We added a bonus epilogue to Fused. We thought the story needed just a little bit more. So, if you haven’t read Fused, Lost in Oblivion #4.5 there may be a few spoilers in here.

Lying on his back beneath his woman was basically his favorite place in the universe. Especially when she was riding him slow, her eyes heavy-lidded, her lips parted and plump from where she’d had them last. And what she’d done with them, so thoroughly that he’d barely held on long enough to get inside her.

Without a condom for the first time no less. Hallelujah.

How had he lived without experiencing this before? He could feel every ripple, every clench of her walls, every damn drop of her excitement on his skin. His balls were harder than they’d ever been, and so full he even feared thrusting would send him over the edge. But he had to get deeper.

So much deeper.

Her tits bounced with every movement and her blond hair slipped over her shoulders to tease her already blush-pink nipples. He ran his hand up her belly, higher to twist the tight tips, reveling in the sigh that tumbled from her cock-swollen lips. He was the one who’d done that to her, who’d given her mouth that used look.

Because Lila Ronson—formerly Shawcross—was all his.

He brought his knees up, flexing his pelvis until she gasped and fell forward onto his chest. With one hand cupping her breast and his lips a hairbreadth from hers, he changed the angle of his thrusts again, just to see the blue of her eyes flare brighter for an instant before they shuttered. Her body turned liquid and boneless, her release saturating his dick. Soaking him in her so that he had no choice but to follow, exploding deep inside her giving pussy bare for the first time.

Heaven.

“Don’t move,” Nick murmured, when she started to do just that. Probably to roll over and breathe. But he wasn’t letting her go just yet. “I’m basking.”

She laughed softly and pressed a cool wet kiss to his still stampeding heart. “Basking in making a fine mess of me and my bed?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“So that means you liked it?” She turned her head and peered up at him from under her thick fringe of pale lashes, her expression coy. “A condomless convert?”

“Oh, baby, you have no idea how many times I intend to fuck you now. What we did before? Training camp.” He flipped her on her belly and she laughed into the pillow as he lined up with his target and sank inside again, practically delirious at the warmth that enveloped him. “This is the real deal.” He pinched her ass and she wiggled, her laughter swiftly morphing into a moan as she realized his half hard length was quickly rising to full mast.

“You can’t be ready—”

“No? You think someone else has his cock in your tight little pussy?” She whimpered and he fisted a hand in her hair, driving her face into the pillow. Cutting off her air for just a second while his hips jerked back and forward, impaling her more completely with his dick. “So tight. I’m going to make you come again.”

She shook her head but her ass was already rising into his strokes, urging him on. She wanted to come again just as much. If he reached around her waist, he’d find her clit hard again. But he wasn’t going to make this easy for her.

Not until she begged.

Gripping her hair, he used it to anchor his thrusts, knowing she loved when he got rough. Lila might look like straight class on the outside, but inside she was every bit as filthy as he was.

He scraped his teeth over the back of her neck, leaving marks she could easily hide while she was at her endless parade of management meetings at the record company. No one would ever know but him that before work he’d fucked her into the mattress until her moans pinged off the walls.

“Touch me.”

Her gasp struck straight into his chest. He wanted to oblige her but there was something he needed even more.

“I am touching you.” He closed his lips around the pearl drop earring she wore and softly pulled. “I’m all over you.” He slammed his hips against her bottom and she cried out. “That’s me touching you so deep you won’t be able to walk without feeling me.”

Making sure of it, he hammered her into her over and over, dragging his teeth over her neck until she started to squirm beneath him. She was building again, heading for that peak he wanted her to fly over. “You know what to do,” he said when she pressed her forehead into the pillow in frustration. “Make us both come.”

She slid her hand beneath herself, sliding it down her torso. Her fingers crept between her legs and bumped his cock, still powering in and out of her pussy. She touched him tentatively at first then with growing boldness, her hand sweeping up to rub her clit and then to explore the base of his erection, smearing the wetness between them and making more. Tight and hot, she burned around him with every stroke.

Relinquishing his hold on her hair, he shifted and pulled her legs closer together, making his entry that much more difficult—and causing her to fist him so hard that he bit off an oath. Her fingers were still working them both, slipping in the proof of her pleasure. Their pleasure. Then she used her nails on the side of his thrusting dick at the same time she squeezed him inside and he went off, surging into her with enough force to practically put the headboard through the wall.

Somehow in the midst of his orgasm he heard her cry out again. Lost, he absorbed her frantic spasms around him as he rode out his climax. He drained himself inside her then rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so that she sprawled stickily on his chest, her wild blond hair tangled around her face and clinging to her bitten raw lips.

He’d never seen her look more gorgeous.

“Goddamn, I love you.” He cupped her face and brought her mouth to his. “If I moved in, we could do this even more often.”

She let out a weak laugh, as she usually did when he not so subtly made the suggestion of altering their living arrangements. Not that he wasn’t happy with the current situation. They’d been going strong for over seven months now, and there was no rush. She was newly divorced, and he’d never been in a real relationship before, so there was no reason to do anything hasty.

Except for the fact that he spent all his time at her place anyway, and when he wasn’t there, he wanted to be. She was like a freaking magnet, always pulling him closer.

Resistance was futile.

He didn’t know why he should even bother. He’d laid his cards on the table. She was his world. All the years he’d thought he could never love anything—or anyone—as much as his music…well, he’d been a fucking moron. Even through all these months without Oblivion while they were on hiatus, he was still living and breathing. His heart still beating. And in large part, that was because she’d taken it over when he hadn’t been watching. This was no temporary occupation either. Nope, she’d moved right in and shoved everything else out.

He still ached for his band. There was no denying that. Music was a part of him in a way that didn’t require thought. You didn’t have to search for your lungs to know they were doing their job. He didn’t have to be playing music to be aware that his guitar was like an extension of his arm. Of him, in the most intrinsic way possible.

At least he was still playing. Sort of. He’d found a way to give the gift of music to other people, since his own enjoyment was briefly on ice. The guitar lessons he’d begun giving to eager—and carefully selected—students helped, more than he’d ever expected.

But Lila was his bedrock, and everything else was window dressing until the day Oblivion existed again.

“You have a big house all to yourself now,” she said, rather than respond directly to his comment. That was Lila. All perfectly reasonable in between orgasmic screams.

He barely resisted making a face. Yeah, the band house. The home that had once held all of his bandmates, before they’d gone off and started new lives with their significant others. Now he was all alone for the first time in his life, something he’d always yearned for, only to find out that he absolutely freaking hated it.

His friends were like ghosts, lurking in the hallways with their laughter and their music. And he couldn’t play there anymore, because he felt like he was living a lie.

Who was he without Oblivion? Without the people who’d helped him become who he was? Just a guy with a guitar, that’s who.

But he wasn’t going to keep pushing her. If she wasn’t ready to have him around full-time—or if she thought she wasn’t, which equated to pretty much the same thing—then he would just stop nudging her for more.

That was what had driven away Simon, wasn’t it? Or at least what he’d claimed had helped to drive him away. Nick had never been content to leave things as they were, and he’d lost his best friend and his band over it.

He wasn’t going to lose his girl too.

Carefully, he nudged her hips upward and pulled out his cock, wincing at the pull of her flesh. He so didn’t want to leave her body. Him and Nick Junior were in total agreement there. But she had work, and he had a new—and unusual—

student coming over in a couple hours. Now wasn’t the time for this discussion.

Maybe it would never be the right time, and he’d just learn to live with that.

“Off to the shower you go,” he said, inclining his chin toward her alarm clock when she didn’t move. “You’re going to be late.”

She didn’t even glance at the clock. “I don’t want you to think I don’t want to live with you.”

He didn’t say anything. How was he supposed to reply to that? Oh, I know you desperately want to cohabitate, you’re just keeping it on the downlow. That’s why you try to change the subject or divert me every time I mention it.

“Because it’s not that.”

“Okay.” He slipped back from her as it became obvious she wasn’t going to move and sat against the headboard. “I’m meeting with Michael today.”

Her brow furrowed. “Meeting with him for what?”

“He signed up for a lesson.” Nick jerked a shoulder. “I think he might just be yanking my balls, but whatever, I said yes. I know he’s important to you.”

“He’s having trouble switching off between lead and rhythm guitar, since Molly’s stage routines keep getting more and more elaborate. Ryan’s the jack of all trades in their band and he can play guitar as well, but he’s trading off as their drummer too since they can’t find anyone who fits.” She sighed. “Michael’s used to watching bands like Oblivion with two guitarists and he’s chomping at the bit now that Molly’s not playing as much anymore. He knows I won’t start booking them more dates beyond local stuff until they’re ready to cut a five-song EP, and right now, they just aren’t. Not quite yet.” She tilted her head. “You don’t mind helping him out?”

“I don’t mind helping anyone who you love.” At her steady glance, he heaved out a breath. “It’ll be weird. I don’t like playing with new people, and no matter what he says, he’s going to be critiquing me as much as learning. Maybe more. But this past year has taught me I can’t wallow in my inadequacies.”

“You don’t have any inadequacies.”

“So says the woman who just benefited from my endurance and amazing skills between the sheets.” He flashed her a grin he didn’t entirely feel and rolled out of bed.

Her hand on his back stopped him.

