Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance (20 page)

“How do you figure?”

Reaching out, he stopped her forward motion with a curve of his fingers to her petite wrist. “Because you could never be with some sociopathic dick.”

“I wasn’t planning to be.”

“I know. I know you. And that’s why I need you to know…” Fuck this was embarrassing. “I was trying out a different breakup technique. I don’t want to be in a relationship, and I told her, but she wouldn’t hear it.”

“Insulting her? Making her feel like shit? It was a technique?” She jerked her arm away from his grip.

“Making her hate me enough to leave. Colt always does it. I thought I’d give it a try when straight talk didn’t work with her. But I felt like shit. And then she cried instead of screamed at me.”

“So how did you leave it? Is she still here crying somewhere?”

“I told her what I did and why. She’s on her way back to Cali. She seems okay. Gonna text me when she gets home safely.”

“Where’s home?”

Hope flared in his chest at the subtle spark of jealousy lighting her eyes. “She wasn’t living with me, if that’s what you’re asking.” Allison’s flatiron, and a few of her things had taken up permanent residence in the house, but she never had.

“Men. You’re all idiots.” Presumably back to his breakup technique, she cut her eyes sideways as she started walking again. And then—and this is why he loved Scar—she showed her concern with the barest tap of her fingers to his arm. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He covered her hand with his, hungry for the contact. The hall was about to dump into open space and daylight spilled inside through the open bay doors. Mutually they paused here, still in semi-privacy. “You hungry?"

M
y stomach growled at the mere thought of food. In the past few minutes, a tasty aroma had begun wafting down the hall we were in.

“I could eat. Are they cooking here?”

“Trust me. You don’t want to eat the shit they’ve been serving on tour.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and I forced my eyes to avert from the snug fit of denim around this area of his anatomy. “As soon as we rolled in, I found a diner close by.”

I peered at his screen. “You have a food finder app?”

“That’s pretty much what it is,” he agreed. He pointed his phone like a compass, and I watched the navigation arrow line up. “This way.”

Unable to hold back a laugh, I followed him back outside where we wove through the busy roadies and then crossed the large still-empty parking area.

When we were settled at a booth in the café, breathing in charbroiled burger fumes while waiting on our order, he leaned both arms on the table. “I’m sorry I missed your graduation.”

I shrugged his apology off while taking a sip of iced tea. “You’re on tour—had a show that night. What can you do?”

“I wanted to be there, though. I’m sorry I wasn’t. Tell me about it.”

Thinking of graduation night brought up the unpleasant memories of Wayne Ketchum and the ugly secret my mom had kept for years. I planned to call my lawyers in the coming week and find out if a way existed to do an after death DNA test. I didn’t give a shit about the trust fund money if it wasn’t mine. What scared me more was finding out the man I’d finally accepted in my heart as a father might not be. Perhaps there was something of my father’s somewhere with trace DNA. Hell, Colt had his sweaty headband!

“That bad? Your mom must have been there.” Gage’s dry observation interrupted my thoughts.

“No. It was great, really. I just have some crap on my mind.”

“What crap?”

And so I told him. On the tail end of my explanation, our server arrived distributing steaming plates of food and the condiments for our fries. Instead of moving away, the young woman clasped her hands behind her back and hovered. Gage concentrated inordinately hard on pooling ketchup into his plate without looking up. A flinch spasmed in his jaw—was he gritting his teeth? Our waitress still shadowed the table. Confused, I looked up, taking note of the girl’s flushed cheeks and unsure eyes focused on Gage. It was then I understood and glanced back at Gage. The familiar tattoos sleeving his arms were a dead giveaway, as was the coliseum less than a mile away.

“We’re good. Thanks.” My words were gentle but dismissive, carrying a new tone I’d learned over the past several months.

“Um… I was… Yeah. Okay.” The woman lifted a hand, pulling nervously at her apron. “Okay. Sure. Thank you.” Clearly flustered, she apologized for nothing.

Just as she turned away, Gage’s chest lifted in a silent sigh, and he spoke. “Hey. Hold up.” The woman turned with an equal air of excitement and fear. “Hi.” The engaging smile tipped his lips, and I honestly thought the gal was going to faint. “What’s your name?”

“K-Kelli…”

“Nice to meet you, Kelli. You got a phone?” At his request, her shaky hands produced one from her pocket, and Gage nodded to me. “Scar, can you take a pic?” Holding his smile, he waited while she passed the phone over and leaned into the frame for a couple of selfies of the two of them. “You coming to the show?”

“Fire Flight?” She seemed puzzled. “I thought some other bands were playing tonight.”

Again, the barely visible jaw clench was the only thing belying his casual demeanor. I knew him well enough to see the shame and realized for the first time what it must be costing his pride to step into a supporting band instead of a headlining one. And here was a fan who obviously hadn’t followed music news enough in the last year to know the change in Fire Flight’s lineup.

I shoved the phone at the girl and made a show of coughing. “Excuse me. Can I get some water please?”

The woman dashed off, and I looked across the table to see Gage pecking away at his phone. When he set it down, I assumed he’d been answering a text. However, when less than five minutes later, a nondescript SUV parked directly in front of the establishment and no one exited the vehicle, I understood it was our ride. Smart move. Once the young waitress’ picture posted to the internet, walking back to the venue along a busy boulevard wouldn’t be smart.

By mutual, silent agreement, we made haste cleaning our plates. Before we left, Gage ended up in another picture with the other waitress and a busboy who showed up from the kitchen.

