0,00 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: WS
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
Ed
For ten challenging years, I’ve been the lead guitarist for the band I formed with my best friend Axel. Grindstone is on the verge of making it big. Which is why I’m livid when our manager brings in some snooping, scandal-chasing documentary producer to film our trip to Rocktoberfest. We’re about to hit the biggest stage of our career, and I’m worried this rich jerk, who has destroyed other celebrities, might uncover the secret I’ve kept hidden for years. I want to just ignore him, but as attraction sizzles, I start letting down my guard. Giving in to these urges might mean distracting him from his mission and getting him on my side. That’s the point. Right?
Thornton
I want to bring Ed and Axel down for what they did to my sister. I’ve managed to insinuate myself into their inner circle as a documentarian, and I'm this close to pay dirt. Using seduction to uncover the last of Ed’s secrets might be tacky, but what red-blooded man would turn down what the bisexual rock god is offering? But as we find stolen moments to try to slake the need, I’m having second thoughts. If I don’t avenge the wrong done to my family, I won’t be able to live with myself. The promise of sex shouldn’t be enough to stop me. But as I sink deeper into a relationship with Ed, I must decide if my need for revenge is worth destroying any hope of a future together.
Axe to Grind is a book in the multi-author Road to Rocktoberfest 2023 series. Each book can be read as a standalone, but why not read them all and see who hits the stage next? Hot rock stars and the men who love them, what more could you ask for? Kick back, load up your e-reader, and enjoy the men of Rocktoberfest!
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Seitenzahl: 406
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
Ähnliche
Axe to Grind
The Road to Rocktoberfest 2023
Gabbi Grey
Copyright©2023Gabbi Grey
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
References to real people, events, organizations, establishments or locations are intended to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
NO AI/NO BOT. We do not consent to any Artificial Intelligence (AI), generative AI, large language model, machine learning, chatbot, or other automated analysis, generative process, or replication program to reproduce, mimic, remix, summarize, or otherwise replicate any part of this creative work, via any means: print, graphic, sculpture, multimedia, audio, or other medium. We support the right of humans to control their artistic works.
No generative AI was used in the creation of this book.
Edits by ELF.
Cover by Natasha Snow.
Ed
For ten challenging years, I’ve been the lead guitarist for the band I formed with my best friend Axel. Grindstone is on the verge of making it big. Which is why I’m livid when our manager brings in some snooping, scandal-chasing documentary producer to film our trip to Rocktoberfest. We’re about to hit the biggest stage of our career, and I’m worried this rich jerk, who has destroyed other celebrities, might uncover the secret I’ve kept hidden for years. I want to just ignore him, but as attraction sizzles, I start letting down my guard. Giving in to these urges might mean distracting him from his mission and getting him on my side. That’s the point. Right?
Thornton
I want to bring Ed and Axel down for what they did to my sister. I’ve managed to insinuate myself into their inner circle as a documentarian, and I'm this close to pay dirt. Using seduction to uncover the last of Ed’s secrets might be tacky, but what red-blooded man would turn down what the bisexual rock god is offering? But as we find stolen moments to try to slake the need, I’m having second thoughts. If I don’t avenge the wrong done to my family, I won’t be able to live with myself. The promise of sex shouldn’t be enough to stop me. But as I sink deeper into a relationship with Ed, I must decide if my need for revenge is worth destroying any hope of a future together.
Axe to Grind is a book in the multi-author Road to Rocktoberfest 2023 series. Each book can be read as a standalone, but why not read them all and see who hits the stage next? Hot rock stars and the men who love them, what more could you ask for? Kick back, load up your e-reader, and enjoy the men of Rocktoberfest!
Dedication
Laurel
Kaje
Renae
Wendy
TL and the other Rocktoberfest 2023 authors
Contents
Chapter One
Ed
“Nofuckingway.”I glared at our manager, Pauletta. “Final answer.”
She placed her hands on her hips and glared right back. “I know what’s best for you.” Her dark-brown eyes flashed fire. “Who’s been with you since day one?”
I clenched my jaw. “You.”
“Who’s been here to pick up the pieces?”
Jesus. “You.” Although I’d done a fair amount of picking up myself. The role of protector in the band came naturally to me—and I often stood up when others might get plowed over.
Like now. I paced across the small backstage space, nearly tripping over some cables.
Pauletta held up her hands in that placating gesture that always softened me. Even as I fought against it, my resistance weakened a fraction. I loved the woman, and going against her wishes grated. No lie, she’d been with Grindstone from the beginning—when Axel and I had been a garage band, begging for gigs at every venue we could in Vancouver. She caught our act one night and had seen promise.
Nearly ten years later, we were at the top of our game. About to play Rocktoberfest in the Nevada desert for a screaming crowd of tens of thousands of fans next week. Bands like Corvus Rising, Queen Anne’s Revenge, Maiden Voyage, and Midnight Hunt would be playing as well. This was our break. Our chance to gain international attention.
And Pauletta was fucking with that.
“No, way. They’re going to be in the way.”
“They’re a professional crew who know what they’re doing. You won’t even know they’re there.”
I arched an eyebrow.
“Okay, well, not much. Within a few hours, you won’t—you’ll be so focused on the show that you won’t notice them. They’ll fade into the background.”
“That’s highly unlikely.” I didn’t even try to keep the sarcasm from my voice.
