Ruin Porn (4 page)

B
RINGING
E
VIN
into the band when they were days away from their first gig of an international tour wasn’t the craziest idea Miah had ever had. Finn was sure it was, however, one of the smartest. When they were growing up, Miah had been the most shortsighted of the three, grabbing hold of whatever he could because of fear it would disappear in his next heartbeat—mostly because it usually did. But this decision… it was looking into the future of Rez with an analytical bent that Finn hadn’t been aware Miah had cultivated. Maybe all that yoga, acupuncture, and forced meditation was doing something tangible for him.

Finn grabbed Ritchie’s wrist as he rolled it to once again check the time. “I swear to God, Ritchie, if you check it one more fucking time, I’m going to rip this watch from your arm and shove it up your ass.” They only had hours left on the ground in Detroit, and Finn was determined to spend that time drinking himself into a happy stupor before they were away from home for months. One more drink in their favorite dive bar was all Finn had needed before they headed to DTW, and Ritchie had been kind enough to agree, as usual.

Ritchie snatched his arm away and grabbed his glass of beer instead. “It’s almost time for us to leave for the airport. He should have called by now. What if Evin says no? What if he says yes and Sid can’t push the contracts through?”

“What if Mary Poppins floated down on her umbrella and gave Miah a spoonful of sugar and it caused his tofu-muddled brain to explode?”

Ritchie froze and tilted his head, looking at Finn as if it was Finn’s head that had exploded. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“It could happen,” Finn commented with a grin and finished the rest of his beer. “That boy isn’t used to sugar. Who knows what kind of wicked effect it would have on him.”

Ritchie shook his head. “I have no idea what the hell you are talking about.”

“You were going on and on about the what-ifs. I thought I’d throw in one of my own.”

“Yours was stupid,” Ritchie grumbled.

“Yeah and so were yours. You know Miah. He doesn’t do anything without weighing out every variable beforehand. He’s got this. He’ll be in London with Evin. So stop freaking the fuck out.”

“You don’t have a single concern about him bringing on a new member in the eleventh hour?” Ritchie asked, resting his chin on his hands and making his lumberjack-sized shoulders and biceps pop out.

“Nope.”

“Seriously? Not even one?”

He and Ritchie had viewed the Sock in the Sun videos and trolled all of Evin’s lyrics online, all while inundated with Miah’s well-reasoned argument for taking on a new member to accelerate their growth as a band. Miah technically didn’t need their approval for a move like this, but he’d asked for it. And that made Finn buy into it—into the necessity of Evin—even more. It had been a unanimous decision to send Miah on the quest to invite Evin to join Rez.

Finn pushed away from the table, leaned on the two back legs of his chair, and slung an arm over the chair next to him. “I am concernless and so are you. You know just as damn well as I do Evin is going to be a great fit if for nothing more than his lyrical abilities. You’re just worried ’cause you’re not there to hold Miah’s hand and make sure he gets on the plane without pissing off TSA or that he may need a Kleenex to wipe his nose or a hundred other motherly things you think you should be doing for him.”

“That’s not it at all,” Ritchie huffed.

Finn planted his chair back on the ground, leaned over the table, and pulled Ritchie’s head down to plant a kiss to the top of it. “It’s okay, Mama bear, you did a good job, now it’s time to let go. Your cub is all grown up.”

“I seriously fucking hate you right now,” Ritchie grumbled and pulled away.

“You don’t hate me, you lurve me. Besides I’m only trying to help keep your mind from short-circuiting with worry. Hence the kid flick metaphors.”

Ritchie glanced over at him and pursed his lips. “Mary Poppins? Seriously?”

“We’re on our way to London. It seems fitting.” Finn chuckled.

Ritchie rummaged around in Finn’s carry-on bag next to him and pulled out a blue sucker, unwrapped it, and popped it into Finn’s mouth. “Stop talking, you’ll hurt yourself.”

Finn sucked on the candy around a big grin. Change was coming to Rez and Finn was excited, for the first time in a long time, to see what would happen next.

CHAPTER TWO

London

“Y
OU
HEARD
of the BBC
Live Lounge
?”

