Everything I Have (Everything I Want #3) (19 page)

Taking a seat at the edge of the full sized bed, I slip my boots off one at a time and crawl up. The tiny bed is immediately inviting and once my side hits the bed, it’s on. When I wake, it’s dark in the cabin. Trying to adjust my eyes to the light, I feel around for my phone. My fingertips knock into it and it falls off the bed.

“Shit,” I whisper, leaning over.

I rest the palm of my hand on the coarse carpet and reach under the bed for my phone. The brightness from the glow temporarily blinds me when I turn it on. Squinting, I check the time. Holy shit! I’ve been passed out for almost five hours.

Crawling the rest of my way off the bed, I stumble for a moment when I get up to the door. My head is heavy with too much sleep. Shining my phone downward so I can see the handle to the door, I pull it open.

The side of my mouth curls up when I see all the boys and even Tristan, crashed. Tristan and Jeff are still on the left sofa, Jeff’s body hunched over with his hat tipped forward and Tristan, ah, my big man. His body is slouched and his knees separated with his boots firmly planted on the floor. His arms are crossed over his muscular chest, his t-shirt straining against it. The sight makes me want to touch him.

I glance around at the rest of the guys all passed out. Pulling up my phone, I face Tristan again and take the first picture, then after him I press record and turn in a small circle. When I come back around to Tristan, his eyes are open and he’s watching me. I jump at the surprise which causes Dave, behind me, to stir.

“What in the fuck?” Frankie screeches behind me, giving me another little heart attack.

My head whips around and Frankie is standing up, holding his tank out, away from his body.

“Who’s the fucking piece of camel shit?” he screeches again.

“What, Frankie?” I ask him, stepping in closer to get a look.

Some kind of syrup or honey looks like it was poured down the front of his top.

“Well, on a positive note... good thing you trim,” I say, pointing at his underarms while trying to hold my smile. “It could’ve been a lot worse.”

Frankie looks at me like I’ve just barfed on him. Then he twists his neck around, his mouth pursed tight as he scowls at Roger.

“You did this, motherfucker!” His head snaps, his blonde hair waving.

Roger looks hung over as he blinks his eyes open.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he mumbles.

“This was a Derek Rose!”

“What do you mean, was? Just fucking wash it,” Matt laughs as he heads to the bathroom, giving me a nod as he passes.

“You can’t just wash fucking cashmere!” He stomps his foot.

Cashmere? Here I thought it was something else. Well, I don’t know. It looked really soft and smooth, though. Now it clings tightly to Frankie’s chest.

“Frankie, I’ll just pick you up a new one,” I reassure him to try and calm him down, but he shakes his head at me.

“No, sweetie. This has nothing to do with you. This is pure evil from somebody with no fashion sense.”

“All right then, since no one is gonna fess up, I’m just gonna have to take out every single one of you,” Frankie says, his voice deepening with dark threat.

Whoa. I’ve never heard Frankie’s voice go that low. I guess when you fuck with his clothes, you bring that shit out of him.

“What are you gonna do, Frankie? Mascara me?” Roger laughs, and I glance over at Ryan, who is sitting quietly in the corner, with a knowing smirk on his face. Maybe I should tell Frankie later it was most likely Ryan, but it’s too funny watching him and Roger battle it out.

“Fuck me gently in the ass with a chainsaw,” Frankie spits at him.

Roger’s face twists up in what looks like disgust as the other guys laugh at Frankie’s blunt comment. Europe is gonna be a blast.

Chapter Nineteen

Tristan

The weeks over here seem like they pass in a blink. Watching Sophia’s reaction to every city we’ve stopped in has been fucking priceless. In France, she wanted to hit up every sweet shop that she could manage in such short time. I asked her about her nausea and she just said she didn’t give a shit. I think she regretted those words one time, though, when that last éclair she devoured made its way back up somewhere around the Louvre.

In England, while the guys wanted to hang at the pubs, Sophia and I did all the touristy shit, which I never did when I came over before. It’s the cutest fucking thing watching my girl snapping pictures with her phone, watching those big blue eyes of hers light up when she recognizes things. And it wouldn’t be Sophia if she didn’t act out every scene from
National Lampoon’s European Vacation
. She makes me laugh.

Now we’re in Berlin for a small gig tonight, then we fly back out right afterwards. Most of the gigs this time around have been smaller ones than my band usually plays, and I know Sophia is grateful.

Right before we left, we met up with her doctor to confirm the pregnancy again. At that time, she was eleven weeks or so. Now she’s about fifteen. With looser tops, you still can’t tell a damn thing, but when Sophia tries to wear her regular t-shirts or tanks, or anything tight, that baby is starting to show, and I fucking love it.

“Get Caleb,” I say to Dave, who’s sitting across from me in the room.

His shins bump the coffee table as he ties his hair in a knot on the top of his head.

“Damn it,” he mutters.

I look back out the window and the sky is gray. Everything below looks damp.