“I love you.”

Those soft, careful words were his undoing, as always. He didn’t speak, didn’t move.

She slid her hand over his shoulder and he reached up to grip it, needing the link as much as she did. He gave her a squeeze and kissed the tips of her fingers, then rose to pull on his jeans.

Time to throw something together for breakfast. Not one of her muffin-smoothie combos. Something simpler, like cornflakes and milk.

Halfway down the hall it occurred to him that maybe he shouldn’t be breakfasting with her either. Perhaps she needed some space. By that token, having Michael meet him there for his lesson or whatever the hell it was probably wasn’t sending the right message either.

The lines between them had blurred, and maybe he needed to make sure they were clearly defined.

The shower turned on, and he imagined walking down the hall and leaving her to get her own breakfast. She wouldn’t, because she was in a hurry. Probably wouldn’t even take enough time to mix one of her protein drinks. She’d start her day all wrong, and he’d feel partially responsible.

Not gonna happen.

So their lines were a little curvy. So fucking what.

In the kitchen, he dragged down the box of cornflakes and splashed in some milk. He took a couple mouthfuls before he pulled out some fruit and threw it in the blender with some skim milk and that powder crap she liked and turned it on high.

He might not be one for smoothies, but she was.

Prying off the top on the glass canister on the counter, he counted out precisely four mini muffins and slipped them into a baggie. She never ate three. Never ate five. Always precisely four.

She did everything that way, so he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised she wouldn’t just tell him to store his boxers in drawer number five. She planned everything to the nth degree.

Truth be told, he could probably stand to do some more planning himself.

He turned off the blender, lifting a brow at the consistency of the drink inside. Hmm. Maybe he’d pureed it too long or something. He took out her tumbler and poured the goop inside, slapped on the lid, and set her drink and muffins by the purse on the counter. Then he grabbed his composition notebook and stubby pencil and sat down with his bowl of cereal and milk, heavy on the cereal. Soggy flakes were the worst, so he added milk as he moved through the layers rather than all at once.

He flipped open to the back of the notebook, the same one he’d been toting around since high school. He had others, but this was his favorite. Small handwriting meant he’d been able to fit hundreds of songs in this battered old thing. His latest one had come to him in the shower last night, and he’d scribbled down a few lines before he’d headed over to Lila’s for a late dinner. His father had been on his mind a lot lately, though he hadn’t seen him for a couple of weeks. He’d gone back home against all odds, and Ricki had gone with him. She refused to leave him alone, in spite of the nurse Nick had hired to help with his care.

His sister was all of the dutiful that Nick wasn’t, though that wasn’t so much from lack of interest as lack of ability to face a man who hated him day in and day out.

Seeing him a couple of times a month was bad enough, and that was more for Ricki’s sake than for his old man’s.

Nick reread the lyrics he’d scribbled last night.

“Grieving Before You’re Gone.”

I look at your face and a shell with mirrored eyes remains

Not the man I knew who tossed me a ball

Or made me eggs, over hard

I liked them that way

Just a skeleton with holes left behind

Holes I don’t want to find

Because they’re in me too

You’re in me too

You’re in me too

Deeper, darker, my shadow self inside

The one who needs too much

Who hurts too well

Who blames everyone else

But himself

Grieving before you’re gone

Losing you day by day

Within myself, I feel you slipping

Feel me slipping

“You made me breakfast?”

Her breathless voice dragged him out of the song and he blinked owlishly, barely aware of where he was. “What?”

“Sorry. You’re writing. I didn’t notice.” She came up behind him and he slapped the notebook closed before he had time to question the gesture. But he didn’t miss the hurt that scrolled across her perfectly made-up face before she schooled it into emotionless lines.

For a second, just one, he wanted to say, how does it feel to be shut out? But that wasn’t fair. She wasn’t closing him out just because she wasn’t ready to live with him. Time was something he could give her.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

“Just fiddling.” He reopened his notebook, but it was too late. She’d already returned to snag her tumbler. She popped the top and took a long drink, then started to choke. “You okay?” Nodding, she continued to sputter, even after he rose to thump on her back. “Did I fuck that up somehow?”

“No. It’s fine. Delicious.” She took another mouthful and swallowed, faking a smile. Which was almost as bad as faking an orgasm, something she definitely never did. “It’s just a little grainier than I’m used to.”

“I tossed in that stuff you like. Three scoops, right?”

“One.” She set down the tumbler and rubbed her chest. “Just one.”

“Oh. Whoops. Sorry. I guess I’m not over here for breakfast enough to notice.”

She shot him a look and he retreated to his notebook. Just can’t resist tossing those daggers.

Better for both of them if he just shut up and focused on the song.

Fifteen minutes later, she left for work. They kissed goodbye and she made vague rumblings about “seeing him for dinner” to which he mumbled back that “he’d probably be around.”

Feeling like a douche all the while, because of course he wanted to have dinner with her. His nights seemed weird if he couldn’t ask her how her day had been so she could regale him with stories about the crazy band people—and equally nutty management people—she dealt with day in and day out. Preferably that asking occurred face to face. Texts were for dirty innuendoes, not full conversations best shared over a meal. One they’d even cooked together. He could cook now. Sort of. At least he could hand her ingredients.

He continued fussing with the song, pausing for a couple minutes to text Gray his ideas for the bridge. It probably should’ve felt weird batting ideas back and forth with Gray rather than Simon, but Simon was off on his modeling trip and had little to no use for being in his band at the moment. Gray wrote songs for other people along with doing the stay-at-home parent thing while Jazz helped out Harper with her catering business and they perfected their line of baby foods. Somehow Nick had started turning to Gray when he got in a jam musically. That he’d become a good friend too along the way was just one more oddity in his life.

Texts were still flying back and forth—offset by much scribbling—when the knock sounded on the door. Nick got up to let in Michael, raising his eyebrow at the shock of blue that bisected his shock of dark hair. He wore the sides shaved and the top long, and he also had a spike in his eyebrow and a corkscrew in one ear.

Nick held the door open. “Looking the rockstar part already, I see.”

“What?” Michael glanced around before answering, and Nick realized he was searching for Lila.

“She’s not here. Work.”

“Ahh.”

There was no missing the dejected way Michael’s mouth turned down. Of course, the ring in his lip might’ve helped with that.

“So I figure we might as well get some shit out of the way, if you really want me to help you.”

“Not help so much as…assist.”

Synonyms, jackass. But Nick held his tongue and shut the door.

He crossed to the couch and sat down beside Michael, who was pulling his pink guitar out of his case. As much as Nick wanted to laugh, he swallowed it down and got right to business.

“So how long have you wanted to fuck my girlfriend?”

Michael’s grip on the neck slipped and he bobbled the guitar before he righted it and laid it across his lap. “Come again?”

“No, no coming here. No coming there. No coming anywhere. So any leftover teenage fantasies you have about boning your stepmom, get them out of your head. Because they aren’t going to happen. Got it?”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Did she tell you I had a crush on her or something?”

“That doesn’t sound like a denial to me.”

“Look, bro—”

“I’m not your bro, and you can cut the crap. I know how she looks, and you know what? I was also a teenage male not that long ago. Telling you right now, if she’d been my stepmother, I would’ve addressed her in my head as MILF every damn time I talked to her.”

Michael blew out a breath and tipped back his head. “It’s not like that.”

“No?”

“No. Not anymore.”

Nick crossed his arms. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“She was amazing to me after my parents divorced, and okay, yeah, fine, maybe some inappropriate feelings sprouted up.”

“Dude, I know exactly what ‘sprouted up’. I have one. I know how it works.”

Michael surprised him by laughing. “You’re basically the anti-Lila.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Nick muttered.

“She’s happy with you.” Michael thumped the flat of his hand on his guitar. “Seriously happy. In a way she never was with my father. So if I even had a little of that…sprouting still going on, I’d find a way to kill it, because she’s not meant for me and I’d never risk our relationship over an erection.”

“Or murder. I would kill you if you even so much as thought about trying it.” Nick flexed his fingers. “I wouldn’t even wear gloves. Bloody handprints on the wall, son.”

Michael’s eyebrow with the spike rose. “Do you vet all new students this way or am I lucky?”

“You’re lucky, all right. Not only do I believe you, but I’m also going to play with your sorry ass. Voluntarily. Even knowing you’ve imagined my girl naked.”

“Not imagined.” Michael strummed through the G chord. “Saw.”

“Excuse me?”

“Swimming pool. Top came off. I didn’t take video. Except mentally.”

“Testing me?”

“Maybe a little. But honestly, I don’t see her that way anymore. She’s been way too cool to me for me to make it about sex. She’s kind of like a mom to me, but not.”

Nick grabbed his own guitar from beside the couch. The immediate threat seemed to have passed. “A mom with boobs you ogle now and then?”

“Nah. I’m more of an ass man, actually.”

Nick ignored him. “Tell me what you’re looking for from this session and we’ll get to it.”

“I want to get better. I want to be able to you know, fucking lead my band. It feels like I don’t have enough style to make me unique yet.”

“Like Hendrix and Page and all the other greats?”

“Hell yeah.”

“You’re right. You don’t.” Ignoring Michael’s frown, Nick continued. “I don’t either. That shit doesn’t happen overnight. You know what gets you there faster? When you stop imitating and you work your ass off until your fingers bleed.” He cocked his head. “You use a pic?”

