Chapter 1 #2
When my dad mentioned my job at the studio, Asher asked me about one of the bands I worked with, and suddenly I snapped out of whatever boy coma I’d fallen into. For the rest of the evening, we bonded over our shared love of music.
It was…nice.
LuAnn shrugs. “The gossip sites are saying she did it ’cause she thought his career was going stagnant and thought a scandal would give him a boost. Personally…
” She makes an overexaggerated gesture and points to herself.
“I think she’s just another scorned lover and released those photos to get revenge. ”
She’s wrong, of course, but LuAnn isn’t one to rely heavily on facts. Not the best trait to have, especially considering her chosen profession, if you ask me.
I don’t get a chance to tell her this, though, because my phone starts vibrating, alerting me to a call. I grab it from its spot next to my half-eaten plate of chicken marsala.
I’ve never been happier to see my dad’s name pop up on my screen.
“Sorry.” I fake an apology. “I have to take this.”
I really don’t. I doubt it’s an emergency, but I get up from the table anyway, grateful for any chance to get away. When I’m a decent distance away from the group, I hit the answer button and greet him. “Hi, Daddy. What’s up?”
“Hey, kiddo. Am I catching you at a bad time?”
“No,” I answer, darting into the hallway where the restrooms are. It’s quiet here. Hopefully, he can’t hear the noise from the dining room. “Perfect, actually.”
“Good.” He sounds nervous, and I instantly start to panic. Maybe there is an emergency? Are my siblings okay? My niece? Mom?
“What’s wrong, Dad?”
“Nothing,” he answers. But it doesn’t sound like nothing. “I just have a favor to ask, and I think it would be best if I asked it in person. Do you mind stopping by the house tonight?”
I check my watch. It’s already eight o’clock. I’m in downtown LA, and my parents live in Malibu. If he’s asking me to drive there tonight instead of waiting until the morning, it must be important.
“Yeah,” I answer. “I’ll be there in a bit.”
“Good.” He breathes out a relieved breath. “Oh, and Merc?”
“Yeah?”
“You can say no, okay?”
My brows furrow as I stand in the empty hallway. “Say no to what, Dad?”
“I just want you to know that. Before you get here. You’re allowed to say no.”
“You’re not making any sense. Are you getting enough sleep?”
He chuckles. “No. But I’ll see you soon. Drive safe.”
He hangs up, and I’m left wondering, what exactly am I about to get myself into?
After another fake apology to the women at the table and a quick swipe of my debit card for my meal, I am on my way.
One of the fun things about living in LA—I say this sarcastically—is that traffic is always a bit of a guessing game.
A forty-minute drive can be quick, or it can take half an afternoon, so arriving anywhere on time takes skill.
I’ve heard it’s the same in every major city. Lots of people mean lots of traffic. But I’m convinced it’s worse here. No mass transit system, an unhealthy attachment to cars, and crazy commutes make it as much a part of our culture as warm weather and surfing.
But tonight, luckily, the drive is relatively short, and I reach Malibu in record time.
Most people would describe my parents’ home as impressive, even a bit extravagant.
With its lush landscaping and mid-century modern style, it sits on the coast, offering breathtaking views of the Pacific.
The interior combines luxury with the California-casual vibe my mother has spent years perfecting.
But to me…it just feels like home.
Stepping inside, I instantly feel the stress of the day melt away. Snobby sorority sisters and long hours at the studio are forgotten as I slip off my shoes and walk through the open foyer to the living room to find my father.
All I could think about on the drive here was what he might need from me that would make him so nervous. The man runs a massive corporation and manages the lives of rock stars. I didn’t even know he got nervous anymore.
Just before I reach the living room, I come to an abrupt halt as my brother’s voice breaks the silence.
Hendrix says in a heated tone, “It’s not fair for us to ask this of her.”
“We’ve tried everything else,” Zander replies.
Zander is here, too?
Zander is the lead guitarist and backup vocalist for Manic at Midnight. He’s also my honorary brother and Hendrix’s best friend. Like Hendrix, he was a late addition to the band after they had to fire their original member for some very questionable behavior.