Pauletta’s glare intensified.
I moved closer to her. Backstage at the Pacific National Exhibition—the PNE—wasn’t the place to be having this argument. We’d done our sound check, but the opening act wasn’t due to start for another few minutes. The buzz of the gathering crowd electrified me.
Always had. Always would.
We had a girl band as our opening act here. Five spectacularly talented young women who verged on stardom. The harmonies on their ballads could break even the hardest of hearts, and their vocals on the pure-rock songs blew me away every time. Genesis’s Progeny might not have been the best band name in the world—to me, anyway—but they were kicking ass and taking numbers. Basically an amped up Spice Girls or Destiny’s Child—a throwback to the nineties.
When I’d barely been born.
Some days I felt every one of my twenty-seven years. Other times, I couldn’t believe Axel and I had formed the band ten years ago.
I drew a deep breath. “Okay, well, does it have to be that guy?” I continued my pacing, dodging an assistant stage manager while fighting the sense of unreality.
Pauletta knew who I meant. And tilted her head as if in consideration.
Damn. I knew better. She wasn’t contemplating. Her mind was made up.
“Thornton Graves is one of the best in the business. Look, Ed, he’s only thirty-three. He can relate to you guys.”
I glared.
She continued. “And the rags-to-riches story’s a great one—and you know it. You mentor kids in dire circumstances because you want them to see there’s a path out of poverty.”
I winced. Yeah, anything that reminded me of my childhood was a trigger. For Axel as well. We hated the stereotype. Two Black boys from neglectful and abusive families living destitute lives. Scrounging together enough to buy guitars and, thanks to a caring music teacher, finding a way to practice. Eventually, through grit and perseverance, they succeed.
Yeah, kids could look up to that. But most youngsters faced horrific challenges to rise above their circumstances—especially racialized kids, including many Indigenous ones. The most-expensive city in Canada wasn’t kind when it came to its poorer citizens.
“Okay…but him? You saw the hatchet job he did on Ezra Michaels.”
This time, both of Pauletta’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re defending that scumbag?”
“No…?” I hedged. The guy’d done deplorable—
“Fifteen women, Ed. He abused fifteen women.”
“They should’ve gone to the police, Paulie.” Damn, don’t use your nickname for her. Pissed her right off. Which might’ve been why I did it. “He didn’t even have the benefit of a trial—just a group of women parading their stories to a reporter.” I waved her off. “And I get that many women don’t go to the police because they think they won’t be believed—which is a whole other thing—but why didn’t Graves encourage them to report the crimes? Especially when he knew how many there were? No. Instead, he ambushed Ezra. Ruined his career.”
“You think a man who committed that kind of crime deserves a career?”
My mind flashed to Kyesha.
Don’t go there. That way only led to danger.
“I don’t.” I glared. “Of course I don’t. Men in the spotlight, and women too, shouldn't get away with shit just because they're famous. But he deserved his day in court, not a trial by social media.".
“You’re way too sympathetic toward him, Ed. Doesn’t suit you.” She patted her hair. “And, anyway, I hear he’s getting it.”
“What?” I stopped my pacing and faced the most-important woman in my life. In the process, I nearly knocked over a mic stand. “And if he’s guilty, which I’m betting he is, then he deserves to have the book thrown at him.” Jesus, she thought I’d side with a guy who abused women? Did she not know me?
“You probably didn’t hear—the cops charged him this afternoon. With multiple counts of sexual assault and battery. Unless a jury lets him off—which is always a possibility, given his celebrity—he’s going down for this.” Her eyes narrowed. “So, thanks to Thornton Graves pulling the evidence together and empowering those women, Ezra’s getting what he deserves.”
“Fine.” I spat out the word. “So the guy’s a do-gooder who deserves a medal or a…”
“Pulitzer.”
“Whatever. Or the Nobel thing.” I gave her my glare. Or was that just for science? Being immersed in music for every moment of every day meant my mind was full of chord progressions and concert venues. But I also followed a Canadian news site as well as the local Vancouver news. Axel and I shared a condo in the downtown core—about five miles from where we’d grown up. Probably why we felt compelled to go back so often and volunteer.
Pauletta continued to stare.
Damn woman. She knew my buttons. Knew how to press them. Knew exactly how much pressure she could apply before I’d break. “Our past is off-limits for this documentary thing.”
She began to speak.
I held up my hand.
She desisted.
“You want us to bare our souls. Axel’s not in the right place for that.”
“Ed, he’s been clean and sober for eight years.”
“And he still struggles, Paulie.”
Her shocked expression, with the wide eyes and raised eyebrows, almost made me laugh.
Almost. “Look, he doesn’t tell you everything—”
“I’m your manager. I should be the first to know everything.”
I could take issue with numerous aspects of that statement.
But I wouldn’t. “I take care of him. I’ll always take care of him.”
“You might not always be there for him, Ed.”
I winced inwardly.
“He might choose someone else.”
Double wince.
She must’ve caught something, because her eyes narrowed. “Look, you know I don’t care about your sexuality—”
I held up my hand to halt the conversation. Obviously, she understood another of my fears about the documentary crew.
She plowed right on through.
“Personally, I think if you came out as bi, there’d be a positive reaction. Bi-erasure is a thing. You’ve dated both men and women—”
“I'm not ready to come out yet. Not even to help you.”
