Skylar
“Killer show tonight,” Storm says as the five of us step into the elevator.
Josh—who’s busy typing something on his phone—nods. “Yeah. See what happens when you follow my lead?”
Here we freaking go again.
I silently will Storm to let it roll off his back, but no dice. “You’re supposed to follow my lead, dumbass.”
“The bassist is responsible for the bass, moron. It’s literally what I do.”
I massage my temples. For the love of all that is holy.
I’ve never played an instrument in my life, but even I’ve ascertained that the bassist is the link between rhythm and melody.
However, the drummer is the official timekeeper and lays down the foundation.
Josh may be impulsive, but he isn’t stupid. Which means it’s sheer stubbornness preventing him from getting this through his head.
“The drummer is the one who sets the tempo, numb nuts,” Storm says through clenched teeth. “It’s your job to lock in with me. Not the other way around.”
Josh turns to his brother. “Tell him he’s wrong, Memph.”
Memphis pinches the bridge of his nose. “We’ve gone over this. Your job is to maintain the rhythm, not establish it. That’s Storm’s job.”
I nearly jump out of my skin when Josh punches the elevator wall. “Fuck you both.”
Oh, boy. I need to get a handle on this. Fast.
“Everyone calm down.” I zero in on Josh and Storm. “You two are supposed to have a connection, which means fighting isn’t doing anyone any favors. You guys had an amazing show tonight. Let’s keep up the momentum and be positive.”
Crossing his arms, Storm glares at Josh. “We had an amazing show because, as usual, I picked up our bassist’s slack and made him sound way better than he actually is.”
“Other way around, dickface.”
That does it.
Exasperated, I slam the red button and the elevator jolts to a stop.
“What the hell, babe?”
I gesture between the stubborn jerks. “You two. Apologize. Now.”
“For what?” they both yell.
“For being egotistical twats,” Phoenix chimes in.
“For being selfish, pig-headed douchebags,” Memphis adds.
I snap my fingers. “Let’s go with that.”
Crossing his arms, Storm leans against the wall. “I ain’t apologizing for shit.”
Josh mimics his stance. “Me neither.”
Two can play this game, boys.
Since they’re determined to continue being obstinate shitheads, I’m going to give them a taste of their own medicine.
This way they can see how ridiculous they’re being and how much their foolish behavior impacts the rest of us.
Studying my nails, I situate myself in front of the control panel, blocking it. “I hope you boys brought snacks. It’s gonna be a long night.”
Directing all his irritation at me now, Josh takes hold of my arm. “Don’t get cute, Skylar. We both know I can easily move your ass out of my way.”
“And I can easily move your ass out of mine,” Memphis interjects, looking like he’s ready to rip his brother’s head off.
“So can I,” Phoenix adds.
“Whatever,” Josh snarls, focusing on Storm again. “Apologize so we can get the fuck out of here.”
“If anyone needs to apologize, it’s you, because you’re the problem.”
“Suck my dick,” Josh snaps.
Storm chuckles. “You’d have to grow one first. Because that tiny pencil in your pants doesn’t count.”
The frustration rippling through me reaches a boiling point.
“Quit being ugly right now,” I warn, pointing a finger in their faces. “The next words out of your mouths better be an apology or so help me God, I will raise hell and make y’all wish you were never born.”
In my peripheral I see Memphis and Phoenix exchange an oh shit glance.
However, the willful oxen stand there staring at each other in a silent standoff for the next ten minutes.
Storm’s the first to crack. “Our beef’s gonna end up ruining the band and no one wants that. We have no choice but to figure out how to work together.”
“Maybe if you weren’t such a stupid—”
“Josh,” I hiss.
Storm just extended an olive branch and instead of being amiable, he wants to poke the teddy bear with it.
He huffs. “Fine. If you’re willing to lock in with me, then I’ll do the same.”
Memphis opens his mouth to correct him, but quickly clamps it shut when I cut him a—zip it unless you want to spend the night in this elevator—look.
Mercifully, Storm takes the high road and simply nods.
There’s a collective sigh of relief once I hit the button and the elevator begins moving.
However, our newfound harmony is short-lived when the doors open, and Chandler greets us. “My suite. Now.”
There are groans all around.
“Goddammit, Josh,” Storm gripes. “What the hell did you do now? Pass out blow to preschoolers?”
“I didn’t do shit,” he defends as we follow Chandler down the hall.
Storm rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”
While Josh was wrong for how he handled things with Storm before, I know for a fact that he’s been stone-cold sober for the past four days and has stayed out of trouble.
“Leave him alone. He’s been good.”
Shooting me a grateful smile, Josh squeezes my hand. “I’m really trying, babe.”
The tiny kernel of hope that’s been blooming inside my chest since dinner flourishes. “I know you are.”
