14. Luca
FOURTEEN
Luca
“So, where should we start?” McKenzie asked from the passenger seat of my Tesla. She looked especially cute in tight black jeans, boots, and a button-up sweater that dipped in the center. The cardigan had slipped off her shoulder, revealing a lace strap, making me wonder what was hidden beneath the heavy fabric.
I cleared my throat, refocusing my attention on the road. “Actually, Dallas called the realtor he used when he moved here, so we’re meeting with her at eleven thirty over in Midtown.”
“Realtor?” she asked. “I figured you’d just be looking to rent for now.”
“I am, but apparently, she deals with fully furnished rentals too,” I explained. “She has a lot of…clients like me.”
“Ah,” she said as though it all made sense. “High profile people. Celebrities. Rock stars.”
I grimaced. “Former rock stars.”
“Pretty sure it doesn’t work like that,” she said, smiling over at me, her eyes obscured by a pair of aviators. “Once you’re in the club, you don’t get to leave.”
“Someone’s been watching too many cult documentaries,” I said with a smirk.
“Is it a club you even want to leave?” she asked, gazing out the window.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you want the band to break up?”
“There wasn’t exactly a band to continue with after Derek and Jax decided to leave.”
She pinned me with a pointed stare. “That’s not what I asked.”
I flexed my hand against the steering wheel. “No, I didn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“What for?” I asked, changing lanes. “It was bound to happen someday. Honestly, we’re lucky to have stayed together as long as we did.”
“So? That doesn’t make it any less shitty for you,” she said. “Have you considered joining another band?”
I released a heavy sigh. “Not really. I don’t think it would feel right. Midnight in Dallas worked because we had such a solid foundation as friends. The idea of starting over…I just don’t think I can do it.”
“Fair enough,” she said, and after a few beats, she asked, “Do you think you’d ever move here? You know, on a more long-term basis? Or do you have family elsewhere you might want to live close to?”
I shook my head. “All of my family’s here.”
“Really?” she asked. Her tone was content and casual, as though we were discussing the weather. “Did you grow up here or did your folks move here?”
“No, I mean the guys are my family,” I said. “I…I don’t have anyone else.”
She frowned. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“It’s okay,” I added. “You couldn’t have known.”
“Are they…” she trailed off, her eyes resting on me. “Are your parents still alive?”
I sighed. “I don’t know.”
She continued studying me, waiting for me to speak again.
“I went into state custody in Kentucky when I was ten. My father went to prison when I was about seven, and I guess it was too much for my mother to handle because she wasn’t sober for another minute of her life after that. I tried to hide it and take care of her, but eventually, one of my teachers caught on,” I said, focusing intently on the traffic in front of me as the GPS spat out directions.
“Luca…”
“I grew up in a group home until I eventually aged out of the system.”
“Fuck,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “It wasn’t an ideal upbringing, but the people that worked for the home helped me learn to be independent from an early age. By the time I graduated and found a job, I at least felt prepared to be on my own. While some kids were going on vacations with their families or playing sports, the house manager, Mr. Fink, was teaching me and the other kids about budgets and how to do things for ourselves.”
“He sounds pretty great.”
“He was,” I said with a nod. “He’s the one that got me into playing the guitar.”
“Did he teach you?”
“He taught me some,” I answered. “But once I mastered the basics, he said I needed a real professional. When I was thirteen, he introduced me to his aunt Gladys.” I couldn’t help but smile at the memory.
“Gladys?” she asked. “Did Gladys have a last name or was she like Prince?”
I chuckled. “It was Hibbert, but she was one of those people whose energy was so big she didn’t need a last name.”
“A legend,” McKenzie said.
“In her own right. She was a retired music teacher,” I said. “She was pushing sixty at the time, and she chain-smoked cigarettes like she was single-handedly keeping big tobacco in business, but the woman could rock out like Hendrix.”
She laughed then, and I glanced over, catching the way her nose crinkled when she smiled.