“What up,” Caleb mumbles, slumping down in the wingback chair to my left. His arms hang over the sides.

“After we’re done here, I’m heading out,” I tell him.

“You guys ain’t waiting ’til tomorrow?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Other than some local shit, I’m just going to chill with my girl until the baby is born.”

Caleb nods, his grin widening.

“That’s fucking dope, man.”

I give him a half-grin back.

“I know.”

“I guess I’ll just fucking chill, too! I may go with a couple old buddies of mine and crash in Vegas in March. Other than that, I’ll probably just hang at the pier. You know,” he shrugs.

Caleb was born and raised in Long Beach, Even though he’s had a couple condos here and there, he’s still never bought his own place there. He either crashes on his buddies' couches or at his parents’ place.

“Knock, fucking, knock!” Roger laughs, pretending to knock on an invisible door. “I got to ask you guys something.”

He glances around the room then looks at Caleb and me. “Where is everybody?”

“I don’t know. Around.”

“Whatever,” he shrugs and takes a seat on the arm of the couch. “You know how, since we’ve been over here, you guys have been doing
Pieces Undone
for the encores?”

“Yeah...?”

Roger grins and looks over at Caleb.

“So check this fucking shit out. My band already talked it over and we think it’s pretty sweet.”

“Oh, really?” I smirk at him, raising my left eyebrow up.

“Yeah, for real. Sophia didn’t get a hold of you yet?”

He sounds kind of surprised. No, she didn’t. I haven’t seen her since this morning when she left with Frankie to go and have breakfast. Roger rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“Anyways, at the end of our shows, we usually pick a good song by bands we like and mix it up for the encore, but this time we have something fucking sweet planned. And it will work for the size of the club.”

Roger’s voice gets louder the more pumped he gets. Caleb and I exchange looks as he stabs the air with the flat of his hand as if he were doing a karate chop.

“Got a hold of this wicked shop here in town and they have fucking Killer Klown costumes and shit.” He shrugs, smiling at me, then Caleb. “So we were wondering, if you guys would, you know, rock the fucking suits. Maybe get a couple squirt guns or whatever they have and fill those suckers up with Absinthe.”

He starts laughing even harder, standing up and gesturing his hands like he’s shooting.

“Spray that shit all over while we find a couple volunteers from the crew to walk through the crowd dressed like them too and shit. Everyone will trip the fuck out. Fuck! It’ll be so awesome with the lights and fog and all that other cool shit. We were messing around last night with the march and we got a pretty freaking dope version of the riff we’ll be playing while you guys do your thing.”

“What’s Sophia going to be doing?” Caleb asks, then grins at me.

“Oh, you know. Head banging. Whatever she usually does while we play.”

Why the fuck?

“I’m in.” Caleb gives Roger a full grin then looks at me. “You down, Tristan?”

Fucking costumes.

“Yeah, man. You can be that tall fucker. Damn, he gave me some shit nightmares when I was a kid. Turning that dick cop into a puppet. Damn, that was awesome.”

“Fuck, yeah. Whatever,” I groan. This is fucking crazy.

“Yeah!” Roger balls his hand into a fist.

“Get a hold of the other guys. I gotta call Matt and see if he’s still down there. Gonna be fucking epic!”

Before Roger is even out of the room, he’s on his phone with Matt. I guess I don’t mind. I may have to have some fun with my girl.

“You thinking nasty, bro?”

Caleb is wearing a shit smirk on his face. I don’t say anything back, but I’m sure my face is telling it all.

“You’re a fucked up individual, you know that, right?” 

Caleb looks up sinisterly, the metal on his lip pushing out.

“Yeah,” he cackles. “I’m gonna get a hold of Ryan and let him know.”

He lifts himself out of the chair, taking his phone out. He starts texting as he goes into the other room.

************

“Yo, Ryan. Since you’re the shortest, you gotta be the baby Klown.”

Ryan takes a swig of his beer then sets the bottle down at the edge of the table. We’re chilling out back while Dollar Settlement slays their last show over here.

“Look at these fucking gloves, guy.”

Gunner’s stoned laugh rings out as he lifts up gloves looking like the Klowns’ hands.

“Who’s taking the spray?” Dave asks. He’s walking around in almost full suit now, just without the mask on. “Tristan, you want one?” he turns and asks me.

“Nah, man. I’m good,” I nod at him.

Caleb smirks at me. Fucker.

“I’ll take one,” he says, staring at me.

Through the small club, you can hear the screams of the audience.

“Holy shit,” Caleb laughs, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s fucking go. But first,” he points his finger. “Shots.”

Wrapping my hand around the glass, I tip my head back and down a shot of Absinthe.
Fuck!

“Thatta boy,” Caleb grins and turns around, handing Ryan a glass.

Picking up this insane mask, I head out of the small room. As we step out into the dim, narrow hallway, the bass rumbles the opening riff. Coming up to the side of the stage, I wait, watching it go from complete darkness to the flashing of white strobes. Within those split seconds heads are banging, even Sophia’s.

