band that plays around town sometimes,” I said. “Helena’s Sweet Revenge. You ever heard of them?”
He shook his head. “No, but that sounds cool. Are they any good?”
“They’re amazing,” I answered. “I never got to see the actual band, but I feel like these guys sound pretty close. It’s been a while since they’ve been here. I wonder if they’re playing anytime soon.”
I grabbed my phone off the table and opened up a browser to see what I could find out.
“If they are, maybe we could go,” he said, his tone casual as though he’d just told me it was raining outside.
I was sure he didn’t mean anything by it, but my body reacted anyway, my heart fluttering like a wounded butterfly. Even with the odds stacked against me, there was hope.
The Helena’s Sweet Revenge website loaded, and I scrolled through their tour updates. My pulse thudded in my ears when I landed on the current date.
What the fuck.
I’d looked only a couple of months ago to see if they’d be in town anytime soon, but the closest venue had been somewhere in Alabama.
“I can’t believe this,” I said. “They’re in Nashville tonight.”
“No way.” He paused with his burger in front of his perfect mouth. “Really? Where? What time?”
“At The Basement in East Nashville. Doors are at nine.”
“We could make that,” he said. “If you want to go.”
It felt like a sign from the universe or Brennan or something.
“I do,” I blurted. “But you don’t have to if it’s not your scene. I know you were probably just being nice.”
He snorted, dropping his burger on his plate. “That’s the first time anyone has ever accused me of doing anything to be nice. I want to go. It sounds like fun.”
He signaled the bartender and pulled his wallet out of his pocket.
“Hey, man,” he said as Freddy approached. “Can I go ahead and pay our tab?”
“Wait, I’ve got mine,” I insisted, digging in my pocket for my card.
“It’s on me.” Luca pinned me with a look that told me there would be no arguing, and I was too flustered to try. “This is the second time you’ve gotten me to do something fun, so I kind of owe you.”
“Oh. Well, thanks,” I managed, averting my eyes to my drink to keep from staring at his profile and chiseled jaw as he chatted with Freddy.
I slurped down my cocktail, and Luca finished his burger while Freddy told him about his cousin’s glam rock band. When we were finished, Freddy moved on to another table, and I rose to my feet, snatching my hoodie off the seat as my brain splashed around in a pool of alcohol.
Guess I’ll be leaving my truck here.
“I’ll get us an Uber,” I offered.
“No need,” he said as he stood. “I’ll drive.”
My emotions swirled in technicolor, and my mouth went dry. “Okay. Sure.”
He placed his hand on the small of my back as he guided me toward the door. My eyes found his as we stepped out into the cool, rainy night air, causing me to miss the step down from the sidewalk. He caught my arm, his touch sending a ricochet of electricity through my veins.
His lips quirked, and for half a second I wondered if he felt it too. Then I remembered who he was—but more importantly, who I wasn’t .
My attention followed him as he jogged ahead to get the car door for me. Maybe it didn’t matter if I ended up just another notch on his leather belt as long as he used said belt to bind my wrists together before—
“Hop in,” he said, interrupting the X-rated movie playing in my head.
Don’t mind if I do.
“Are you cold?” Luca asked over the sound of the radio and the splatter of rain on the windshield of his Tesla. We’d driven the first five minutes or so in silence, with the exception of the GPS interjecting with directions.
“No,” I answered. Quite the opposite, in fact. The feeling of Luca’s hand on my arm had ignited a fire in my belly that could’ve taken out entire continents.
“You sure?” He nodded toward my lap where my fingers were stuffed under my thighs to prevent myself from pawing him like a tigress in heat.
I placed my hands on top of my hoodie that was laid across my legs and fiddled with the drawstring.
“So, a Tesla, huh?” I asked, snark coating my words. “I thought only assholes drove those.”
“Well, if memory serves, you did say I was an asshole.” A grin formed along his mouth in the faint glow of oncoming headlights.
“To be fair, I never actually said that,” I replied. “But I did think it a few times.”
“You still think I’m a dick?” He glanced over at me, his eyes shimmering with mischief.
“Hmm,” I said, pretending to consider it. “The jury’s still out, but I’ll get back to you.”
“You do that,” he said as he entered the on-ramp of the interstate. “So, tell me what else I need to know about you, McKenzie. Besides the fact that you have good taste in music and an iron liver.”
“Who says you need to know anything about me?” I asked, my tone coy and flirtatious.
“Maybe I don’t need to,” he said as the car picked up speed. “But I want to.”
My cheeks flamed. “What do you want to know?”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Right here.”
“Weird,” he said. “I don’t remember a cute chick with a smart mouth coming with my car. Were you in the glove compartment?”
“I meant Nashville, you ass.” I kept my focus forward, pretending I wasn’t reeling from the fact that he’d just called me cute. “I went to school over in West Nashville. My mom still lives there in the house I grew up in.”
“Do you have any other family around?”
