Rhythm, Chord & Malykhin (8 page)

T
he moment
the bus rolled to a stop, I elbowed Gordo out of the way with a “Move it, sucker,” spat with the single intent that I be the first one out of there. Laila had texted me to let me know she was already waiting at the venue in San Antonio, and sure enough, I spotted her making her way across the parking lot.

After the Houston date with our soccer match and my head shaving, then Dallas with my family, and another stop in Austin—I was ready to get away from the guys that drove me nuts and see my best friend.

At four-foot-eleven and with a smile that took up her entire face, Laila was like a breath of fresh air after being surrounded by so much testosterone. The second we were close enough, she wrapped her arms around my middle as I hugged her above her shoulders where she could fit perfectly under my chin. The pedals on her wheelchair dug into my shins, but I didn’t give a single crap.

There was something about Laila’s hugs and warmth that always radiated understanding and comfort. There was also the fact that she didn’t judge me when I laughed at things I shouldn’t. Even though I would never ask for another sibling to replace the three I already had, I loved Laila fiercely.

We’d survived high school together. Stayed friends even after she and her mom moved to San Antonio for her to go to school, and I’d gone on tour with Ghost Orchid. Then she’d let me live with them when I’d had to move out of my ex’s place.

She was still hugging the hell out of my middle when she finally spoke. “I’m so happy to see you!”

“I’m so happy to see you too, you lazy broad.” I gestured to her wheelchair before giving her another bone-crushing hug.

“I didn’t feel like dealing with my braces all day,” she explained.

I made a face at her just to give her a hard time, but really, I knew how hard it would be for her to be on her feet for such a long period. Someone just needed to bust her chops so she’d keep walking around as much as she could handle. Pulling away from her, I took a step back and looked her over. Slim, with dark hair and a unique light caramel color to her skin that she’d inherited from her Cuban mom and Caiman dad, I’d always thought she had the face and personality that belonged to a princess in a cartoon movie.

It took me all of a second to realize that her hair had been cut to her shoulders. “When did you get your hair cut?”

Laila blinked back at me. “When did
you
get your hair cut?”

“That was the surprise I was telling you about,” I explained, touching that shaved section with gentle fingers. The rest of my hair was in a low-side ponytail but it still couldn’t hide the obvious buzz cut. “Surprise!” I muttered, wiggling my fingers in the most unenthusiastic way possible.

She just stared at me before slowly asking, “Holy bologna, Gabba. Was this Soccer Death Match loser crap?”

I nodded. I’d already told her about the ball to the jaw I’d taken. In person, the huge bruise confirmed the story.

She tilted her head to look at me and finally nodded, almost sagely. “You got lucky they didn’t do your whole head at least. You look cute like that, but if it was everything…” She let out a little whistle and flared her nostrils. Sure, she was sweet, but the honesty that came out of her mouth at times was candy-coated brutality at its finest.

Laila opened her mouth for a split second before shutting it at the same time she went bug-eyed. I turned my head just a little to see who she had her eye on. Sacha, Freddy and Julian had all gotten off the bus and were looking in our direction intently from their spots twenty feet away.

“Those guys are on the tour?” she whispered.

“Yes and stop drooling, you horny biatch.”

“I’m not drooling.” Laila shifted in her wheelchair, her small hands gripping the arm rests. “I changed my mind, I need to call my mom and tell her to bring me my braces after all.”

I snorted and went to pop the strap of her bra peeking out from under her tank top.

She didn’t even make a face when the material snapped back against her skin; she was so focused on the three men standing around. Her brown eyes flicked up to mine. “Which one of them is the Sacha-guy you’ve been telling me about?”

“How do you know it’s one of them?”

“Because if I remember correctly, your text message said, ‘I just kicked the hottest guy I’ve probably ever seen in the ass.’ And I asked you what he looked like and you texted me back, ‘Like a double bacon cheeseburger I’d take a bite out of.’”

