Having Hope (The Blow Hole Boys Book 4) (3 page)

Then she transformed, becoming transfixed on the beat. She lost herself so beautifully in the music that when I watched her play, I couldn’t look away. Only then did she wear a genuine smile. Only then was I able to get a glimpse of the light within her.

Her smile changed her appearance completely, and she went from strange and unusual to sweet and friendly in a matter of seconds. It was sad she didn’t smile more often because she went from detrimental beauty to soft and approachable with just a simple tilt of her pouty lips.

The oddest thing about her, though, wasn’t her awkward sense of style or the hidden shadows in her eyes that only another broken soul could see. It was the fact she obviously hated me, and I had no fucking clue why.

She wasn’t shy about it at all. Her disdain for me showed in her expression every time she looked at me. Disgust would consume her sweet face, and her cheeks would redden with what I could only assume was anger.

During the entire tour, she made it a point to stay away from me. She barely looked at me, and when she did, her lips would curl in contempt. She rarely spoke to me, but when she did, it was full of attitude and hatred. And being the sick fuck that I was, I loved every fucking second of it.

Women threw themselves at me. They generally liked me and liked that I was able to make them laugh. They enjoyed the fact that I could thrill them for a night since most women were always looking for a way to leave reality. I could give them that while I rocked them all night long.

Hope obviously didn’t give a fuck about any of that.

She wasn’t anything like other women—whether they were my Red Room friends or the women I fucked—and it drew me to her. It made her interesting to me, and because of that, I watched her a lot.

I couldn’t figure her out, and I needed to know what it was that made her tick. I wanted to know why the shadows danced behind her hatred, but I never pushed. I let her stay away and kept my distance, as well. 

As my eyes landed on the woman in my thoughts, her lips went from unexpressive to tilting down in disgust. I could tell by her expression that she could feel my eyes on her. I chuckled at her frown and quickly smacked a hand over my mouth. Tiny turned my way with confusion in his eyes before continuing with the ceremony.

Hope turned away from Tiny and Constance and looked at me. As usual, her lips curled and her eyes narrowed. I loved it. I loved every fucking second of her hatred. It was legit. Tangible. And for some reason, I respected her more because of it.

Her gaze dipped to my smiling lips, and she turned away, rolling her eyes. And right there, in front of everyone watching, my cock grew.

It was sick.

Disgusting.

Demented.

But that was the kind of guy I was.

I was hard and ready to go, standing in front of a group of people while my best friend got married, but I didn’t care. Everyone knew me. I didn’t hide my freak. Fuck it. I let my dick stand tall against the black slacks.

I wouldn’t fuck with Hope because I usually didn’t shit where I ate. As far as Hope was concerned, she was now a part of my home since her bandmate was marrying my bandmate. But it was more than that.  Not only was I sure she’d try to kill me if I tried to get in her pants, but Tiny and Constance getting married meant the girls of Red Room Sirens were officially off-limits … as in, no dipping my stick in their sweet spots.

That didn’t mean I didn’t fantasize about Hope and her tiny claws digging into my skin. It didn’t mean I didn’t think about wrapping my long fingers around her delicate neck and squeezing as I made her come over and over again.

She would be wild in bed—a freak like me—ready and willing to do anything and everything. Just thinking about all the positions I could put her in—all the things she’d be down for—was almost too much. But I would never go there with her.

It was wrong. It would form a chasm between the Sirens and the boys when shit went bad between us, which it definitely would. I didn’t fuck the same girl twice, and no matter how emotionless Hope seemed, she was still a woman. Women tended to get attached. Putting a hole between Blow Hole and the Sirens was the last thing I wanted to do.

That didn’t mean I wouldn’t flirt my ass off for the fun of seeing her disgusted expression. It didn’t mean I wouldn’t sneak in little touches here and there so she’d claw at my hand in rage. I was easily amused, and Hope’s open hatred of me was definitely amusing.

