Strung Out (Needles and Pins #1) (3 page)

Turbulence vibrated the aircraft
, giving it the feel of a sled gliding over an icy surface, frozen during winds. My mind roamed to snow tubing with my stepbrother one winter in Washington, where we had lived during the several years our parents had been married. The plane rattled again, and in macabre fashion, my memories dredged up the time I’d been trying to show off and had instead careened my tube airborne, off a hill, and into the trunk of a snow-powdered fir…

“Are you okay?” Gage abandoned his own board and dropped to his knees beside me.

Studying the jagged rip in my favorite gloves, I avoided his striking gaze and brushed aside his concern. “Fine. Just me being stupid, as usual.”

His voice was tender when he admonished, “Told you, Scar. Stop talking shit about yourself like that.”

My seat bounced again, and I forcefully blocked images of the embarrassing tube incident and the sensation of hurtling through the air before crashing to the ground.

The moment the aircraft stilled, I swept a gaze over the other passengers. Everyone else seemed calm, so I forced my white knuckled grip on the armrests to relax. I’d never been a good flier.

A distraction was in order. Pulling my phone from my wallet, I pressed the side button and waited for it to power up. After connecting to the plane’s Wi-Fi, I checked for new text messages. Ignoring the one from my mother who insisted I call right away, I reread old messages from Ivy—all the way back to the texts in which she had begged backstage passes.

Gage’s father had operated a studio in Seattle until getting a job offer with Capital records in L.A. Access to most any show was a standing offer from him. I had taken him up on it a couple of times, and he always came through. The Rageon passes had come from him, I was counting on him having the connections to help me find Ivy.

I navigated from texts to looking at sexy pictures on Pinterest. The plane bumped again, and this time when I looked around, I found the clean-cut man in the seat next to mine with his eyes on my phone. Although my face felt fiery, I darkened the screen and with as much composure as I could muster, slipped it back into the leather pocket of my purse.

“I like your tattoo.” He smiled, and I followed his eyes to my wrist.

“My tattoo?” I blew out a breath. Possibly, he hadn’t been looking at my phone screen.

The design on my wrist was all black. An old-timey stopwatch. The chain was inked all the way around, bracelet style. The clock face on my inner wrist was etched with Roman numerals. The hands extended from a heart made of a treble and bass clef note. Instead of two dots, the bass clef had a dot and comma, making a semi colon. “Thanks.”

Thankfully, he asked no more about it. Not that I told anyone, ever, the special meaning behind the ink.

“S
on of a—” Breaking off the string of curses that had been about to spill, Gage glanced at the young teen who was also vigorously working a game controller. “…biscuit eating pig!” And then he lost both the battle onscreen and with his tongue. “Dammit! Cover me! Why aren’t they covering me? Are they covering you?”

“They’re idiots. New server next game.” Seth kept his eyes cemented on the giant screen television.

“Hey!” Seth’s father and Gage’s bandmate, Colt, wandered into the room from the hallway. “Who’s in the pool?” Removing his shades, he took in the view. A long swimming pool stretched the length of the room, only a few steps beyond the open outside wall.

“Allison and a friend. Trista or something.”

“There’s two babes besides Allison.”

“Allison and two friends.” Gage corrected in a bored manner and concentrated on maneuvering his onscreen chopper. He wasn’t in the mood to enjoy the local groupie action in his pool and had let them be while teaching Seth a few techniques on the guitar.

“Gratitude for keeping Seth safe from Allison’s scary clutches.”

“That’s why you’ve been making me play games?” Onscreen, Seth’s character bit the dust. Instead of respawning, the teen threw the controller aside and furrowed a frown at Gage for his treachery. “Screw this. I’ll be at the pool until we leave.”

“Beer’s in the fridge.” Gage ignored the teen’s outburst and abrupt departure. The ‘Round Ended’ screen flashed, and he let his score tally before logging out and abandoning the gaming.

“You check your voicemail today?” Colt tossed him a frosty bottle and strategically placed himself within sight of his son and the stunning women sunning.

Twisting open the top, Gage considered the long tour leg they’d recently come off of and felt no shame in admitting he was still taking time off.

Colt seemed amused. “Vacation is officially over. You should check your messages.”

“Vacation isn’t over.” Gage countered, and straightened to his feet with the intention of joining his female guests.

“Just find your damn phone. I’m serious.”

“If there’s something I need to know, spit it out.”

But he was concerned enough to locate his cell phone and check the voicemails, texts, and other messages in queue. His heart warmed to see the text from his sister, updating him on her layover, and reminding him she was due into LAX late that evening. Just as quickly, his mood darkened to see a message from his lawyer regarding the trouble he’d gotten into on tour.