“Sometimes. Until I get really into it and then I drop it and forget about it.”

“How many hours a day do you practice?”

Michael shrugged. “A couple. Not every day. Most days.”

“Every fucking day, man. First thing in the morning, soon as you roll your ugly ass out of bed. You have a job?” Before Michael had a chance to reply, Nick shook his head. “Never mind. Forgot you have a silver spoon up your ass. Then you definitely have no excuse. You want this? You eat, breathe and live it. Don’t use your guitar as a dick substitute either. Girls you get with it won’t be around when the spotlight fades.”

“Words of experience? Oh, and by the way, my spotlight isn’t fading. We’re not going out like Oblivion. No offense.”

The quick twist in his ribs was expected. And as painful as a punch. “Truth. First you have to rise as high as Oblivion, and you haven’t done that yet either.”

“You’re right.” Michael’s fingers stilled. “I also haven’t gotten my band right either. It’s getting there, but man, you know how you just feel there’s some elemental piece that’s missing?”

Nick smiled faintly, thinking back to the early days of the current—and permanent—incarnation of Oblivion. Right after Jazz and Gray had joined to replace Snake, their drug-abusing drummer, they’d had some rocky times. Nick had hated that they contributed something special that hadn’t existed in the band before. In time, he grew to thank God for it.

Now he wished like hell he’d get the chance to just soak up being in his band all over again. To be grateful for it, to really enjoy every second because who the hell knew if he’d ever be in that same place again? With those same people. Rocking out to those same amazing songs.

The hiatus was due to end in a little more than four months. He’d made it more than halfway. He could hang on a little longer.

“Yeah. You know Oblivion’s history?” When Michael shook his head, Nick fiddled with the battered leather strap on his guitar. “How it started with me and Simon and Deak and Snake, but Snake had a problem with heroin and we kicked him out.”

“Zero tolerance?”

“Hardly. We kicked him out a bunch of times before it stuck. He was my best friend. Well, other than Simon.”

It probably said something about him that one of his best friends was dead and the other seemed to hate him. And the dead one had been suing him—and the rest of Oblivion—when he’d passed.

“Was?”

“Yeah.” Nick rubbed the heel of his hand over the same spot in his chest that always throbbed at any mention of Snake. “He’s gone.”

“I’m sorry. OD’d?”

“We don’t know for sure. I mean, someone knows, they did an autopsy. But I never looked into it. His body was found in the water. Could’ve been an OD, could’ve been an accident. Or a suicide.” Nick shut his eyes. “I can’t ask Chloe, and I can’t try to find out on my own.”

“Who’s Chloe?”

“His fiancée. The mother of his baby. She was pregnant when he died.” Nick set his jaw. “Remember those damn pictures you had your stupid PI friend take?”

Michael pressed his lips together and nodded.

“She’s the girl I was hugging. We go way back. She came to me for help.”

“Feeling lonely?”

“No, jackass. She needed money for her kid. Snake died and left her with nothing for her and the baby. Her son. He’s four months old now.”

Michael exhaled. “Rough start for a kid. Dad addicted to horse, then ups and bails on him.”

“We don’t know Snake bailed. He loved Chloe, I know that much. Loved her long before they ever hooked up. Hell, back when I was with her—”

“Hmm. You were with her too. Incestuous bunch. Is that how bands are supposed to work?” Michael shook his head and his blue streak of hair flopped over his forehead. “Everyone shares the women like joints?”

Nick couldn’t decide whether to deck the guy or agree. Because yeah, there had been times he’d shared with his bandmates. Not Chloe though. He’d only been with her once, and it had been before he’d even had a band of any worth.

“I’d never share Lila with anyone,” he said in an undertone, gripping the strap of his guitar until his knuckles turned the color of bone. “Not fucking anyone.”

“And Jazz,” Michael continued as if Nick hadn’t spoken. “Definitely know there was some sharing going on there too.”

“Not like you’re thinking, and actually, I’d prefer if you didn’t think about her at all. So would her husband.” Nick frowned. “You’re not saying you guys and Molly have…”

Michael snorted. “Our Molly? Ha. Yeah right. That girl is so focused she barely notices we have dicks. Sure, I think we’ve all had moments when it comes to her, but vice versa, nope. She doesn’t see us that way. She’s all about blazing her path, and we better catch up or she’ll leave all our asses behind.”

Nick grinned. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

“But we’re missing something. We’ve got good people but something’s just not jiving.”

“Li said you want another dedicated guitarist.”

“Yeah. I do. Ryan’s been stuck on drums and he’s not too keen on grabbing an axe to suit the songs I think we need him on. He’s good, but his skill is more at adding layers to songs that need it. He’s great with arrangements, and he’ll pick up a pair of bongos if we need it or grab a freaking steel pedal, but I’m talking about someone I can go back to back with every night.” Michael dug out his phone and thumbed to some video. Much to Nick’s surprise, he hit play on a clip of Oblivion’s show at Red Rocks the year before. “Like this. This shit right here? Fucking magic.” The reverence in his tone at the dueling guitarists now filling his screen made Nick more than a little lightheaded.

Especially since he was one of the two guitarists.

Nick cleared his throat. “I didn’t want him to join at first.” Watching himself and Gray interact so naturally on stage was more than surreal. Only he knew how hard it was each and every time he had to get up on stage. He hid it from everyone as best he could.

Simon had known. He’d teased him about it and he’d helped him as best he could. But ultimately, his showoff best friend had been born for the stage and probably didn’t get deep down how Nick shunned it. He did what he had to do because music was his life, and it wasn’t enough for him to play in basement Laundromats. That didn’t mean he didn’t struggle with—and face—his demons every time he saw his face reflected in the shining eyes of all the people in the audience.

Now that he’d been given time away, he realized how much time he’d wasted. His fears had gripped him so totally that he’d rarely taken a deep breath and just savored the moment. He’d always been getting by and getting over and getting through.

And Oblivion was no more.

It would be again. Lila had a contract that meant it would be. But that was from a legal standpoint, not coming from a place of passion. Maybe they’d lost that. Perhaps the year apart would end up killing the magic they’d had and no piece of paper could legislate the failure the world had watched them become.

“No way. Gray’s incredible.”

“He is. But I was a dick back then.” Still am, he amended in his head. “I wasn’t ready to compete with anyone else. The guitar was my instrument, and Oblivion was my band, and dammit, if I didn’t want two guitarists, well then, there wasn’t going to be two.”

“Even though he’s amazing? And adding him brought so much to your sound?”

“Yeah, well, it took me awhile to reach the point of caring about what was actually good for the band. At first all that mattered was that I hadn’t come up with the idea and I didn’t think it was necessary, so fuck off. But Jazz and Gray came as a matched set, and we needed a drummer. We needed her.”

“Hell yeah, she’s hot as fuck.” Michael cleared his throat at Nick’s cool look. “Seriously talented too.”

“Uh-huh. So we took them both. And they changed everything.”

“Some Fleetwood Mac shit for the new generation,” Michael mused, rubbing his scruffy chin.

Nick ignored him. “Point being, sometimes you don’t know exactly what you need until it finds you.”

“Maybe not, but in this case, I do. We need another guitarist.”

Nick slid his guitar down between his knees and pulled out his phone. He scrolled to a clip he’d recorded last week and pressed play. The acoustic version of “Simple Man” was stripped down and bare bones, as was the soft, hesitant female voice that came with it. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision to record it at all, because he’d damn well known she didn’t expect him to. They’d started playing together again last winter, and she’d still tell anyone who asked, including Lila, that she was just playing as a lark. It didn’t mean anything. She was just using the guitar as a way to fill some hours when she wasn’t taking care of their father.

But Nick knew. He knew, because he recognized the same hunger in the eyes so much like his own. He might as well be looking in a mirror.

“Wow. Who’s that?” Michael leaned closer, wanting to see the video that went with the song. He got a glimpse of long blond hair shielding her face before Nick slid his thumb over the image and tucked her away.

His heart was beating way too fast. As fast as if he’d been auditioning himself, and that was just crazy. She didn’t even know he’d mentioned her to Michael. Hell, he hadn’t even been aware he was going to do it until right before he pressed play.

“She’s terrific. Got some chops,” Michael said, clearly trying to draw him out. “Who is she?”

Nick swallowed and slipped his cell back in his pocket. “My sister.”

“No way. Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Older or younger?”

“Twin.”

“Ahh, fuck.” Michael rubbed at the fringed hole over the knee of his jeans. “Is she looking for a gig?”

“I think she might be. She doesn’t know it yet. I’ll have to convince her.” He took a deep breath and let it out slow. “But I gotta talk to Li about it too. There’s extenuating circumstances.”

“Like what?”

“None of your fucking business.” Nick didn’t have time to regret his rope snapping before he grabbed for his typical lifeline—his guitar. “Let’s play.”

Three hours later, Michael unfolded himself from the couch and stretched out his fingers. “Damn, how much do you charge for these lessons? You about killed me.”

“On the house.” Remaining seated, Nick gave him a thin smile. “Family discount.”

Michael snorted. “Family, huh? You looking to make what you have permanent?”

