Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance (44 page)

“Inspiration after that blow job this morning.” He proudly noted her blush and began to dig through his bag for his phone charger. When he triumphantly located and pulled it from the rest of the things he couldn’t live without for a couple of weeks, he saw she was still standing in observation mode. “What?” Defensively he added, “Hell. So they add a cleaning charge. Big fuckin’ deal.”

“Will it even come off?”

“Sure.” But he wasn’t sure. He only knew he paid the extra cost for whatever damage he or the band did to a hotel room and forgot about it. Was that wrong? Would someone work overtime re-tiling so the next guest could check in on time? He was rethinking so many things since she’d come back into his life.

She slipped into bed, smelling of shampoo and soap, and her. Opting out of his own shower, he muted the phone before lying down and curling to her.

This was not the ideal time for the story of their relationship to break—if there was an ideal time. Hell, the media hated him right now. More bad press would be another nail in his Fire Flight coffin. And what about Scar? What would be the effect on her?

Her whisper was a breath on his neck, and he felt the barest play of her fingers in his hair. “Are you asleep?” He wanted to be. Damn, he was tired. When was the last time he’d managed to sleep for more than a few hours before waking and staring into the dark? Before his drunken mind processed enough to mumble an answer, she went on, still in a whisper. “I love you, Gage. I do. And despite you being a dick about hearing it, I wanted to say it on the same night you said it to me. Even if you never know it.”

With that off her chest, she relaxed back into her place beside him, and the sheets brushed his skin as they shifted slightly. For about three seconds he contemplated continuing the game of possum before losing it.

Rolling atop her, he kissed her crazy. “Say it again.”

“Mmh, can’t…” She mumbled around his assault, trapped. “You gotta…” He lifted his mouth just barely, and she rewarded him by blurting it aloud. “I love you, Gage.”

“Love you, Scar.”
My darlin’.

The days rolled
by too fast. All too soon, they were buckled into first class and the Baja peninsula more resembled Google Earth than their vacation paradise.

The phone call came when he was working in the studio, putting the finishing touches on the new version of the demo, so Colt could add his part.

Annoyed, he habitually glanced at caller ID with his thumb ready to mute the interruption. Ben’s name flashed, and he wavered before tapping the green icon, accepting the call from the band’s manager.

“Gage?” Ben’s tone was different. Everyone was treating him with kid gloves these days.

“Who else?” He barked, and swiveled his chair away from the pro-tools screen.

“The label made the decision this morning. It’s not good.”

Heart plunge
.

“Give it to me.”

“They dropped you.” There wasn’t finality to that period, and instinctively Gage remained quiet and let the man who’d been Fire Flight’s manager for years continue. “They didn’t drop Powers.”

“Where are they going with this? I own half of Fire Flight.” The band name. The brand. The package. He and Colt had been the only members of Fire Flight signed on that fateful day.

“There’s not a problem with that. Happens all the time. There’s a contingency clause in your contract. They can still record the other members under Fire Flight. If they decide to keep that name.”

“Right.” Statistically, changing the vocalist didn’t bode well for a band. It was more probable they were hanging on to Colt until they could decide if they could make a buck from his talent and name as a solo artist. “Thanks, man. Later.”

The moment the call ended tone sounded, he threw the phone. It hit the wall and incredulously bounced to the floor in one piece.

In truth, he had known doing the right thing—giving Colt the publishing rights he deserved—was likely to bite him in the ass. But he’d needed it off his conscience. He’d never felt right about letting the label manipulate him and in doing so causing him to steal. Now that Colt had equal ownership in at least a third of Fire Flight’s songs, all they had to do was make another album. They could easily tour with that much of the old stuff plus new.

“Argh!” The bellow rose and spewed like bile from his throat. He kicked at the laptop stand. When it didn’t topple, he swept the computer from the surface and watched with a strange combination of grief and satisfaction as he lost the last half hour of work on the new song.

Standing at the edge of the room, where it opened onto the patio, he tried to calm himself with the sight of Scar floating in the pool. The Bluetooth headphones in her ears had kept her from hearing his tantrum.

Retrieving his phone, he scrolled through his contacts and typed out a text to his assistant.

Remembering he had trashed his black bag in a gesture of goodwill, he quickly sent another message.

Scarlette was still in her swimsuit, but out of the pool. The sight of her centered him some. Wandering out, he took the chair beside her, and they discussed dinner. With her phone in hand, she was soon intent on ordering their supper while engaging in a game of footsie with him. When the doorbell rang, he sprinted from the patio and through the house.

With his assistant trailing behind him, he headed to the studio. Putting everything in a safe place for later, he spoke over his shoulder.

“I’m going to be away for a while.”

“Rehab.”

Gage nodded, knowing it was fairly common knowledge by now among his staff and friends. He turned to find the other man staring beyond the room perimeter at Scar with as much interest as every time he’d seen her—despite the cleanup chore of puke on a car mat tainting the last time.