She pursed her lips. Then, after a moment, “I’m not asking you to. I’m proudly bi. And I don’t care who knows about it.”
Except she did. Her mother’s rejection when she’d brought home her first girlfriend still stung. She’d expected kindness and understanding from her bohemian mother—she’d gotten a slap to the face and a demand she never bring home another trashy girl again.
According to Paulie’s retelling of the story—usually after a couple of cocktails—her girlfriend wore a blouse buttoned to the neck and black slacks with patent leather pumps. Paulie’d been going through her wild rocker chick phase—wearing a torn T-shirt, ripped jeans, and dirty work boots.
“Your mom was wrong.”
Pauletta winced.
I’d met this powerhouse a few years later, when I’d been eighteen and she’d been twenty-four. Pauletta’s height impressed me—she had a good three inches over my five-eight. Her no-nonsense approach also spoke to me. She’d just earned a business degree at a local college and was prepared to take over the management of our band. I tried to explain we could barely pay our bills, but she assured me she’d take care of everything. Axel and I were living in a one-bedroom basement suite off Commercial Drive and were willing to try anything.
As part of the deal, she had us upgrading our accommodations—both living and venue-wise—within a few months.
Maybe if Axel and I’d stayed in our dive, we wouldn’t have had the space to entertain Kyesha. Maybe—
Fucking stop it.
Most of the time, I could keep memories of the young woman at bay. But this Thornton guy’s appearance was dredging up bad memories.
I waved Paulie off, trying to refocus. “People aren’t interested in me. It’s all about the front man. They want Axel. I just worry about his mental health.”
“So, watch out for him.” She smiled. “Thornton’s mostly going to be shooting during the concert prep and the actual concert. You and Axel will be in each other’s pockets.”
I blinked.
“You’ll be hanging around together,” she clarified.
“I got that.” I didn’t always understand the expressions she used, but I usually managed. Our backgrounds couldn’t have been more different. She’d grown up in the prestigious British Properties in West Vancouver with her bank executive Black father and her white mother who championed the destitute, working as a lawyer in the Downtown Eastside of Vancouver.
My old neighborhood.
Pauletta’d attended a private day school.
I’d cobbled together a public-school education while working odd jobs to earn lunch money and, eventually, enough to buy my own guitar.
Two different worlds.
I’d written a song about that.
One of our bestsellers.
“I don’t like this, Paulie. I don’t trust him.”
“You have my word everything’s going to work out. He’ll do a great doc about you folks, you’ll get free publicity, and everything will only get better.”
Nothing was ever free in this world. Everything had a price. Everyone wanted a piece of us. Every time we thought we might get some peace, something would erupt, and chaos would ensue. I’d been doing this long enough to know things never worked out as intended.
Okay, we’d do this damned documentary.
I just didn’t know if we were strong enough to get through it.
Chapter Two
Thornton
PaulettaMagnum’scall,letting me know the doc was a go, lit a fire within me.
Finally.
Eight years. I’d needed eight years to build enough cred to finally approach Grindstone about doing a documentary. Eight years of mostly fluff pieces about celebrities. Of me boosting egos so they’d trust me with their secrets, and with what, when, and how to reveal them. Most of the time, those were banal, like an ill-advised relationship. Others were more serious—like an abusive parent or an addiction. Those stories were few and far between.
One woman admitted to having an abortion. I’d hesitated to air that part of the interview, but she insisted. She’d been fifteen and in no shape to carry a pregnancy. She didn’t regret her decision—and she felt other women needed to know they shouldn’t feel shame if they made the same choice. As one of the biggest Hollywood celebrities—and a fan favorite—she had the clout.
Focus.
I snagged my phone and shot off three texts.
Within five minutes, my team all confirmed they’d be in Vancouver within three days. I planned a skeleton crew for this shoot—camera, sound, director, and myself as interviewer and producer. I’d worked with this team on the last three projects, so I had every confidence we’d nail this shoot.
And I intended to nail Ed Markham and Axel Townsend in more ways than one.
Don’t get ahead of yourself.
I eyed my family photos, lingering on the picture of myself and my five siblings. My parents very much fit the do-gooder image. I was their only biological child. The other five came from just about every ethnic background one might find in Portland.
Then I glanced over the collection of all the documentaries I’d worked on since graduating from film school at age twenty-one. Fourteen in twelve years. I’d cut my teeth on nature documentaries. Those days felt like my distant past—the simple times.
People were so much more complicated.
I set about packing everything I’d need.
Lydia, our videographer, had all her own equipment. She didn’t trust anyone else’s, and she didn’t trust hers to anyone. Control freak, anyone?
Of course, if I’d spent that much on equipment, I’d probably be willing to rip off anyone’s fingers who dared touch my stuff.
Likewise, Kato had all his own sound equipment.
While I was leaving to drive up to Vancouver within the hour, Kato and Lydia would drive up together the day after tomorrow.
I wanted them sooner, but Lydia’s sister was turning twenty-one. Given the young woman’d battled leukemia as a child, the family celebrated every milestone with gusto.
And Kato, being secretly in love with Lydia, would do whatever she asked.
Whether she knew about his crush—and whether she might ever return that affection—were questions I never uttered aloud.
