CHAPTER 29
TYLER
Two weeks later, Tyler’s phone buzzed on her desk. It was Cary, calling on FaceTime—not a surprise, considering they’d been glued to their phones since he left. She answered, leaving her office door open. Sebastien was away, and Lara wasn’t at her desk where she was supposed to be.
“Hi!” Tyler said. “How are you?”
“Pack your bags!” Cary sounded like a game show host giving away a free vacation.
“Why?” She tilted her head. “What’s happening?”
“I booked you a flight, babe. You’re meeting me in Austin next week.”
“You booked it?” She raised an eyebrow, not believing him.
“Okay, Kim booked it.” He rolled his eyes, copping to it. “She checked your calendar, so don’t worry about Sebastien finding out.”
She scanned his tour itinerary on her computer, not remembering a break in his schedule. “Aren’t you playing a show the next night?”
“It’s being rescheduled as we speak,” he said. “Tommy’s taking care of it.”
“Fucking Tommy.” She pressed her tongue against her teeth.
“Yeah, I know, but there’s some problem with the venue and I’d rather reschedule than cancel it.”
“Why Austin?” She shrugged. “Can’t you come home instead? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m excited to see you.”
“Austin’s one of my favorite cities. They have an incredible music scene and the best Mexican food north of the border.”
“I’ve been,” she assured him. “I’ve been to South by.”
South by Southwest—SXSW—was one of the biggest music festivals in the US, but she found it about as useful as Vancouver’s hockey team in a game seven: all hype, no results. She’d gone a few years back and quickly realized everyone was there to party, not to actually listen to music.
“South by?” he repeated. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. You need to experience Austin outside of the festival.”
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it.”
The following Saturday, Tyler and Cary woke up in the Governor’s Suite at the Four Seasons Hotel.
His tour bus had made the overnight trek from San Antonio to Austin, arriving just in time to scoop her from the airport.
The band and crew were grateful for a day off in the live music capital of the world—ready to do their part to keep Austin weird.
“What’s the plan?” she asked, hoping to spend the day in bed, or at least the morning. Their suite was luxury at its finest, having a magnificent view of Lady Bird Lake. “We have a Rory-free day since Kim insisted on keeping him.”
“I’m sure she gets lonely on the road.” He swept back the hair from his face. “I thought we’d visit a few museums and then check out some music later. But first I’d like to pay my respects.”
She used a pillow to prop up her head. “Your respects?”
He nodded. “Stevie Ray Vaughan.”
“His grave?” she asked.
“No, he’s buried in Dallas, but there’s a statue here.” He closed his eyes before he went on, “I was just a kid but it hit me really hard, his death. I know I’m a rock guy but everything comes from the blues.”
“I know how to take your mind off the blues.” She traced her finger down the middle of his chest, teasing him until she reached his boxer briefs.
“You’re in trouble.” He tugged the sheet around them, wrapping her up snug against him.
She rolled over and straddled him. “Double trouble.”
After dinner at Manuel’s, Tyler and Cary wandered through the neon-lit Red River District, eventually landing on 5th Street outside Antone’s Nightclub, where the thrum of live music spilled onto the sidewalk.
“Cary goddamn Kingston, as I live and breathe.” A door attendant greeted him with a smile, extending his hand. “Reggie. Big fan.”
Cary needed a better disguise than wearing his glasses. “Nice meeting you, Reggie,” Cary said. “This is Tyler.”
She waved and asked, “What’s it like in there?”
Reggie turned toward the entrance and lowered his head. “Indie music. Mostly college kids.” He shook his head and frowned, seemingly embarrassed by their patrons. “A lot of guys with beards and flannel.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound too promising,” Cary said. “But since we’re already here . . .”
“Follow me.” Reggie waved, leading them inside.
They followed Reggie as he parted the crowd, seating them at a reserved table at the side of the stage. Reggie was right. They could have easily been in Portland or Seattle without knowing the difference.
Fucking hipsters.
Reggie asked, “What’ll it be?”
“I’ll go to the bar.” Tyler stood from her seat. “You’ve done enough. Thank you. Really.”
“It ain’t no bother.” Reggie pointed to the line at the bar, fifty people deep. “You’ll be waiting a goddamn hour otherwise, Mrs. Kingston.”
She grabbed her chest and sucked in a breath. “I’m not . . . we’re not . . . I’m . . .” She fanned her sundress to diffuse the heat. “I’m his girlfriend,” she clarified while Cary cracked up like it was the funniest thing.
Shut up, Cary.
“You’d better put a ring on it,” Reggie said.
“I’m planning on it, Reggie.” Cary winked at the doorman.
