A Bleu Streak Christmas (4 page)

Chapter
Five

M
ave

It’s
show time, suckers! Yeah!

“Dude, let’s turn Trace’s hair green
and Dillon’s bright-red. They’ll be all Christmas coordinated.”

I roll my eyes at my boneheaded
brother. “Open a flipping beauty salon already. Seriously, bro, you’re starting
to worry me.”

“Nah. Let’s just dye
your
hair green. You’re definitely in
the spirit of the Grinch,” he grumbles.

“Keep goofing off with Dillon and
you’ll find yourself bald again. Seriously, bro. Lay off.”

Max runs his hand through his shaggy
mop. I bet he’s reliving his unexpected bald faze. “What’s so wrong with
goofing off some? You need to chill out.”

Little Grace dances by in some frilly
get-up. Pointing in her direction, I say, “Go play beauty shop with her. I’m
sure she’d be thrilled to do your nails.”

Armed with my drumsticks, I head over
to side of the stage. I’m so ready. We’ve already prayed and taken our last
sips of water. The opening act is wrapping things up. We’ve handpicked opening
acts in each state with hopes of drawing some attention to new talent.

I’m watching these young dudes rock out
when doll baby approaches me with a stick of gum and all I can do is grin at
her. I have to chew gum while I perform otherwise I end up gnawing a hole in
the side of my cheek. Izzy holds it out, but I want to tease her a little, so I
don’t accept it. Instead, I cross my arms and dare her to speak.

Say something, doll. Anything
.

I can nearly count on one hand the
words this chick has spoken to me in the last four days.

“Tate said to give you this,” she
mumbles, making it hard for me to catch over the loud music.

I accept it, but not before dragging
her hand in mine. “Thanks, doll.” I wink for the heck of it and am rewarded by
catching a flash of defiance in her gorgeous brown eyes. She’s not a fan of me
calling her doll. I’d knock it off, but the addiction to seeing her reaction is
already too irresistible.

She yanks her hand away and rushes off.

Izzy Walker is nothing like any chick
I’ve ever encountered. Women normally throw themselves at me. Not this one.
Nope. This babe runs, and in only four days of knowing her, I have a wild
craving to chase after her.

And the lady can cook. I mean
really
cook. We woke up this morning to
fresh baked cinnamon raisin bread and some kind of slamming egg dish with all
sorts of sautéed vegetables. Ben and Tate have been boss on finding us mainly condos
or house rentals for the tour, and I so want to kiss them for making sure we have
access to a full kitchen. I haven’t eaten this well in a while. Jewels says this
is supposed to be some kind of break for Izzy career-wise, but the band is
already trying to figure out how to make her a permanent fixture. She not only
cooks like nobody’s business, she’s also taking pretty good care of us. The
second concert in California, I lost my sticks—nothing new there—and she had
replacements within an hour. Yeah. She’s good.

My thoughts seem to produce her,
because she’s back to standing beside me as the opening act takes their leave.
I high-five the kids as they pass by me.

“Show time!”

“Break a leg,” Izzy murmurs, surprising
me.

“Sweetheart, we never, and I do mean
never,
say that to Mave. Dude is liable
to pull it off,” Trace says as he walks by.

I smirk down at her. “He’s right, but
thanks.” Taking a moment to appreciate the Bleu Streak tee she’s rocking and
how those well-worn jeans hug her, I offer up another wink and walk away.

Moments of madness later, my drums are
set up and I’m perched behind them. The sound guy gives the signal in my
earpiece as the lights come up on only me. I open the shows being that I’m the
one to set the beat with my drumsticks.

Oddly enough, the song we are covering
doesn’t normally start with a drumbeat, but we’re Bleu Streak so of course our
version does.

The beat is set so the light slowly
illuminates Trace as he joins to the rhythm with his keyboard. Max is lit up
next as he strums his guitar, followed by Logan, who sets into plucking a
bluesy melody. From my perch, which is elevated behind the rest, I see it
all—my guys losing themselves in our music and the crowd finding whatever moves
them in the lyrics.