Kevin—Nope. Evin. He had to start thinking of himself as Evin—blinked, stared at the back of the first class seat in front of him, and took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. Of course he’d heard of the
Live Lounge
. Being invited to perform by the BBC was pretty far up there on the big fucking deal list of rock-star activities.

He forced himself to turn his head and look Miah straight in the eye, unflinching, when he replied, “How long will I have to get ready?”

Miah looked at his watch and Evin’s stomach sank.
Holy shit.
This was going to be hours, not days, let alone weeks. “This time zone thing always fucks me up, but I think we go live—” Miah tapped the glass of his watch. “—tomorrow? I don’t know. Maybe it’s today. Not sure what today even is. Hang on, let me text Ritchie. He’ll know.” Miah opened the case of his iPad and began typing out a message.

“Which Rez song are you planning on?” Evin asked. He could play Finn’s part on all of them, but was more comfortable with his favorites. There were a few of the tracks off Rez’s first studio album where switching to the bass line was going to be a huge adjustment even if Miah had chosen a song that Evin could play on a guitar in his sleep.

“Does it matter?”

“Considering I haven’t actually ever played with Rez and I don’t normally play bass… well….”

“Guess we’ll know pretty fast if this is going to work out,” Miah commented without looking up from his iPad.

Evin started to open his mouth to protest, but he snapped it shut. He’d just gotten the break of a lifetime. He wasn’t about to fuck it up by making it sound like he couldn’t handle it. Perhaps Miah was testing him. If so, it was one test Evin wouldn’t fail. He was confident enough in his playing abilities; he’d fake it if he had to.

Another thought—more like a complication—occurred to him. One that caused his already shaken confidence to spear him with doubt. In addition to a Rez song, each band was required to do a cover song when they appeared on the
Live Lounge
. A song that was outside the artist’s normal repertoire. What worried Evin the most was how far off-base from Rez’s rock sound the Detroit 3 had decided to go. He wanted to ask which cover Miah had chosen, but he clamped down on the urge. He could only pray like hell it was a tune he could actually play.
Bass. Jesus H. Fuck, he didn’t play bass.

On a normal day he was an okay flyer, but his stomach was doing the loop-de-loop and now his nerves were making his insides twist and he had a desperate moment of need to get off the plane. Evin took a deep breath, pulled open the pocket on the back of the seat, checking to make sure a barf bag was close at hand. Yup, there it was. He didn’t retrieve it for now but felt a bit better knowing it was there. Just in case.

He turned his attention back to Miah’s iPad and watched the notification pop up that Ritchie was typing back. “Where’s your tour manager in all of this?”

“London,” Miah stated, pointing out the obvious.

“I figured that. I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” Miah cut him off.

He’d heard that Miah Thade could be a dick, but up until now all of his interactions with the lead singer had been friendly. Now he was getting a taste of where that rep came from.

“Shouldn’t he be keeping you informed of dates and times?”

“Keeping me in line
is
Sid’s job, but I prefer Ritchie.” When Evin tilted his head in question, Miah added, “Sid is Sidney Bogg. Our tour manager. You’ll meet him at Heathrow. He and Finn will be picking us up from the airport.”

Hearing Finn’s name, Evin had the urge to straighten up and run his fingers through his hair, look a little more presentable. Which was pointless since they had three hours of flying left before the plane touched down. He squelched the urge, but noted that he’d have to be acutely aware of how he reacted around and with Finn. None of this teenage crush shit could slip through. The last thing he wanted was to get tossed from the band for drooling over another member’s ass.

Miah’s iPad dinged, and Evin looked down and snorted when he read the text from Ritchie:
Time change still fucks you up eh dickweed? LL is 12 hours from the time you arrive.

