Tequila Mockingbird (35 page)

Authors: Rhys Ford

BOOK: Tequila Mockingbird

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“No, it’s good,” Forest said. “I’m not here as much as I used to be. I don’t live above the studio anymore.”

“The cop putting you up?” Suddenly her eyes narrowed, and he could see her brain ticking away. “Shit, good job. He’s got some money. I’ve seen that car of his. Milk
that
for as long as you can.”

“Mom, it’s not like that,” Forest began to protest, but Ginger’s face grew ugly.

“It’s always like that, you fucking idiot,” she hissed at him, glaring at a woman who glanced at them as she passed by. “Get what you can and get the fuck out. Hell, leave him wanting your ass and work him. Shit, you can keep him going while I hook you up with a guy I know. Play two guys if you have to. Haven’t you learned that by now?”

“Mom, I love him,” he told her in a quiet voice. “He loves me. It’s not like
that
.”

“You are so fucking stupid.” Her hiss turned hot, scalding his face when she exhaled a vodka-soaked puff of smoke at him. “You’re nothing but a piece of meat. You’re fooling yourself if you think you’re anything more than a hot hole for him to put his dick in. Take what you can get and leave before he decides to take his shit back.
Jesus Christ, you’re stupid
!”

He had to look away. It still hurt.
She
still hurt. He had to feel around the edges of his pain, searching through it like he’d done a broken tooth once, probing at it to see how bad it was and if he could stand the pain just a bit longer. Frank’d paid to have that tooth filled, then coughed up even more money to get it capped when it went all dark side. It pretty much described their entire relationship—that tooth—and Forest’s heart echoed with regret he’d not thanked the man sooner.

Through the sting of his tears, Forest saw Connor standing by the door, his thumbs hooked into his jeans pockets as he watched them from a distance, a silent sentinel waiting—just waiting for Forest to indicate he was needed. Their eyes met, and Connor smiled, melting away the choking cold of his mother’s words.

“I’m not going to live your life with you,” he finally said, breaking through the muttered rant Ginger’d worked herself into. “I can’t. I don’t want to. Yeah, Connor might hurt me. Hurt my heart. It’s a part of life, and we’re going to rub each other the wrong way sometimes, but the good of it is so fucking worth it. He trusted me to love him. And I’m going to do that. For as long as he’ll let me.”

“You’re—” Ginger started, but Forest cut her off.

“If you need something, like—to help to get off this shit life you like having, I’ll help you,” Forest promised. “But you’re not going to take me with you. I won’t
let
you do that to me. I won’t let you do that to what I have with Connor. You’ve got my number, Mom. I’ll always answer it for you, but that’s all you’re going to get out of me.”

Then he turned and walked away. Toward Connor. As his mother screamed behind him.

“She’s a piece of work. And not in a good way,” Connor said when Forest reached him. Wrapping his arms around Forest, they kissed lightly, briefly, but it was enough to set Forest’s insides on fire. Pulling back, Connor asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Better. With you.”

I
F
SOMEONE
’
D
asked him if he’d be head over heels in love a year ago—
hell
, six months ago—Connor would have said love needed time to grow and build. He’d never thought a single moment would change his life. Sure as hell not on a raid and never in a million years in the form of a blond drummer with a quiet voice and a fierce soul.

Forest didn’t just turn his life upside down. No, the man’d turned Connor’s soul and heart over, forcing him to take a good hard look at himself and admit he could find happiness in a place he hadn’t ever dared to imagine before.

Yeah, Connor thought, life was better once he had Forest in it. Much better.

“I love you, you know,” Connor murmured, rocking Forest in his arms. “Never ever doubt that. No matter what.”

“I love you too. Hey, you took a stool to the arm for me.” Forest grinned at him, their noses touching. “Not every guy can say that about their boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend,” Connor repeated. “That’s good. For now.”

“For now?” It was Forest’s turn to pull back but only enough so he could peer into Connor’s face. “What the hell else do I call you?”

“Yeah, about that.” Connor bent his head down to kiss the corner of Forest’s mouth. Throwing caution to the wind, he said, “I was thinking maybe sometime in the future, you might be wanting to be calling me something more.”