The trove of fans doesn’t see him yet,
but I do. He’s one brave—or maybe one stupid—man to pull this stunt. One of
these days, his luck is gonna run out and he’s gonna get mauled.

A giant Santa saunters right through
the unsuspecting crowd and makes his way to the stage. Luckily, six
strategically-placed bodyguards are standing near the front, because just as
soon as Santa sings the first line of “Blue Christmas,” the place loses it. The
big guys help him get on stage just in the nick of time.

Dillon croons out the lyrics in his
edgier rock style and the fans go mad. The place is close to out of control in
hysterics when he strips the Santa hat and coat and flings them toward the
audience.

Jewels has only allowed him three sets
of this Santa gear and made him promise to only pull this stunt in the smaller
venues. Tonight is the third show here in Arizona, so our man was itching to do
it. Brave or stupid—I’m not so sure.

It is a pretty epic and sly way to
start things off, though. The energy of the crowd is infectious after this, and
I get lost in our songs that follow.

Will joins me halfway through the set
and we give this crowd our own show. Both drum kits are specially designed to
light up and these babies look like Christmas—twinkling and changing color with
our beats. We only light ‘em up for the duets. Again, the crowd loses it.

The adrenaline coursing through me is
something indescribable. It’s the purest of highs and I crave it. Behind my
drums on a stage—yeah, it’s where I belong.

It feels like the show is over before
it begins. After two encores, we all exit the stage, leaving Dillon perched
behind the grand piano. The dude is about to kill it, and I eagerly stand to
the edge of the stage to catch it. I sidle up beside Izzy and Jewels, who seem
enthralled, too.

The stage lights lower until only one
spotlight remains and is trained on Dillon. The man owns any instrument placed
in his hands, but I think his home is behind a piano. He serenades the crowd
with his own rendition of “Hallelujah.” Head bowed to the keys, Dillon’s lyrics
tell the Nativity story and keep on all the way to the crucifixion of our
Savior. His voice rings out in hallelujahs of Jesus doing it for all of our
freedom from sin.

Halfway through the song, Izzy’s
sniffles catch my attention. Glancing over, I’m blown away. This woman isn’t
glued to the rock star on stage. No. Her eyes are closed and her head is tilted
towards heaven, leaving no doubt that she is worshiping God in this moment and
not idolizing a musician.

I swear Izzy Walker just stole a part
of me without my permission.

•♫•♫•♫•

The plane is pretty quiet this late
hour. After the show, we only had time to grab quick showers before it was time
to board. I glance over at my quiet companion and watch on as she seems
engrossed in reading. Whatever it is, it looks to be irritating her. I’m about
to bug her about it when Jewels plops down on the edge of my seat, making me
scoot over to accommodate her. This brings me closer to Izzy, so I don’t mind
at all.

“What’s up with Bleu Streak and blonde
chicks?” I yank the end of her long dark-blonde hair. “You, Jen, Logan’s woman
Brooke, and now this doll beside me. All blonde.”

Jewels rolls her eyes. “Because you
guys own the color wheel when it comes to hair. Black, brown, red, blond,
green, blue, orange…” We laugh and Izzy actually joins in. “We blondes tame you
guys down.”

“We’re pretty boring at the moment with
no orange or blue or green.”

“True.” Jewels grins. “Although, it
wasn’t too long back I do believe you were rocking an awesome shade of
lavender.”

“Against my will.” My fingers tap a
beat on top of my legs. “What’s up?”

“I’m bored.” She pulls my arm out so
she can get a good look. Pointing to the abstract ink forming an eagle in the
crook of my arm, she says, “Tell me a story.”

I meet her green eyes and shake my
head. “Pick another.” A quick glance to my right conveys to my dearest friend
that this isn’t a story I’m ready to share with Izzy. Jewels gives me her look
that says
just this once
.