To say they’ve had a few rough years is an understatement.
“He’s not answering any of our calls or texts, Hen,” Zander continues. “And when Darius went to see him at his family’s estate, he was turned away.”
Family’s estate?
Surely, they can’t be talking about…
“Maybe Daruis isn’t as charming as everyone thinks he is,” my brother says in a slightly mocking tone.
I roll my eyes. “You’re just mad at him ’cause he won’t stop flirting with Zara,” Zander quips.
“He does it right in front of me, the little asshole!”
Zander snorts. “Only because he knows it drives you crazy. You know he’d never go there. He just likes to give you shit.”
“I don’t see him giving you shit,” Hen grumbles.
“He knows better.” Zander laughs. “Plus, Elena once let him read a scene from one of her books and—”
“What the fuck?” Hen interrupts him. “I’m your best friend. Why does he get your wife’s books? You still won’t even tell me her pen name!”
“It was a deleted scene from a book she ultimately scrapped. And like I told you the first hundred times you whined about it, she hasn’t told anyone her pen name. She—”
“Yeah, yeah…” His voice is tinged with annoyance. “She doesn’t want your music career to affect her writing career. I know.”
“Exactly. Anyway, after he read it, I think he got a little scared of my wife.”
“Well, she does write crime fiction. Or at least, that’s what I’ve been told. Can’t confirm since I haven’t actually read any of her books.”
I swear I can hear Zander roll his eyes from here. Hendrix can be a real drama queen when he’s fixated on something.
“You gonna stand out here and eavesdrop all night, kiddo?”
I let out a high-pitched squeal, clutching my chest as I turn to see my dad standing there with two water bottles, a soda, and a beer wedged between his hands.
He chuckles as my heartbeat slows down. With his salt-and-pepper hair, beard, and hipster glasses, he looks like David Grohl and one of the guys from ZZ Top all rolled into one. “God, Dad. You scared me.”
“I can see that. Wanna help me with these?”
“Oh, yeah. Of course.” I grab the two water bottles, knowing one is for me. I drink soda only on rare occasions, and I hate beer.
We step into the living room, and I’m greeted by my brother’s amused grin.
He’s dressed down in a pair of sweats and a hoodie, probably trying to hide his appearance on his way here.
But it’s hard to disguise that face. His dark-blue eyes twinkle with mischief.
“Still lurching in hallways listening to adult conversations, Merc?”
I glare at him, tempted to chuck the extra water bottle in my hand at his head. But I know it’s for Zander. He’s much more conscious of what he drinks, and soda isn’t good for the vocal cords.
“I did that once!” I argue, knowing he’s referring to when I was a kid and accidentally overheard my parents discussing Christmas presents.
“And it’s not my fault I have good hearing.
” I hand Zander’s water to him. He takes it with thanks as I settle into the oversized chair next to him.
My dad takes a seat next to Hen on the sofa.
I look at all of them expectantly. “Now, why am I here?”
A heavy silence settles over the room. Zander looks at Hen, who then glances at my dad.
My dad lets out a weary sigh.
“What is it? It can’t be that bad, can it?” My pulse quickens. “Is someone in trouble?”
“Yes,” Hen replies at the same time Zander says, “No.”
They both turn and look at each other, and I swear words are exchanged through some kind of strange telepathic connection they share.
Hendrix has always been good at making friends. Of the five of us, he’s by far the most outgoing and carefree. I’m not surprised at all that he’s become so famous. He’s just a likable guy—even when he’s annoying his baby sister.
I look around the room, waiting for someone to spit it out. “Will someone please just tell me what’s going on? ’Cause I’m sure whatever it is, isn’t that—”
“We need you to go to Scotland and talk some sense into Asher,” Zander says in a rush.
I slowly blink as I look from one man to the next. Surely, I didn’t hear him right. “You need me to what?”
“Asher has been in Scotland since the night Meg leaked the photos and quit the band.”