Really?
Reggie mustered a chuckle. “What’ll it be?”
“Beer?” She shrugged at Cary.
“We’ll have two beers, please,” Cary answered. “And we’re paying full price.”
“It’s on the house,” Reggie said. “Your money’s no good here.”
“I insist, Reggie.” Cary pulled out his wallet and flashed a twenty-dollar bill.
“Cary goddamn Kingston,” Reggie said and walked away, not taking his money.
The room was at capacity, but luckily, the hipsters hadn’t spotted Cary—or if they had, they were too cool to acknowledge him. Even their server ignored them when she dropped off their beers. For once they were enjoying themselves like a regular couple until she glanced at the stage.
Chris? No. It can’t be.
Chris was the drummer in her ex-boyfriend’s band, and she hadn’t seen him in years. As far as drummers went, he was tolerable, but what were the chances of him being there?
Apparently, one hundred percent.
Fuck! The rest of the band, including Dave, walked across the stage. Was this some joke? She scanned the room for hidden cameras, convinced she was being punked.
The house lights flashed on Dave’s olive-green eyes and he squinted, holding his hand above his chiseled face.
Loose black curls hung past his shoulders and he tousled his locks while a few girls screamed.
Ugh, spare me. He wore a tight black T-shirt that hugged his lean muscles, although he never worked out a day in his life.
Dave adjusted the microphone stand to match his 6‘2“ frame and scanned the crowd, focusing on the tables near the stage. When his gaze locked with Tyler’s, he flashed a sexy grin—until he noticed the person beside her, his jaw unhinging like a picture frame slipping from its hook.
That’s right, asshole. I’ve upgraded.
With an aggressive grab of the microphone, Dave counted his band in. The song was the fourth track from their second record, one of their self-proclaimed hits.
She closed her eyes and shook her head, disgusted with herself for remembering the album sequence. During their set a wave of bile inched up her chest, quickening her pulse with every word he sang. Was she going to puke or have a heart attack?
“They’re not that good,” Cary said, casually drinking his beer.
She nodded, keeping her expression neutral. “Yeah, they’re pretty bad.”
After Dave’s band finished their set, Cary flashed his wallet at their server.
“It’s been taken care of by some fans,” she said, setting down two bottles of beer on the table.
“Here.” He took out a twenty-dollar bill. “This is for you.” He turned his head and leaned back in his chair. “I’m happy to say hi to them or sign an autograph.”
She plucked the bill from Cary’s hand. “It’s from those guys over there.”
Shit.
Tyler spotted Dave strutting over, all smug confidence, while the first four notes of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony droned in her head. Was it too late to trade in her birthday wish?
“Tyler,” Dave said, smirking.
Cary narrowed his eyes, looking suspicious. “How do you know each other?”
“I’m Dave.”
Cary gave him a blank stare, then looked at Tyler.
“He’s just someone I used to know—an old friend,” Tyler said, skimming over the five years of intimacy they’d shared. She hated how much she’d let him get away with, how easily she’d forgiven. It was hard to accept how naive she’d been.
“I’m not old,” Dave said while staring at Cary, trying to get a rise out of him.
“I mean, we used to be friends,” she clarified, ignoring the insinuation that her boyfriend was older than him.
“With benefits,” Dave added for good measure.
When you weren’t too drunk, that is.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “In Austin?” She could have cared less about his answer, but she needed to change the subject before he started to talk about the past.
“We’re touring before South by . . . Chris needs the practice. You know, it was kind of a train wreck.” It was always someone else’s fault—not a shocker. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
She gulped down a swig of beer. “Cary’s show . . . I mean, his show got canceled, so we’re hanging out down here.”
“That’s right, you work at SDM.” Dave faked a laugh as if he’d forgotten.
She balled her hand into a fist under the table. Just because she didn’t believe in violence didn’t mean she wasn’t fantasizing about it.
“She’s not here on business.” Cary grabbed her hand and put it on the table. “She’s here with me.”
“What?” Dave threw his head back and laughed maniacally. “Are you guys together or something?”
“It’s none of your business.” She owed him nothing—less than nothing, actually.
“She’s my girlfriend.” Cary interlaced his fingers with hers and squeezed them. “I don’t cheat on her either, in case you were wondering.”
Nice one. She stretched out her hand to loosen his grip while Cary’s eyes turned dark and cold behind his glasses. He guzzled his beer with his free hand and slammed the bottle on the table, causing a racket.
Was he jealous of this piece of shit?
Towering over her, Dave rested his hand on the back of her chair. “I guess you won’t be having that baby, after all. Them’s the breaks, Tyler.”