I almost hoped they never consummated the…relationship. Eventually they’d break up—because that happened with virtually every relationship—and that’d mess with the good thing we had going.
Mickey texted me again that they’d fly out of Toronto tomorrow, and would hit Vancouver in the evening. As our Canadian—and resident ball-busting director—it thrilled me they’d be with me soon. I’d done tons of background for the piece, but I wanted their take.
For what I intended to share, anyway.
I finished packing, loaded my hybrid SUV, and hit the road.
Five hours later, I reached the Canadian border and the Peace Arch.
Although I’d prepared with documents and a bunch of other stuff, the Canadian border guard scanned my passport, confirmed I was going to only be working for a week for an American employer, and cautioned me to follow the rules.
Rules I’d read up on when I first approached Pauletta.
I thanked the woman, offered my best smile, and headed into White Rock.
The drive to downtown Vancouver took just over an hour since I’d hit rush hour traffic. I crossed yet another bridge—this one the Granville Street Bridge—and found myself surrounded by soaring concrete-and-glass structures. I continued north until my GPS directed me to turn onto Robson Street, and then a left turn into what, at first, appeared to be an alley. But, no, I’d arrived at the entrance to the Hotel BLU Vancouver.
A snappily dressed porter removed my three bags from my SUV.
I handed my keys to a lovely car jockey with bright-blue eyes and a wide smile.
She handed me a ticket in return and had whisked away my vehicle before I could blink.
The porter indicated I should follow him, which I did.
Registration took mere moments, and I was soon on my way up to the twentieth floor. Although Pauletta’d arranged a pleasant room, I’d upgraded myself to one of the penthouse suites. I hadn’t visited Vancouver in years, and I planned to enjoy this visit in style.
Don’t forget why you’re here.
I tipped the porter with an American twenty. With the exchange, he’d do okay.
He gave me an enormous smile, removed my baggage from the cart, and headed out.
You brought too much stuff.
Possibly. I’d be here a week before we headed to Nevada for the concert prep and the actual concert.
I yanked my phone out of my back pocket and shot Pauletta a text, inviting the entire band out for dinner.
Given how close it was to five o’clock, she surprised me by accepting my offer and saying all band members except Songbird would be there. She suggested a pleasant restaurant, but I wanted more upscale and, countering her suggestion, offered to buy dinner for everyone at The Georgian.
Her response was slower in coming, but eventually she agreed.
Good.
I’d already made the reservation and would’ve been loath to cancel. So that meant six—Axel, Ed, Pauletta, Meg the drummer, Big Mac the bassist, and myself.
Should be interesting.
Since the dinner was scheduled for seven, I grabbed a shower and watched the Canadian national news as I dressed. Although I’d brought a suit, I opted to go more casual. Or at least casual for me—silk shirt, linen trousers, leather shoes, and my Rolex. The Rolex was a gift from my father when I’d turned eighteen. He’d hoped I’d go into medicine, as he had.
I’d disappointed him by heading to film school.
My mother’d been delighted. She liked the idea of me travelling all over the world instead of staying in our little corner of Portland.
Bonita, the eldest of my five younger adopted siblings, had followed Dad into medicine. Barely twenty-eight, she was finishing her residency in nephrology. Pietro, her younger brother, was in his fourth year of nursing at OHSU Portland. Their mother died from cancer when they’d been six and four, respectively. Their father had stuck around for about eight months before turning the kids over to social services and disappearing forever. My parents took in the siblings as foster children and, three years later, they’d adopted the pair. A good lawyer had been needed since courts were always reticent to sever all parental rights. Still, their father’s abandonment was pretty clear.
After them had come…
Nope. Couldn’t go there.
Ayala and Abigail had arrived six years later. Premature twins with a myriad of medical problems and a mother who couldn’t cope, as she had three other kids at home. After a long meeting with my parents, she agreed to give up custody—temporarily.
Less than a month later, she signed over her rights and took her remaining three kids back to Alabama.
We’d never heard from her again.
I’d been eighteen, and both eager to get out in the world and endlessly fascinated with these two tiny creatures who moved in and took over the house.
Now, at a very healthy fifteen, the twins still ruled the roost.
I yanked up my phone to check Ayala’s latest post on Facebook. A selfie of her and her sister. So goddamn close. Attached at the hip. What will they do if something drives them apart?
After a long moment, I pulled up the family photo taken eight years ago.
I’d been home from an assignment to the wilds of Kenya.
The twins had just celebrated their seventh birthday and were still in the I want to wear what she’s wearing phase.
Bonita was in the first year of medical curriculum and Pietro was in the last year of high school.
And our other sister was still a teenager.
I couldn’t even say her name.
Such a bright, shining light.
I miss you. I fingered the chain in my pocket—a talisman, and reminder why I was here.
After a moment, I moved to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. I faced the condo tower next door. As always, I wondered about the people across the way. What travails were they facing? What tragedies would they endure today? What triumphs would make life worthwhile?
My four awards were a testimony to my success—somewhat—but they didn’t keep me warm at night.
I need to get laid.
A tempting thought. I’d hooked up quite a few times over the past few years, making use of the efficient hookup app and the fact every city had men looking to slake their needs.
I was only too happy to accommodate them. Being a sturdy six-three with muscles, I didn’t worry about winding up in a dangerous situation. I probably should have, but I never did. Part of me was a fatalist—if my time came, I’d accept it.