He wasn’t about to reply to Michael’s question, but he knew the answer already. It was a question he’d been wrestling with for a while. First no condoms, then maybe moving in. And in time, marriage and what came after that. Lila was a traditional girl at heart, and he would give her whatever she wished for because she was his wish. The trappings didn’t matter. Where—and how—they lived was meaningless, as long as they were together.

So maybe Michael wasn’t just a kid trying on a rock star’s clothes, because one simple question had clarified so much for him. That made Lila’s stepson a damn swami.

Michael slipped his guitar back in its case then stood gripping it lightly. “Are you going to talk to your sister?”

“We’ll see.” Something else he didn’t intend to give Michael. Too many variables were involved for him to just make decisions for his sister.

It was her choice. He could nudge, he could offer help, he could lend an ear. But ultimately, she called the shots. He’d just be there to open the door.

“I’m not offering her a job,” Michael added hastily. “She’d have to be vetted. What’s her experience?”

Other than dealing drugs and taking them, not much for far too long.

Again, Nick kept silent. He rose and skirted Michael to walk to the door. “If there’s something to talk about, I’ll be in touch.”

“That’s it?”

“Pretty much. You didn’t like what I showed you today? Send a note to the grievance board.” He propped a finger under his chin. “Oh yeah, forgot. There isn’t one. Guess you’re fucking out of luck.”

Michael laughed and shook his head. “Damn, you’re an ornery one.”

“Some of it is an act. Most of it isn’t. Now get the hell out of my place.” It wasn’t his place, might never be his place, and he was reminded as soon as the words left his mouth. But Michael didn’t call him on it.

Small favors.

“Thanks, man. Just playing with you today was an honor. For real.” Michael held out a hand and Nick narrowed his eyes before clasping it for a moment.

“Family discount is a one-time thing. I have no generosity to be abused, so scram, kid.”

“Gone.” Michael smiled and headed down the hall.

Nick shut the door behind him, then pressed his forehead into the wood. His heart was still beating way too fast. Side effect of playing with someone new. It never went away, no matter how many times he threw himself into the fire. The difference was that he’d gotten better at hiding it.

Was Ricki the same? He didn’t think she’d ever been on a true stage, so maybe she didn’t have a problem with stage fright. Other than the lessons she’d taken as a child, he didn’t know when she’d played with anyone else but him either.

Perhaps she’d have to face that too as she’d faced so much else. Or the burden might be his alone.

He hoped it was. She didn’t deserve to be hampered with that too. What she deserved was to get a gig playing with Warning Sign on a lark, something she didn’t have to struggle for. An opportunity that just floated on golden wings into her lap.

He’d be damned if he didn’t try to give her just that.

Turning back to the living room, he dug his phone out of his jeans. And stared as it went off in his hand.

Freaking twin thing. No matter how many years he experienced it, he’d always be by turns creeped out and awed.

“Hey you,” he said without even checking the readout. It would be her. He knew. “Did you know I was about to call you? Frigging weirdness.”

“Nicky.”

Just that one solitary word was enough to make his blood turn to ice. His heart speeded up then slowed down until his pulse thudded in his ears like a metronome. Steady and so heavy that he could feel it throbbing under his hand when he placed his palm on his chest. “Dad?”

“Daddy’s gone.”

The sound of Ricki’s tears made his own eyes fill. It was part of an action-reaction chain he had no conscious control over. When she bled, he half expected to look down and see wounds opening up in his own skin.

Now they were all they had left. Just each other. Their mother had gone away years ago. She wasn’t dead, but she might as well have been for all the contact she had with her children. And now their father…

“Where are you?” He was already toeing on his sneakers. “I’ll come to you.”

“I’m at home. At our house. They took him away in the ambulance, and I followed in my car. His heart—” She let out a hiccupping sob. “I’m not sure I can do this, Nicky.”

He knew exactly what she wasn’t sure she could do, and he wasn’t about to let her make that decision alone. If she had to get high—fuck, if she couldn’t stop herself—well, then he’d be with her. He’d hold her goddamned hand if he had to. Whatever it took.

He was never going to leave her to handle things on her own again.

“I’m on my way. Don’t move until I get there. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Promise me, Ricki.”

She hesitated for barely an instant. Still, lifetimes passed for him in those few seconds. “I promise. I’ll wait for you.”

Swallowing hard, he whispered, “I love you,” and hung up before his own jagged emotions had a chance to tear through the break wall of his grief.

The worst part was that he wasn’t grieving over his father. Not yet. That would come later, or hell, maybe it wouldn’t come at all.

Who he was grieving most for was his sister, and the last fragment of innocence she’d lost with their father’s passing.

Nick snatched his keys off the counter and took a quick glance at Spot’s food dish. There was some left, though the little ingrate had been hiding in the closet for most of the day. She wasn’t fond of visitors.

He understood the sentiment.

At the last second, he grabbed the notepad Lila left by the phone and scribbled out a message. The words weren’t important.

All that mattered was getting to his sister.

* * *

Walking into an empty house was like stepping into a tomb.

So it wasn’t totally empty, as a prancing Spot proved almost as soon as Lila set down her soft-sided briefcase. Her cat rubbed against her ankles, already purring. That was a sure sign Nick wasn’t around. He tended to bang things and curse under his breath a lot and Spot preferred orderly silence. They maintained a détente most of the time that only occasionally deteriorated into a paw swipe or stare down contest, so Lila figured they were cohabitating just fine.

Cohabitating. The thing that had been on her mind all damn day.

She placed her purse beside her briefcase and scooped up the cat to carry her into the bedroom. She toed off her heels and let out a happy sigh as she padded to the closet in stocking feet. Finally, toe freedom. A tug on the louvered doors and she was facing her many shelves and rods, half of them still empty. She wasn’t a clotheshorse, preferring to buy classic pieces that did double duty. To say she had plenty of room left was an understatement.

Her drawers were a little more stuffed, but they could always add on another dresser if needed. Not that Nick had a huge wardrobe. His idea of dressing up consisted of retro concert T-shirts and clean jeans. It wasn’t a matter of fitting in his belongings, but dealing with the reality that within one year, she’d divorced one man and would now be living with another.

Possibly. If she managed to get out the words.

She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the open closet in the waning twilight. She’d had a late meeting with Donovan, and she’d been torn between hoping the lateness of the hour would mean Nick would’ve stopped by with takeout or that he’d maybe eaten elsewhere. Ah hell, who was she kidding? The only reason she hoped he’d taken care of dinner on his own was because she didn’t want to argue about the whole moving in thing. And when it came right down to it, there was nothing to fight about.

She wanted him to live with her. He wanted to live there. Did it really matter what anyone else thought? True, she was still hiding her relationship with Nick from her boss, but they’d been circumspect this long. It wasn’t as if Nick had to shed his address entirely. He could just not…stay there very much while they were still operating in downlow mode.

If at all.

Someday soon she’d have to fess up to Donovan. She and Nick couldn’t live in secret forever. It wasn’t fair to either of them. But one bridge to cross at a time.

Right now, she was crossing the one about not giving a fuck what people thought. She’d been coloring within the lines for so long that she barely knew how to take an independent action without consulting everyone in the universe to see if it appeared unseemly.

What she should be doing was taking a page from her ex-husband’s book. He was having a baby with his mistress. His mistress who’d obviously been knocked up before the divorce was finalized because she was due this month.

Lila set down Spot beside her and dropped back on the mattress. Her cat immediately climbed up on her belly and started to knead, which made her laugh. She was so damn ticklish.

Laughing was so much better than thinking about Martin having babies with a new woman, when he hadn’t wanted the baby he’d made with his wife. Water under the bridge, she reminded herself.

Jeez, what was up with the bridge metaphors today?

Anyway, it was unimportant. She truly didn’t care what Martin did with his life. She was just glad to be free of him. Any sense of betrayal about her miscarried child wasn’t something she should dwell on either. Still, it was obvious that if anyone was concerned about propriety, it sure wasn’t Martin.

And it wasn’t going to be her either, because dammit, she was tired of letting fear rule everything she did. It was time to let want take the reins.

What she wanted was for Nick to move in. To throw together her breakfast in the morning while she showered—though he could definitely go easier on the whey powder—after they’d fucked like bunnies, giving her no choice but to rush to work. At least she’d smiled on the way.

He belonged in her home at night, either there when she arrived from work or coming home later himself, after he got back into the swing of practices and band meetings with Oblivion. Touring was another beast altogether, but it would help to see his clothes in her closet and his stuff tangled with hers like it belonged there.

Like they belonged.

Now she just had to tell him all of that. An apology might sneak in too. She’d spent a lot of years concerned with appearances. Giving that up was going to be a long-term project, no matter how much she wished she could speed things along.

So she should maybe call him, see what he was up to. Ask him to swing by with some Chinese and a bottle of wine, and she could spread a blanket out on the living room floor and they could have an indoors picnic. Sans clothes. Afterward, they could have the big talk about him moving in, and then they could picnic again until her thighs turned to jelly.

“Sex addict,” she muttered, scooping up the cat again.

She carted Spot over to the linen closet and pulled out her newest acquisition, a lacy throw. Spot immediately tried to eat the tasseled edges, which meant Lila had to tug them out of her mouth about six times between the hallway and the living room. After setting the cat down, she pushed aside the coffee table and spread the throw on the floor. A quick tap of the buttons on the remote and the electric fireplace in the corner flamed to life. There. She smiled. Romantic enough.