“That might be the coolest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said.
“She was the best,” I said. “She taught me everything. Don’t get me wrong, she was also a hard-ass and made me practice seven days a week. If we were working on a piece and I messed up, she made me start from the beginning over and over again until I got it right.”
McKenzie’s eyes widened.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I assured her. “She taught me discipline. I may not have agreed at the time, but looking back, it was definitely something I needed help with. Especially once I discovered girls.” I flashed her a mischievous grin.
She snorted. “Those pesky girls. So, what happened to Gladys? Did you keep in touch with her?”
I turned into the parking lot of the condo complex where we were meeting the realtor.
“I did,” I said. “At least, for a while. I lost track of her not long after the band made it big. I tried to get in touch with Mr. Fink, but the number I had for him wasn’t good anymore. Wherever they are, I hope they’re happy. They deserve all the good things in life.”
“So do you, you know.” There was a softness in McKenzie’s eyes when they met mine as I put the car in park. “Do you ever think about trying to find your parents?”
“I did when I was younger, but not anymore,” I answered. “Even if they tried to reach out to me, I wouldn’t respond. Too much time has passed. I don’t wish them any ill will, but I don’t wish them well either.”
“But what if we could find Gladys?” she asked as we climbed out of the car and onto the sidewalk.
“I think it’s better I don’t,” I said, letting out a long, slow breath. “At this point, the woman would be in her eighties, if she’s even alive at all. She might not even remember me.”
McKenzie’s lips quirked as I held open the door to the lobby.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“What’s that face for?”
She nudged me with her elbow. “I don’t think you could be so easily forgotten.”
“Sugar, I think I’ve shown you just about everything I’ve got.” Darcey Dubois drummed her dagger-like nails against the granite countertop in the fifth unit she’d displayed. We’d traversed the city with her showing us different high-rise apartments and penthouses, but they all felt sterile. Each one was filled with white walls and sleek lines, void of anything that resembled a home.
I scrubbed my hands down my face before exchanging glances with McKenzie.
“Surely you’ve got something else,” McKenzie said, pressing her palms against the bar.
“I thought that penthouse over in Germantown was lovely,” Darcey said, lightly touching her teased red hair, ensuring there wasn’t a single strand out of place. “The square footage was amazing for the price.”
“It was,” I said. “It was just…kind of bland.”
“But you’d be within walking distance of everything. All the restaurants and shopping, not that you do your own,” Darcey said, her heels clicking against the checkered tile.
“I don’t mind driving,” I said.
“Do you have anything that’s not smack-dab in the middle of the city?” McKenzie asked.
Darcey clicked her tongue, digging her phone out of her handbag. She pursed her crimson lips, swiping her finger over the screen.
“Well, there is one place,” she said finally. “But it might as well be in another country.”
“How far is it?” McKenzie asked.
Darcey grimaced. “About thirty minutes. It’s in Leipers Fork. It belongs to an artist who’s been living abroad for a few months. The place looks like it belongs to a bunch of hobbits.”
McKenzie snorted. “Do you have any pictures?”
Darcey nodded, handing her the phone.
I stepped behind McKenzie so I could look over her shoulder. My chest touched her back, and I caught a whiff of flowers on her hair.
“These are some wealthy hobbits,” McKenzie said, stifling a laugh.
The place was decidedly not a home for hobbits and looked more like a cottage out of a storybook. Ivy lined the stone walls outside, and it was surrounded by a wrought-iron fence and a garden filled with greenery. The inside was cozy, well-lit, and full of personality from its blue-painted front door to the sunroom that overlooked the backyard. It looked smaller than the other places Darcey had shown us, but the charming outdoor space more than made up for that.
“What do you think?” I asked McKenzie.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, scrolling through the photos. “Look at that magnolia tree out back. You could put a hammock there and probably enjoy it all the way through the first part of December with the way the weather is here. It would be the perfect place to read.” She smiled back at me. “Or write.”
