A Bleu Streak Christmas (2 page)

The breeze picks up, and I let it carry
those aggravating notions right along with it. Bringing my focus back to what
really matters, I regard this motley crew I’m blessed to call family. They
don’t deserve having to deal with my mood swings.

“Once we get on the road, I can release
some of this energy, and I’ll be all smiles for you girls. Promise.”

“We’re holding you to it,” Max says.

By the time the sun is peeking around
the edge of the lake, we have it all hammered down and head home.

Chapter Two

I
zzy

A
nervous panic clamors over me as I have a stare-down with this green-eyed
firecracker. Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans again, I try swallowing the
anxiety she’s evoked.

“I’m sorry, Jewels, but the answer is still
no. I can’t do this. There’s no way I can pull this off and you know it.” I
push the contract back to her side of the table and take another sip of my
latte. The sweet coffee is almost bitter on my tongue due to this anxiety.

I cannot believe Jillian Bleu just
offered what she offered. I’ve known her for a little over a year now, so I
thought she knew me better than this. We’ve been going round after round for
the last few weeks and the results are still the same—not happening.

“That’s not acceptable.” She crosses
her arms and glares.

“You’re not bullying me into agreeing
to this. You know how shy I am.” The words tumble out in awkward stutters.

“Shy isn’t enough of an excuse to turn
this once-in-a-lifetime offer down,” Jen pipes in.

“Look how long it took for me to open
up to you two,” I whisper, averting my gaze away from them and taking in a few
deep breaths of the heady scent of fresh-baked bread.

It took almost six months for me to
push enough shyness off to accept their invitation of friendship. Yes, I’m very
thankful I did, but agreeing to what lies before me is absolutely overwhelming.

I bumped into Jillian Bleu on campus
where I was finishing up my graduates program in business. She teaches a
creative writing class—something I would never consider—and she latched onto me
instantly with me trying to run in the other direction. I know who she is and
she demands I call her Jewels. Oddly enough, being close friends with a famous
songwriter has been the easiest relationship I’ve ever formed. Jen is an
energetic hoot, so she has easily grown on me, too. However, both of these
friendships took time, and that contract isn’t offering time with it. I’m
downright terrified.

Jen rubs her rounded belly and pouts
over at me. “You know I can’t help out this time. You have to do it for me.”
She’s nearing her due date so the doctor says no traveling.

“Moving right along from bullying to
guilt-tripping.” I roll my eyes and shake my head. These two are tag teaming me
—s
o not fair. “You know how big of a Bleu Streak fan I am.
Have you thought about that? What if I go all fan girl?” My eyes pop wide,
hoping to scare them off. Both laugh instead. I’m grasping at straws and we all
know it.

“You’ve already met Dillon and Trace a
few times. You wouldn’t even breathe in their direction. I think it’s a safe
bet you won’t be jumping any of them and ripping their shirts off,” Jillian
retorts.

“Exactly,” I blurt. Both women snort in
laughter. I’m doing a lousy job defending myself. “I froze in front of them.
How exactly am I going to be of any help, if I do that every time I’m around
any of them?”

“You’ll get comfortable around them
after seeing how obnoxious they all are. Trust me. They’re a bunch of
man-children,” Jewels says.

“Girl, you’ve spent the last six years
hiding behind a textbook or laptop screen. It’s time you take an adventure,”
Jen says with excitement sparkling in her hazel eyes.

“Jen’s right. And what better way to
strike out on an adventure than with me and the band?” Jewels pauses to take a
sip of her coffee. “Besides, it’s all behind-the-scenes stuff we need you for.
Nothing you can’t handle. Look at it as a break from your monotony, served up
with a substantial paycheck. Plus, all of your traveling and personal expenses
will be covered during the tour.”

Anxiety has produced sweat that is now
trickling down my back. How can I get out of this? “But Momma
—
”

“Nope. Not gonna work, sugar,” Momma
says as she joins us at the table.

She has a dusting of flour trapped in a
lock of her brown hair. I reach over and free it, as her light-brown eyes
regard me warmly. She gifted me with the same shade of eyes, but not hair—my
locks are so blonde she refers to it as angel hair, whatever that means.

“But
—
”

“No buts. I’ve already hired extra
holiday help and the financial books will be here waiting for you to return.”

My main responsibility is to handle the
business end for my momma’s gourmet bakery, Southern Twist. She takes southern
classics and turns them on their heads. The place is outrageously popular and is
set up on the upper-class side of Shimmer Lakes. If I’m not balancing the
books, I’m up to my elbows in dough or cake batter. I love to bake. It’s
therapeutic. More importantly, both tasks are away from the interactions of the
public—something I’m terrible at. We’ve only been in business here for a little
under two years, and the books are already in the black.

The mountains of North Carolina were
where we called home for most of my twenty-six years of life, but when my dad
was killed in a car wreck, we concluded that chapter of life there and headed
here to be closer to Momma’s side of the family.