All she needed now was the food, the adult beverages and the naked man.

Halfway to the bedroom, she stopped and grabbed her phone. Lingerie choices could wait until she ascertained he was actually going to come over. Nothing worse than stripping down and waiting for a man who never showed.

Not that she’d done that a half dozen or more times.

Not for Nick. Never for Nick. He was as faithful as a sunrise, which was why walking in to find him gone had made her chest hurt in a way she hadn’t been prepared for. She’d grown used to expecting him. It wasn’t a foregone conclusion he’d be waiting when she arrived home. She’d just been happily surprised so many times that him not being there felt like a loss.

Yeah, she was ready to share a closet. More than.

She typed out a quick text.

There was an innuendo in that text. A subtle one. Hopefully not too subtle. The pulse between her thighs at the thought of him coming home with that look in his eye was already putting her in a bad way.

Home. She smiled and headed to the counter to grab a banana to stave off her pre-dinner stomach grumbling. Their home.

She’d just peeled the banana when she saw his note. Her smile faded into a wash of heat behind her eyes.

Oh God, his father. What had happened? How bad was it? Dear God, she’d just sent him a text asking about dinner. And sex. He’d think she was the most callous person who ever lived.

She snatched her phone again and sent another message.

Then again, why didn’t he call if things were really bad? Was their relationship still on such a casual level that bad news could be jotted off on notepaper?

If it is, you wanted it that way. Every time he tried to bump things up a notch, you put him off. So no blaming him now for what you caused.

She wasn’t blaming him, just…sad. Because maybe he didn’t know what he meant to her, in spite of the I love yous they both used with surprising ease. That was on her.

Now would be a good time to start.

She gripped her phone in both hands and exhaled and inhaled until she began to steady. Then she sent a text to Ricki. They’d become good friends since she’d gotten together with Nick, though they couldn’t have been more different. Ricki was a wild child and Lila so wasn’t. Lila had never so much as tried pot, and Ricki had tried everything.

And that wasn’t relevant in the slightest right now.

Lila sucked in air, her thumbs hovering over the keys. Bravery came in so many forms.

She waited two minutes for either of the Crandalls to acknowledge her texts, then gave in and called in the reserves.

Margo answered on the second ring. “Hey, Lila.”

“Hey. Where’s Simon? Did he get back yesterday like he was supposed to?”

“Yeah. He’s sleeping.” Margo’s tone revealed the frown she was doubtlessly wearing. “Why? What’s up?”

“Nick left a note that something bad happened with his dad. He went to be with Ricki back at their old place. I don’t know where that is.” Lila swallowed hard. “Simon knows.”

Margo hesitated just long enough for Lila to question the wisdom of her impromptu plan. She rarely made them, and for good reason. They tended to go sideways.

But one thing she was exceedingly good at was adapting to the situation. She refused to stand around and wait for Nick or Ricki to contact her when she knew they were hurting. Even without knowing exactly what had happened, she knew that much.

And for fuck’s sake, Simon was Nick’s best friend. This ridiculous cold war they were engaging in needed to stop. If that meant she had to wade into the fray to bring them back together, even for a night, then she damn well would.

She’d managed their band for long enough. If necessary, she’d manage their friendship too.

“I’ll go wake him up. Hang on.”

Lila paced back and forth beside the kitchen counter. Somehow she resisted checking her screen to ensure no texts had come in. Of course they hadn’t. She was holding her phone.

Holding her ass too.

“Lila?” Simon’s sleep-roughened voice made her close her eyes. He didn’t sound like he was in any shape to even give her directions, never mind drive them both where they needed to go. “What’s wrong with Nicky’s dad?”

“I don’t know. More of the same he’s been dealing with, or maybe worse. Nick didn’t leave me much of a note, and he and his sister aren’t answering. But they’re at their old house in Carson, and we need to go there. You need to come with me,” she added into the silence that followed. “In case it wasn’t clear—I’m not asking you.”

His abrupt chuckle made her narrow her eyes. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“This isn’t about me taking control. He needs me. And you know what? He needs you just as much. Maybe even more. You might not care about that, but I do. If I have to drag you to him by your ear, then that’s exactly what’s going to happen.” She tipped back her head long enough to catch her breath. “How long until you can get over here to pick me up?”

“Give me twenty.” He clicked off before she could respond.

When he texted her that he was outside—twenty-three minutes later, thank you very much—she was already on her way downstairs. She slipped into the gleaming black Audi idling at the curb and spared Simon the briefest of glances before she motioned him on.

“Hello to you too.” He draped a wrist over the wheel as he maneuvered into the late evening traffic.

“I don’t have time to spend chitchatting.”

“Sure you do. It’s going to take me forty-five minutes to get to Carson, if we’re lucky.”

She glared out the windshield. “You can’t make this rocket go any faster than that? Granny driver,” she added under her breath.

His laughter scraped raw all the nerves already rubbed to smithereens. “I know you’re worried. I am too. Can I see the note?”

Forcing herself not to growl, she withdrew the folded paper from her purse and passed it to him. At the next light, he scanned it before giving the paper back to her.

“You see what women deal with when it comes to you jerks?” She thumped his arm since Nick wasn’t around and derived sick satisfaction from his pained grunt. “No worthwhile information whatsoever. And you wonder why so many of us turn lesbian?”

His eyebrow waggle seemed forced. “I thought that was just because tits are indisputably the greatest.”

“Not when you have your own pair.” She pressed her back into the seat as he stepped on the gas. Evidently the note—even with its lack of usable info—had been enough for him to get his ass in gear. “I’ve never been to his old house. I’m not sure why. We almost went to pick up Ricki a couple of times, but there was always—” She broke off at Simon’s incredulous stare. “What?”

“You honestly don’t get why he didn’t take you to that dump?”

“Don’t call it that. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh, you’re sure. And you know that how? From sitting in your white-walled palace and imagining how the other half lives? We didn’t imagine. We grew up in a shitpile, and if you’re surprised why he wouldn’t take you right back into the steaming heart of it, then maybe you don’t know as much about him as you think.”

Fury and fear and indignation warred a nasty battle inside her, and the loser was her composure. “How dare you,” she breathed, gripping her purse so she didn’t start beating him with it. She’d start by messing up his model-perfect hair. “You’ve been off in Paris and Milan and Prague while I’ve been here with him.”

“Playing house.” He nodded. “I get it. But what happens to him when you stop playing?”

“I’m not playing, any more than Margo is. Are you really so narrow-minded that you believe we can’t see beyond your pasts?”

“No. But I believe he might think that. When you come from Carson, you operate with your back against the wall. You don’t hold your hand out because you’ll as likely get stabbed as helped.” He inclined his chin at her purse. “Call him again.”

“He’s not going to answer me.” God, she hated knowing that, but the certainty was as plain to her as the traffic that hemmed them in on all sides. Slowing them down to a damn crawl.

“Yes, he will. Tell him I’m coming too.”

Immediately, she saw the validity of his plan. “Asshole,” she muttered. For once, the comment was directed at Simon, not her significant other.

Simon’s smile was pure grim satisfaction. “He’s my best friend. I know what buttons to push.”

There was so much she wanted to say to that. Then why are you doing this? Why have you closed him out and shut him down? Why did you wreck everything you sacrificed so much to build?

But now wasn’t the time, and this wasn’t the place. And Nick was man enough to fight his own wars, as much as she wanted to charge in with her sword extended on his behalf.

She called Nick and predictably, the call went straight to voicemail.

“It’s me. I’m with Simon. We’re on our way to you. To your father’s house. We’ll be there soon.” She lowered her voice, casting Simon a sidelong glance. As comfortable as she’d grown when it came to telling Nick how she felt, she wasn’t used to doing it in front of an audience. “I love you.”

As soon as she clicked off, Simon pounced. “That far already, huh?”

“What do you mean already?” Her cheeks were on fire. “We’ve been dating since winter.”

“Fucking isn’t dating, and dating doesn’t mean love and romance.”

The vibration of her phone in her hand cut off her terse reply. Before she could snatch it up, Simon reached across and grabbed her cell from her lap. “Hello Nicky,” he said, continuing to navigate smoothly through traffic.

She could hear Nick railing on the other side of the phone. The words were mostly intelligible, but the anger wasn’t. He didn’t want Simon anywhere near him.

Probably didn’t want her either.

“You through?” Simon asked a moment later, his voice mild. The ranting began again on the other end of the line and Simon sighed, waiting him out.

She had to hand it to the dick—he definitely could teach a master class on how to effectively handle Nick Crandall.

“We’re on our way. The car’s pointed to Carson, dude. So you can cry like a little pussy or you can man up and let your girl be by your side. I don’t fully get how you snagged someone like her, but hey, I got one too. And we thought going to number one was the luckiest we’d ever get.” He waited a second then shook his head. “Any calmer yet? No? Okay then. You keep right on screaming. We’ll see you soon.”

He clicked off and tossed the phone in Lila’s lap. “He’s overjoyed at our impending arrival. Think we might get a ticker tape parade. Whatever the fuck that is.”