After the I dos and the blur of Tiny signing his life away, I found the redhead I’d spotted sitting in the back eye fucking me and took her somewhere a little more private.

I was a fucking wreck. I was losing my boys … my family. And while they were gaining their lives, I never gained anything permanent for myself. I didn’t want to think about it. I needed to lose myself in something wet and ready, and the redhead was both of those things.

Red on the head meant fire in the hole. The redhead I was fucking against the bathroom wall of the luxury resort where Tiny got married was a spitfire. She ripped at my skin with her pointed nails and bit at my shoulders. All while begging me to fuck her harder.

When I was finished with her and leaving the bathroom to go back to the reception, I was no longer thinking about my future and all the things I’d never have. Instead, I focused on the present, and everything I did have.

I was a fucking rock star. I had the world at my fingertips, and I planned to take advantage of that for as long as I could.

After the wedding reception, I drove around Los Angeles and took in the sights. The radio blared Avenged Sevenfold, and I played the drum sections on my steering wheel with my palms. The palm trees on the side of the road blurred as I sped down the lane, becoming one brown and green mass of nothingness.

We had lived in California for a while, but we worked so much that we rarely got to see the city we lived in. It felt like a good night to get to know the strange place I’d moved to with my band. I didn’t love California. It could never be South Carolina … it could never be home, but it was what I had—it was where my boys were—and so it was where I’d stay. 

I kept driving, running the gas out in my car and trying to get my thoughts together.  I wasn’t ready to return to the condo alone. Technically, the place was mine now. The boys had moved out, living the family life, and now, Tiny was joining their ranks. But the condo was huge, with more bedrooms than I’d ever use, a gym I’d never stepped foot in, and three living room spaces.

Overwhelming for a single man like myself, I tried to make sure to fill the place every chance I got to stave off the fact that I was virtually alone in the world. If I had to party every night to numb my loneliness, then I’d do it. I’d do whatever it took to forget my circumstances.

That was what I did.

It was who I was.

After driving for a few hours, I finally went home. The first thing I did when I went inside was to go to the freezer and pull out my trusty bottle of vodka. I hadn’t drunk much at the reception since I knew I had to drive home, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t get shitfaced at home alone.

Ripping the bowtie from around my neck, I stripped down to my boxers as I made my way into the living room and collapsed onto the leather sectional with a smack.

Taking a long swig from my bottle, I lay back on the couch and stared up at the unique overhead lighting that shined down on me. It was some contemporary bullshit the designer for the condo had put up. I hated it. I had since the first night we stayed there, but at least it wasn’t a shitty trailer in a dangerous trailer park.

Thirty minutes and half the bottle of vodka later, the room spun, and I chuckled to myself. Drinking alone wasn’t a good thing. My mom used to drink alone, and everyone in the neighborhood knew she was an alcoholic. I’d never be that way, but this night was a bit different. I was drinking alone as an official sendoff for my boy Tiny.

My eyes grew heavy, and the light above me began to blur as sleep moved over me and threaten to claim me for the rest of the night. I was almost gone when I heard the front door open and slam. Seconds later, I opened my eyes to find Finn standing in front of me with his arms crossed.

Finn was the lead singer of Blow Hole, but he was so much more. He was our ringleader and the oldest of our chaotic group. He’d taken on the role of big brother from the start and always made sure we had our shit together and were on time for everything.

He stayed on top of us for years, making sure we didn’t accidentally kill ourselves by overindulging, but these days, I was the only one left he felt he needed to worry about. He was my family—my brother—and I loved him.

He was bigger than I was, taller and more muscled and wide across the shoulders like a linebacker. The ladies loved him and his smooth rhythmic voice, thinking that he was walking sex, but I knew differently. Finn was smart and capable with a damn good head on his shoulders.

He always did the right thing, which meant he denied all the crazy and focused on the ones he loved the most … his wife and kids, us boys, and his mom, who had also given me a place to lay my head many nights after my mother had hauled ass. 