And the one Colt was surely going on about―one from his record label. The band was expected to have an album completed with a probable top ten single within the next fourteen months or the label would drop him.

“They'll drop
me
? Or the band?”

“Keep listening. The next one.”

Switching to speakerphone, he glared at Colt for the dramatics. After the next message finished playing, he left the cell on a table letting the call automatically end while he drew a long swig of the beer.

It seemed in addition to a promising song, he was to have something for them to hear before the end of the month.

“Why does the douche keep saying
me
?” Moving closer to the patio, he roved appreciative eyes over tanned bumps and curves glistening in the sunlight.

Colt glowered while taking in the same view. Likely because the girls were openly flirting with his young teen son. Allison’s tits all but floated from the strip of a bikini top as she leaned back with her arms on the rim of the pool while talking and flashing an enticing smile at Seth. Colt had become a father when he was only a few years older than Seth, so although he spoiled his son in almost every way, he had become a real hard ass in these situations.

“Probably because you're so easily replaced.” Colt spoke over his shoulder.

He knew Colt was joking around. But in the light of everything going on lately, he didn’t find the remark the least bit funny and expressed his displeasure with an obscene gesture. “Fuck you.”

“No.
You're
the one who’s fucked. You can't stay sober long enough to write a song. Much less an album.”

“You’re probably right.” The guitars filling every available space in this room saluted mockingly. “So
you
do it.”

“Yeah. Right. Because we know how well that works out for me.” His eyes had been heated with hostility, but now they chilled with clear meaning. “But I'll also gladly take your place when you're booted out.” Colt downed his beer and pitched the bottle into the trash where it clinked against others. As if he hadn’t ridden in on a hardline high horse, he dropped a tiny bag of white powder onto the table where it landed next to the phone of bad news. “Enjoy the rest of your vacay day!”

Easier done now that Colt was taking his leave. He and Colt had been close friends for years―as well as enemies. Colt always had his six in a pinch but also turned on him on a dime if it suited him in some way.

He watched as Colt knelt next to the water, and the women turned their sultry attention his way. This seemed to be the plan. Seth exited the pool from the far end and after looking around, dropped his hand to the front of his swim trunks for a quick adjustment. When he sent a grateful look to his dad, Colt stood, bidding the girls bye, and father and son entered the house through the great room.

Seth popped into the studio room for his guitar and grinned. The angst from a half hour ago had vanished. “Thanks for the lesson.”

“See you.” Gage returned the smile.

Soon the front door clicking closed echoed down the hallway.

Picking up the tiny zip lock bag, Gage carried it outside to the girls. His cravings ran deeper this evening than a couple of thick white lines, but he could wait for the sweet sting he desired.

T
he baggage claim area was empty of rock stars. Gage had yet to answer my ‘Wheels down’ text. While waiting for the crowd to thin around the baggage carousel, I peered through the large windows, scanning the waiting rides, but almost every vehicle was abuzz with loading activity. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I checked for an answer to my text and sent another.

When we were children, my stepbrother had always been there for me. Even when my mom had been photographed by the paparazzi with her lover, creating one hell of a scandalous split up with Gage’s father, Gage had remained interested in my life. But a couple of years after graduation, his band, Fire Flight, had taken off. I’d rarely heard from Gage since.

Stumbling across him on the internet couldn’t be helped, him being a paparazzi and tabloid favorite. We were friends on Facebook. But I had a feeling someone else had taken over his accounts. A social media assistant who thought my congratulatory comments beneath the posts of an album drop or a number one iTunes download were the blabbering of a fan or groupie, because I never got more than a ‘like’—if that—in return.

Obviously, the niggling feeling that Gage hadn’t ignored me on social media had been wishful thinking. He was a rock star, and I knew firsthand how self-absorbed celebrities were.

“Ma’am? Would you like me to help you with your bag?”

My lone piece of luggage was the only one riding on the carousal, and I hastily grabbed it up with a smile to my previous seatmate. “Thanks, but I’ve got it.”

Outside, I waited for a cab to glide into the pickup area and waved the next one down. The cabbie wasn’t as chivalrous as the man in baggage claim had been. He was silent as I slid open the door and wedged my own suitcase into the cargo area before climbing in the back and heaving the door closed.

“Where to?”

“I’m not sure yet. One moment, please.”

My phone vibrated and blinked with an incoming call from my mother. Ignoring the call, I tapped out my third text to Gage and then one to his father.

Immediately my phone rang, flashing my previous stepfather’s ID. It calmed me a bit to know that although we hadn’t corresponded in years outside of emails and texts, and the hour was late, he was that quick to call.

“I’m not in town right now, but I can arrange a car for you and book you into a hotel.” He made the offer, and again, I was touched. “And if you want, I can have someone meet you at my house tomorrow and let you in. How long are you staying?”