A Bleu Streak Summer (The Bleu Series Book 3) (3 page)

Sonny put the SUV in drive. As he began to pull out of the lot, Will reared back and threw his wallet with all his might, hitting the darkly tinted window in an aggressive thud. The guys laughed all the way to the concert venue and continued reveling in the hilarity until they crossed paths with Jewels…

•♫•♫•♫•

Heavy bass thumped the arena as the opening act drove it home. The guys stood at the side of the stage watching the scholarship winners of their charity rock out. Gemma and the Gents was made up of college age guys with one lone girl, who was the lead vocalist. Gemma’s voice was a powerful soprano that could rival in range with Adele. The day the Bleu guys listened to her for the first time, they were already blown away before she made it to the chorus of her audition piece. The raven beauty’s talent would shoot her to the top and they were just happy to give Gemma and her band the sturdy foundation to take off from. The west coast tour was their introduction to the world, and from the sounds of the arena, the world was quite welcoming. The young band did remixes of Bleu Streak hits as the opener for the tour that night and the crowd seemed to love it.

“If he’s not here in ten minutes, every one of you jerks will be finding a new home tonight!”

The guys reluctantly turned away from the show and regarded the petite blonde, her wavy long locks quivered with her wrath. Arms crossed, green eyes piercing each bandmate, there was no doubting she would follow through with the threat of kicking them out. She had already handed out a butt-chewing and a forceful punch to each one of their arms earlier.

Dillon tried to place his hand on his wife’s shoulder, but she yanked away. “Will is fine—”

“How could you just abandon our child in the middle of nowhere?” Her wrath was steady building with each tick of the clock that showed up without any sign of her boy.

“He’s a grown man, Pretty Girl.”

“Don’t you dare
Pretty Girl
me!”

Tate came closer while studying his phone. “He’s only about five minutes out.” He turned the phone so Jewels and Dillon could see the little red dot blinking as it moved closer to the arena.

“You’re tracking him?”

“Yes, and Joe is following closely behind him.” Dillon bent his knees to get closer to eye level with his wife, who was over a foot shorter than him. “Baby, he’s going to be away at college in only a few short months. He’s gotta get used to finding his own way around this life.” He motioned around him as though the backstage held their entire world, but from the tears welling in her eyes, Jewels got it. He pulled her in for a hug, allowing his wife the moment she needed.

It was short-lived.

Busting through the side entrance sans purple tank top, Will sauntered over like nothing was amiss. “Yo, we ready to do this?” His cocky façade back into place.

Dillon looked up and grinned while Jewels pushed out of his arms. Her tears immediately ceased. “Dillon Dawson Bleu! His hair! And what on earth is our son wearing?”

“He had on a shirt when we left him.” Dillon eyed his son. “Where’s the tank top?”

“Some chicks said they’d give me a ride if they could have it with my autograph. Seemed a reasonable sacrifice.” His lips tipped up.

Jewels moved closer to him to inspect the mohawk that was still holding its sharp form from the high-tech product the stylist used earlier. Will kept her to his left and when she leaned around the other side, he took to rubbing behind his ear and looking away.

“What’s up behind that right ear, kid?” Dillon smirked when his words made Will squirm.

“Just a little itchy.” He widened his blue eyes, relaying a silent message for mercy from his dad.

Dillon in reply narrowed his identical eyes with the message being clear he’d have to pay up later.

“Do you need some ointment? Let me see—” Jewels reached to remove his hand, but Will scooted away.

“Mom! It’s fine. We gotta get on stage soon!”

Just then, the crowd erupted in applauses as the opening act waved and exited the stage, which effectively distracted the Bleu group. They offered the newbies fist bumps and words of encouragement as they passed.

“Will, you need to go change,” Jewel instructed once they were alone again.

“He’s already dressed.” Mave grinned, but wiped it away when Jewels set a scowl in his direction.