And that’s why the decision mapped out
on this paper before me is so tough. My momma and I only have each other. I
just don’t think I can run off and leave her, even if it’s just for a short
spell.

Momma clasps her hand over mine,
summoning my attention back to the now. “Izzy, you deserve this.”

Shaking my head, I whisper, “It’s too
soon. I don’t want to leave you…”

Momma waves her hand as though she’s
shooing the notion away. “We will have our own holiday when you get back. You
know things slow down after Christmas and New Year’s, so sign the contract and
go live a little.”

I swallow the lump in my throat,
without meeting anyone’s gaze. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t do this right now.”

Silence takes over the table, so I look
up and find a shadow of disappointment and maybe pity mingle in my friend’s
expression. Jewels pushes the contract closer to me as she stands. “You have a
few weeks to reconsider. I pray you do.”

With that, both of my exasperated
friends disappear out the front door, leaving me and the taunting paper. My
eyes scan it once more and it really does scream adventure, but I choose to
ignore it and go hide the rest of the day in the kitchen.

•♫•♫•♫•

Nestled in my cozy lakefront bungalow,
midnight silently creeps up on me as I finish stringing the lights on the small
tree. I normally wait until Thanksgiving has had its day to shine, but this
year I’m antsy to get the holiday underway. That or I’m too keyed up to sleep
and this was the only thing I could come up with. Either way, I’m only a week
early on my tradition.

Baking in the still of night is what I
usually turn to when my mind won’t shut off, but it’s Saturday and the bakery
is closed on Sundays. So there’s no need in knocking out any bread tonight. The
soft melody of Christmas carols keeps me company as I rummage around in the box
of new decorations.

A light next door catches my attention
as I straighten from the box. It’s odd for my neighbor to be up this late.
Momma normally turns in as soon as the sun goes down. We snagged these
one-bedroom houses with the promises of being close to one another, while still
being able to maintain some independence that we both needed to learn.

A soft knock sounds at the back door,
producing Momma in her flannel pajamas as though my mere thoughts conjured her.

“It’s past your bedtime, young lady,” I
say, switching the stereo off.

Momma ignores my tease. “Is that
hazelnut I smell?”

“Yep. It should be done brewing soon.”
The nutty roast perfumes the small space.

She sidles up next to me and pulls a
beautiful blue ornament out of the substantial gift box. “Blue and silver? I
like it.” She hangs it on a vacant branch before digging out another.

“A gift from Jewels. She’s still at me
to go on that tour. I guess this is her attempt at buttering me up.” I shrug,
pulling a box of silver snowflakes out. It’s been three weeks since she
presented the contract that I turned down, but she’s not accepting my answer.

“I hear she’s a stubborn one,” Momma
says on a quiet chuckle.

We work in silence for a short while,
as the tree takes shape with sparkling silver and metallic blues dancing in the
twinkling white lights.

We step back and are both trying to
decide where to tuck the remaining ornaments, when I have to ask, “Momma,
seriously, what’s up?”

She eases her gaze in my direction.
“Sugar, I would hope your eyes are open to the reality that life is such a
fickle thing. We don’t know what day will be our last…”

Images of my dad lit up in laughter
flash, followed by him still in a casket before I can stamp them down. Yes, I
do know.

Momma’s warm hand grasps mine, drawing
my attention back to her. “Please, Izzy, in honor of your daddy, go on this
trip and live some.”

How to say no to that?

“But… I’m scared.”

“Don’t you remember your daddy saying
if you aren’t scared of a challenge before you, then you’re not doing it right?
Scared is good. Go conquer it. Do this for me, too. I worry I’ve sheltered you
too much and have hindered you from finding your wings.”

Abandoning the decorating, I wrap my arms
around this amazing woman—trying desperately to alleviate her ill-placed guilt.
Daddy always tried to get me to emerge from my bashfulness while Momma always
tried to protect me from it. Regretfully, I used her support as a crutch to not
move beyond my introverted ways, but she is in no way to be blamed.

“How about we go over that contract and
see what you’re gonna be up to.” She pulls away and heads over to my small
dinette table where the paper in question sits in wait. I’m guessing it doesn’t
have to wait any longer—whether I want it or not.

The coffee pot beeps to alert it being
done with its brewing job, so I grab us both a mug and set out to talking
myself into signing the darn thing.

“It doesn’t seem so complicated. You
just have to agree not to share personal info on the band and their family. And
your main duties sound on the lines of being a personal shopper and gopher.
Let’s not forget, you get to attend over a dozen concerts and go on a road trip
all over this country.” Her eyes sparkle with hope.

“I’ve never even been on a plane,” I
mutter, full of doubt.

“Well, you’re starting from the top on
that one.” She points to a note in the contract. “Private jet.”

Oh boy. An unwelcome and overwhelming
feeling creeps along my shoulders and neck. This trip is either going to
release me from my shell or crack it altogether. Here’s praying it’s not the
latter.