She didn’t smile but the band around her chest loosened, just a fraction. At least until Simon pulled up in front of a small tract house in a row of other equally ramshackle buildings. The one he parked closest to had what looked like a white picket fence out front guarding a tiny patch of lawn. The fence was barely that, missing at least half of the spokes. In between weeds ran rampant, choking the small amount of grass. In the darkness, she couldn’t see much but the overgrowth that crowded the narrow steps, leading to a porch that contained an overstuffed love seat and what appeared to be a broken down firepit. Lights burned inside in every room, pushing against small windows that were like the eyes of the shrunken building in the dark.

“Mine was two houses up.” Simon’s voice was flat, without the slightest bit of emotion. “See that empty lot? Not that you can really tell, because the houses are so close together.”

She squinted through the windshield into the darkness. “It was torn down?”

“I bought it and had it torn down.” He wrapped his fingers around the wheel. “If I could’ve burned it to ash myself, I would have.” He waited a beat. “Nicky should do the same. He’d be better off.”

“He doesn’t destroy his past like that.” Her voice sounded as hollow as the chamber that had opened up in her belly. Dull, winding shock was beginning to fill it.

She’d seen poorer areas than this. But this was his. Where his roots had been laid, where he’d grown up. This secret part of him had never been meant for her eyes, and now that she was seeing it, she felt hulled out and lightheaded.

“No, he clings to it. No matter how much it hurts him.”

“Like he’s clung to you?”

He didn’t spare her a glance. “Ready to go in?”

“Yes.” She grabbed the handle and got out into a light misting rain.

Figured. It never rained in Southern California, except when it poured. That would start any time now. She could hear distant thunder crackling in the sky.

Though that could’ve just been her nerves.

A quick look around revealed Nick’s beat-up sedan tucked against the curb farther up the block, right behind Ricki’s rusted out pickup truck. He’d offered to buy his sister a new one so many times, but she’d refused.

So they drove equally rundown vehicles, in spite of being able to afford any model they wanted. Well, Nick could afford it, which meant Ricki could as well.

“Come on,” Simon said, hunching the collar of his jacket against the rain as he strode up the uneven sidewalk. She followed, slipping her hands into the pockets of her suit jacket. She hadn’t taken the time to change, and her pale yellow suit fit in here about as well as the sun in the middle of the night.

She didn’t fit, and she had a feeling Nick would be booting her out in no time flat.

They climbed the short flight of steps and walked across a porch with more than a couple of rickety boards. Simon reached out to steady her when her heel notched in a gap between the wood before opening the screen door and rapping twice on the door inside.

It took approximately thirty seconds for Nick to yank the door open and glare out at Simon. He didn’t even appear to see her. “What do you want? I told you not to come.”

“Yeah, well, luckily I don’t listen to you.” Simon stepped aside and gestured to Lila. “Though I don’t understand why, she loves you and she’s worried about you, and since apparently you never bothered to tell her where you grew up, she called me. Are you going to shout at her too?”

He glanced at her and his expression softened for such a brief moment she almost thought she’d imagined it. Then his amber eyes hardened like a chunk of some priceless mineral that couldn’t be corroded by time or the sharpest implement. Completely immovable. “My sister’s finally sleeping, and I don’t intend to argue with you tonight.”

“So argue with me instead.” Lila nudged Simon aside and laid her hand on Nick’s chest, intending to shove him into the room if she had to. But he gave way easily and let her pass. Not so with Simon, however.

His arm came up to block the door. “I haven’t needed you for the last seven months. I sure don’t need you now.”

“Glad to hear it, but guess what?” Simon smiled thinly. “Not leaving. So unless you want to wake up Ricki and all the neighbors, you’ll move that arm and let me inside.”

She expected him to argue more. It was Nick’s way under the best of circumstances, and this was far from that. Instead he just moved out of the door and stalked into the narrow, cramped living room. He aimed directly for a short glass that contained clear liquid on the coffee table and knocked it back in one swallow.

“My dad liked whiskey.” He slammed the glass back down, his gaze remaining squarely on Lila. “Now that’s two things you didn’t know about me. How bad of a shithole I grew up in and that the closest I can get to him on the night he died is to get fucking lit on his drink of choice.”

She gasped. Simply couldn’t help it. Questions sprang to her mind but somehow she kept them off her tongue. Like why hadn’t he told her, if in the note if not via phone call? Why hadn’t he leaned on her, just a little?

Why was anger always his default, no matter what?

Somehow she resisted asking them though. She moved toward him, hesitating only a second before she slid her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his neck. The comfort he gave her just by being the same solid wall he always was, smelling of leather and smoke and sin, was immeasurable.

She only hoped her presence gave him some as well.

He reached up to cup her head, his fingers tangling in the hair she’d forgotten to pin back up once she’d taken it out of its restrictive bun. And he turned his cheek against her head, pressing as close to her as she was to him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, too softly for anyone else but her to hear.

Eyes burning, she nodded. She wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, but it didn’t matter. She forgave him for everything. “I’m sorry too,” she said back just as quietly.

Simon’s footsteps on the creaky floor broke their moment. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t—I didn’t realize he was gone.”

Nick gave a quick, sharp nod. “I didn’t tell Lila, so no, you wouldn’t have.”

“His heart?”

Nick nodded, his hand fisting in her hair. She didn’t straighten, sensing he needed to have her close for a little bit longer. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “He’s been on borrowed time since last winter. Like we all are.”

She reached down for his other hand and linked their fingers, then eased back enough to meet his gaze. “I’ll go sit with Ricki for a while.”

Again, he nodded, saying nothing. But the look in his eyes said volumes. An apology, still. Gratitude. Shame, which hurt her because he had nothing to be ashamed for, ever.

And over all, love. Just love, the kind that softened every blow and cushioned every landing.

Not caring about Simon, she cupped his cheek and brought his mouth to hers. The taste of whiskey flavored the press of his lips hard against hers. Hard enough to bruise, if she wasn’t so much stronger than she appeared. She could stand strong for herself and for him too, for as long as he needed.

He didn’t deepen the kiss, just inhaled until the air she offered gave him enough to step back and keep breathing on his own. The corner of his mouth lifted. Not a smile, but closer.

Stiffening her shoulders, she turned to face Simon and raised a brow. “I’ll be right down the hall.” She wasn’t sure where Ricki was sleeping, but down the short hall off the living room was a good guess. The place seemed tiny. “If you make things worse, I will maim you in ways that Margo will never forgive me for.”

Nick snorted out a laugh and Simon saluted her. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Second bedroom,” Nick said, gripping her fingers for an instant before she nodded and left the men alone.

On the threshold of the bedroom Nick had indicated, she paused. The door was cracked and she nudged it open, her breath tripping at the sight of Ricki bathed in the pink glow of a small lamp. She was curled up in the center of a twin bed, with her knees drawn up to her chest. One arm gripped them and her other hand was tucked under her cheek.

She wasn’t sleeping.

“Hi.” Lila swallowed deeply and stepped inside. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here.”

“Of course. Thank you for coming for him.” She smiled faintly as she drew herself up into a sitting position. Her lips were so pale that they nearly melded into the colorlessness of her skin. “He needs you.”

“I didn’t come only for him.”

Ricki’s smile never faltered. “Thank you,” she said again.

“No, I mean it. I came for you too. I texted you. What I said—I mean it.” When Ricki didn’t reply, she moved toward the bed and sat on the edge. Not too close, but close enough. “We’re friends, right?”

“Sure.”

Lila tucked her hair behind her ears. She’d had far too friends since she’d moved to LA, and other than Margo and Jazz, and to a lesser extent Harper, had even fewer female friends. It was hard for her to extend herself, especially when she wasn’t sure of the reception. But for Nick—and his sister—she would.

What she’d do for both of them would’ve scared the hell out of her, if she’d had any room left inside her painfully tight chest for fear.

“It’s not just about me and Nick,” she said quietly, her gaze never wavering from Ricki’s face in spite of Ricki’s lack of eye contact. “I’m not trying to get in with you because of him. I don’t work that way. If it ended with him tomorrow, I’d still want to be your friend.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Ricki lifted her head and that same little smile returned. “We look too much alike.”

Lila laughed softly. “That’s true. Even so. I like you.” When that wasn’t enough, she swallowed and tried again. “I love you. It wasn’t easy for me to say to him, and it’s not easy for me to say to you. I know we don’t know each other all that well, as far as how long we’ve been friends, but we have fun together and he cares about you so much that I didn’t have to try to love you. It just happened. You feel like family.”

Ricki’s denim blue eyes filmed over before she shut them. “I don’t have any family left. Just Nicky. I could use more.”

“Me too,” Lila whispered. “I mean, I have my parents, but they’re so far away. Out here I’m all alone. I could…” She broke off, every self-protective instinct leaping to the fore. And she ignored every one. “I could really use a sister.”

Ricki made a choked sound in her throat and launched herself at Lila, nearly dislodging both of them from the bed with the force of her hug. Caught between laughter and tears, Lila caught her and hung on, squeezing her tightly. She was thin, but not as thin as she’d been once.

She would be okay. God, she had to be.

“Thank you,” Ricki breathed, again and again. “Thank you.”

* * *

Nick clasped his hands and sat on the edge of the threadbare couch. Simon remained standing near the door, his head down.

Neither one of them appeared to be in any rush to speak.