I get split-second flashes of her long, dark hair swirling around. Her wardrobe here is different from the States. She’s wearing a short, backless dress that drapes off her chest, hiding the baby. We’re still trying to keep a low profile for just a little while longer. I stand there admiring the back of her upper thighs and how the end of the dress grazes over that sweet, supple flesh that meets the end of her thigh. Damn, this is gonna be fun.

Sophia

Yes… I step off the stage for a moment as it goes dark, giving the guys in on it some time to get ready, and to gear up the crowd.

“Fuck, yeah!” Roger jumps. “Let’s go.”

He grins then spins around, heading back to his set.

“Ah, man,” Matt chuckles as he walks by me.

Jared smirks at me with a tight smile, teasing. Running my tongue over my lips, I take one last swig of my water before handing it off to Steve. Every time Roger’s sticks come down, our techs hit the white lights, the hint of fog giving it an eerie effect. He stretches out the intro for at least half a minute.

Jared joins in, his long fingers pressing flat against the strings as he works his hand in rhythm with Roger. The top length of his hair bangs in his face as his head is tilted down. Matt and Jeff, or Ted... I’m kind of liking Ted more, begin with their guitars tuned in D. Old school, but heavy for the remake. Ted’s hat, yeah, I like that, is tipped into his eyes so all you can see is this half grin he’s wearing. You know, the one that drops panties, if the chick is wearing any.

Walking up to the front of the stage with my mic in my hand, I lean over and start rolling my neck. My other arm stretches out with my hand doing the devil horns, ʻrock on’ sign.

The screams pierce louder. Slowing my rhythm, I see a couple of the security guys I talked to about going along with the gag, making their way through the small but packed crowd. I know the other guys are probably on stage now, too, because the lights go from strobing to flashing yellow and orange.

Right when I’m about to straighten up, my waist gets taken hold of in a strong grip and I feel a hard thrust hit my ass. Fucking Tristan! Looking over my shoulder, his scary as all hell Klown mask with a painted on death smirk stares down at me. When I turn back around, I see the fans’ faces light up and laugh while getting sprayed in the face by two Klowns. I’m not sure who is which, but obviously Tristan’s is a given. One Klown brings a large spray container down to his groin and blasts the closest female fans right in the fucking face.

Oh my God, I can’t stop grinning. The Klown security dudes are now reaching the front. Tristan lets go of my waist and slowly, like those creepy fuckers did in the movie, backs off the stage. Once one of them notices Tristan leaving, they slowly follow him off, one by one. This is so fucking cool. I hope Frankie got this. Roger jumps over his set and pauses for me to walk by him. Wow, Roger kind of acting like a gentleman? Nice.

The club fills with the sound of a very satisfied crowd. That was so much fun! When I step off the stage, Tristan stands in front of me still wearing his costume, but the scary hands and mask are off. Grinning widely up at him, I stand on my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck. I have to kiss him before doing anything else.

I close my eyes and Tristan dips his head and lays his lips over mine. I can’t help it. My own lips break out in a smile. With our faces still close, Tristan leans back, his mouth moving away from mine.

“Thanks.”

I tug on the scary ball on the front of his costume. He shakes his head as he tosses his chin up.

“Christ…”

I love that I finally defeated the dragon; meaning, Tristan doesn’t have to be too cool or whatever all the time. It’s okay to loosen up more. And he does, sometimes. I’m never gonna forget this. The darks of his eyes lower against the white; he slowly lowers his head to his chest so he can look at me.

“Go sit down.”

He tips my chin back in an instant eye-closing move. His warm lips part mine as his tongue barely grazes my lips before I open my mouth up wider. He glides it along the side of mine before bringing it back into his mouth. Wrapping his lips around my tongue, he gives it a gentle suck before pulling away from me.

Shit! When I open my eyes, I swear for a moment I’m seeing double. I blink up at him and he gives me his half smirk.

“Knock ’em dead,” I say to him with a wink.

Tristan reaches behind himself, then steps out of his Klown suit.

“Get outta here. Rest now, my girl.”

Tristan pulls me into his chest and kisses me on the head before he lets me go, then takes off toward the stage, the crazy Klown suit left in a pile on the floor. Aw, he doesn’t want to keep it, I guess. Maybe that’s a good thing. If our kid were to ever see that, it would freak them out.

I go back to my dressing room where Frankie has my black leather pants laid out for me along with a loose, off the shoulder, grayish black metallic tee. Crossing my arms in front of me, I reach down and grab the hem of my dress. Yanking it over my head, I drop it beside me and start working down my torn black stockings.

“Holy shit. Breasts!” I hear Frankie exclaim as I finish removing one stocking.

Still bent over to take off the other, I glance up at him. He comes walking forward with another pair of black boots.

“Don’t be acting coy now, Frankie,” I chuckle.

The stocking reaches my ankle and I ball it up in my hand, standing back up straight wearing only a pair of black cotton boy shorts. Frankie’s smirk turns into a sly grin.