You haven’t resolved your anger.
Well, fair enough. My parents urged me to move on with my life. In fact, I’d stopped trying to talk to them about my pain. They’d moved on. And not in a mean way—more that they had five other children, including myself, to care for.
A laugh escaped me.
I hadn’t needed caring for in a very long time.
Or so you tell yourself.
After taking a moment to center myself, I took a deep breath, tied my shoelaces, and headed off into the unknown.
Chapter Three
Ed
Iyankedatmycollar.
Axel nudged me.
I glared at him.
He grinned.
Yeah, sure, yuck it up. You’ll see…this is going to end in disaster.
He’d opted for a gray T-shirt with a dinner jacket and khaki pants. The look should’ve been weird, but he pulled it off.
Pauletta wore a purple satin blouse with her pantsuit. Meticulous—as always.
Meg and Big Mac’d gone casual with band T-shirts and jeans. At least their boots shone.
Songbird’s decision to play piano at her family’s church tonight rankled. Yes, great, she was doing the family and religion things.
On the other hand, I could’ve used her support. Her bullshit meter was as accurate as my own.
Not that Pauletta couldn’t spot trouble—but she had a reputation to maintain that would prevent her from speaking up.
Songbird had no such compunctions—she said whatever came into her head, consequences be damned.
I tugged at my tie.
Axel nudged me again.
Regretting having gone full dress mode, I eyed my shiny shoes. This wasn’t me. Suit? Pressed linen shirt? Silk tie? Ugh.
“Is that him?” Axel whispered into my ear. Of course, he had to lean over to do it. The guy had six inches on me.
And so did the newcomer.
Our gazes locked.
His amber eyes betrayed his surprise.
Yeah, you expected us to be late. Surprise. We’re early. We’re always early.
That was Pauletta’s doing. From day one, she’d run a tight ship. No slackers on her crew. We were to be respectful of others’ time.
Even if that consideration wasn’t always returned.
Still, Mr. Tall and Handsome wasn’t late. No, he’d arrived about ten minutes early.
We’d just been here four minutes before him.
Before I could speak, Pauletta stepped forward, her hand extended. “Mr. Graves, lovely to meet you.”
“Please, it’s Thornton.” He indicated the group. “Thank you for coming.”
I bit back the comment that we didn’t have a choice.
Pauletta wouldn’t have appreciated my candor.
Big Mac stepped forward. The diminutive man, at five-five, barely reached Graves’s shoulder. “I loved your interview with Candi Lewis.” He offered his hand. “It’s great you want to interview us.”
My fingers were dwarfed by Graves’s long ones. “Well, I’m glad you’re open to the idea.”
He cut a glance at me, but looked away before I could tell him what I thought of his niceties.
Meg stepped forward next. Our drummer was the same height as Big Mac, and although she was petite, she was also solid. No one got past her if she didn’t want them to. While Big Mac was as white as white could be, Meg’s mixed Indigenous heritage gave her skin a warm tan. Her Ojibway name was Megis, but she preferred Meg. She stared at Graves with her obsidian eyes. “You’ll do us right?”
Glad to see someone else smells something distinctly foul.
The man’s responding smile pinged all kinds of warning buzzers in my head.
Possibly because he again cut a quick glance at me before shaking Meg’s hand. “I have no hidden agenda. I want to show you all in the best light.”
I caught a twitch in his left eye. What the…?
Axel nudged me not so gently as he stepped forward. “I guess you know who I am.”
Thornton’s eyes lit. With genuine interest or something fake? I couldn’t tell, dammit.
“Axel Townsend.” Thornton clasped his hand vigorously. “I’m one of Grindstone’s biggest fans.”
Did his left eye just twitch again?
“I remember you from back in your early days. You played a concert down in Portland.”
Axel grinned. “Yeah, our first one down there, right?” He turned to me. “Nine years ago? We were green.”
“Something like that.”
I met Graves’s gaze. His eyes glittered, and I struggled to name their color. Brandy? Amber? Something related to alcohol, that was for certain. I’d never seen anything like them.
And I’m not getting pulled in by them, so don’t bother trying.
“You were at the concert?” He didn’t look like a rock-band fan. No, he looked more like smooth jazz or classical.
His smile faltered for just a moment. “A friend. She brought home your album and insisted I listen. I’ve been obsessed ever since.”
My bullshit meter hit eleven.
“Oh, Immortalized.”
He shook his head. “No, that was what, your third album? That came out six years later. No, I’m talking about Desperation.”
Sloppy on my part—of course he’d know when each of our albums had released. Still, I had to try to trip him up and show him for the phony he was.
Axel gave me a funny look then subtly nodded.
Being a dickhead was getting me nowhere. I stepped forward. “Ed Markham.”
“Edward, right?”
I squeezed his hand extra tight. “Edmund. But only my grandmother called me that. You’re not my grandmother.” The Fairie Queen had been her favorite, and she’d convinced my mother to name me after the fricking sixteenth-century poet. As if life wasn’t tough enough for a Black kid in Vancouver.
Graves raised an eyebrow. “Apologies. I’ll make certain that doesn’t get into the doc.”
Which refocused me back to why this meeting was taking place. And, for the record, I fucking hated that I had to look up at him. Bloody blond-haired, amber-eyed, clearly well-endowed, entitled asshole wasn’t going to derail me.
