10. Nash
10
NASH
Present—1989.
A sharp knock at the door wakes me from the nightmare about my mother. Thank God . I roll onto my back and groan, rubbing at my sore eyes, the fading images of the posters in my old room blurring to black spots. The light shining in through the curtains makes me beyond angry, but I was the idiot who left them open, so that’s on me.
The knocking continues, so I force myself to sit upright in bed. “If you don’t fucking stop knocking, I swear to God…”
“Nash, there is someone here to see you.”
I frown at Johnny’s words. Someone is here to see me? Glancing over at the square alarm radio on the bedside table, it reads 4:35 in the afternoon.
Fuck . Did I sleep the entire day away? That’ll teach me not to drink almost an entire bottle of Jack and snort so much blow that I pass the fuck out for nearly twelve hours. The last thing I remember is Johnny calling up some girls to stop by for the party he wanted to throw. Other than that, my memory is a hazy blur.
I drop my head into my hands and groan. “Fuck. My head is killing me.” Rubbing at my temples, I call out to Johnny, “Who is it?”
A pause.
“The pretty blonde girl who stopped by the other week to see you.”
My head snaps up at his words. The little devil is here to see me? After the way I snapped at her at the award show a couple of days ago, I’m surprised she even wants to see me again. I was a dick, that’s for sure, but at least now she’ll know not to ask about my deadbeat parents. I had to make it clear they were off-limits before we got too deep into the contract.
Flinging the black sheets off me, I swing my legs over the side of the mattress and cradle my head in my hands. “Okay. Tell her I’ll be down in a minute.”
Johnny’s footsteps retreat down the hallway, and a tired sigh escapes my lips. My limbs are heavy as exhaustion consumes my body. It’s a feeling I have grown quite accustomed to over the years. However, it doesn’t get any easier as the days pass.
Having nightmares every night about my childhood certainly doesn’t help either.
With a sigh, I get to my feet and realize I’m completely naked. God, what the hell happened before I fell asleep?
Walking into my closet, I grab a pair of black sweatpants and a plain black T-shirt. My eyes drift toward the scruffy brown bear sitting on the shelf above my hung clothes, its black beady eyes staring down at me, taunting me with the memories I wish to forget. It’s seen just as much shit as I have.
I don’t know why I haven’t thrown the fucking thing in the trash after all these years. Maybe because it’s the one thing I have from my childhood that brought me any comfort or happiness. My mom gifted it to me on my sixth birthday with a smile on her face and love in her eyes. I took the damn thing with me everywhere, to the point he needed to be washed weekly and have his eyes sewn back on every other month.
Even now, as I stand here staring at the fucking bear, memories of taking it to the local park with my mother flash in my mind, reminding me of a time when she did love me. She would laugh and run around the playground with me, going along with whatever made up world I had created in that moment.
But something flipped inside of her. A woman once filled with love and care for me turned into someone who couldn’t stand to look at me. She had so much hatred in her heart that I saw it reflected in her eyes every day.
As much as I want to throw it in the trash, never to be seen again, I can’t.
With a sigh, I slip the shirt over my head and pad down the quiet hallway. As I pass the guest bedroom beside the staircase, I peer in to see a naked woman and man I don’t recognize lying on either side of Hudson, cradled against his side. A thin white sheet covers their lower halves, thank fuck. All three of them are in a deep sleep, not noticing my presence at all. I groan and continue walking. Seeing my bandmate with naked people in my house is not an unusual occurrence for me.
Johnny is waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase. He points to the living room. “I left her on the couch while she waited.”
I nod and slap a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks. Can you make me a coffee, please? And bring me two Tylenol. My head is fucking killing me.”
Johnny smiles. “Your usual? Coming right up.” He turns and walks down the hallway to the kitchen.
Inhaling sharply, I walk toward the living room. A large black leather couch occupies the vast space. Black and white artworks cover the walls and on the far wall adjacent to the television is my record player and a shelf filled with all the records I have collected over the years.
As I approach the room, I spot a head of blonde hair sitting on the couch. Her head is turned toward the record player, likely admiring the vast collection I own. I lean my shoulder against the door frame and clear my throat. “Like what you see?”