My chest tightened. “Just her. What about you?”
“You already know everyone I consider family.”
I sensed there was more to the story, but it didn’t feel right to ask.
“What do you like to do when you’re not baking at the restaurant or drinking all of our buddy Freddy’s liquor?” he teased.
“This isn’t a regular occurrence,” I said.
“Celebrating something?” he asked, and when I didn’t immediately answer, he added, “Or maybe trying to distract yourself from something?”
“Or maybe I just needed to let some steam out of the kettle, you know? Let loose a little.” My tone was far more defensive than I’d have liked. “Is that okay with you, detective?”
“Of course.” He held up a hand. “Hey, I’m not judging. I’m the last person on earth who gets to judge anyone.”
I pressed my lips together. “I like to thrift.”
“Thrift?”
“You asked what else I like to do. I go to secondhand stores and hunt for treasures,” I said. “Oh wait. You’re a rock star with a Tesla. Do you even know what Goodwill is?”
He scoffed. “I wasn’t always a rock star.”
“Really? I thought maybe you came out of the womb like that.” I swirled my finger in his direction.
“Like what?” he asked.
“A Calvin Klein model with a douchebag car.”
His brows raised in amusement. “Are you saying you think I’m hot?”
“Once again, I didn’t actually say those words.”
“But do you?”
I snorted. “What difference does it make what I think?”
He shrugged. “I just get the feeling you don’t impress easily. So, if you think I’m hot, then I must be doing something right.”
“You don’t need me to confirm anything. I doubt confidence is something you’ve ever lacked in your lifetime.”
“You’d be surprised.” His fingers flexed over the steering wheel, and when I looked at his face, the lightness that had been present throughout the evening had been replaced with a pensive expression.
“What about you? What do you like to do?” I asked. “Besides meeting girls in dive bars and cutting glass with your chiseled jaw?”
That playful glint returned to his eyes. “I’m working on cutting other things besides glass.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked. “Like what? Wooden planks? A pot roast?”
He feigned disgust as he changed lanes at the direction of our GPS guide. “You don’t think this jawline is at least worthy of a filet mignon?”
I scrunched my nose. “A New York strip, maybe. Or a sirloin.”
“A sirloin?” he repeated with a chuckle. “Now, I’m offended. Don’t make me pull this douche wagon over and kick you out.”
“Would you look at that—the jury is back in session,” I said. “And they’re saying you’re an asshole.”
He laughed, glancing in his rearview before taking the next exit.
“On a serious note, I guess I don’t really know what I like to do anymore. Though right now, meeting girls in dive bars certainly tops the list,” he said, flashing me a wink.
Heat rushed up my neck and into my cheeks. “How could you not know what you like to do?”
“It’s just been a long time since I did something purely for the enjoyment of it,” he explained. “I made music because I liked it, but at the end of the day, it was my job. I went to all those A-list parties because I wanted people to think I was someone I’m not. Back when I used to drink, it was to get drunk and forget all of my problems. I never did anything for the fun of it.”
“Sounds like tonight is exactly what you need, then.” What we both need, I added silently.
“I’m glad I ran into you. Even if you do think I’m an asshole.” He smirked at me as we inched closer to our destination ahead on the right.
My lips quirked into a grin. “At least you’re a hot asshole.”
He started to speak but I cut him off.
“And I reserve the right to change my opinion if you let it go to your head,” I said. “So I’d think long and hard about the next words that come out of your mouth.”
His mouth twitched. “Long and hard, huh?”
I swatted his arm as he pulled into a parking spot on a nearby side street.
“Hey! Ow!” He recoiled, cutting the engine. “Those were your words, not mine.”
It was true. My mind had been in the gutter all evening. And who could blame me for wondering what secrets were contained in those dark jeans he wore?
I ignored him, flipping down the mirror over the passenger seat to check my reflection. I wiped away a stray eyelash before sweeping my ChapStick over my lips.
With every move, I could feel his eyes on me.
“What?” I asked, turning to him and then back to the mirror. “Is there something on my face?”
“Huh?” He cleared his throat, running his hand along the back of his neck. “Uh, no. You look good.”
Warmth spread through my limbs as I climbed out of the car, smoothing my T-shirt over my waist. Luca joined me on the crowded sidewalk, and we started toward The Basement. A few faces flickered with recognition, including a blonde in a barely-there halter top and miniskirt who didn’t even try to hide her stare.
Seriously? I’m right here.
Not that he was with me, but we were there together. How did she know we weren’t on a date? I had half a mind to tell that girl to take a picture—that it would last longer—but before I could, Luca’s hand found the small of my back again, inadvertently letting her know that at least for tonight, he was with me.
I flashed the girl a smug smile as we pushed past her. I didn’t know if he was doing it so he wouldn’t lose me in the crowd or because he was afraid my tipsy ass might face-plant onto the dirty concrete, but I didn’t care.
Tonight was all about escaping reality.