She walks her fingers along my arm until
they rest on the pocket watch with no hands to indicate a time. Ah. Now that’s
a flood of memories right there on my forearm.

Izzy is now leaning over my arm to
check it out with the ends of her soft hair tickling me. I breathe in the warm
cinnamon scent of her, causing my mouth to water. Not a bad way to spend a
flight—two hot blondes checking me out! I’m so rubbing this one in Dillon’s
face tomorrow. They are close to looking like twins—both sporting Bleu Streak
hoodies and stretchy pants that are supposed to be for yoga, I think. For now,
I lean in and enjoy the attention.

“This one I got back when we signed our
first recording contract. We’d already lived a hard life and we were emerging
into an adventurous one. I wanted something to remind me to live no matter
what. We don’t know our last beat on the time clock, and I want it all to
count. It’s my life and I want it all to sum a substantial journey. Stupid curiosity
made it hurt like a nightmare for a while, but, all in all, I can say I’ve
lived.”

A few beats pass, with Izzy absently
tracing the edge of the clock. I don’t even think she realizes she’s touching
me.

 
“If the clock stops now, I’ve lived.” I look
up and see tears shining in this woman I call sister’s eyes. There may be no
blood shared in our veins, but we are in each other’s souls—no doubt about it.
Jewels knows everything about me and man does she so rock for accepting and
loving me anyway.

“I’m glad that clock is still ticking.”
Jewels places a kiss on my cheek as she stands and heads to the back of the
plane.

Izzy settles back down in her chair to
read. It’s not long before she goes back to huffing.

“What’s the matter, doll? The prince
ain’t rescuing the princess fast enough?”

She turns those brown eyes towards me.
“What?”

I tap the screen of her iPad. “Your
romance not working out?”

Those stunning eyes now roll at me.
“I’m not into chick lit. I like a good mystery suspense.” She waves her device
in the air before plopping it in her lap. “But not when I figure out who did it
not even a quarter of the way in.”

Well, that’s impressive, if I do say so
myself.

“How about you? Do you like to read?”
she asks in that quiet voice of hers.

“Sure. I read the Bible most every day.”
My shoulder lifts in a slight shrug. “And I really dig poetry. I keep books by
C.S. Lewis, William Blake, and Walt Whitman with me.”

“Really?” She looks a little skeptical
and maybe impressed.

“Yeah. I’m hooked on how the words
spell out one thing but mean another. It reminds me of lyrics.”

Izzy nods her head like she gets it,
but doesn’t say anything.

“Say, doll, what’s up with all this
shyness? A beautiful, accomplished woman such as yourself shouldn’t have a
bashful bone in her body.” I nudge her arm to get her attention back to me and have
to dip my head, forcing her to meet my eyes.

“I always have been.”

“But why?”

“I’m not sure exactly. My jaw just
locks up and I can’t… I don’t know.” She seems just as baffled by it as me.

“Well, we are all born different. I
mean, look at my idiot twin. Max is a nut job. Just is.” I shrug again, causing
her to snicker.

“I heard that, jerk,” Max says from
across the aisle. “I guess you’re just born to be an accident waiting to
happen.”

“Straight up.” I laugh. “Guess some
things are just nature and nothing we can do about it, no matter how much
nurture is given.”

We settle down a while and I can’t help
but watch her read. That stunning face wrinkles and scowls and her eyes widen
at different parts of the book.

“Izzy?” She looks back over at me,
looking surprised that I addressed her by her actual name. “Do me a favor,
though. Never let others’ opinion hold any power over you. Own who you are,
okay?”

“Okay.” She nods. “Here, read some of
this while I go check on little Grace. Tell me what you think.” She hands over
the iPad after returning the book to the first chapter. I think she’s running
away from me and my conversation, but I’ll let her get away with it this once.

She scoots by and I’ll be danged if
Blake isn’t on her heels. “Izzy, you need help with anything?” he asks.