Tunes (Beekman Hills Book 2) Page 6

  “I am”—she tilts her head back and forth—“just not exactly how I want. But sometimes you have to make sacrifices, right? Like you did for your music.”

  “Not the same. And, it’s accounting, there’s got to be thousands of different ways to put your mark on it.”

  “It’s accounting, Gavin. Numbers, formulas, reports that are solid and steady. There’s not a lot of variation there.” She looks toward her condo and then back to me. “Are you playing somewhere tonight?”

  “Yeah, I should probably grab a shower and help the guys with equipment.”

  Gracyn bites her lip and looks up at me. “What bar? I’ll see if the girls I’m rooming with want to go.”

  About halfway through our set, I see Gracyn walk in with a couple of other girls and she dances her way up to the makeshift stage. I’ve been scanning the crowd for her since we started and now that she’s here, I can’t wait to leave with her.

  We play. She dances. And, all feels right in the world.

  After our set ends, I help pack our gear, load it into the van with Nate and Ian and grab my backpack from the passenger seat, settling it place. I packed clothes and things … just in case.

  “Here,” Gracyn says when I sidle up next to her at the bar. She slides three shots of whiskey toward me. Her focus drops from my mouth, to my throat, assessing and caressing as I down each of the shots in turn.

  “You don’t have to ply me with alcohol, you know. I’m kind of a sure thing,” I tell her, brushing my lips along the shell of her ear. “You want to stay with your friends, or bust out of here?”

  She sends a quick text, takes my hand and leads me out into the balmy night air.

  “Are you planning on spending the night?” Gracyn wraps her hands around the straps of my pack and pulls me close.

  “Hoping.”

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  After a lather, rinse, repeat of a day, I’m lying in her bed once again.

  Spent.

  Satisfied.

  Staring introspectively into the dark.

  Gracyn is draped over me and as I run my fingers down the silky skin of her back, I think of all the things we need to discuss before she leaves.

  I need to get her number.

  I need to tell her that I don’t want this to be the end.

  Soft, rhythmic breaths dance across my chest, Gracyn’s head rising and falling as I match each of my inhales and exhales to hers. This can’t be the end. There are far too many hours that I want to spend with this girl who has turned my world upside down in just a handful of days.

  Sleep tugs at me, pulling me under, as I compile my mental to-do list for tomorrow. I don’t want to forget anything before we have to say good-bye.

  Chapter 11

  Gracyn

  My phone rings and rings. And then it rings again, pulling me from the last tendrils of sleep that have me pinned to the mattress. Or maybe it’s Gavin’s solid frame doing that.

  I wiggle and shimmy my way out of his warm embrace, the slight sheen of sweat allowing me to slide away without waking him. Faint sunlight peeks over the horizon, filtering through the blinds and casting the room in a soft glow. I sift through the clothing strewed across the floor, grabbing Gavin’s T-shirt and pulling it over my head.

  The hum and buzz of my phone starts again as I grab it off the dresser and head out to the living room.

  “Mom? What’s wrong?” I squint at the glowing numbers on the microwave and blink a few times, trying to clear the fog. It’s five in the morning. Five. My mother has never been an early riser, and this is so far out of her wheelhouse.

  “Baby, I don’t know what to do,” she mumbles between her tears. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do, Gracyn.”

  “What happened? Are you okay?”

  “It’s your father, Gracyn. I need you.”

  Her words squeeze my chest, stopping my breath and halting my footsteps toward the balcony door. Either the man is dead or my mother got slapped in the face with a reality that she can’t sweep under the rug and ignore.

  “Please, I can’t do this without you.”

  “I’ll be home as quick as I can.” I disconnect the call and pull up schedule info for my airline, searching for the next available flight. There’s one leaving in two hours. I make the change, order an Uber, and slip silently back into my room.

  The dips and bumps of Gavin’s broad back rise and fall with each breath. His hair is a wild mess, splayed across his face, shielding his eyes from any intrusion of the waking world. Waking world, my ass. No one on spring break should be awake this early unless they’re still going from last night.