“You didn’t have to come in,” Nick said finally. “I know she called you, but you could’ve just dropped her off and gone.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. It didn’t work when we were seventeen, and it isn’t working now.”

“Oh, believe me, I know exactly how little weight you give me or my opinions. I’m just saying that if some misplaced sense of propriety brought you in here, you’ve done your duty. You helped Lila, and you helped me.” The next two words were harder to force past the knot in his throat. “Thank you.” Now leave.

“It wasn’t anything. I drove my car.” Simon came over to sit beside him, aiming right for the cushion with the spring that had torn through the middle. He didn’t even blink when it stuck him in the ass. “It’s a lot less than I should’ve done these past months.”

Nick stared at the wall with its peeling and chipped paint. Robin’s egg blue, the color had been once. He remembered his mother picking it out and applying it so carefully to the walls. She’d been so proud of this place back then.

Until she’d turned her back and walked away from all of it. All of them.

She wasn’t the only one who’d turned her back. Maybe one of these days he’d get used to the feeling of being gut punched by people he loved, but that day wasn’t today.

Or yesterday.

“He never got over her,” Nick said, balling his hands and stuffing them between his knees. “No matter how many years passed, he always held that torch. She was it for him. The sunrise and the sunset, his life and his death.”

“He didn’t want to let go,” Simon said, his voice just as rough. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, it was as if the years had melted away. Except in the past, their hands weren’t in fists, but gripping their guitars. They weren’t striving for a normalcy that no longer existed for them.

“Maybe I’m like him.” Nick pressed the blunt edges of his nails into his palms. “Never knowing when to quit. Looking back instead of ahead.”

“You’d never drop your pride enough to devote your life to someone like your old man did.”

“No. But there are all kinds of ways to let the past eat you up.”

“Being tenacious isn’t the same as living for something that’s over.”

“Yeah, but how the fuck do you know the difference?”

“You know.” Simon rose and turned, looking down on him. Nick wouldn’t meet his gaze. “We’re not over. Oblivion’s not over.”

Relief poured through him, soaking through limbs sodden with grief. He felt as if he’d been underwater for days—months, years—and only now had bobbed to the surface. “Because of the contract.”

“No.” Simon let out a short laugh. “I could break it. There’s lawyers. I have money. I’m sticking, Nicky, because I want to. Because I’m not ready to walk away.”

Nick nodded and swallowed all the retorts that nearly choked him. He couldn’t do that now. Not on the day his father had died. Not when his girl was down the hall with his sister.

“Thank you for coming,” he said instead, and Simon nodded.

“He was a good man, once. He just got lost.” Simon rubbed a hand over his face and stared off in the distance at a place Nick couldn’t see. “It’s so fucking easy, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Nick smiled at his hands, locked together between his knees. “That’s why I stick close to home.”

Simon smiled back for a moment, then he reached down and clasped Nick’s shoulder. Nick rose and his best friend pulled him into a hug, so quickly that it was almost as if it never happened. Then he was gone.

But it fucking had, and it was hope on a day he’d thought he had none left.

Rather than sit back down on the sofa, he went down the hall to check on Lila and Ricki. It was too quiet. Not that he’d been paying much attention while he was dealing with Simon, but he hadn’t heard a peep out of the room since Lila had been gone and the walls were paper-thin.

At the doorway, he stopped. And stared.

Ricki was curled up similarly to how she’d been when he left her. Lila sat near her feet, sitting guard while she slept. She never looked away.

The hand he’d braced on the doorjamb gathered into a fist.

All at once, he understood how his father had lived and died for the love of one woman. How he’d never been able to forget, or move on. Some things weren’t able to be processed, only endured.

He nearly said her name, his need for her was so strong. But she wasn’t the only one he loved, and his sister needed her too.

Closing his eyes, he searched for the strength to share her. To not march into the room and drag her into his arms, because she was soft and alive and warm, and he’d gone so cold and dead inside.

No, not dead. Not fucking dead. And for Ricki’s sake, he could wait.

He turned from the doorway and moved into the room opposite his sister’s. His old room had been stripped down to nothing but his old bed and some junk they hadn’t had a space for anywhere else. He stepped over and around it and went straight to the bare mattress in the corner. His bed frame squeaked as he sat down, and he winced the same as he always had. The damn thing had made it almost impossible to sneak in a girl, though he hadn’t bothered overmuch with the sneaking part. His pop had been blitzed out for so long he wouldn’t have cared if he’d banged a chick on the living room floor.

So long ago and somehow it felt like yesterday.

He dug his keychain out of his pocket and reached for the tiny corkscrew. And rolled across the bed to etch something in the old weathered paint beside the stupid scribblings he’d notched in a few fits of teenage rebellion. Scraps of lyrics and girls’ names were carved into the wood, and painstakingly, he blurred them all out and wrote the only thing that mattered.

“What are you doing?”

Her voice was so cool, like a blast of aloe vera on skin scorched with a burn. But he didn’t stop writing.

She yanked up the skirt of her fancy suit and climbed on the old, crappy mattress without a thought. Kneeling beside him, she read the words he’d forced onto the wall. And covered her mouth as her eyes filled.

“Don’t,” he demanded, dropping the corkscrew. It rolled away under the bed and he didn’t bother to fumble around to try to find it. He rose on his knees and shifted toward her to grab her shoulders. “Don’t you fucking cry. I’m not, so you aren’t allowed to. Not today.”

“You’re supposed to be mad at me.”

“I am? Shit, that’s right.” He slapped himself in the forehead. “You didn’t blow me this morning after I went down on you. That’s it.” He pretended to erase what he’d written with his fist, and she grinned through the tears brimming in her eyes.

Anything was worth seeing her smile.

“Normally I would yell at you for saying that in earshot of Ricki, but today you get a pass.” She slid another sidelong glance at the words he couldn’t obscure with the slide of his hand. “You get a couple of passes.”

He slid his hand up her hip and fisted it in the expensive fabric she hadn’t thought twice about wrinkling. He moved his mouth close to her ear. “Enough that you’d let me make love to you on this bed?”

“Depends.” She coasted her hands up his chest and framed his face. “How many women have been here before me?”

“In this bed? A few. More than a few,” he amended at her hard stare. “But as far as how many women have been here in this exact spot before you…exactly none.” He mirrored her pose and cupped her cheeks, meeting his thumbs over her damp lips. “There’s never been another woman before you. There won’t be after you either.” If there was an after her, which he had no desire to think about on today of all days.

But if it happened, he knew he’d be another Nicholas Crandall Senior, pining until the end of his days. Existing solely to mentally relive a time that would never come again.

“You can’t know that for sure,” she whispered.

He grabbed one of her hands and held it to his chest. There was no slowing the rampage of his heart. No reason to try. “I know.”

“You make me crazy. I’m not used to feeling like this. Every time I try to be rational and slow things down, to think of how things seem and how it can’t possibly be the way it feels, you just blow me apart and break me open. You let the light in, and I don’t want the dark anymore.” Her starred lashes fluttered as she closed her eyes then opened them again wide. “I want you to move in with me.”

“No.” He dropped his hand from her face and released her hand he’d held over his heart. “That isn’t on the table now.”

“Says who?” she asked, advancing on him as he kneel-walked backward. “We were in the middle of a discussion this morning, and we need to finish it.”

“It is finished. You’re not ready. I have a house. Everything is fine. There’s no need to rush.” He reached the edge of the bed and would’ve stood if she hadn’t reached out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. “Li,” he pleaded, because he wasn’t strong enough to say no when she was offering him everything he wanted.

Even if it was for the wrong reason.

“It’s not rushing if we’re right on time. Listen to me.” She tugged on his shirt. “Just listen. You know that text I sent you tonight? The hungry one? I sent that before the note. I was planning on inviting you over to seduce you with wine and Chinese food, then asking you to live with me. Before I saw your note about your dad.”

“I made you feel guilty—”

“You made me think about what I wanted. Not what other people might think or say, but what I had to think and say. The one thing that kept coming back to me over and over was how right it felt having you in my space. Making it ours.” She hissed out a breath. “I don’t want to sleep alone anymore. Don’t make me.”

“Like that ever happened anyway. I’m over there every night.”

“Exactly. So just…leave more stuff there. All your stuff. Including you.” She tipped her forehead against his and released his shirt to curl her hands around the back of his neck. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

As much as he knew he should argue, he couldn’t. How was he supposed to fight against something he wanted with every fiber of his being? Especially now, after today had reminded him the importance of time and using it wisely. Not wasting a minute, because there were never enough.

“How? Be specific.”

She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Hmm, I suppose I could do this, since apparently I’m falling down on the job.” She flicked open the button on his jeans and shimmied down his body until she was lying on her belly on his old bed, nuzzling between his thighs. Even through the denim, her mouth scalded his skin.

He groaned and gripped a handful of her hair, soaking in the sight of her sprawled out in front of him. Butter yellow skirt rucked up around her thighs to show off her lace-topped stockings, heels dangling off her feet, blond hair spilling down her back and around her gorgeous face. Best of all, those big blue sink-into-me eyes trained on his as she licked her way up the stiffening column in his jeans.

“You can fall down on this job any day you like.”

“Is this an interview? Or better yet, an audition.” She wet her lips until they gleamed and peeled down his zipper with her pale pink nails. “I’ve never had one of those. Let’s see if I can finish strong.”