A surprised gasp leaves her lips, and she spins on the couch to look at me. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Not long.” I push off the wall and walk further into the room. Ocean eyes follow my movements until I stop by the foot of the couch.
She points to the records. “Is that your collection?”
I nod. “I’ve had some of those records since I was at least eight or nine. I can’t remember. I’ve been collecting for years.”
The little devil nods slowly, impressed. “It’s an impressive collection.”
I want to tell her it is indeed a great collection but is also a constant fucking reminder of my shit childhood and the even shitter people who pretended to raise me, but I don’t. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I fight them back and clear my throat.
“Why are you here?” I ask, getting straight to the point. With this killer headache, I don’t feel like interacting with anyone.
She bites her bottom lip and folds her hands in her lap. She’s wearing a double denim outfit today, consisting of jeans and a jacket, with a plain white T-shirt underneath. I watch as she picks at the skin around her fingernails, meeting my eyes.
“I wanted to apologize for overstepping my boundaries at the award show. I didn’t know your parents are a touchy subject for you, so… I’m sorry.”
I drag my lip ring between my teeth and regard her for a moment. The little devil has a fiery personality and isn’t afraid to stand up for herself, so I’m surprised to hear the words I’m sorry come from that pretty mouth of hers.
“Apology accepted,” I respond, not in the mood to come up with a smartass comment. “Is there anything in your life that is off-limits for conversations?”
Her bright eyes widen at my words, not expecting me to say such a thing. I mean, it’s only fair we both have one off-limit topic.
“Um,” she says slowly, chewing on her bottom lip. I clench my jaw to distract myself from how hot the little devil looks with her plump lip between her teeth. My cock twitches at the sight, but I fight it off the best I can. Now is not the time . “I guess my parents are off-limit too.”
I raise a brow at her. “It seems both of us don’t want to talk about our parents.”
She shrugs. “We both have our secrets, I guess.”
That’s a fucking understatement .
“Okay, well…”
Blondie stands from the couch and turns to me. “I do want to ask you one more thing.”
Of course she fucking does .
“Shoot.”
“What did you do after the award show when you left?”
I cast my memory to only a couple of nights ago when James dropped me home after the show and told me to behave myself. Of course I did my best, but I don’t make promises. I grabbed a bottle of Jack, went to my studio, and played around with a melody that had been stuck in the back of my mind for several days. Images of the ocean wouldn’t leave my mind. Eventually, I drank so much I passed out on one of the couches.
“I was in the studio,” I say, leaving out the rest of the details. “Why?”
“I just…” She drags her bottom lip between her teeth again and inhales slowly. “After hearing the origin story of Dark Angel, I must admit I’m curious about what it is you do when making music.”
My brows shoot up involuntarily. Of all the things Kinsley could have said, that was the last thing I expected to hear. Most of the time when I bring a woman home, they are only interested in getting into my bed naked, desperate for me to fuck them, which I have no problem with. But this… is new for me.
Upon seeing my surprised expression, her brows crease into a frown. “I mean… unless you don’t want to share that with me. I understand we don’t know each other well and it’s a personal process?—”
“It’s fine,” I interrupt. It seems she is the type to ramble when nervous. Some might find it annoying, but I think it’s endearing. “I can show you around the studio if you like.”
The little devil smiles and nods. “Sounds great.”
I gesture for her to follow me down the hallway that leads to the studio. When we enter, the lights are switched off, so I flick them on, illuminating the large space. I turn to Kinsley to see her bright eyes wide as they take in the space. She slowly enters the room, gazing around at the expensive equipment. She reaches out and traces her fingertips along the soundboard.
I have never allowed a woman into the studio because it’s a private space that is personal to me. It’s where I create the music that speaks to my heart, and allows me to use other avenues to release the constant pressure in my chest. It’s where I come to be myself, which is a luxury in this industry.
But when the little devil asked to see it, I couldn’t find a reason to say no. And that confuses the fuck out of me because I hate people invading my comfort space, but when it’s Kinsley, I don’t seem to mind one fucking bit, and that scares me.
“Did you build this room?” she asks, turning to look at me.
I nod. “The band didn’t want to rent a studio space, so I offered to build one so we would always have a studio to go to whenever inspiration struck.”
