Blame It on the Bass (2 page)

Nick snorted, tossing Levi a disgruntled glower. “The kid plays guitar better than anyone I know and he considers it time wasting.”

Josh shrugged. “Hey, if I can’t kick a ball around may as well do something, right?”

“I told you what you can do.” Nick waved a hand toward the kitchen on his left. “Take out the trash.”

Josh flipped his father off. “Bit early to be drinking, isn’t it?”

With a grunt, Nick snatched up Levi’s glass and held it aloft, a melodramatic pout on his face. “This is what you do to me, son. Drive me to drink. Why couldn’t you have been a musician like your old man? There’s no chance of getting your knee-cap kicked off in a recording studio. I wouldn’t be drinking myself to an early grave if you’d followed in my footsteps.”

“Huh!” Josh laughed, shooting Levi a grin. “Early grave my arse. And watch it. I just might show the world you’re not the only Blackthorne who can hold a tune. What else am I going to do with my life now?”

Nick burst out laughing. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you reckon. Your guitar’s in the nursery. You left it there this morning when you were singing to Chloe.”

“Crap, that’s right. Thanks, Dad.” Josh’s smile for his father was so open and happy for a moment Levi couldn’t breathe. Fresh pain and grief flooded over him again, raw and empty and gutting.

Christ, would he ever get to experience that? His child smiling at him with such obvious love? Or was that future lost to him now? The way Corbin was?

“You hanging around for a while, Levi?”

The question dragged Levi from his bleak torment. He looked up at Nick’s son, a heavy pressure wrapping his chest. “Nope,” he said with a shake of his head. “Heading back to Sydney in a moment.”

Nick raised his eyebrows.

“Take care then,” Josh said, giving Levi a nod of farewell. “And say hello to Corbin for me.”

“I will,” Levi answered, amazed how relaxed he sounded. How…unbroken.

The sound of Josh’s crutches tapping on the tiled floor faded to silence as he hobbled from the living room.

Levi didn’t allow himself to look at Nick. He knew the disapproval would be there in his friend’s face without visual confirmation.

“Heading back now, ’eh?”

He pulled a face at Nick’s level question.
Yeah, there it is.

Nodding, he scrubbed at the back of his neck with a shaky hand. Whether it was shaking due to the excess amount of scotch in his system or because of the heartache devouring him, he wasn’t certain. Possibly both. Fuck, he hadn’t drunk so much alcohol in one sitting for ages. “Heading back now.” He dropped his hand to his leg and rubbed at the top of his thigh. “I can’t stay here, Nick. It’s too…”

He stopped. Rubbed at his thigh again. Ground his teeth.

“Too hard to be near a baby?”

Throat tight, Levi raised his stare to Nick. “Every time I hear her make a sound my heart tears apart more. And it’s not just Chloe. The love you and Josh have, the relationship…fuck, it kills me. You have no idea how happy I am for you. You deserve this, mate, you really do, but watching it and knowing I might never get to experience it. It…” He stopped again, swiped at his mouth with his hand and then scraped his fingers through his hair. The roar in his head was back, faint but there all the same. Would he ever escape it?

“Hurts too much?” Nick finished the wretched sentence for him.

Levi nodded again. An invisible band of crushing pressure strapped his chest. His gut churned. “It does.”

“So you’re heading back to Sydney? To do what? Drink some more?”

The snort that escaped Levi was wry. “No, I think I’ve had enough for the year.” He let out a ragged breath. “First, I’m going to trim my beard, then brush my hair. Then I’m going to call Corbin. And if he doesn’t answer, I’ll send him a text telling him to get his arse home. And if he doesn’t answer that…” He trailed off. Swallowed. “Hey, maybe I’ll hit a few karaoke bars. See if I can find your replacement there.”

Nick chuckled. “I like my plan better, but as far as Plan Bs go, it’s okay.”

Levi smiled, a pitiful one, but a smile all the same. When had he last done so? Before the funeral? “Thanks.”

Gaze unwavering, Nick regarded him for a moment. “You sure?”

