Everything Changes

To Monica and Kenya—the friends of my heart. I love you both, always and forever.

P
ROLOGUE

B
LOOD
EVERYWHERE
.
The soldier’s clothes were covered with it, the body armor underneath soaked with sweat. Adrenaline kept his hands steady even as fear and rage roared through him. He blinked the dust from his eyes, tried to snort it out of his caked nostrils. Fucking dust. It invaded every crevice of his body, was ground into his skin so deep he’d never be clean again.

The dying man he was crouched over gave a sort of gasping rattle, bright red and foamy blood erupting from his slack lips as his bullet-shredded lungs filled completely and drowned the last bit of life out of him.

The soldier felt grief rip through him at the loss of his teammate, and then a pained cry from the path above caught his attention along with the sound of feet scuffling along the path. Feet that were not supposed to be there. What the fuck? That ridge had been blown to smithereens a scant hour before; where had all these motherfuckers been hiding? He rose up to shoot their asses, but they shot first, forcing him facedown into the dirt and rocks.

On the path above the soldier, a man was wrenched up from the ground with no regard for his wounds. A pair of terrified black eyes met his, the man’s turban knocked askew as grasping hands yanked him up and pushed him along. As the soldier watched in helpless horror, the captive’s desperate eyes met his again, but this time they were a bright, piercing blue, the hair grasped cruelly in the enemy’s hands a lush, silky black.

“NO!” the soldier roared, standing up to run toward the group of men to save his friend, but the corpse he was kneeling over suddenly moved, clawed hands clutching at his legs and holding him back. He fought to get free with every ounce of his strength. If he could just get to them before they rounded the bend, before the machetes came out and sawed through flesh, bone, arteries, and tendons. Before a beloved head rolled in the dust. The soldier screamed in horrified anguish as the cries for help above him were cut off, the barbaric machetes having done their work. He was helpless, and he was too late… always too late.

C
HAPTER
1

T
HE
CROWD
was intense, loud. There was a charge in the air, an electricity. The whistles, cheers, and claps were overshadowed by the thumping of the large drum kit, a deep bass rhythm that reverberated in the chest, that made the heart beat in time. The whine of the guitar, the flashing of the strobe lights, the mist that hovered high along the ceiling and danced along the lights… it was intoxicating.

Carey Everett was riveted, his eyes locked on the man in the middle of it all. That man stood at a microphone on the elevated stage, his eyes closed, his hands lifted above his head to clap to the beat along with the drums. He was poised with his weight on one hip, a tight black T-shirt riding up with the movements of his arms, revealing a taut, muscled belly with an arrow of dark hair that disappeared into the waistband of low-slung leather pants. He wore leather bracelets on each wrist, and the flashing lights bounced off the metal of his necklace.

The man grasped the microphone, raising it to his mouth as he tipped his head back, the rich timbre of his voice rising as he started to sing, a rough huskiness that wrapped itself around the senses and seduced everyone listening. Carey glanced around, seeing the spell that voice had woven over every man and woman in the room. People swayed and cheered as the song built to a crescendo, the words poignant before the music died away and deafening whistles and whoops erupted.

His encore finished, the man on the stage grinned, bringing his arms up over his head in acknowledgement of his fans, pointing at his drummer and two guitarists so they could share in the applause. The stage lights dimmed, and the singer flashed the hang loose sign at the crowd before disappearing backstage.

Carey sat and nursed his beer, listening to the crowd as they excitedly discussed the concert, the cacophony of voices assaulting him from all sides.

One of the servers appeared at his table, a cute blonde in shorts and a tank top emblazoned with the name of the club on it. She smiled at him flirtatiously, a dimple peeking out.

“Are you Carey?” she shouted over the noise. When he nodded, she leaned closer so he could hear her better.

“Jase said to come on backstage now. I’ll show you where to go.”

Carey stood to follow her, admiring the rear view in the tight white shorts that showed off her long, tanned legs. She led him to a door set to the left of the stage, then grinned, flashing blinding white teeth, before turning to leave. He shouted his thanks after her, and she looked at him over her shoulder, winking.

Backstage was blessedly quiet, and Carey took a few deep breaths before going in search of Jase, his friend, the singer who had just mesmerized the packed audience at the club. A few wrong turns later, he stood in the doorway of a large room full of chattering people. There was more music playing, but at least it was at a tolerable level. A table covered with food sat off to the side, along with tubs full of ice and bottles of water and beer. The after-party was in full swing already, the band members, along with scantily dressed women and a few other men, milling around, drinking, eating, and laughing. Carey searched the room, looking for his friend, a man he’d known for four years now, four years that seemed like a lifetime.

Carey’s memories of Jase were some of the best—and most painful—memories of his life.

The crowd shifted, and Carey caught sight of Jase leaning against the wall, his arm around the shoulders of an attractive blond man. They were laughing, and the blond moved to press against Jase. As Carey watched, Jase drifted his hand down the other man’s side, where it came to rest lightly on his hip. Jase’s eyes were glittering, the adrenaline obviously still pulsing through him from the concert. The blond nuzzled Jase’s neck, holding on to him possessively.