Well endowed? What, were you checking out his package?
Yes. Yes, I was. And, in linen slacks, judging a guy’s size was pretty difficult. But something told me he had a gigantic cock.
Or maybe just a cocky attitude.
Both?
Axel snagged my hand to tug me aside as the maître d’ stepped forward.
“Mr. Graves, I have your table ready.” She acknowledged each of us in turn.
Thornton offered his arm to Pauletta.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
She took it with a grin. “A gentleman.” She met my gaze.
Bring it on.
Axel offered me his arm.
Meg held hers out for Big Mac.
The man grinned and made a big show of taking it.
I glared at Axel and stubbornly kept my hands to myself. Not that I would’ve minded touching my best friend. Everyone in the band was handsy in a platonic way. Well, except Pauletta. She considered herself above the general fray.
Axel nudged me over and over as we walked through the dining room to a table in a secluded corner.
“Knock it off. What are you, ten?”
“Maybe.” He snickered. “You like him.”
I stopped.
He nearly knocked into me.
A server barely avoided hitting both of us with an armful of dirty dishes.
She managed to remove the scowl from her expression and instead pasted on a smile. “Can I help you gentlemen?”
Axel bestowed upon her his megawatt smile.
Her eyes widened. “You’re Axel.”
Yeah, my buddy didn’t even need a last name.
“I am. Why don’t you drop by our table later?”
“I couldn’t.” She cleared her throat. “I’m working.”
And likely in such an upscale establishment, fawning over famous guests was discouraged.
“What’s your name?”
I caught Pauletta’s gaze as she cocked her head.
With a wince, I gave her the one sec signal.
She subtly nodded and made a show of selecting a chair.
“Um, Alison.”
“One l or two?” Axel asked.
“One.”
“Great.” Another megawatt smile. “Have a good night.”
She headed to the back of the restaurant while Axel guided me to the table.
“You’ve got a notepad, right?”
“Something you can scribble your autograph on? Yes. How do you plan to get it to her?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
He would. He always did.
Meg sat at one end of the table, across from Big Mac. At first, I’d tried to think of him as Joseph. I’d given up after a good half hour. Big Mac just…fit him. Despite the fact he was neither big nor a Mac.
Pauletta’d grabbed the seat next to Meg, and Axel quickly nabbed the seat across from her.
Leaving Thornton and me at the end of the table—facing each other.
Great.
I offered my widest smile as I sat.
He held his open pose for a beat as he met my gaze. His hesitation assured me that he wasn’t fooled for even a moment.
My smile faltered slightly.
He sat.
Pauletta already had the drinks menu open.
Despite the fact Axel and I never imbibed, the rest of the group was free to do so. Most of the time, we coped. I caught Axel’s gaze.
After a moment, he gave me a barely perceptible nod.
Yeah, he’d be okay.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“As I told Pauletta, the dinner’s on me. As a thank you.” Thornton held open his arms, casually draping a hand on the back of Axel’s chair.
I stiffened.
Axel grinned. “That’s so generous of you.” He glanced at Pauletta.
She nodded.
He opened his menu.
Meg and Big Mac also added their appreciation.
The words sat, unspoken, on my tongue.
Pauletta kicked me under the table.
I winced.
Thornton tilted his head.
“Yes, very kind of you. I hope we can repay your generosity.” I carefully repeated a variation of the word Axel’d picked.
The interloper nodded.
Nope. I hadn’t fooled him. Not for a moment.
Our server appeared.
Pauletta ordered a Hemingway daiquiri, Meg opted for a craft beer, Big Mac chose a Cosmo, and Axel asked for sparkling water.
My mouth salivated over the thought of a rum and coke. I offered the server a smile. “Ginger ale, please.”
She grinned. “Of course.” She pivoted to Thornton.
He held my gaze. “Same here. I love having Canada Dry when I come to Canada.”
“Oh, you’re American.”
As she continued to smile, I noted her nametag read Tracey. Her light makeup didn’t hide the lines. I couldn’t imagine working a service job well into my fifties.
And what do you envision you’ll be doing in your fifties?
Hopefully enjoying still being alive, was the standard response.
Thornton said something about being from Portland.
I was only half-paying attention as Axel tried to get my attention. What…? Oh, notepad. I dug one out of my jacket pocket along with a Sharpie.
By the time Tracey and Thornton were done with their little chat, Axel handed Tracey a folded piece of paper.
She quirked an eyebrow.
“Oh, I knew Alison from school. She asked me to give her that.” He pointed to the paper. “It’s private.”
If Tracey questioned this little interaction, she showed no signs of it. “I’ll give it to her right away. And I’ll get those drinks shortly.” She headed off.
Axel made a big show of returning my Sharpie and notebook.
I quirked an eyebrow.
He grinned unrepentantly.
Aw, shit.
Was I going to have to run interference again, or had he been a good boy and just offered his autograph without including his phone number? After eight years of me nagging him, he’d gotten pretty good at resisting.
Well, better than before.
We could’ve afforded our own places by now, but I insisted we keep the condo together. Our bedrooms were at opposite ends, and that granted some privacy, but basically Axel’d have to sneak someone in for me not to know. Or go to their place—which I actively discouraged. As much as I didn’t want groupies coming into our home, having him staying out all night without me being able to track him would be much worse. He'd asked for my help in staying sober, and I was doing my best.