She pointed without looking at Will’s beyond-tight pants that showed not only the outline of his boxers but easily the black color of them. “Those are inappropriate on so many levels. I can’t believe y’all dressed my son in such mess and let him parade around alone!” She turned to Tate. “Get him in something else or this show will have to happen with a one-armed drummer.”

Izzy latched onto Will’s arm, cheeks pink as she kept her gaze anywhere but on his pants and bare chest. “I’ll help him find something.” She passed Mave a stick of gum even though he wasn’t set to perform but one song with Will as she hurried off with the oversized teen in tow.

“You guys owe me some Eddie Vedder tonight!” Jewels pointed at each member of the band. Bleu Streak would always come in second to Pearl Jam, and the guys had no other choice but to live with that.

They grumbled, knowing there would be no getting out of doing a cover song for her with what they pulled on her baby boy that afternoon.

“The show is going to start late and now you want to change the lineup?” Ben shook his head while running his hands through his salt-and-pepper hair. He and Tate ran a tight ship even though the Bleu guys never made managing them a cakewalk. At least they kept life interesting.

“What Pretty Girl wants, Pretty Girl gets,” Dillon said before stealing a kiss from his reluctant wife. She continued to hold on to her frustration stubbornly. “I’ll close it out with some Eddie. Promise.”

“Two minutes to show-time,” Blake said, glancing at his watch. He tapped a button on his headset before speaking into the small attached mic. “Stand by. May need a few more minutes.”

“Just like you punks to hold up a show over silly shenanigans.” Ben shook his head and began to pace.

Just as the two minutes were up, the sounds of a drum set coming to life drew the group closer to the edge of the stage. The spotlight flashed on to illuminate Will behind the set, going to town with his opener.

“He’s wearing my change of clothes!” Dillon growled out, shaking his head. Will was sporting his dad’s blue T-shirt and dark jeans, but the gaudy pink sneakers were still on his feet. One worked the bass drum pedal as he jammed out, going through a medley of Bleu songs, weaving them in and out of one another.

“It was either that or he was stuck in those pants for the show. And those suckers had to be cut off.” Izzy said, appearing out of nowhere. When the crowd glanced over their shoulders, her face warmed. She threw her hands up with her brown eyes flaring. “Tate cut him out. Not me!”

As Will concluded his solo opener, the crowd erupted, chanting his name. He stood in true rock-star fashion and flung his sticks into the audience before pumping his fists in the air.

“Come on before his head swells too much,” Max said as he pushed past everyone and meandered onto the stage. As soon as the spotlight captured him, the crowd’s ruckus rose another notch. He fist-bumped with Will and then backtracked to his spot.

The rest of the guys emerged in the same fashion, welcoming Will and then taking up their spots. When Dillon strolled out last, blue Gibson strapped to his broad back, the cheers hit a crescendo. He waved at them as he strutted over to Will and commenced to picking the kid up like he weighed twenty pounds instead of two hundred. Still holding his son in a bear-hug hold, he walked to the front of the stage before releasing him.

“Nice kicks, kid,” Dillon said, being sure to speak into the mic before him as he looked down at the outrageously bright shoes. The crowd roared and whistled while Will shrugged with indifference.

“They’re doing their job.” Will raised a leg and wiggled his foot around. “Like my threads, too, old man?” He smirked as he did a circle around with his arms spread out to the side to show off. Red-faced girls in the audience sounded close to losing their voices already with the screams pealing out over the banter between the two guys. Will was a natural in the spotlight, carrying an ease about him just like Dillon always possessed.

Dillon let his son’s taunt go and directed his focus back to their fans. “So we decided it was time to make this kid an official member. Whataya think?” The arena erupted again, something Dillon Bleu was famous for instigating. He was enigmatic when on stage, and the fans thrived off his energy and he generously divvied it out.

“Sounds like a done deal. How ’bout we do some singing now!” Will shouted as a stagehand offered him his acoustic guitar. He quickly strapped it on and stood proudly by his dad.

