Off Bass Page 8

  “I got him.” I usher Gavin to the door and then hesitate because while Kane’s the last person I ever really want to talk about, I have to ask. For my own sanity. “Kane in town, or is he off, doing his thing?”

  “Fuck if I know. I haven’t heard much from him lately, and you know that’s not normal.” He pins me with a stare before shaking his head. “We gotta figure this shit out. We did it, man. Fucking made it big. Can’t piss this shit away, not now. Not when that crazy fucking risk paid off.”

  We do the bro-hug thing, and then Gavin’s gone. Back to the country life in Beekman Hills and back to the woman who completes him.

  In the living room, I fall onto the couch, staring at the pattern in the tiles surrounding the fireplace. Gavin’s right; we’ve risked too much, put too many hours—too much of our lives—into The UnBroken to let it fall apart.

  • • •

  SIX YEARS AGO

  “Dude, think about it. We should totally do this. I mean, we’re good—really fucking good.” Gavin leaned into his laptop, and typed furiously. “And it’d be a pretty solid fuck you to the ’rents,” he added, filling the booming silence of our dorm room at the University of Virginia. “We can hit the spring break hotspots, get shit rolling, and see if it pans out.”

  I was the holdout. The one member of the band that we scraped together in high school who wasn’t convinced that this was the best idea ever. In fact, I thought it was dumb as shit, but the guys knew that already.

  Neither Kane nor Ian decided to go to college. Well, Kane opted not to go, and Ian didn’t really have a choice. His mom busted her ass to scrape by while he was growing up. There sure as fuck wasn’t any money lying around for tuition. Instead, both had been half-assing random jobs since we graduated from high school and were likely feeling the loss of our band the most. Not that it was completely in the shitter. We’d played a couple of frat parties, a bonfire or two—always to a crowd that grew, the longer we play. Like Gavin said, we were really good. But dropping out and doing the spring break thing with our band was just fucking stupid. It was a waste of time.

  Instead of responding, I grabbed my shower shit and a towel and headed to the bathroom to think. Or forget—whichever.

  Hot water spilled down over my head, washing away a mere fraction of the tension that seemed to be with me all the fucking time. I washed up and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a pale pink towel around my hips. It hadn’t started out that color, but doing laundry got the best of me in the first week of college, and ever since, I’d taken a lot of shit from the guys.

  Whatever.

  I stood in front of the sink, hands resting on the chipped counter, and stared at my reflection like I was somehow going to help myself figure this shit out. But after the steam cleared, all I saw was me. Hair, dark and dripping, in definite need of a shave, and my fucking towel. The color had faded, and left the hue that soft baby pink that spun my brain in a direction that caused me nothing but heartache.

  Ballet slippers.

  Ribbons wrapped and tied around delicate ankles.

  Strength and grace that sliced me apart once again.

  Alexis.

  That heartbreak could kiss my ass, and so could Gavin and his bullshit plan. I wasn’t down with dropping out of school.

  I gathered my shower kit and headed back down the hall to my room, feet slapping against the cold tiled floor. Disgusting, but I’d forgotten my shower shoes when I’d stormed out of there, so what other choice did I have? I needed to throw on some clothes, grab a bite to eat, and spend the rest of my day holed up in the university library. Finals were starting in two days, and I wasn’t about to fuck off now.

  Voices—one specifically—stopped me dead in my tracks outside my room. Braced for what was about to hit me, I pushed through the door and found Ian Scott at my desk, laptop open and tapping away, fingers flying across the keys.

  Kane—fucking Kane Newton—was sprawled across Gavin’s bed, like there was no place he’d rather be. And there probably wasn’t. Kane had had a thing for Gavin all through high school, maybe even before then, but I wasn’t sure if Gavin knew. Honestly, I thought everyone in high school but Gavin knew.

  “So, we’re doing this, right?” Ian asked, barely sparing me a glance from the screen.

  Is that my laptop? Yes. Yes, it is.

  I reached over, slapping the lid shut, and scooped my computer away from him, tossing it on my bunk. “What’re you doing, dude?” I grabbed some clothes from my dresser and gritted my teeth.