Off in the distance, the sound of a strumming guitar wafted on the silence, Josh’s singing accompanying the sweet notes: Dire Straits’s “Why Worry”. Levi pulled in a breath. Christ, Nick was right—the young man
could
sing.

Fixing Nick with an equally steady look, Levi nodded once more. “I’m sure.” He grimaced. “Probably shouldn’t have drunk so much. There’s no way I can drive.”

With a grunt, Nick shoved himself to his feet. A detached part of Levi’s mind noted the guy still looked fucking hot. Tall, lean and fit, despite the years piling on top of him. “I’ll fire up the chopper,” he said, capping the bottle of Chivas. “It’s been a while since I flew.”

Levi cocked an eyebrow. “You’re going to take me home, Blackthorne? In that helicopter of yours? After you’ve been drinking?”

Nick grinned at him. “I had one. And yeah, I am. Give me a sec to tell Lauren where I’m going.” He began walking toward the direction of Josh’s singing and then stopped and threw Levi a smirk. “There’s no loo in the thing, Levistan, so I suggest you empty out now. We’ve got a forty-five minute flight ahead of us.”

Levi rolled his eyes. “Jesus, I forgot how twisted you are. Josh is right, you’re a sick man.”

Nick’s laughter trailed him as he walked from the living room.

Levi stared at the bottle of scotch, his heart thumping fast in his ears. What would he do if Corbin didn’t answer his call? Or reply to his text?

Raking his hands through his hair once more, he huffed out a slow breath. “Then I’ll hit the karaoke bars,” he muttered, turning from the Chivas. “What else have I got to do?”

Thirty minutes later, after Lauren told him he wasn’t allowed to go numerous times, disapproval warring with worry on her beautiful face, Levi climbed up into Nick’s private helicopter and buckled himself in.

He really wasn’t a good flyer. The rest of the band gave him a hard time about it often. Still, letting Nick take him home was better than paying a cab for the six-hour drive to Sydney.

The flight back was a quiet one. They discussed the band’s so-far futile search for a replacement lead singer, the country’s current prime minister, Josh’s knee injury and the woeful state of the economy. Normal, run-of-the mill conversation. It wasn’t until they’d landed on Sydney’s domestic airport helipad that Levi realized Nick hadn’t mentioned Chloe once, nor Lauren.

The deliberate omission touched him. Damn, he missed the guy being a regular part of his life.

“Okay.” Nick killed the chopper’s engine, removed his headphones and turned to Levi. “I’m going to get us a car and see you—”

Levi shook his head. “No. It’s all good. I’ll grab a taxi from here.”

Nick frowned. “You sure?”

“Yeah. You need to get back to your family.” Levi unbuckled his seat harness. “You have no idea how grateful I am for your ear, Blackthorne. And while I’m probably going to have the biggest fucking hangover tomorrow, and quite possibly the worst headache later this evening, I don’t regret driving up to see you. I couldn’t bear to stay a minute longer, but I’m glad I got to experience that one brief moment in your home, with your family. They are awesome, and Chloe is gorgeous, and when my stupid heart finally heals—whether Corbin is with me or not—I’ll come back to get my car in a few days and bounce her on my knee then, okay? Cuddle her and breathe in her baby smell and be the best damn pseudo uncle an aging rock star can be. Deal?”

For an answer, Nick reached out and wrapped him in a tight hug. “Deal.”

Levi allowed himself a stolen moment of just being held by his friend. Nick’s heat warmed the chill in his soul, and then—with a chuckled grunt—Levi disengaged. “All right, Blackthorne. That’s enough. You’ll get me all hard.”

Nick thumped his fist against Levi’s shoulder, his grin playful. “I got you all hard years ago, Levistan. You just couldn’t deal with being my bitch.”

“True. True.” Levi smirked. “But holy fuck, mate, could you imagine the sex?”

“Get out of here, you demented bastard.” Nick shook his head as he flicked a switch on the helicopter’s control deck marked
Radio Comm
. “Before I take you back to Murriundah with me and hook you up with the school’s new principal. He’d be perfect for—”

With a laugh, Levi flung open his door. “I’m outta here.”