Remembering he’d never properly introduced Scar to Logan that day, he briefed him. “That’s my stepsister, Scarlette. I’m going to give her your number. Anything she needs. Understand?”

 “Yeah. Sure.” The other man seemed too eager to oblige and pulled his phone from his pocket. “What’s her info? I’ll put it in right now.”

Logan’s nonchalant inquiry while drooling over Scar had Gage gnashing his teeth. “I’m not giving out her number.” Not that he even knew by memory the number she was giving out to anyone other than her inner circle. The second number and extra privacy protections were part of having her cell provider classify her account as ‘celebrity,’ which she had done around the time of the documentary release. “It will come up as restricted.” Like his. Even if someone added the number to his or her contacts, when a ‘celebrity’ call came through, it always showed restricted access instead of a name. “That’s why I told you her name. So you’ll know who she is if she calls. But she may never call. I just want to know there’s someone she can turn to if she needs help with anything.”
Besides fuckin’ Colt, dammit
.

“Whatever.” His assistant shrugged and smartly decided to play it cool. “You going to introduce us at least?”

“Fine. Yeah.” Once again cursing the gods of fate taking him away from her for any length of time, he walked his assistant outside and commenced with the introduction.

Scar and Logan shook hands and immediately after the pleasantries, launched into a conversation about USC. He returned to the studio, watching them while he cleaned up his tantrum mess before Scar saw.

Tick damn tock… 

T
he plane touched down and coasted to a stop. While it maneuvered to the correct gate, Scarlette watched Gage scrub a hand over his weary features. They’d flown to Utah on a private jet owned by one of the corporations his dad was affiliated with. Unfortunately, she’d been too distraught to enjoy the lavish experience.

Looming ahead was one last night together before she would return to L.A. without him. Shady Oasis was located about an hour north of Salt Lake City. In less than twenty-four hours, the rehab facility would become his temporary home.

Deciding to nap after checking into the hotel, they fell across the bed. When despite their exhaustion, neither fell asleep, they ended up banging a quickie out and then talking between dozing on and off.

“Ivy is meeting up with you in a few days?” He asked, combing his fingers through her hair.

For almost two weeks around her birthday, she would vacation in a house Gage’s father owned on the coast of Big Sur to stay low during her coming-of-trust-fund-age birthday. After their Cabo cover was blown, Gage had suggested Maldives and Seychelles, two great places to disappear. But she didn’t want to be more than a couple of hours from him.

She nodded. “I’m texting her as soon as I touch down. She’s going to spend the night at the house with me.” She was glad she wouldn’t have to stay in Gage’s house alone that first night without him. Gage had chartered Atlas, his usual chopper service, to carry them to Big Sur from there.

“And your mom is back in Belize?”

Playing with the edge of the bed sheets, she affirmed this, knowing as protective as he had been, he was seeking reassurance that Henni was far away. She had met her mother at her hotel right before she had flown out. Surprisingly, she’d received an almost tearful apology over parts of the past. Still, being with Gage had grounded her enough to be wary.

He left the bed and closed himself in the bathroom, and her thoughts meandered even more.

Her new world was spinning fast.

She’d managed to keep a low profile around the twentieth anniversary. But now, she required an agent to field the ensuing publicity from only the premiere. She’d done a half dozen promo appearances on morning shows, night shows, and news segments. She’d done a phone interview for a major music publication and had three more lined up. All in regards to the documentary, which was releasing to select theaters this coming weekend.

She felt like her life was a simmering pot, beginning to boil, about to boil over. What she wanted was to resume her very normal life—one that even though it had been dysfunctional, had also been out of the public eye. That was one credit due her mom. Would it take hiding in a jungle to get back to that?

Hopefully not.

 “You hungry?” He returned and dug through a plastic shopping bag on the table. They’d made a stop on the way to the airport because Gage had wanted an energy drink, and she had picked up some snacks.

“No. You?”

“No.” He cracked the window and lit a cigarette. She stared at the uncharacteristic action. Putting it to his lips, he spoke around it. “Although I was thinking I should have a last meal.”

 “It’s not an execution.” She teased.

“I don’t know what kind of food I’ll be eating.” Crawling back into the bed with her, he blew a cloud of smoke toward the window.

When it was sucked neatly outside, she relaxed her nervous watch of the smoke alarm and teased, “I saw the information packet. Sushi. Seafood. The option to have the chef prepare a special diet. The only thing not mentioned was whether or not they’ll serve your gourmet meal out by one of those giant pools.” She traced a finger over the artwork of one of his tattoos. When he didn’t answer, she raised her head from his chest enough to look into his face. “I’m sorry. I’m not making light of it. I promise.”

“I know. I’m just really nervous.” His thumb made circles on her wrist, and she didn’t realize what he was doing until he asked softly, “What does it mean?”

Realizing he’d been caressing her tattoo, she settled securely against him and drew in a considering breath. She’d been asked before. But she’d never answered the truth. Until now. “Well, you have to stretch your imagination. But the treble and bass clef are an obvious salute to my dad.”

The pad of his thumb continued its rotations, feathering her skin.