  With the utter lack of privacy in this tiny-ass room, there was no doubt I was about to get an uncomfortable comment from Kane. So, I turned my back and pulled on boxer briefs and jeans, tossing my towel over the closet door to dry. Kane groaned and grabbed his dick, sliding his tongue across his teeth.

  “Asshole,” I muttered.

  I didn’t care—like, really did not care—that he was into dudes and girls, but he went out of his way to be a dick to me every chance he got. It was a problem.

  Kane chuckled low. “You offering?” he purred, his voice gravelly, like I was one of his conquests or groupies or whatever.

  There was no point in responding. I just needed to grab a t-shirt and go. I ran my hand through my hair, trying to guide my short curls into some kind of order, and tossed my laptop into my bag.

  As if this day couldn’t get any worse, my phone buzzed with a call from my mom. Almost a full semester in, and my parents still showed no faith that I was committed to school.

  I glanced around the room and tapped the screen. “Hey, Mom.”

  My mother launched into a full-blown conversation that I barely had to acknowledge. And yet it went on and on for far too long as she told me not to give up on performing.

  I continued shoving study materials in with my laptop, my back to the rest of the guys. “Mom, why are we doing this again? I got finals to study for and—”

  “Because you’ve given up on your dream to perform. It’s been your focus for as long as I can remember, and you’re throwing it away. Because of a girl.”

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it,” I bit out, knowing the mild curse would almost definitely sidetrack her.

  Sadly, it didn’t work.

  “It’s absolutely true. Alexis got into Juilliard, and while that’s a wonderful accomplishment for her, you forgot what you were working for. And now, you’re …”

  “I’m what, Mom?” I asked, keeping my back to the guys as much as I could in the tiny dorm room.

  “He’s wasting his life on a business degree, is what he’s doing,” my father rasped in the background.

  “You’ve got to at least try, Nathaniel. Music is your life, not this … this …”

  Dad broke in again, cutting Mom off, “Shit. Maybe if you hadn’t been wasting time with that girl in the first place and those … those punks and that stupid rock band, you would have been accepted to the music program. Maybe it’s not too late to get off your ass—” He choked, coughed, and finished in a wrecked voice, “And make something of yourself.”

  Gavin sucked a breath through his teeth, leaving me with no doubt that he’d heard the other side of the conversation. He’d heard most of them, and those he hadn’t, he’d been there for me to unload on afterward. He knew. He understood better than anyone the amount of pressure my parents had dumped on me in one way or another this semester. He knew they were slowly suffocating me.

  “I’m going to go, Mom.” My voice was quiet, eerily calm.

  “Nate—”

  I ended the call before I had to hear any more of my dad’s assholery. My phone dropped to my side, and I leaned forward, forehead resting on the edge of the top bunk. I squeezed my eyes shut and willed my jaw to relax before I broke a tooth from the pressure.

  “You okay, man?” Gavin asked, breaking through the screaming silence that buzzed around me.

  My lungs expelled the breath I was holding, and I nodded slowly. A small movement that became bigger, stronger,
feeding my need to take back some control. Or maybe break free from it. I didn’t know.

  “Dude. Say … something.”

  I turned and looked from Gavin to Ian, noting that even Kane looked a little wigged out by me. “I’m in.”

  “Seriously?” Ian asked at the same time Gavin said, “They’re going to shit their pants,” and a sly grin pulled at Kane’s mouth.

  I’d do as my mother said and try—get my ass onstage. I’d find a way to make music and stick it to my dad at the same time. This might not have been the musical career I’d dreamed of, but maybe it wouldn’t suck.

  “Hundred percent,” I said with more conviction than I felt. “Let’s fucking do this.”

  • • •

  I’m not the only one with a lot to lose. Every single one of us needs this even if our reasons are all very different.

  I push off the couch and grab my keys from the tray on the kitchen counter. At the base of the stairs, I yell for Ian, telling him to stay, that I’ll be back in a couple hours.