“I’m eyeing the sirloin.”
My stomach churned. Of course Pauletta was.
“Oh, that sounds lovely.” Meg pointed. “Although the lamb shoulder sounds delicious as well.”
Great. More burned flesh.
Axel grinned. “They have lots of salad options, Ed.”
I glared.
He winked impishly.
“I’m thinking the shrimp linguini.” Big Mac closed the menu. “In white wine sauce.”
So, although I could’ve asked them to hold the shrimp, holding the wine in a wine sauce wasn’t likely to go over well.
Thornton eyed me.
I squinted at the menu. Normally, I looked up the menu on my phone before we got to a restaurant so I could have everything selected ahead of time.
Pauletta’s call had come in the middle of a rehearsal. I’d insisted we finish the set before showering and heading over to the restaurant. And since I’d driven us, I hadn’t had time to check the phone while we travelled over.
“Do you use reading glasses?”
My gaze shot to Thornton’s.
Axel snickered. “He refuses to see the optometrist because yeah, he needs reading glasses. If I wasn’t sure he could read street signs, I’d worry he might need distance glasses as well.”
My cheeks heated. “Well, better that than smelling like a locker room.”
Axel’s inability to smell his own funk was a constant source of amusement.
Pauletta closed her menu with a bit more force than necessary.
I winced.
Axel did as well.
Technically, I wasn’t certain who was being reprimanded—because we were both being assholes. In front of a guest. A guest who could spread our secrets into the wide world.
Not a good look.
Axel mouthed sorry.
I nodded—he’d understand I was accepting his apology and offering my own.
“Their eggplant parmesan is vegan.” Pauletta snagged my menu from my unresisting hands.
Thornton tilted his head. “Vegan?”
I wilted. “No.” I swallowed hard. “I’m not that disciplined. I still do eggs and dairy.”
“Ah, well good for you. I might consider giving up meat, but you’ll have to pry my cheese from my cold, dead hands.” He offered a smile. “I think I’ll have that as well.” He pivoted to Axel. “And you?”
“Northern Pacific halibut with a side of lobster tail.”
Great. Fish smell.
Tracey reappeared with our drinks.
I sipped my ginger ale as everyone ordered.
Thornton indicated I should go before him.
I asked for the eggplant parmesan.
He added his request.
Tracey took our menus and headed toward the kitchen.
I met Thornton’s gaze.
Somehow I felt like I was the one in the frying pan, not Axel’s halibut.
Chapter Four
Thornton
Prickly.
Arrogant.
Sexy as fuck.
I’d expected Axel to be the toughest nut to crack—but he was proving to be easily swayed. By the time we finished our food, I had several solid anecdotes I could get him to recount for the documentary.
Ed’s glare intensified with every smile Axel bestowed upon me. I’d bet if the man could’ve kicked his good friend, he totally would’ve done it.
And they were friends. Although everyone in the band got along, clearly Axel and Ed shared a special bond. Oh, and Big Mac had the biggest crush on Meg, and the woman obviously had no clue. Kind of adorable. Matchmaking wasn’t in my job description. But it’d make a great story if you can get them to see each other in a romantic light. Yeah, but what if Meg didn’t reciprocate, and the band fell apart?
Would that be so bad? For those two, it might just be. If I ruined things for Axel and Ed, I had no problem with that.
Pauletta discreetly yawned.
“Do you folks want to take this to a lounge?” I held up my hands. “My treat. And I’m certain they’ve got plenty of ginger ale and sparkling water.”
“Sounds great—”
“We have an early practice.”
Axel pursed his lips after Ed cut him off.
Pauletta didn’t hide the next yawn.
Didn’t bands start late morning and work late into the night?
“We’re morning people.” Meg placed her napkin on the table. “And although I really appreciate the offer, I need to call it a night. My dog’s been at doggie daycare all day, and she’ll be missing me.”
Big Mac perked up. “How is Wren?”
Wren?
Meg perked up as well. “She’s doing great. I’m worried about leaving her for the concert in Black Rock, but she’ll survive.” She fidgeted with her napkin. “It’s Kevin’s turn with her.”
Big Mac nearly growled. “That fucker doesn’t deserve time with her.”
“He bought her for me—”
“Right. As a gift for you.” Big Mac enunciated every word. “He doesn’t even like the dog—he keeps up the custody agreement to put the screws to you.”
Meg’s outrage flashed, but quickly, she deflated.
Ah, so not angry at Big Mac. Good to know.
“I don’t see why we can’t take her with us.” Big Mac stuck out his chin.
Pauletta shifted.
Meg beat her to it, responding to his comment. “It’ll never work. We can’t leave her on the bus alone for hours at a time. That’d be cruel. No, as horrible as Kevin is, she enjoys spending time with him.”
Big Mac grunted.
“And on that note, I need to be going.” Meg met my gaze. “Thanks so much.”
“My pleasure. I’ll see you tomorrow at practice.”
Big Mac rose as well. “We can share a cab.”
“We live in opposite directions.”
“I still want to make certain you’re safe.”
The offer to pay for the cab was on the tip of my tongue when Meg rose.
“That’d be nice…Big. Thank you.”
Had she been about to call him Joseph?