Chapter
Three

M
ave

“I’m
so proud of you, boys,” Mom says, squeezing me in her arms tightly.

“You’re sure you don’t want to load up
and go with us? There’s room. Or at least meet up in West Virginia with the
rest of the group for Christmas?” I ask for the hundredth time.

“I’m sure,” she answers for the
hundredth time.

She won’t leave Gramps, and I can’t
blame her. If she wasn’t doing well health wise, I’d be staying put, too. The
old geezer already threatened me and Max with his cane that we are to go on
this tour. Period.

“Last bags. Thanks, bro, for the help.”

We watch on as Max dumps the rest of
the gifts around Mom’s tree. I hate leaving her, but this is one of those ‘got
to’ times. The call is too strong to ignore.

“You’re welcome, bro.” I grin at him,
and he glares at me.

Max wraps Mom in a hug, so we are all
three tangled in a King sandwich.

“You boys take care of one another. I
love you.”

Pressing a kiss to her cheek, I say, “I
love you, too.”

Max repeats this and then we are both
out the door and loaded up in the awaiting SUV in a flash. It is literally time
to get this show on the road. I can hardly sit still as the driver heads over
to the airport.

Earlier, I tried taking the edge off
all this tension by hitting the gym with Dillon. It did little good, though. Dude
wanted to keep on about me coming off my songs for our next album. We start
work on it this spring, so I have some time to work through it. The thing with
my lyrics is that they are deeply personal, so it’s no easy decision to share
them with the public. That’s something Dillon and Jewels have never seemed to
have a problem with. Not me. It’s terrifying. I know it’s time, but releasing
this part of me won’t be easy.

“Do you mind?” Max mumbles from beside
me.

“Mind what?” I ask, still lost in
thought.

I feel his hand clamp down on my own to
quieten it. “You were tapping out a pretty aggressive beat.”

He’s looking at me guardedly. They all
do this, no matter how much time passes. I’ve placed this worry in my family,
regretfully. There’s no urge to use anymore, but I have a nagging nervousness
that never completely eases ever since the overdose. My hands are constantly
tapping out beats. It’s been a lifelong habit that has gotten worse over time.

Stealing a deep breath, I realize I
should have ditched Dillon and went for a long, hard run instead.

“We’ll be rocking out tomorrow night,”
Max says, bringing me back once again. He offers his fist, so I bump it. “Was
that a new beat you were tapping out?” Max doesn’t fool me. He’s all about it
now that my edginess ratted me out to him.

For the remainder of the ride, we talk
about music and some new chords he wants to add to the beginning of “Crashing”
to mix it up a bit. It’s one of my favorite songs Dillon has written. It’s all
about the ruckus us guys have caused together over the years. The message is
that no matter how many times we crash—and there have been plenty with lots of
scars to prove it—we always have each other’s backs. Yep. My bro knows me well.
Talking about music allows me a reprieve until we reach the private entrance to
the airport.

After sliding on my shades, I exit the
SUV behind Max. We ease around the back to help grab up our bags, but my stride
falters when Jewels rounds the side of her Mustang with a hot blonde in tow.
The song in my mind mutes and my hand stills.

Dang…

My head tilts automatically to get a
better assessment. She’s no more than an inch or two taller than Jewels and
that ain’t saying much being Jewels is five foot nothing. What this mystery
woman lacks in height, babe makes up for it in body. That sweet little figure
has the fine lines reminiscent of the classic curves of a vintage electric
guitar—a tight waist progressing into lush hips.

“Hot dang. Life just got a whole lot
more interesting, boys,” Max mutters as we all take in the new view.

It’s only then that I notice vaguely
that the rest of the group minus Dillon is gathered at the back of the SUV.

“Who’s our new friend, Jewels,” Max
hollers out. The whole crowd of us makes quick work of eliminating the distance
between us and them.

“Guys, this is Elizabeth Walker, our
new tour assistant, and she answers to Izzy.”

An enticing blush warms her creamy skin
as she takes a step behind Jewels. This beauty seems a bit too skittish, making
me wonder what Jewels is thinking.

“Hey, gorgeous. I’m Max,” my brother
says a bit too boisterously, causing the poor chick to retreat another step
behind Jewels. Trace pops him in the arm in warning, but Max just looks at him in
confusion.

Oh man. This is going to be
interesting, for sure.

Jewels introduces the rest of us
quickly, before grabbing up Izzy’s arm and leading her back to the kids and
then into the jet.

Scratching the side of my neck, my eyes
follow Izzy’s retreating form until she disappears inside completely.

“Is she mute?” Blake asks from behind
me. I didn’t even notice him joining us.

“More like scared out of her mind,”
Trace retorts.

“She’s just star struck,” Max says.

They keep tossing their opinions as we
help unload the bags and hand them over to the crew to stow in the plane. My
opinion is that this chick is going to be fun to figure out.