  As quietly as I can, I finish packing up my stuff, thankful that I started the process yesterday. There’s really no way I have time for a shower, so I slap on a liberal amount of deodorant and replace Gavin’s soft green shirt with a sundress.

  How bad would it be if his shirt ended up in my bag?

  In the bathroom, I brush my teeth and twist my hair into a barely contained mess on the top of my head. I scoop the rest of my crap into my makeup case and turn off the light, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness.

  Carefully, silently, I open the door and pad through the bedroom. With my hands full of bags, my phone, and my shoes, I turn and take in the relaxed form sleeping peacefully in my bed. His breath softly puffs out against the pillow with each exhale. This is for the best, leaving without a big good-bye.

  The battles I’ve waged with my heart as this week progressed are more than I signed on for. I just wanted to get away and have a week in the sun, some frosty beverages, and my toes in the sand.

  I didn’t plan on meeting anyone I’d want to spend more than a couple of hours with.

  I didn’t plan on an electric connection that was different from anything I’d ever experienced.

  Never thought I’d fall for the guy in the band.

  My plane lands with a wobble and on a prayer. I think that was the shittiest flight ever. Way too early. Way too bumpy. Way too many jumbled thoughts going through my head.

  Did I make a mistake? Should I have left him my phone number? Should I have left at all?

  Nothing here is going to change. I’m here to pat my mother’s head and tell her that everything will be just fine. To give her a little bit of security and support, and that’s probably something that needs to stop if she’s ever going to find her backbone.

  The overhead bin is mostly empty by the time I wedge myself out of the window seat in the back of the plane. I hoist my rolling bag out of the overhead bin and pull up the handle before stacking my beach bag on top and bumping along the length of the plane.

  The long walk through the terminal, the wait for the parking shuttle, and the smelly ride to my car through the cold March day do nothing to improve my mood or help to convince myself that I’m doing the right thing.

  Finally settled in my car with the heater kicking in, I turn on my phone. There’s nothing from Gavin. Not a damn thing.

  Because you never gave him your number, dumbass.

  The messages that do ping through are all family. My mom giving me details of which restaurant to meet her at, Dad telling me he’ll be out of town for a business meeting. And my brother sending me the dumbest memes.

  Obviously, he didn’t get the panicked phone call demanding he come home. Nope. The last thing this family wants to do is have sweet Bryan blast into town and draw attention to the dysfunction we work so hard to conceal. We like to keep all our skeletons—and other things—decidedly locked in the closet.

  It’s early in Los Angeles, but I hit the Call button and wait for Bryan to pick up.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” he sings as a greeting. “How’s spring break for the golden child?”

  I hate it when he calls me that, but I get it.

  “Over way too soon. Are you up early this morning or still going from last night?” I pull out of my parking spot and wind through the parking garage to pay and get on my way. />
  “Why is it over? You still have twenty-four glorious hours until you have to go back to the land of responsibility.”

  It doesn’t escape me that he avoided my question, but when I hear the low rumble of a laugh in the background, it doesn’t even matter.

  “Dude, I’m sorry. I’ll let you go. Give my love to Jeremy, and I’ll just catch up with you later.”

  “Gigi, hang on,” Bryan says, calling me by the nickname he’s had for me since we started talking. He slides the phone away from his mouth and whispers, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Cars inch forward in the toll line as I listen to my brother’s way-too-sweet words to his boyfriend. It’s not that I dislike Jeremy. I just don’t think he’s the right guy for Bryan.

  A door glides open and shut, and the sounds of the ocean waves crashing fill the line between us. I wish again that I hadn’t left Florida early.

  “Sorry, G, that um … that’s not Jeremy. We’re done, and you were right, he wasn’t ‘the one’ for me,” he says, the smile evident in his voice. “What’s going on? Why are you calling me at ten in the morning when you should be blissfully hungover on your last day of spring break?”