A vision flashed through my mind of McKenzie resting her head against my shoulder as we swayed in a hammock surrounded by falling autumn leaves, an open notebook perched on my lap. I blinked it away.
“And there’s a claw-foot tub,” she practically purred. “I’ve always been fascinated by those.”
Another image of McKenzie appeared behind my eyes, only this one was a lot less G-rated.
I cleared my throat. “Have you ever used one?”
She shook her head. “No, but don’t they look kind of magical? How could anyone be sad in a claw-foot tub?”
“You’d be losing about a thousand square feet,” Darcey interrupted, “and the gas fireplace like the units I’ve shown you. It has a woodburning—”
“I’ll take it,” I said, cutting her off.
McKenzie turned to me with wide eyes. “Really?”
“Don’t you want to see it first?” Darcey asked.
“She has a point,” McKenzie said. “It might be worth checking out. Just to make sure there aren’t any hobbits hiding in the attic.”
“If there are, they can help with the rent,” I joked.
“Afraid not, honey,” Darcey drawled. “Unless you can get them to cosign the lease.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “They can keep me company.”
“If you’re sure, I can call over to the office and have them start the paperwork,” Darcey said.
I placed my hands on McKenzie’s shoulders and squeezed. “Let’s do it.”
“So, how does it feel to officially have your own place in Nashville?” McKenzie asked later that evening. After finishing with Darcey, we’d ended up tucked into the back corner of a hole-in-the-wall tavern polishing off a dinner comprised of every appetizer they had on the menu.
“Technically, it’s not mine,” I reminded her over the screech of someone singing off-key karaoke to an old Hank Williams track.
“It is for at least the next six months,” she said, popping a fried pickle into her mouth. “With an option to extend for three more months after that.”
“Thanks for thinking of that, by the way,” I said, dipping one of the batter-covered slices into a cup of ranch dressing.
She shrugged. “I just figured it was worth having the choice. You never know. You might find a reason to stay.”
What if I’ve already found one? The thought snuck up on me like a thief in a dark alley. McKenzie didn’t seem to realize the weight of her words or the effect they’d had on me. She was too busy scooping as many toppings as she could onto a chip from our plate of nachos.
“And that garden out back will be the perfect place for you to write,” she continued, finally popping the chip into her mouth. “But you do need a hammock.”
“Definitely,” I said, wiping my fingers over the napkin in my lap. “Actually, there’s probably a few things I’ll need to get settled in. Maybe you could, uh, help me?”
Her eyes met mine, and I swiftly added, “Because your place is just so cozy, you know? I want that too.”
A dazzling smile spread over her lips, so big it nearly made her eyes disappear.
“What?” I asked.
“Don’t you know what this means?”
“A trip to Restoration Hardware?”
“No!” She balled up the wrapper of her straw and threw it at me. “I get to take you thrifting.”
I couldn’t help the grin that stretched across my own face. Her excitement was contagious.
“I’d like that.”
Her happiness spilled over like a bubbly soda that had been poured too fast. I drank her in as she detailed all of the stores we would visit and some of the best finds she’d discovered at each one.
We continued to talk long after the bill had been paid and our plates had been cleared. The bar had become packed, and karaoke had been replaced with a live band singing covers of songs from the late 90s and early 2000s.
“They’re pretty good,” McKenzie said, nodding toward the small stage.
“Yeah, they are,” I replied. The group was made up of four guys who barely looked old enough to drink. The lead guitarist was pale and lanky and reminded me a little of myself way back when. Talented enough to be sure of himself, but too overcome with insecurity to allow room for such confidence. He hid it behind an aloof exterior, but when he thought no one was looking, he scanned the faces of the crowd for their approval.
Everyone erupted into cheers as the band finished their version of a classic Aerosmith tune. Seconds later, they played the opening notes of a My Chemical Romance song I’d have recognized anywhere.
McKenzie gasped and grabbed my hand.
“Come on,” she said, jumping to her feet. “We’re dancing. And hey, I’m not even drinking, so the chances that I’ll end up puking are slim to none.”