Curious minds.
Perhaps something existed between the two of them.
“We need to be going as well.” Ed met Axel’s gaze.
“I want to go to a lounge.” Axel crossed his arms.
“Early morning practice.” Ed snickered. “Some of us are not so much morning people, eh?”
Axel glared.
Ed tried to hide the smile—but didn’t manage very well.
“I’m heading over to The Lords’s and Ladies’ Club. If anyone wants to join me, you’re welcome.” I gestured to everyone. “Tonight was awesome. I enjoyed getting to know the people behind Grindstone.”
At a noise, I glanced at Ed.
He winced.
Pauletta beamed.
I’d lay even money she’d just kicked him in the shin. Or pinched his thigh—given her arm was below the tablecloth.
“Yes.” Ed cleared his throat. “Awesome.”
Pauletta rose and turned to Meg and Big Mac. “I’ll see you out.” She nodded to me. “Thank you.”
I nodded in acknowledgement.
Axel popped up. “I have to piss.”
Ed groaned, but his friend was already following the rest of the party toward the door.
He veered at the last moment and headed toward the restrooms.
After a hesitation, Ed caught my gaze. He leaned forward.
I resisted the urge to mimic his gesture.
“Look, you’ve been generous tonight. I don’t know you. I don’t know if you have a big budget and this is a business write-off or if you come from money.”
The contempt of the money idea dripped, unmistakably tainting the evening.
Before I could respond, he continued, “I’ll always be protective of my band.”
“Yes, I got that.” I held his gaze. Those deep-brown eyes mesmerized in a way that disturbed me. His dark skin glowed in the low light of the restaurant, and the jacket did little to cover his muscles. His rigorous workout routine had hit legendary status, while Axel’s penchant for burgers and fries was also well known. I worried Axel might be bulimic—given how slender he was—but I’d read he had a fabulous metabolism. Will he still have that in his later years? And why was I thinking about Axel while Ed sat in front of me? “A nightcap at the lounge is hardly a cause for concern. I can deliver him home, if that makes you feel better.” I’d chosen that lounge specifically because it was located just a few blocks from their condo.
Ed pursed his lips. “Sobriety is critical—for both of us.”
“I won’t order him a bourbon, if that’s what you’re worried about.” I held up my hands. “I respect your choice not to drink.” I glanced at the other empty glasses that’d held booze. “But you’re able to be around others who drink.”
He growled. “This isn’t a lounge where booze is the point of the place, and they’ll never pressure us. They’ll do the opposite—”
“As will I—”
“I don’t trust you.”
Ah. Now we’re getting to the crux of the argument. “You can trust me.”
He rose jerkily. “I don’t trust anyone.” He caught sight of Axel returning. “Thank you, but we won’t be joining you.”
Before I could argue, he made his way across the room.
A discussion—clearly a heated argument—ensued between the two men. Finally, after more than a minute, Axel looked over, caught my gaze, shrugged, waved, and then headed out with Ed guiding him by the elbow.
I stared at their retreating gorgeous asses until they left my sight.
Well, Axel’s ass. Ed’s was mostly covered by his suit jacket.
But I’d seen pictures. I’d pored over photographs of the two of them. The other band members as well, for certain, but especially these two.
Well, mostly Ed. I hadn’t been wrong—Axel was the way to get to Ed. The way to hurt Ed. And, in the end, that was my goal.
You’d do well to remember that.
My sole focus was Grindstone. Once I took them down, I’d be free to pursue other passion projects.
If I’m not too toxic.
Nah, I wouldn’t be. The world would thank me for exposing Axel and Ed as the hypocrites they were.
I paid the bill, leaving a generous tip, and then left the restaurant. Doing the calculations in my head, I figured I was only about six blocks from my hotel. Tonight was the perfect night for a stroll, so I headed that way.
Chapter Five
Ed
Axelprowledthecondo.
I sat with my acoustic guitar on my lap and strummed a few chords from a Beatles song I loved.
He glared.
I hummed.
Our bedtime had long come and gone. The witching hour had set in.
Still, he wouldn’t settle.
“I don’t understand what your problem is with him.”
Axel’s words caught me off-guard as he’d been stalking for over fifteen minutes. He did this frequently—prowled like a caged animal. While I’d hop on the treadmill, he preferred…a less efficient way to exercise. Plus, if he actually got on the treadmill then he wouldn’t be able to glare at me. Again, something he did frequently.
Possibly I should’ve grown tired of this pacing, but I considered the…annoyance…the price of friendship. Honestly, I could do without the notoriety. The money and music were amazing. The rest? I’d be fine if the publicity disappeared.
What about the fans?
Ugh. Yeah. I liked many of them. And we needed fans to buy our records and see our concerts so we could maintain our lifestyle.
The lifestyle always on the verge of being jeopardized if I didn’t keep Axel on the straight and narrow.
“I don’t have a problem with him.” I’d considered playing totally ignorant, but that would’ve pissed Axel off even more than he already was. “He bought us dinner. I thanked him.” I hummed.
“And left a fifty under your plate.”
My gaze shot to his.
“That a fuck you?”
I shifted, trying for a more comfortable position. “She deserved a fucking generous tip.”
“You thought he’d shortchange her?”
Strumming, I tried to ignore the implicit accusation in his question.
He snapped his fingers.