  “Because I’m on my way to meet Mom for brunch.” I sigh. “She called me in a panic this morning and practically begged me to catch the first flight home.” I hand my parking ticket and a wad of cash to the parking attendant, punching the gas as soon as the gate lifts. “I figured, if you were sending me shit, you could keep me company while I drive. But you’re busy. I don’t want to interrupt.” Disappointment laces through my words, and I can’t help but hope he’ll talk to me for a little bit. Or, really, let me talk to him.

  “Tell me what’s up, sweets. You don’t sound like you, even considering the shitshow our parents cast you in. Didn’t you get laid over spring break?” Bryan asks.

  A bawdy laugh bubbles up at the thought of the way Gavin played my body like a finely tuned instrument. “Oh no, I absolutely got—”

  Bryan cuts me off with determination; his deep, throaty chuckle wraps me in warmth and familiarity that can only come from my brother. “Nope. JK, baby sis. I don’t want to even think about it. But tell me about the fabulous guy you met down there. If I’m giving up a lazy morning with my new man, I don’t want to talk about the ’rents and their shit. I want to hear all about the cliché that is spring break hook-ups.”

  Chapter 12

  Gavin

  Gracyn’s gone. She fucking left me in the middle of the night, buck-ass naked and in her bed.

  I waited more than an hour for her to come back from wherever she’d scampered off to, almost certain that she’d just gone out to grab us some breakfast. Took a shower and threw on my clothes from last night. Well, my board shorts because my favorite fucking shirt was gone, too.

  No Gracyn.

  No note.

  No shirt.

  Nothing.

  The sun blazes down on my bare shoulders as I walk back to my shitty motel. It’s petty and stupid, but I’m too pissed off to put on a different T-shirt. It’s the principle.

  My fist connects with Ian’s door with three solid thumps. The last thing I want to do is walk in on him getting ass when my chick had taken her fill and bailed on me. No fucking way I feel like dealing with his shit over this. I don’t want to hear it.

  “Dude, you good?” I call as I hit the door again.

  “S’open,” Nate yells. “Hey, didn’t think we’d see you today. She leaves tomorrow, right? That chick you’ve been hanging with all week,” he asks, looking away from the movie he’s watching, head propped up against the headboard of my bed—his bed.

  “Fuck, man. Forgot we swapped rooms. I’ll—”

  Ian looks up from his laptop and leans back, the colorful tats shifting as he folds his arms across his chest. “Jesus, what did she do? Steal your clothes and skip town?” The disgusted look on his face probably mirrors my own.

  The door closes behind me as I cross the room and sit my ass down on the edge of the empty bed. I dig through Ian’s pack for a T-shirt. I pull on the first one I find, not caring if it’s clean, and flop back, staring at the water stains blooming across the ceiling by the bathroom. Hopefully, it’s the shower leaking in the room above us and not the shitter.

  What the fuck happened? Why did she leave like that?

  “Gavin? Seriously, man, what happened?” Nate’s sitting on the edge of his bed, features twisted in concern.

  “I don’t know. I woke up, and she was gone.”

  “Gone? Or out for a minute?”

  “Gone. Left. Bags packed, including my fucking shirt. Just gone.” No matter how many times I go over it in my mind, it doesn’t congeal into anything that makes sense.

  “Shit, man. That sucks balls,” Ian mumbles as he goes back to tapping at his keyboard. “What’re you gonna do? You text her yet?”

  If only.

  I run my hands through my hair, gathering it in my fists, and blow out a frustrated breath. “I don’t have her number.”

  “Wait, what? You spent all fucking week with her. How do you not have her number?”

  I roll my head to the side, so he can see just how fucking miserable I am. “I spent all fucking week with her. I didn’t really need it … until now.” Jesus, this is the worst. “What time are we playing tonight?”

  “Ten, down on the beach. So … nothing? You got nothing? No way to find her?” Nate asks.

  “Fuck. No, not really. Just a general idea of where she goes to school, and … no, I don’t even have a last name. I mean, I’m sure I could try to stalk the shit out of her, but she bolted, man.”