Apparently, she had gobbled up the information like a hooker would a penis. Because okay, that sounded about right. I gave her a look. “He’s the one in the middle with the sleeve tattoo,” I muttered.

Laila let out another little low whistle. “That’s the same guy that kicked the ball at your face?”

“Yep.”

“Introduce me,” she demanded with a smile, looking up at me.

The little slut.

“Yes, mistress.” I bowed to her, earning a pinch to the back of my knee. “Follow me, Wheels.” She pinched me again even harder.

Under normal circumstances, I would have offered to push her wheelchair but we’d been friends for more than ten years, and I knew her like the back of my hand. I could tell you all of her favorite foods, her pet peeves, what size and style her clothes were, and even what kind of tampons she preferred.

And I knew she wouldn’t want me to push her wheelchair when we were going to meet new people she found attractive. She’d been battling for her independence her entire life, and I was behind her every step of the way. Because of her spina bifida, most people tried to tiptoe around her. I couldn’t say I hadn’t tried to smother her in those first few years we’d become friends, but now we’d figured it out. She liked it when I gave her shit and teased her since most people didn’t.

The moment we were close enough, I smiled at the TCC members.

It was Sacha that spoke up first. “Hey.”

“Hey. This is my friend Laila.” I think I did this weird thing with my hand, drawing a sloppy line between the two of them, but I wasn’t positive since I wasn’t paying attention when Sacha thrust his hand out to shake my best friend’s hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he said after giving her his name.

Freddy and Julian did the same.

Honestly, I was relieved they didn’t start acting weird or talking loudly. People had done that to her before for some reason I didn’t completely understand. Did they think she had hearing problems because she was in a wheelchair? I wasn’t sure, and it aggravated me a lot more than it bothered her.

It was the little things like that—how people treated one another—that mattered the most to me. I appreciated how normal they were being.

“What are you up to today?” Sacha asked.

“Hanging around here,” I answered. “I need to unload the trailer and then we’ll go grab something to eat.”

The man I’d come to think inspired the creators of Hungry, Hungry Hippos brightened up at the mention of his favorite word,
eat
.

I didn’t even need to ask Laila if it was okay to invite him—them—because I knew the answer. Plus, it would be kind of rude of me to not invite the man that had gone to eat with me in the past every time I’d asked. “We were going to get
pho
.”

“I love
pho
,” he replied.

Of course he did.

“
H
e’s really cute
, Gaby,” Laila stated as she helped me fold shirts behind the merch table a few hours later.

“Who? You were flirting with all of them except Gordo,” I snickered with a laugh. Eli, Mase and Gordo had tagged along to go eat at our favorite
pho
joint, too.

“It’s pointless to flirt with Gordo,” she said like I didn’t already know that. “And you know who I’m talking about.”

Of course I did. She’d been pinching me under the table every time he spoke. The bruises were going to be happening later.

“Does he have a girlfriend?” she asked when all I did was groan in response.

I bent over to grab another pile of shirts that I’d messed up during a rush of customers the night before. “I don’t know; I don’t think so.”

“Have you heard him talking to anyone for long periods of time?” Investigator Laila inquired.

“No.” I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. “It isn’t like I get to spend all day with him or anything, Lai. I’m in the venue most of the time; I don’t know what goes on when I’m in here and everyone else is out there.”

“I guess, but I think you’d know.” She paused, handing me the two shirts she’d finished refolding. “I’m just saying, he’s really cute and he seems like your type.”

That had me turning my entire body around to give her a look.

“Okay, okay. He’s just about everyone’s type, but you two were flirting.”

I choked. “We weren’t flirting, we just joke around.” A lot.

“That was flirting, you friggin’ liar.”

“Maybe a little bit—“

“He threw a balled-up straw cover at you and called you Princess twice,” Laila stated.

I coughed. “We’re always messing with each other—” I tried to explain before realizing that I was digging myself into a deeper hole. She just didn’t get it.

`

She sighed and touched my knee. “That’s not helping you win your case at all. I love you, and I want you to be happy, Gab. That’s all.”