The father/son duo began strumming the upbeat chords to Matthew West’s “Day One” as the other band members clapped to encourage the fans to join in. Dillon noodled his chords over Will’s lead, both heads bobbing in rhythm as they brought the praise song to vibrant life. The upbeat melody had the crowd dancing instantly. The two Bleu men crooned lyrics, declaring it was time to move forward and wanted to march to the beat of their own drum with the future finally beginning. Such an appropriate opening song to show the band’s excitement for the launch of a new legacy—Will entering adulthood and taking a permanent spot in the band his dad formed in a shed back in a Georgia trailer park with secondhand instruments and a determined prayer.

The night rocked on with Will and Mave playing one of their epic drum highlights. This time Mave played the left-handed beats and Will hit the right-handed ones as they shared the drums—the two guys syncing so seamlessly that it sounded as if only one drummer was owning the drums.

The energy was so vivacious, Bleu Streak allowed the chanting fans to talk them into two encores. When they erupted in demands for a third as the band departed to the back, Dillon pulled Jewels onto the stage with him.

After he placed her on one of the two stools he requested, Dillon addressed the audience. “I got some making up to do with my Pretty Girl. Y’all don’t mind do ya?” This was another tradition the tattooed rock legend started way back when, and the fans always loved when they got to witness him serenade his wife.

Whistles and shouts rang out as he strummed his long fingers over the strings of his electric-blue Gibson, giving them time to settle back down.

“You see… Me and the guys pulled a few initiation pranks on Will today, and Jewels wasn’t fly with it, so I’ve promised her a song from her favorite singer.” He paused to wink at her. “Can y’all believe it ain’t me?” Dillon shook his head in disbelief as he pushed his damp locks off of his forehead. He settled onto the stool and angled toward his wife as he strummed the strings of the guitar resting in his lap.

“You mess with
my
kid like that again and you’ll not be my favorite anything,” Jewels sassed, eliciting a round of laughter from the audience and causing Dillon to stop playing.

“Yes ma’am.” Dillon grinned as he picked up her hand and touched her index finger to one of the strings. “Hold your pretty finger there for me.”

Jewels nodded without question, knowing he wanted to her to participate in the song. As Dillon leaned closer to make his wife his only focus, his nimble fingers began to form the achingly sweet melody to “Just Breathe” by Pearl Jam, pressing her finger down on the string at the designated time.

The deep rasp of his voice captured the profound beauty of the lyrics as he gave them over to his best friend as a gift. Simple words that wisely held the understanding of how life is but a breath and one needed to realize the gift of people loving them. To just breathe it all in and not take it for granted.

“
Always stay with me. You’re all I can ever see
,” Dillon crooned, changing the lyrics as he felt lead. He held his gaze tenderly to her eyes with reverent possession. She was all he could see, no doubt about it. There may have been thousands witnessing this song, but it was clearly meant for none of them.

“
I promise to hold you until the day I die. And I promise I will on the other side…”
He eased the song to a close before lightly placing his lips to Jewels—soft, slow, and beyond sweet.

As the audience came back to life in whistles and applause, the bubble Dillon formed around him and his wife evaporated.

“We only get one shot at this life. Make the most of it. Love with all of your heart. Chase your dreams with all of your might. And most importantly, honor God in
all
of it. Good night.” He stood, entwined his hand with wife’s hand and led her off the stage.

Late into that night, the keyed-up group rehashed the entire concert and jammed out with a few more songs on the first floor of the beach house. The guys wrestled around and cracked jokes past three in the morning, enjoying the wave of adrenaline coursing through their veins.

Max watched on from a corner of the long sectional coach with a content smile carefully held in place, hoping to hide the conflict twisting inside him.

“Dude, we killed it.” Will was still bouncing off the walls. He tugged the edge of the beanie further down and caused it to sit cockeyed on his head, not wanting to expose the tatt to his mom just yet.