  12

  MARIANAS TRENCH

  ALEXIS

  My muscles burn in the very best way.

  My chest heaves from exertion.

  My skin is slick with sweat.

  I drop to the floor, my legs crumbling from exhaustion as a wicked gleam shines in Nate’s eyes.

  While pulling the knots from my ribbons, I watch Nate lose himself. Today, he veered away from the classics and instead poured himself into something more contemporary—his music.

  It was beautiful to watch.

  He’s beautiful to watch.

  With the precision born of repetition, I put all of my stuff—shoes, smaller bags, extra clothes, extra bags—back in my tote. If nothing else, it allows me to go full stalker, staring at my personal muse.

  Faded ball cap pulled low over his eyes. Sweat dampening the curls at the base of his neck. Soft heather-gray t-shirt stretched taut, outlining the packed planes of muscle that jumped and twitched under my palms that night at his house. The groans that rumbled from him when I danced for him.

  Can I even call it dancing? Drunken dry-humping is a better description for whatever it was.

  For years, I’ve thought about Nate, about what would have been if I hadn’t left. Whether our high school relationship would have lasted. Would he have gone to a conservatory instead of turning his back on the music he loved? Would he be where he is now, doing what he’s doing?

  “Having some naughty daydreams over there, sweet thing?” Nate pulls me from my string of questions with his own.

  I blink away the haze of my pointless thoughts to see that everything is put away and the room is in tidy order. Nate is standing in front of me, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his faded khakis.

  • • •

  “What are you doing tonight?” Nate asks, holding the door for me.

  “Hot shower. A quick dinner. Maybe Netflix or read until I fall asleep. What about you?”

  Nate shrugs, looking so much like the boy I loved in high school and yet so much better. “I left Ian at my house.”

  A smile pushes at my cheeks, and I reach out, wrapping my hand around Nate’s forearm. Warm skin. Strong muscles. I’ll do just about anything to touch him.

  “Sweet Ian. How is he? I asked about him the other night, right? I feel like maybe I did.” I don’t normally drink the way I did.

  “Yeah, you did.” Nate rumbles out a low chuckle. “You can come out with us tonight. He needs to get out.”

  “Oh, I would love to see him, but—”

  “Something’s up with him. He’s not gonna talk about it, sitting around my music room.”

  “Of course you have a music room,” I tease.

  I can’t imagine Nate not surrounded by music and instruments, having a variety available at any given moment.

  “Yeah, well …” He cocks his head to the side as one shoulder bounces up. “Anyway, he asked about you earlier today. Think he’s feeling bad that he hasn’t gotten to see you. Gavin, too, but he had to go back home.”

  “Aww, Gavin. I was surprised he and Sarah didn’t stick.”

  That boy and his high school girlfriend were even tighter than Nate and I were. No one imagined that they would ever split up, but then again, no one dreamed I’d slink away like a thief in the night.

  Nate stops in the middle of the sidewalk. His brows jump up as he huffs out a laugh. “Who knew, right?”

  I cringe, wishing I could take my words back.

  “Just come out with us. Grab a drink, have some dinner. Maybe it’ll help pull Ian from his funk.”

  There’s really nothing at home for me tonight. Mia has a date, and Lauryl and I don’t really hang out without Mia.

  “You’re sure? I don’t want to intrude.”

  • • •

  The address Nate sent me is a short walk from the subway. Groups and couples crowd outside the restaurant waiting to be seated.

  I squeeze in the door and the dining room is a perfect mix of sleek and rustic. I scan the sea of people for two familiar faces.

  At the far end of the bar, near the swinging doors to the kitchen, sit the boys who’ve turned into men since we were last all together.

  New York attitude, balanced with my Southern manners and a bright smile, get me through the crowded room. It amazes me that people aren’t swarming around Nate and Ian. They obviously don’t have any clue that the music they lose themselves in while commuting or working out was created by men in their midst.

  My eyes are drawn to Nate’s pale green eyes. He always wore contacts when we were in high school, but this look with the sexy-as-hell black glasses is utterly devastating. It’s hard to tear my gaze away from him.