For once, his actions back it up.
Storm snorts. “Yeah, trying to—” Stopping mid-sentence, he sniffs the air. “Wait a minute.” He looks over at Phoenix. “You smell that?”
Phoenix grins. “Hell yeah.”
I’m about to ask what they’re talking about, but then I get a whiff of the world’s best clam chowder.
The hostility in the air changes to excitement and we bum-rush the door of Chandler’s suite, fighting to be the first one to greet Grams.
Memphis elbows and shoves his way past the rest of us, making a beeline for the tiny kitchen where Grams is standing at the stove in a bright colored muumuu, stirring a pot of chowder.
Warmth spreads through me when he wraps her up in a bear hug. “Hey, Grams.”
It’s impossible not to like Storm’s grandmother, but I honestly think Memphis would walk through fire for the woman.
And Grams adores him just as much. Smiling from ear to ear, she coos, “Hey, handsome. How’s my favorite grandson doing?”
That earns some throat clears from Storm and Phoenix.
Undeterred, Grams waves a hand. “Y’all know the rules. First one to hug me is my favorite for the rest of my trip.”
And wakes up to their favorite homemade breakfast the next morning.
Which is all the more reason it’s a knock-down-drag-out fight whenever she’s in town.
“Stupid rule,” Storm gripes.
“Quit moping and set the table, Reese.”
I glower at Josh when he snickers. Storm hates being called by his first name and the only person who can get away with it is his grandmother.
Focusing on Memphis again, she cups his face in her hands. “How you doing, darlin’?”
“Fine,” Memphis says, but the sadness lingering in his eyes tells a different story.
One Grams picks up on.
Rising on her tiptoes, she whispers something that has him exhaling heavily. “He was a good man.”
Phoenix and Storm swap uncomfortable looks.
Memphis is so good at hiding his emotions it’s easy for others to forget he’s very much still grieving the loss of his dad.
“I appreciate that,” Memphis says before smacking a kiss on her cheek and excusing himself to go to the restroom.
I’m about to follow him, but Grams scoops me up in a hug next. “How are you, sweet pea?”
“I’m good.”
Tipping my chin, she holds my gaze, searching for the truth buried in my lie.
Like always, she finds it.
“Oh, dear.”
Only there isn’t an ounce of judgment in her tone or expression.
Just compassion…and concern.
I don’t want Josh to drill me about this later, so I force a smile. “You’re glowing. Who’s the new guy?”
Despite turning seventy last year, the woman lives like she’s in her prime. I love hearing all about her boytoys and sexcapades.
Same can’t be said for her grandson, though because his nose turns up in disgust. “Spare us the details.”
Thankfully, she doesn’t listen.
“I may or may not be involved with an older gentleman,” she tells me, fluffing her silver hair.
“The mofo better be a gentleman. Or else,” Storm warns as he walks over to the stove and helps himself to a spoonful of chowder. “Ow, fuck. I burned my tongue.”
“That’s what you get for threatening my boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend, huh?” I tease. “Sounds serious.”
The woman has a major fear of commitment. Another quality she passed down to her grandson.
“It’s not. I just let him think so because the sex is too darn good. I’d like to squeeze a few more rounds out of him before I end our little situation-ship.” She makes a face. “Or the Good Lord up above does because the sexy stud turns one-hundred next week.”
Phoenix chokes on his beer. “Jesus, Grams.”
I, however, am delighted for her. “More power to you, sister. You get yours.”
Sidling up to her, Josh waggles his brows. “After you’re done with him, you should give younger men a try.”
Phoenix snatches Storm’s shirt, yanking him back seconds before he commits murder.
Turning to him, Grams clicks her tongue. “Bless your heart, precious. But since we’re giving out suggestions, here’s one. Focus less on my sex life and more on making your gorgeous girlfriend happy.”
Josh slings an arm around my waist as Memphis strides back into the kitchen. “She’s plenty happy. Ain’t that right, baby?”
For the second time in five minutes, I force a smile. “Yeah.”
My pulse speeds up when I catch Memphis staring at me out of the corner of his eye.
I was happy when he was screwing my brains out in the bathroom the other night.
Shaking her head, Grams mutters something under her breath before clapping her hands and addressing everyone. “Supper’s ready, y’all. But don’t overdo it, because I have a big movie night planned for us with plenty of snacks.”
“That broad is no ride or die,” Storm mumbles around a mouthful of popcorn.
Grams—who’s fast asleep on the recliner—insisted we watch Titanic. Thankfully, I already know the ending because Storm and Phoenix haven’t stopped yapping since it started.
“Word,” Phoenix agrees. “There’s plenty of room on that door for him. She just wants the poor sucker to croak so she can go back to her rich fiancé.”