R
AFE
A
NDRADE
lurked in the corner of the coffee shop. He’d been introduced to the members of Sinner’s Gin before, and while Sionn was his best friend, he still felt a bit weird talking to Damien Mitchell as if the man was a normal part of everyday life.

He wasn’t starstruck. Not by a long shot. They’d been peers of sorts, but Sinner’s Gin had been on the rise while Rafe was working like hell to bring his own band down. His downward spiral into drugs had been spectacular, a nearly cataclysmic fall from grace, and he was still smarting from it.

Rafe was pretty sure if he reached back and touched his shoulder blades, he could feel the smoking remains of his wax and feather wings.

They’d been nice. Kind even, but Rafe felt the sting of their wariness. Although to be fair, Miki St. John was known to be reticent, and Damie’d been more than happy to fill up any silence with an ongoing babble about music and musicians they all liked.

It felt
good
to talk music with another guitarist. Even better, when the conversation drifted away from modern music to rock’s Southern roots. Damie thrummed with excitement as he began to talk about old-school blues and how he wanted to build more of his music on that platform. It must have been a much-discussed point, because Miki rolled his eyes at Rafe, and they’d laughed, sharing a moment of amusement at the man’s fervor.

It felt too damned good, and Rafe had to walk away before he emasculated himself and hugged the men in relief.

His disastrous fall left him a pariah among other musicians, and even after a couple of years of hard sobriety, many of his contemporaries still treated him like a leper.

“Shit, burn down
one
hotel room,” Rafe muttered darkly. “No one got hurt, and I put it out.”

He’d slunk home to San Francisco in disgrace and licked his wounds. It’d taken him nearly dying in a pool of his own vomit for Rafe to pull himself out of the gutter, and he’d be the first one to admit he’d fucked up something bad.

Still, wasn’t like he deserved being shoved into a wicker man and used as a sacrifice.

Rafe was about to go find Sionn in the knot of Morgans he’d last seen his friend in when his eyes settled on the one Morgan boy who made his heart race.

Quinn Morgan, Rafe mused, the odd duckling born into a house of gryphons.

Unlike the other Morgan men, he let his hair grow to a wild mane down past his jaw. It curled a bit at his nape, thick black waves around his strong, lean face. There was something hypnotic about the man’s dark green eyes and how they could stare right through a man.

Rafe’d spent his teenaged years avoiding Quinn Morgan. The third Morgan son had been too young, too weird, but most of all too pretty. Of course, Connor and Kane would have beaten Rafe’s face in with their meaty fists if he’d even lifted an eyebrow in the direction of their younger brother.

And he’d wanted to do much more than lift an eyebrow at Quinn Morgan.

Especially now, since the scrawny, bony boy’d grown up to be a hot, smoldering young man with graceful hands and a full mouth ripe for kissing.

“Shit,” Rafe muttered when Quinn spotted him staring. Grinning cockily back, Rafe swallowed his apprehension when Quinn began to work past his siblings and headed straight for him. “Fucking hell, now what are you going to do, Andrade?”

“Hey,” Quinn said softly. “Just the guy I’m looking for.”

“Yeah?” He played it cool. If it was one thing Rafe knew, it was how to be cool in the face of a firing squad. He’d faced them often enough. Hell, he could give lessons if he wanted to. “Whatcha need?”

“I needed to ask you a question.” Those long black lashes fluttered once, shuttering Quinn’s emerald gaze for just a moment, and then Rafe found himself drowning in green once again. Taking a deep breath, Quinn looked around first, then leaned in close to whisper into Rafe’s ear. “I kind of need to lose my virginity. And I was wondering if you could help me out.”

About the Author

R
HYS
F
ORD
was born and raised in Hawai’i, then wandered off to see the world. After chewing through a pile of books, a lot of odd food, and a stray boyfriend or two, Rhys eventually landed in San Diego, which is a very nice place but seriously needs more rain.

Rhys admits to sharing the house with three cats, a black Pomeranian puffball, a bonsai wolfhound, and a ginger cairn terrorist. Rhys is also enslaved to the upkeep of a 1979 Pontiac Firebird, a laptop, and a red Hamilton Beach coffeemaker.

Visit Rhys’s blog at http://rhysford.wordpress.com/

or e-mail Rhys at [email protected].

Sinners series by
R
HYS
F
ORD