“And has it?” she questions softly.
I frown. “Has what?”
“Inspiration struck.” She turns and looks at the soundboard once again. “I know a new record is on the horizon for Dark Angel, so I’m sure you’re working on something new. But has anything stuck out to you that is just screaming to have a song written about it?”
I rub the back of my neck to release the tension in the muscles. “Not yet. I guess you could say I’m feeling a little stuck. Nothing has been inspiring enough in my daily life to write a song about it.”
“Nothing?” Kinsley quizzes.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“What about your bandmates? Or the other people in your life?” I watch as she walks over to one of the couches and sits down with a plop. She runs her hands over the material before meeting my gaze. “Surely there has to be something.”
I walk over to the other couch and drop down onto it. “Not unless I want to write a song about Johnny.”
The little devil snorts, the sound echoing across the room. “I hate to break it to you, but a song about him wouldn’t be a record-breaking track.”
I drag my bottom lip between my teeth to bite back a smile. “No, I suppose you’re right.”
Speak of the Devil, a sharp knock sounds at the door before Johnny enters with a wooden tray. He places it down on the wooden table in front of me. “Here is your coffee and Tylenol. I also made you a grilled cheese in case you were hungry.”
“Thanks, Johnny.”
Kinsley is watching Johnny with cautious eyes as he nods at me and exits the room. Leaning forward, I eye the sandwich and coffee. Deciding I’m not hungry, I grab the coffee mug and throw the little pills into my mouth. As I swallow them down, I feel two blue eyes watching me.
“A breakfast of champions, I see.”
I set the mug down on the tray. “Oh, you’ve never had coffee and Tylenol for breakfast? You’re missing out, little devil.”
She rolls her eyes. “I have, actually.”
I raise a brow at her. “That’s surprising. I would ask why but I’m not sure you’d tell me.”
A pained look shoots across her features before she responds, “Maybe one day.” She leans back further against the couch and sighs. “That Johnny guy gives me the creeps.”
I take another sip of coffee, hoping it’ll make me feel more alive and distract me from the aftereffects of cocaine lingering in my body. “Don’t worry about him. He means well.”
“Is he a friend or just someone who lingers around your house?”
I shrug. “Both, I guess. Anyway, do you want to talk about the people I hang out with or my music?”
“Your music,” she answers quickly. “Is there anything you can show me? Or is whatever you’re working on top secret?”
I stand from the couch and walk over to where my black acoustic guitar sits on its stand by the other guitars. I’ve had this instrument since I was seventeen. The wood is chipped in some places from years of wear and tear, but my favorite detail is the date of our first ever Dark Angel show in 1981. Axel told me it would be a good idea to carve the date into the wood so I never forget where we started. It’s oddly sentimental coming from him, but he was right.
“Just because you stopped by to apologize, I’ll show you a melody I’ve been working on. But fair warning, it’s nowhere near complete yet.”
“Right, because you haven’t found the inspiration for the lyrics yet.”
I smile as I sit back down on the couch and adjust the guitar on my thigh, my fingers strumming the strings lightly. I find myself smiling more around the little devil and while it pisses me off, I don’t hate it either. “You’re a quick learner.”
“And you’re still an asshole, remember?”
I burst out laughing, and the little devil can’t help but chuckle at her jab. God, this woman knows how to keep me on my toes.
“You know, for a goodie two shoes, you sure are witty,” I say, lifting my eyes to meet hers.
She raises a curious brow at me. “Oh, is that what you really think of me?”
“Among other things, but those thoughts are top secret.”
Kinsley playfully rolls her eyes. “I stand corrected about you being an asshole.”
I bite back an amused smile and look down at the strings beneath my fingers. Out of instinct, I strum them to create the simple melody that has been playing on repeat in my mind for the past week or so. It’s a simple rift that has the potential to be a great rock ballad, but no lyrics jump out at me each time I play the melody, and it’s driving me fucking insane.
For once, I’m searching for inspiration that doesn’t want to show itself. It’s a new experience for me and not one I’m enjoying. I’m used to lyrics presenting themselves to me easily, but not this time.
“It’s beautiful,” Kinsley breathes.