  Ian stands as I approach, a broad smile slashed across his face. In three strides, he pulls me into his arms, swinging me around with complete disregard for anyone around us.

  “Holy shit, it’s the ballerina extraordinaire, in the flesh. How the fuck are you?”

  My feet come back to the floor, and even after all this time, I make sure to take the brunt of the impact on my left foot. And as Ian releases me, Nate’s hand slides under my elbow, making sure I don’t fall. Offering me silent support.

  “I’m good.” I raise my voice over the din of the bar. “It’s so good to see you. How did you go from all skinny drumstick arms to this?” I step back and sweep my hands up and down. “All tatted-up bad boy with your lip pierced … I bet the ladies are loving that.”

  Ian blushes adorably and rolls his lip in, nipping at the thin silver hoop. He pushes his beanie back on his head before settling it back in place. No matter the time that’s passed or all the ways he’s changed, Ian is still the same sweet, quiet boy I knew a million years ago.

  He reaches around the end of the bar and pulls a barstool from hiding. “Here, sit and tell me everything there is, all the things I’ve missed since the last time I saw you.”

  He lifts his chin and waves over the cute blonde in a starched white shirt. She looks from Nate to Ian and then scans the rest of the bar area before hitting him with a dazzling smile.

  “Another round and—what are you drinking, Alex?”

  “Merlot, please.”

  Ian raps his knuckles on the shiny wood bar top. “That, and a couple of menus. Thanks, doll.” He turns his back to her, very obviously dismissing the flirty smile she’s throwing his way. “Fucking hell, man. Not a one of them can pass. It’s not that fucking hard.”

  “Pass what?” I ask as Nate nods in agreement.

  “If a chick recognizes one of us”—Nate indicates Ian and himself—“she almost always scans the bar or whatever for Gavin or Kane. Instant failure.”

  “Like we’re not good enough. Fucking hate that shit,” Ian says, not quieting or hiding the fact that he’s referring to the bartender as she sets down our drinks and menus.

  I catch her eye and hold it for a beat while I reach for my wineglass. With a small shrug, she turns to help the next custome
r, apparently not at all fazed.

  “You can do better,” I tell Ian, patting his leg.

  Over the next couple of hours, we eat and drink and talk about everything. The number of times we were at the same events or restaurants and completely missed each other. How stupidly close Nate and I live to each other and never managed to run into one another.

  “This is genius,” I say, taking the last grilled cheese bite and dipping it into the tiny ramekin of tomato-basil soup. “I don’t know how I missed this on the menu.”

  Nate pushes his glasses up on top of his head, locking his curls back. His chest shakes with a silent laugh. “Oh, that’s not on the menu. Sasha makes that special for her boy toy.”

  “Sasha? Boy toy? Ian Scott, what aren’t you telling me? Do you have a special lady friend?”

  Ian’s cheeks blaze, and he shakes his head. “Hardly,” he says on a laugh. “Gavin’s sister is a chef here. She just takes pity on Nate and me since we’re not as loved as those other shitbirds.” Ian shifts to the side and pulls his phone from his pocket. After a quick glance at the screen, he curses, shoving the phone away again. “Be right back,” he mumbles and turns for the restrooms behind us.

  The air is rife with tension. When I catch Nate’s gaze, his brows are high, and concern is etched across his face.

  “Is this what you were talking about?”

  He nods and takes a sip of his drink. We sit in silence.

  When Ian doesn’t come right back, I turn to Nate. “So, Sasha Keller is here, too, and Gavin lives north of the city. What about Kane? Is he …”

  I don’t really know what to ask regarding Kane. Is he here? Is he out? Is he still pining for Gavin? All are legit questions, and my guess is that none of the answers are simple. Nothing ever is with Kane Newton.

  “He splits his time—here, upstate, and out in LA. If you’re wondering, he’s still the same. Hasn’t changed a bit.” Nate reaches into his glass and snags a cherry stem, plucking it from his whiskey. He offers it to me and fishes out another for himself.