“I know that,” I say. Despite what I told my sorority sisters, I do know where the missing rock star is.
Or at least, I know approximately where he is.
About a month ago, my whole family attended the opening of my brother-in-law’s new club. Things went sideways when, along with the photos, Meg revealed that Asher was a guest that evening.
Hollis had worked his ass off to make sure every guest’s privacy was protected that night. It was meant to be part of the club’s appeal. But all of that went out the window when half of LA showed up, hoping to get a glimpse of the reclusive rock star.
But he never showed.
Whatever Meg had hoped to gain from her bold stunt became moot when Asher fired her and then fled the country all on the same night.
“So he went home for a while. Why is that a big deal? Maybe he needs some time off,” I argue. “Evans took some time off last year. Shouldn’t Asher be allowed to do the same?”
“Of course,” my dad responds. “And if that was all this was, I’d be the first to fight anyone who tried to get in the way of him taking what would be a well-deserved break. But that isn’t what this is.”
“Then what is this?”
“Ash would never willingly return to Scotland,” Zander says as he runs a hand through his messy hair. I catch a glimpse of his Creed tattoo on his forearm that matches my brother’s.
My brow furrows. “Why? Isn’t that where his family is? His parents?”
“He hasn’t seen his parents in thirteen years, Merc,” my brother states.
“Thirteen years?” I try to picture going thirteen years without seeing my parents, and the thought makes my heart ache. My mom and dad mean everything to me. But I am not na?ve. I know I was blessed with an amazing set of parents.
Not everyone can say the same.
It’s why Zander ended up in our family bar when he was barely eighteen after running away from home. It’s also how Hollis ended up with us for a year in high school when his mom ran off with a guy.
And I’m assuming it’s why Asher hasn’t spoken to his parents for over a decade.
“So why would he go there now?” I ask. “After all this time?”
“We don’t know,” my dad says. “And that’s what we’d like you to find out.”
I realize I’m still holding the water bottle he gave me. My fingers are grasping it so tightly, the damn thing might burst if I don’t let up.
“Why me?” I finally ask the question that’s been hovering in my mind since they dropped this ridiculous idea.
Because, seriously, it is…ridiculous.
“Because, like you probably heard when you were lurking in the hallway…” My brother gives me a pointed stare. “We’ve all tried to contact him. We’ve called and texted. Darius even went to his family’s fancy-ass estate to try to see him, but they wouldn’t let him past the gate.”
I make a noise of disbelief. “And you think I can do much better?”
“It’s worth a shot.” Zander shrugs.
Hen lets out an annoyed sigh. “Zander seems to think you two have some kind of weird bond because you’re both musical wizards or whatever.”
I stare at the two of them blankly.
Zander is the one to clarify. “When Ash came over for family dinner last year,” he reminds me. “You and Ash talked for hours. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him that…at ease. Happy, even.”
A weird sensation begins to stir in my belly, suspiciously similar to excitement. Heat rises to my cheeks. “Oh,” is all I can manage to say.
“We know it’s a long shot,” my dad says.
“We know it’s a lot to ask,” my brother adds.
“But we think you might be the only one who can get through to him.”
All three of them are looking at me like I’m their savior in this whole mess, and suddenly it’s all too much.
I find myself on my feet before I even realize it.
“You think that because Asher Knight…” I scoff, shaking my head at the mere mention of his name.
“And I happen to like some of the same indie bands, I’ll be able to fly all that way to Scotland, and we’re gonna what?
Have a few friendly chats, share some playlists, and then he’s going to magically forget about the pictures, the betrayal, and everything else that drove him there in the first place? ”
The way they’re staring at me tells me that yes, that was sort of their plan.
Unbelievable.
I let out a frustrated growl and pivot on my heels. “Where’s Mom?”
“In our room,” my dad says. “Why?”
“Because all the men in this house are idiots, and I need to talk to someone who isn’t.”
Especially since I’m starting to wonder if I might be an idiot too, because maybe this doesn’t sound like the worst idea in the world.