Afterward, we slid into the safety of the back seat of the SUV. When the vehicle rolled to a stop near the mini city the back of the venue had become, Gage stopped me before I slid out. Speaking to our driver, he said we were going to use the privacy of the car to talk. Agreeing, the driver left, pocketing the keys as he walked.

Apparently, despite our interruptions while eating, his mind was still on track and he was upset. “So this Ketchum, he attacked you at your graduation?”

“Not attack. Not really. It was scary. And he stole the money from my purse. But not attack―”

“What! He mugged you?”

“Not mugged―”

“You call the police?”

“No.”

I’d expected him to explode here, but he nodded, seemingly in understanding. And of course, he did relate because of all he’d been through. Protect your name from the press was the name of the A-List game.

“There’s no way you’re this asshole’s kid. You know that. Right?” His voice was low, and I turned from his gentle regard to keep from throwing myself in his comforting arms.

Outside the dark tinted windows, afternoon was dimming into evening. The glow of lights was just becoming noticeable in the shadows. “I know.” I spoke to the window. “But I want to do a test anyway if it’s possible.”

“Call my dad. He’ll know where to start.”

I nodded. Behind me, he moved, and my body automatically shivered when I realized he’d scooted closer. His arms encircled me, and relenting, I let my head drop to his shoulder.

“It’s gonna work out okay, Scar.”

Inhaling, I breathed in a long whiff of him—a mixture of soap, sweat, and a trace of… was it lemon cleaner? Moving my head a tad until the tips of his hair layers brushed the skin of my forehead, I closed my eyes, pretending for the next few seconds he was mine in some form or fashion. Brother… Boyfriend… It didn’t matter. As long as it was the two of us against the world.

G
age Remington was a rock god.

From my position side stage, I concluded the obvious at some point during every show. Rattler was good—a better than average band well on their way to stardom. But Gage stood out among them with a charisma rivaling that of their vocalist. Maybe it was because Gage really was first and foremost a vocalist and relegating him to a supporting position in a band didn’t hide his inborn nature.

Bobbing my head to the music, I divided my attention between him and the crazed fans thrashing to the songs. Watching him made me hot, and I savored the fire kindling inside my ‘tunnel of love.’ Later, after the show, I would cool down. Watching practically naked females throw themselves at him during the parties afterward always ignited a new heat, and the burn of jealousy helped me forget how horny I was for him.

The melody climbed into a crescendo and then dropped. Right on cue, Gage jumped in with his guitar solo. His wrist raced along the frets and his fingers skipped on the strings. Step by step, he backed up until he was even with me, and although he never looked at me, I knew he’d purposefully stopped near me. The solo ended, and he hopped back to the front of the stage, putting his mouth to the mike as he added backup vocals to the next verse.

Maybe during the gigs, seeing him in his element injected me with a giant dose of lust. But more than my libido went out of control during these times. Yeah. I still loved him. What I was going to do about it? Well, that was a question I continued to push to the back of my mind.
Damn fucking rock stars.

Lifting my hand, I rerouted a strand of hair blown into my face by the giant fans positioned behind the Jumbotron screens. The sun baked the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, but the band and those viewing from the stage were shaded from the harsh day.

After the final song on their set-list, the guys exited the stage and departed into their dressing area. I stopped to refill my canteen at a nearby water station and considered roaming the festival grounds. Rattler had rolled into the talent gate within minutes of their pre-show interviews, and I had remained nearby, enjoying watching them. Now was my chance to explore the festival the guys had been talking non-stop about for two days. We were to be on the road again in several hours.

Rattler had begun their tour in early April, warming up as the supporting act in arenas across the country. Around the time I had joined them, summer’s outdoor music festivals had begun. As a relatively new band making a name for themselves, they were still playing indoor gigs in between the major festivals they performed. So, while many of this day’s lineup would head to a hotel after their show, Rattler’s tour bus would be eating up the road stripes with the band snug inside.

“Hey!” Gage’s hail was close enough to my ear to startle me.

I turned, finding him showered. His dark wet hair was brushed back from his face, and the wavy strands gleamed, just touching the shoulders of a black tee imprinted with the ‘U’ festival logo.

A familiar flutter tickled my insides. “Hey.”

“Where do you think you’re running off to?” Sexy and sweet, the inquisitive taunt rolled from his tongue, and one of his dark brows arched.

“Over there.” My arm gestured vaguely, and I was happy when he fell into step beside me.

“What’s over there?”

“No idea. But whatever it is will be amazing! It has to be. Because this is Ultima!” I curved a smile to accompany the mocking lilt of my voice, and sent a side-glance up to his face. “Where do you think you’re running off to? Don’t you have band stuff to do?”

“Now that’s hurtful. Almost like you want to get rid of me.”

“If I did want to get rid of you, I’d try harder.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” We were weaving through the crowd, and I used the mass of bodies to demonstrate. Two steps to the right, and several more forward, put distance and a dozen people between us.

With a gleeful grin, I turned back, only to find my joke had worked too well. He was gone! And Gage with his giraffe stature should have been easy for me to spot. I didn’t realize I’d stopped walking until my elbows were jostled as the crowd parted and then closed around me. Craning my head, I searched, and my spirits plummeted to find myself surrounded only by strange faces. My gaze hung for a moment on every black tee shirt with a psychedelic ‘U,’ but these shirts were liberally mixed in with costumes and vibrant attire.