It was a sight Carey had seen many times over the recent years, Jase with his groupies, sometimes a man, sometimes a woman. Gender didn’t matter, and it never had. Carey looked at Jase, taking in the long, lean body, tightly muscled and fit. He was undeniably attractive, with thick brown hair and startling green eyes, an elegant nose lightly dusted with freckles. He had an engaging smile, his top front teeth slightly crooked, giving him a boyish quality.

Jase looked up, catching Carey’s eye and giving him a big grin. He left his groupie and made his way over to Carey, then grabbed him up in a huge rib-crushing hug. Carey laughed, returning the hug, feeling that rush of emotion he always got from being with his closest friend.

“Jesus, you’re a sight for sore eyes!” Jase exclaimed. “Did you make it for the show? I saw you out there but I know you weren’t here for the whole thing.”

“I missed the first set but caught the rest. You were amazing, Jase. The band sounds really good.”

“I think some record label execs might have been here tonight,” Jase said in an exaggerated whisper. “I’m not sure, but I thought I recognized one of the guys in the audience who was at a meet and greet Layla made me go to a few months ago. She’s invited him back here along with the guys he was with, so I’m gonna have to do a little grip and grin.” He grimaced, and Carey smiled at Jase’s use of the old military term that meant mandatory socializing. “Sorry, Carey, I was hoping we could get out of here sooner rather than later.”

“Hey, no worries, man. I’m still tired from the drive, so I’ll just head back to your place if I need to.”

“You can stay through next weekend, right? I was surprised when you said Bill gave you that much time off.”

Carey smiled at the thought of his boss. “Yeah, he and Deb are actually headed to Hawaii for about ten days, so I got out while the gettin’s good. We’re hitting the fundraising circuit hard again when he gets back, so I’m gonna make good use of this time. Beach, drinking, and of course good music.” Carey elbowed Jase lightly in the gut, and Jase pulled him into another impulsive hug.

“Missed you, man.”

Carey squeezed him tight. Jase was the closest thing he had to family, and being with him was like coming home no matter where they each happened to be living.

Suddenly the blond groupie appeared at their sides and reached out for Jase, grabbing his arm, pouting when Jase impatiently shook him off.

“Gotta go work the room, Jayden, and you need to stay out of the way for a little while. Carey, I think Layla and Quinn are over there. Why don’t you go say hi, and I’ll get away from the crowd as soon as I can and come find you.”

“But baby, I thought….” The blond’s whiny voice grated on Carey’s ears, and he lifted his eyebrow at Jase. Jase called over his shoulder impatiently as he moved off in search of possible label execs. “Christ, Jayden, give it a rest! I’ll see you later, yeah?”

The groupie glared at Carey like it was his fault, and Carey gazed impassively back at him until Jayden moved off and leaned against a wall, crossing his arms petulantly as he sulked. Carey wondered what Jase was doing with someone like that, a surprising frisson of anger burning through him. He tried to shrug it off. There wasn’t much Carey could do about it, and like with Jase’s failed marriage a couple of years ago, he was always around to pick up the pieces if needed.

Carey caught sight of Jase’s three bandmates, and a genuine smile broke out over his face as he made his way toward them. The four men had been playing together for the past three years, and slowly but surely they were making a name for themselves on the San Diego band scene. The concert tonight was the biggest venue they had been invited to play so far, and Carey was thrilled for his friends.

Realizing he was hungry, Carey made a detour toward the food and drinks table, perusing the offerings. He’d just popped the top on a bottle of Amstel Light when he felt someone sidle up next to him, and he glanced over to see Jayden looking back at him with barely concealed hostility.

“How do you know Jase?” he demanded. Carey’s first inclination was to tell the guy to fuck off, but he didn’t want to do that to someone who might be important to Jase. Better to err on the side of caution and at least be polite.

“We were in Afghanistan together,” he murmured, taking a sip of his beer.

“Ooh, Jase told me he used to be a medic in the Navy.” Jayden picked up a pretzel and popped it in his mouth. “Were you in the Navy too?”

“No,” Carey replied. “I was a Marine, but Jase was in my unit.” Jayden looked confused, so Carey went on. “See, Marines are focused on combat training, not training medical personnel, and the Marines are actually part of the Department of the Navy. The Navy already has a system in place to train medics, so it makes sense for them to just assign one of them to us.”

“Oh, okay.” Jayden had already lost interest, craning his neck around, obviously looking for Jase. Carey started to turn away, and then Jayden suddenly spoke again.

“I think Jase and I are getting serious, just so you know,” he said archly. “He said I can come to all his shows, and he gave me a backstage pass.”

“Good for you,” Carey muttered, trying to tamp down that feeling of irrational anger again. If Jase was serious with this guy, he would eat his beer bottle. He could see Jayden draw breath to say something else, but then Carey heard his name being called.

“Carey! Carey, oh my God, it
is
you! Quinn said you’d be here tonight, yay!
”
Carey set the beer on the table and turned just in time to catch the petite redhead who flung herself at him, and he grabbed her and hugged her tight.

Layla was the wife of Quinn Patterson, Jase’s drummer. She was also the group’s de facto manager, and Carey liked her enormously. She was small but curvy with a mass of red curls, and freckles dotting her nose and shoulders. Tonight she was dressed in a shimmery gold metallic tank top and tight black jeans, and even with her stiletto sandals, she barely reached Carey’s shoulder.