Miah huffed and his fingers flew across the mini keyboard.
You can suck my dickweed.
He hit Send with an emphatic jab of his finger, then closed the cover. “So not as satisfying as slamming one of those big-ass plastic old-school phones down.” He slid the iPad into the pocket of the seat in front of him. Another ding announced an incoming message, but Miah ignored it and laid his seat back. He pulled his shades over his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

If the curt responses hadn’t been a clue, then the closed-off position Miah was now sporting was a dead giveaway. Evin wouldn’t be getting any more information about the
Live Lounge
, or the tour for that matter, from Miah. He contemplated taking Miah’s tablet to text with Ritchie but figured that would cause him more issues. He was left to hope that Sid or Finn would have some respect for the newbie when he and Miah landed. The only thing that was keeping Evin in his seat and not taking a suicidal jump from thirty thousand feet was the fact that it was Miah who’d asked him to join Rez. The lead singer must have thought Evin could handle it. That he
would
handle it. Rez was a band on its way up the charts, and the Detroit 3 wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize their rise to the top. Miah, and maybe all of them, thought Evin could help them get there. He had to take solace in that knowledge even if he was still scared shitless.

For fuck’s sake, he was in a first class seat. Sitting next to one of his idols, about to take the stage as a full member of his favorite band.
Enjoy the ride, man.
Evin smiled, stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles, and leaned his head against the window of the plane. There was nothing but blue skies above white cotton-candy clouds disappearing into the horizon. T-minus three hours and counting until his life changed forever.

He figured he could either spend the next three hours of the flight listening to Miah snore or try to get a handle on what was expected of him. One last glance at Miah—head tipped back, mouth open, and drool glistening on his chin—and Evin popped his earbuds in and fired up his Rez playlist. As the melodies played in his head, he imagined a bass in his hands, fingers easily picking up the rhythm.

He could do this.

He turned up the volume, closed his eyes, and laid his head back. The rest of the flight he lost himself in the music and the imagined roar of the crowd as his fingers flew across the strings. Long before he was ready, their descent toward London started.

Evin stumbled as he made his way through the tunnel to the terminal, following Miah. His legs were stiff, his ass hurt, and there was a slight throb in his right temple, a direct result from the kink that had settled into his neck from falling asleep facing the window. He was hungry, exhausted, and sore, but the instant he stepped through the door into Arrivals, his gaze landed on bright green eyes above a black T-shirt that said “I’m a Belieber,” and Evin had to smile. Just like that, all his aches and frustration were forgotten.

Finn pulled the sucker from his mouth, his grin wide when he spotted Evin. “Hey, dude. Welcome to the band! How was your flight?” He held out his fist.

Evin bumped his knuckles against Finn’s. “Um, yeah…. Hi. It was good.”

“Cool, cool. You ready to rock?” Finn asked, taking the duffel from Evin and shouldering it.

Evin glanced around for Miah and spotted him walking away with a guy in a dark suit. “Rock?” Evin asked with absentminded distraction as he watched the two men disappear into the crowd.

“Yeah, didn’t Miah tell you?”

Evin shrugged. “Miah barely said ten words to me on the flight.”

“Don’t take it personal. Miah can be an ass on a good day, but when he’s flying, he’s a total and utter dick.” Finn slung his arm over Evin’s shoulders, leading him away from the terminal. “He’ll deny it—tries to act like he can handle anything—but flying scares the shit out of him.”

Evin tensed with the contact and had to work at not blushing. Finn’s breath was sugary-sweet and warm against his cheek, making focus all the more difficult. But he breathed slow, even, and kept stride with Finn.
Fucking walking wet dream Finn.
Evin was thankful he hadn’t tucked his shirt in, because the boner he was beginning to pop would’ve been a bitch to explain.

“So,” he finally managed to get out, “what did you mean am I ready to rock?”

“Oh right. Miah had Sid book an empty studio at BBC for a couple hours. Give you and me a chance to jam together before the
Live Lounge
recording session. After that we can practice more at the hotel, but the staff tends to get a bit cranky if we fire up the amps. Go figure.” Finn chuckled and popped the sucker back into his mouth.

Evin was not going to watch Finn suck on that. Nope. He kept his eyes forward. “Miah didn’t mention the studio time. In fact, when I asked him what song we’d be playing tonight, he replied, ‘Does it matter?’ then when I told him some of my concerns he said, and I quote, ‘Guess we’ll know pretty fast if this is going to work out.’”

“Sounds like Miah. Oh, hey!” Finn rushed to a newsstand and picked up a copy of
NME
, turning and holding it up. The Detroit 3 graced the cover, and Finn’s smile kicked up like summer sunshine on rolling waves. “We’re international, baby!”