“You good?” he asked.

I nodded, the room slowly coming into focus as my eyes settled on Finn. “Yeah, man, I’m good. What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Zeke thought it might be a good idea to come over and make sure you were still breathing.” He fell onto the couch across from me and sighed. “Shit’s getting weird, huh?”

I chuckled. “Shit’s been weird for a long time. It’s good, though. It’s life, man.”

I leaned up, shook the dizziness away, and started to roll a blunt on top of the coffee table.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he agreed. “We’re all settling down. Who would’ve thought that would’ve ever happened?”

I nodded my head before bringing up the blunt and licking it to seal it.

“Not me, but everyone’s gotta do it at some point.”

The room went quiet, only the sounds of my lighter and the crackling tip of my blunt filling the space. Finn’s eyes never left my face.

“What about you?” Finn asked.

I inhaled, the smoke burning my lungs until they ached.

I exhaled and coughed.

“What about me?” My voice was strained and broken from the smoke.

“When are you going to settle down? Find a nice girl and have some kids and shit.”

I couldn’t help myself.

I laughed.

Hard.

“Come on, man. You know that shit’s never going to happen.” I shook my head.

“Why not?”

He was being serious.

I’d known Finn for a long time. We’d met in high school, him being a few grades ahead of me before he finally quit. He’d been through some crazy shit. We all had. But still, I couldn’t bring myself to tell Finn the real reasons behind my solitude.

No one knew.

And that was exactly how I wanted to keep it.

I wouldn’t burden anyone with that bullshit.

“It’s not for me, man. You boys are settled. All married with kids and shit. And that’s great for y’all. Marriage looks good on y’all, but it’s just not for me. I wouldn’t know what to do with the same woman every night, and while I love the kids, I could never have any of my own.”

Not because I didn’t want any, but because it would be wrong to procreate when I knew I couldn’t take care of them. I wouldn’t lock a woman with my baby and leave her hanging like that. My own mother and father had abandoned me. I knew how badly that shit sucked.

Finn nodded his understanding and let it go. I was glad. I hated deep thoughts and long heart to heart talks. I especially hated it when I was drinking and smoking because I was more likely to spill all my business.

He took the blunt when I handed it to him. It was rare that Finn ever smoked anymore. Ever since he’d found out he had a son, he’d slowed his rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle. Kids did that to you, I guess. Zeke had been the same, and I was sure once Tiny knocked up Constance, he would too.

It wouldn’t be long before I was completely alone with everything. I’d been born alone. I’d grown up alone. And one day, I’d die alone. Death was inevitable, but life was a choice. I chose to live every day like it was my last.

Finn stayed for an hour shooting the shit. We laughed about some bullshit that went down at Tiny and Constance’s wedding and went over some lyrics for the next album, but when Faith called and told him the baby wouldn’t stop crying, he grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and left.

His wife.

The baby.

The boys had wives and kids.

I had nothing.

I never would.

I’d never cared about all of it before, but it seemed the older I got, the more the ideas bounced around in my head. And the more the ideas bounced around in my head, the more I had to squash them and remember my predicament.

That night, I passed out on the couch instead of going to my room. My sleep was disturbed, my body stretching and reaching to get away as a flock of blackbirds attacked me in my nightmare.

I dreamed about blackbirds a lot. They symbolized a simpler time in my life. They reminded me of a time when I didn’t have anything to worry about except my next high and when to show up for practice. But more than that, they symbolized the sense of peace I hadn’t been able to capture since that night five years before.

The night I stepped away from the guy I was and settled into the man I wanted to be. The night I changed, only to wake up to my reason gone and eventually slip back into my old ways.  

The tiny Blackbird was gone and never returned.

She was my peace.

She was my sanctuary.

And the bits and pieces of her memory and the regrets I held on to for letting her go were slowly trying to kill me. And I was going down without a fight.