He leapt down from the helicopter’s cabin. “Take care, Nick,” he said. “And hug your baby daughter every chance you get, okay?”

Nick nodded. “Shall do, mate. Kick Corbin in the arse for me.”

Levi let out a wry snort. “You better believe I will.”

With a smile, he slammed the door shut, gave it a short, sharp rap and then hurried away from the chopper.

He felt better. The pain and empty grief still filled his chest, but the familiar roar in his head had gone. He felt better. Ready to confront Corbin, to talk to his lover, to fix the growing chasm between them.

Two hours later, the chasm remained.

Corbin didn’t answer his phone. Nor did he reply to Levi’s text.

Levi paced their waterfront apartment, ignoring the view of the sinking sun over Sydney’s famous harbour, a sight that usually helped him find his calm. When he’d called Corbin, the dial tone had sounded twice, only to be diverted to Corbin’s voice service.

Levi listened to the man he loved tell him in a recorded message he wasn’t able to take the call right now, but to leave his details and Corbin would get back to him ASAP.

Staring at his feet, Levi scrubbed at the back of his neck. The phone had run long enough for Corbin to see who was calling before rejecting the connection.

Before rejecting him.

At the voice message’s beep, Levi opened his mouth.

And closed it. What did he say that hadn’t already been said? How many times did he have to leave an unanswered message before he accepted the life he’d had, the
best
life, was over?

Killing the call without uttering a sound, he tossed his phone onto the low black leather sofa he and Corbin fucked each other on every damn weekend.

Fuck this.

Head roaring, he stormed into the apartment’s main bathroom and yanked his beard trimmer from the bottom drawer.

Fuck this sitting at home wallowing in self-pity.

Fuck walking around his home where everything made him think of Corbin, their life together and the plans they’d made.

Fuck it all.

Ten minutes later, the dark blond growth covering his jaw and chin and upper lip clipped closer to his skin, his hair combed back off his face, his teeth cleaned, he strode from the bathroom, snatched up his leather jacket from the hook on the back of the door and left the apartment.

There was a new karaoke bar three blocks away. He hadn’t checked it out yet, but the
Sydney Morning Herald
had given it a really good write-up a few months ago. He’d go take a look, maybe order a burger, another drink and scope out the talent. Maybe, if the mood took him, he’d get up on the stage and belt out a song or two. It had been a while since he’d sung just for the hell of it. If the bar had Bon Jovi’s “You Give Love A Bad Name”, he’d let it rip. What better song to punish the man you loved when he wasn’t there with you?

His regular disguise of a New York Yankees baseball cap and blue-lens sunglasses firmly in place, he strode the short distance to the bar, hands shoved in his pockets. He was never mobbed like Nick or Samuel when out on the streets, but Sydney still loved its famous residents and he knew a few of the local paparazzi were out and about in the city at the moment, hunting prey. The worst of them, an unethical prick called Carl Holston, had already hounded him a few times. Thank God, Ryan Gosling was in town at the moment promoting his latest film. Gave the rest of the celebs breathing room.

The chilly autumn wind bit at his face as he pushed the karaoke bar’s entry door open, a last-ditch effort to make its presence known. Behind him someone shouted, a faint noise lost to both the wind and the atrocious rendition of “Sex on Fire” coming from within the bar.

A smile pulled at Levi’s lips. Everyone in the world loved singing, whether they could do it or not. And for tonight, he was going to hear some of them. Lose himself in their warbles, their off-pitch notes and cracking croons.

He highly doubted he’d find a replacement for Nick tonight—hell, he was beginning to think it really
was
impossible to find a new lead singer for the band—but that wasn’t why he was here. He was here to escape his grief and pain. To escape the angry roar in his head.

Finding a seat in the deep shadows of a booth, he ordered a drink from a passing waitress—hair of the dog—and then settled in, ready to listen to those losing themselves in song.

He sat up straighter, his mouth falling open a little, when a petite woman with long blonde hair and a mischievous grin on her full lips stepped up onto the stage. A woman who nodded at the karaoke controller, raised the mic to those lush lips and started singing Nick Blackthorne’s “Glass Houses” in a voice not quite amazing but damn near close.