“Oh, I—” I began, trying to find a reason not to, but she stopped me in my tracks.
“They’re playing our song.”
She tossed a flirtatious smile at me, and I allowed her to pull me from the booth, unable to resist the siren call of her hips as they began to sway. She dragged me a few feet from our table toward the back of the room and laced her fingers through mine. I spun her around, and she threw her head back with laughter as I matched her energy, bounce for bounce.
How had she bloomed so beautifully in the weeds life had sown around her? I longed to pick that wildflower and keep her all to myself, but what if I did and my own shortcomings caused her to wilt?
What if she never grew back?
The song transitioned into something with a slower beat, and she slid her hands up my chest, resting them behind my neck while my own curled around her waist. God, I wanted to kiss her, but what if that scared her away? On her own, she was strong and resilient. But what I felt between us was delicate—formed from a connection of shadows and a mutual understanding of what lurked there.
She leaned in closer. “Luca, I—”
But before she could finish that sentence, a tall hipster-looking guy loomed over us, wearing jeans so tight I was surprised he could breathe.
“Shit,” he said, knocking into my shoulder, pushing me apart from McKenzie. “You’re Luca fucking Sterling.”
I nodded at him in a greeting. “Good to see you.” I hoped it would be enough to satisfy him, so I could return my focus to McKenzie, who was shooting eye daggers at the guy.
“I’m such a big fan, dude,” he continued. “What are you doing here? This place is a shithole.”
I tightened a protective arm around McKenzie. “Just hanging out.”
Surely, that would give him the hint.
“I’m buying you shots,” he said, his voice rising. McKenzie’s eyes darted around, clearly worried about the same thing I was: if he got any louder, he’d draw attention to me, and any hope for a peaceful evening would fly out the window.
“I’m good, actually,” I said. “But I appreciate it.”
“Aw, come on,” he pressed. “Have a drink with me.”
He started to wave over a couple of his buddies who were carbon copies of him. One of them already had their phone out.
“No, thank you,” I said a bit more firmly this time.
But he would not be deterred. Instead, he plucked his phone out of his pocket.
“I want to take a picture with you,” he slurred, and McKenzie flashed me a worried glance. “My girlfriend’s never gonna believe I met you.”
I held out my hand to stop him. “Not tonight, man. I’m just here trying to have a good time.”
He recoiled like he’d been slapped. “Seriously, dude? It’s just a fucking picture. What—are you too good to talk to your fans now?”
“That’s not it,” I began, but McKenzie squared up to the hipster dipshit, and I tightened my grip on her.
“He said no ,” McKenzie spat through gritted teeth.
His gaze shifted to her for a second too long, and I thought I was about to get into my first sober bar fight. But then he brought his stony face back to me, glaring as though he was sizing me up.
“Whatever,” the guy said, leaning close enough that I could smell the gin on his breath. “Everybody knows Jax was the real talent. You’re nothing but a fucking drunk and—”
His tirade was interrupted when McKenzie’s fist connected with his mouth in a resounding thud that told me both he and McKenzie would be hurting in the morning.
“He. Said. No,” she barked, not backing down. “Leave him alone.”
The guy swiped his hand over his bleeding lip. “You little bitch.”
He took a step closer to her, and that was all it took for me to break. With fistfuls of his shirt clutched in my hands, I slammed him into the nearest wall.
“Touch her and fucking die,” I snapped. “Do you understand me?”
Suddenly, he was out of words.
“Say it,” I seethed.
“I understand,” he said without looking at me.
McKenzie tugged on my arm. “Luca, we have to go.”
The bouncer stalked toward us, and I released the asshole with one last shove.
As security got closer, he found his voice again. “You’re a piece of shit, you know that? You’ll fucking regret this.”
I didn’t turn around as we headed for the door. With one arm around McKenzie’s shoulders, I held my other high enough that he would see it and gave him my middle finger.