I feel her eyes on me, but I don’t meet them. Instead, I find myself getting lost in the melody once again, desperate for inspiration to strike.
I don’t know how long we sit like this—me strumming the melody repeatedly while she listens intently. But it’s weirdly… nice and calming, which is not something I’m used to.
When nothing momentous comes to me, I stop strumming and sigh. It’s on the tip of my tongue—I can feel it. But nothing is coming to me. At least not yet.
I lay the guitar down on the couch beside me and close my eyes. My fingers rub at my temples to relieve the pain behind my eyes before I run a hand through my messy hair. “Anyway, that’s all that I’ve got.”
“I think it’s great,” Kinsley says with a smile. “Thank you for showing me.”
Before I can respond, the door to the studio swings open. Hudson stands in the doorway with his cock and balls hanging freely. His unfocused eyes and bed hair tell me he just woke up.
I jump to my feet, blocking Kinsley's view of him. A deep rage bubbles in the pit of my stomach at the audacity of this fucking man. I wish he would learn how to knock or put some goddamn pants on. “What the fuck, Hud. Put some fucking clothes on before you start wandering around my house.”
He rubs a hand down his cheek and blinks rapidly before meeting my gaze through messy locks of blonde hair. “Sorry, man. I was just looking for you to make sure you were all right.”
I frown. What the hell is he talking about? “Me? Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
He shrugs and scratches the back of his head. I hate that he hasn’t made a move to cover himself, but then again, it’s not something I haven’t seen before. Kin on the other hand… “Because I heard you screaming from your bedroom. And not the good kind where I know you’re getting your dick sucked off to the stars.”
Screaming? I have no fucking clue what he’s talking about. I didn’t have a girl in my room last night. That I know of. I pinch the bridge of my nose as my headache worsens. “Hudson, you must be hearing shit. Now go put on some fucking clothes, please. Jesus.”
He nods and turns to walk back down the hallway. When he rounds the corner, I close the door and slump down on the couch.
The little devil clears her throat. “Well, that was something. I appreciate you blocking my line of sight.”
I lift my eyes to meet hers. I don’t know why my first thought was to block her view of my bandmate's junk when she is a grown woman who can look at whatever she likes. I shake away the odd feeling in my chest, putting it down to needing a fucking cigarette and a drink.
“Well, I would rather not scar your vision this early in the contract.”
She bites back a smile and nods. “Speaking of the contract, Adam mentioned we need to be pictured in public again with each other.”
This contract is becoming a hindrance in my life, but James was right, which I hate to admit. Dark Angel’s popularity has increased significantly since the award show. The label is making plans to do a few local shows in Los Angeles before we go on a world tour in a few of months. The prospect of touring again makes me ecstatic. Playing our songs and listening to our fans cheer for us and sing along fills me with endorphins not even drugs or alcohol can provide.
And I have the little devil sitting across from me to thank for that.
“What do you have in mind?”
“I was thinking you could stop by the set for the movie I’m currently filming,” she suggests. “It’ll be low-key enough that we won’t be swarmed by the paps, but it’ll drum up enough talk that the tabloids will hear about it.”
I consider her idea for a moment. Despite having a busy schedule in the studio and a few photoshoots for magazines, it won’t be hard to stop by the set for an hour or two. Just long enough for someone to snap a few photos to sell to the tabloids and get our names in the headlines.
“Count me in,” I say after a moment of silence. “When should I stop by?”
“I’ll be on set all day on Thursday. You can stop by anytime.”
“Should I plant another kiss on you again? Or would you like that too much?” I remember how soft her lips were when I kissed her in the car to stop her panic attack. I don’t know why I did it other than I know the feeling of your chest being so tight you can’t breathe and your mind wandering to dark places. And for whatever reason, I didn’t want to see her in pain like that.
But I will admit I enjoyed kissing her more than I should have.
The little devil rolls her eyes and reaches over the wooden table to slap me on the shoulder. I want to laugh at her pathetic attempt to hurt me, but instead, I smile because seeing her feisty stirs something deep within my soul.
“And here I was thinking we were finally getting along,” she murmurs.
I drag my lip ring between my teeth and smirk. “Don’t get used to it, little devil.”