  “Yeah … I guess she just wasn’t that into you, man. Fucked the rocker on spring break and went back to her Ivy League boyfriend.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, Ian cringes, gritting his teeth and sucking a breath through them. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean …”

  “Whatever.” I pull out my phone, hoping there’s a message, but this day is nothing but all kinds of disappointments. I pop my earbuds in and pull up my post-show playlist. I crank some old-school ’70s disco to clear my mind. And hopefully drift off to sleep.

  “Where the fuck is he?” I demand, heat and frustration already pissing me off.

  Ian and Nate shrug as they unload the van.

  “Has he fucking done anything this week? Lifted a finger?” I know I’ve bailed quickly after our shows, but I haven’t blown off all the manual labor. It’s not like we have any help with this shit. That kind of thing is reserved for the bands who’ve made it.

  We’re stacking amps and Ian’s drum cases on the dolly.

  “Pretty sure he’s lifted a shit-ton of skirts and done a whole lot of poon,” Ian mumbles as he hands me my guitar case.

  “Fuck, I think I’ve seen him with twins a couple of different times.” Nate leans his arms on top of the amp stack and rubs his hand through his hair.

  The three of us move all the equipment to the stage, set it all up, and stand there, waiting. Kane’s not answering his texts, and he sure as shit is not answering any calls.

  We go on in ten minutes. Ten minutes, and the motherfucker is nowhere to be found.

  “Give me a whiskey and a draft—something decent though,” I call to the bartender from the service area.

  I down the shot and half of the beer, wanting—needing—something to dull the sharp edge of annoyance. Shifting my weight, I roll my shoulders to try to alleviate the heavy tension pressing down on me.

  After twenty minutes and three more pints, Kane slaps his hand down on my back and reaches around to take the beer right out of my hand. Draining it, he nods to the bartender and points four fingers to the tap and then the stage.

  “We should probably get this shit going, right? Finish up and then get out of here. I’ve got a little farewell party planned for tonight. KnowwhatImean?” That last little question is delivered like the douchebag he claims not to be, all stacked up and dished out as one word and with a languo
rous slicking of his teeth. He slides his hand up to my shoulder, driving his thumb up the back of my neck. “You’re a little wound up, Gav. Need someone to help you blow off some steam real quick? That uptight chick you found not doin’ it for you?”

  Kane’s touchy-feely shit doesn’t usually bug me. He’s comfortable with his sexuality, and that’s cool, totally fine, but I’ve had it. Today is not the day for him to fuck with me.

  I take his hand from my neck and pivot, tempted to try some of Gracyn’s moves to put him down like the dog he is right now. Instead, I lean in close, fully aware of that hitch in his breath, the flare of his nostrils, the way his eyes gleam. Kane rocks forward on his toes, licking his lips, his thoughts about where this might possibly go written clearly across his features.

  “You are not a rock star yet, motherfucker, and the way you’re going, you never will be. But I’ll be damned if you’re going to drag me down with you after all I’ve given up to be here, to give this thing a shot. You fucking show up on time, do your share, and get your shit together.”

  Kane’s sharp inhale brings his chest in contact with mine, the heat radiating through his thin, ripped tee. He trembles slightly, and I take advantage of this rare show of vulnerability.

  “And, if you can’t manage that, tell me now. I’m not putting up with this shit.”

  I grab my fresh beer from the bar, shoving down the hypocrisy I just spewed, and climb up onstage. Guitar slung across my chest, I step up to the microphone and lift my beer to the crowd. “Destin! Are you ready?”

  Ian slides in behind his kit and taps a slow beat.

  “Are. You. Ready?”

  Nate hops up and thumps his bass.

  “Can I get a little love for Dreams of the UnBroken?”

  The crowd is fired up, their roar deafening. Kane downs his beer and bounds onto the stage, grabbing the mic from me, and then the madness truly commences. Thankful for the distraction, I shove Gracyn out of my mind, close my eyes, and get lost in the set. The music cleansing my soul.