“I am happy.”

“You know what I mean.”

I nodded at her, and nudged her hand back with mine. “I know, I know, and I swear I’m a lot better now than I was before I left.”

Laila raised an eyebrow that she quickly covered by shaking a shirt out in front of her face. “You don’t want to kill Brandon anymore then?”

“I’d settle for him getting a really bad case of hemorrhoids.”

Laila threw her head back and laughed. “Bleeding, inflamed hemorrhoids.”

There was a reason why our friendship had survived so many years. We high-fived each other.

When I pulled back, I had a big smile on my face. “If I never see him again, I’d be perfectly happy.”

H
ours later
, I knew something was going on when Eli texted me.

Mason, Gordo and him loved their fans, but selling merch was something that none of them were particularly fond of. They couldn't get anything done because people wanted to talk to them more than they wanted to actually buy anything.

When I sent both Mason and Gordo messages and didn't get a response, my gut feeling was confirmed. Those two bitches kept their phones on them like the end of the world would be set into motion if they missed a call or a text message. Laila was sitting behind the merch table with me and offered to keep an eye on it after I showed her the message. I tried my best to get through the crowd as quickly as possible without having to elbow too many people. I'd barely made it to the hallway behind the stage when I spotted Gordo pacing outside of the green room.

His dark, nearly black eyes, widened when he saw me approaching. "Are you leaving?" he asked, scratching his eyebrow with a single index finger.

I shook my head in response. "No. What's going on?"

"Nothing," the son of a bitch answered too quickly. He was worse at lying than I was.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Gordis."

He winced and immediately sighed in defeat. The man was the easiest person in the universe to break. I would never trust him with a secret because he'd crack in no time. "Brandon is here."

I think that if I’d heard those words two months ago, more than likely I would have gone ballistic breaking things while on a war-path to destroy his face—wherever it was.

But the surprising part was that I found myself without the slightest urge to do just that. I mean, what kind of nerve did he have coming to a show he knew my brother was playing at? I never took Brandon to be that much of a dumbass, but I guess I’d misjudged him. I didn't want to see his face, and I definitely didn't understand where his balls came from.

This tour was my house. My family. My place.

And I sure as hell wasn't going to let him make me cower in hopes that I wouldn't see him. I'd given him too much power over my life in the month immediately after we broke up, and I would never give him or anyone the same again. I hoped.

Screw. That.

I nodded at Gordo and even smiled as his face took on an “oh shit” expression. "Okay."

I was fine, and that fucker would learn just how fine I was. Maybe I’d been completely caught off-guard when he broke things off, but I would bet he’d be way more surprised before the night was over. I made a beeline for The Cloud Collision’s green room next door, knowing that they were the reason why Brandon was at the show.

He hated going to shows. He’d said that to me at least a hundred times in the two years we were together.

When I made it to the back room, I found Sacha and Isaiah inside preparing for the show. Sacha was standing in the corner of the room pulling things out of a small nylon bag I’d seen him go through before after the show. Inside of it was some kind of massager, tea, and an oil he applied to his throat before starting his vocal warm-up. He was already halfway dressed for the night in his slacks and undershirt. Isaiah ,on the other hand, had his guitar in his lap, plugged into a small practice amp. When Isaiah noticed me standing there, he motioned me inside.

"Is everything all right?” he asked.

I cleared my throat and nodded. "Yeah, everything is fine. I was just wondering if you’ve seen Brandon?"

Sacha turned around. The expression on his face was one of pure curiosity.

"The guitar player in Screaming Ivy?" Isaiah asked.

It was an immediate response to want to gag at the mention of that terrible band but I held it back. What the hell had I been thinking, dating someone who played in a band with such a stupid name? "Yes."

"I think he's on the bus with Julian and Miles," Isaiah replied. Miles was the name of the bass player of TCC.

Sacha's lips twitched as he walked over to where Isaiah was sitting and parked his butt on the armrest. "Do you know him?"