“Oh, I know I can.”

Her laughter and her warm breath wafted over his skin as she tugged him out of his boxers. Her lips parted and she took him inside, slow and deep, her pale fingers wrapping around his length and moving in concert with the drugging pulls of her mouth.

“You realize this isn’t fair.” Already his breaths were coming short and the fingers he wove into her hair weren’t gentle. Only the knowledge of being together for months allowed him to tug until she moaned. “Influencing me to get your way.”

She nodded and kept sucking, ripping a laugh from his chest. Those sly, slumberous eyes did wicked things to his belly, turning his spine to liquid. He was putty in her hands. Between her lips. The heavy weight between his legs was her next target, and she reached up with her other hand to caress his painfully sensitive sac. All the while her tongue flicked along the slit on the head of his cock, teasing out the response he was helpless to hold back.

The tension he’d carried all evening built to a crescendo under her skillful touch. She made an encouraging noise when he would’ve pulled back. She didn’t want that. The purr around his throbbing shaft proved that she wanted him to unleash every bit of stress gathered inside him onto her. Into her. She could take it.

He didn’t have to keep running. Somehow when he hadn’t been looking—long after he’d given up—he’d found a home. With her. Always.

Pleasure tore through him, so sharp that he bent forward to ride the wave as his cock jerked and spurted in her mouth. Her eyes closed but her fingers never faltered. No matter what he gave her, she swallowed and swallowed, taking everything he had. The good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful—she didn’t shy away from any of it. Her response was all the permission he needed to let it all drain into her. Eventually the pulse at the base of his spine ebbed into bliss. With his last bit of strength, he nudged her away.

Barely still conscious, he slumped to his side. He’d never see this shitty closet of a bedroom the same way again. Maybe he’d even have it added to the historic places register.

Site of the best blowjob ever, courtesy of the mouth of an angel. But she’s fucking mine so don’t even think about it.

The vixen licked her lips. “So?”

He wheezed out a laugh, which caused his semi-deflated cock to bob against his stomach. The second he touched her wet pussy he’d be harder than rock again. From the way she smiled smugly, she knew it too.

Grabbing her wrist, he hauled her onto his chest and dragged her face close. He licked her top lip, then her lower, his eyes remaining steady on hers as he tasted himself on her pretty, good girl mouth.

Once she’d been good. Not anymore.

“As if I’d ever say no to you. About anything.” He flicked his tongue under her jaw. “But just so you know, I sleep naked.”

“Hmm. Is that supposed to be a deterrent? Because it sounds more like a gift with purchase to me.”

Chuckling, he ran his hand down her shoulder, fingering the spun gold of her hair. “You’re going to be sleeping naked with me. Every morning, I’m going to wake you up with my head between your legs.”

The little wrinkle formed between her brows. “Again, not seeing the problem.”

“There is one.”

“That you’re insatiable?” She slid her hand down to cup his waking cock. Right on time. He hadn’t even needed to touch her sweet slit to come back to life. Just the taste of himself on her flesh was enough to make him want to pound into her until she screamed for mercy.

Or more. Definitely more.

“Only for you.”

“So if I do this,” she hiked up her skirt and straddled his lap, positioning his already eager dick between her legs, “and pull aside my panties, you’ll fuck me until I pour all over you.” She leaned forward to kiss him, trapping his thickening shaft between their bodies.

“I’ll fuck you until we have to crawl out of this room.” He fisted his hands in her hair and stared into her summery eyes, needing to get this out of the way between them. Once Ricki woke up, they’d have arrangements to make, but this moment would be solely for him and Lila.

After they dealt with this one thing.

“First, I have to ask you for a bigger favor than I ever have in my life.” He sucked in a breath. “Than I likely ever will again.”

She rubbed her damp pussy against his groin, making him grunt. “No need to ask. I’ll happily take care of this situation.”

“Li.” He tugged her head back so she could read the seriousness in his eyes. “It’s about my sister.”

At once, the teasing glint fled from her gaze. She nodded. “Okay.”

“Michael heard her play today on a recording on my phone. He wants to meet with her. He thinks she might be what his band needs. She’s been playing again for months,” he added when Lila turned her head away. She was already retreating into business mode, and it didn’t make a damn bit of difference than her soaked slit was cradling his cock.

“Don’t put me in this position.”

“I have to. She’s all I have left.” When hurt telegraphed across Lila’s face, he swore and dug his fingers into her hip. “Look at me. You know I love you. That you’re everything to me. But she’s my sister. She’s the only family I have left, and today is going to hurt her for a long time. I can’t let her suffer alone when I can help her punch the ticket out.”

“You know Donovan will never allow it. He won’t ever sign her. Not with her past.”

“Yes, he will. If I vouch for her.”

“Your word isn’t enough.”

“My word, and yours.” He gripped her chin and made her look at him. “You know I would never ask you for this if I wasn’t prepared to make good on my promise. I’m telling you she can do it. If she wants to, and if Michael even wants her. I haven’t even spoken to her about it, because I knew you were the one who had to say you were okay with it.”

Her chin trembled in his hand before she set her mouth. “And if we vouch for her, and she doesn’t come through? Then what?”

“Then I fulfill her commitment to Warning Sign.”

Lila climbed off him and paced from the bed to the door and back again before shoving her hands through her already tousled hair. “What about Oblivion?”

“I’ll do what I need to do in Oblivion as well. I can do both if I have to. If I have to fucking clone myself to make it work, I’ll do it.” More than a little regretfully, he tucked himself back in his boxers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “This will be no risk to Ripper. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Your stage fright. What about that?”

It took everything he possessed not to look away from her probing stare. He’d been on the other end of it across a conference table enough times to know their relationship wouldn’t keep her from seeking out the chinks in his argument. It’d probably make her search even harder. “I’ve worked through it this long. I’ll keep doing it.”

“You hate playing with new people. So you’re telling me you’re willing to potentially work with a whole new band just to give her a chance. To sign away years of your life for a promise she might not be able to keep, no matter how much she tries.”

“Yes.” He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes. And the first thing I’m going to do is believe in her. I’m asking you to believe in her too. If you can’t do if for her yet, then do it for me. Because you know I’ll make good on the deal. I won’t renege.”

“No, you won’t renege, you goddamn idiot.” Lila turned away. For a long moment, she didn’t move. Then she reared out and shocked the hell out of him by driving her fist into the closed door. His eyebrow was still hovering near his hairline when she turned back and nodded. “Fine. I’m in too. But so help me God, Nicholas, if you make me regret this—”

“You won’t, I swear.” He stood and drew her into his arms, lowering his forehead to hers. “Thank you. I don’t have enough words to thank you enough. She’s everything to me.” He trailed his fingertip over her cheek. “Part of my everything. The rest is you.”

“You don’t even know she wants to play in a band.”

“No.” They’d never discussed it, but he’d glimpsed the longing in her eyes when she talked about Oblivion. And when she touched a guitar, her reverence was clear in every strum of her fingers.

“But she’s your sister. Your twin.”

“That doesn’t mean she’ll want to do it. I just want her to have the opportunity if she decides to take it.”

“If she’s a fit for Warning Sign. A lot of ifs there.”

“Yeah, there are. But she’s never had a chance to be in the spotlight, and she deserves it.” He closed his eyes and tried to smile. “Hell, maybe she’ll even like it there, unlike me.”

“Yet you’re willing to get on another stage with another band, just to give her the option.” Lila gripped one of his hands in both of hers and brought it to her mouth. “And I’m supposed to not be in love with you? Tell me how.”

“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you, thanks.” He curled his arms around her and rested his chin on her hair. “Thank you for today. For coming here to find me, for calling Simon, for sitting with my sister.”

“What happened with Simon?”

“We talked. A little. He said some encouraging things, I guess. Fuck.” Blowing out a breath, he jerked his shoulder. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but he showed. And that means something.”

“You’re giving him time and space. He’ll come back around.”

Another shrug. He didn’t know if Simon would or not. Even if he did, Nick didn’t know if things would ever be the same as they’d once been. Between him and Simon, or with Oblivion.

But that was for tomorrow. All of it was.

“Any of those things you did would be above and beyond the call, but all three together…” He gestured behind him at the wall. “You get that.”

She pressed her lips together and slipped out of his arms to return to the bed. She crawled across it and traced the words he’d carved into the wall. “You need to give me one of these.”

He kneeled beside her. “One of what?”

“Whatever you used to carve in the words.”

Heart beating way too fast, he leaned over the bed and felt around on the floor until the corkscrew he’d used jabbed him in the palm. He handed it over and watched her curse her way through printing her own declaration.

When she’d finished, she flipped the corkscrew into his hand. He caught it one-handed, still riveted by what she’d written just below his message.

Nick Crandall loves Lila Ronson. Forever.

Lila Ronson loves Nick Crandall. Forever.

“Now that that’s out of the way…” She gave him a light push and he fell back on the bed. Hiking up her skirt, she crawled over him and yanked down his zipper. “You owe me a fuck.”

He glanced up at the ceiling. “I don’t know what I did to deserve her, but thank you. Thank you,” he repeated fervently as she laughed.

Then he rolled her over onto her back and paid what he owed.

With interest.