Chapter Nine
Avery breaks our kiss, does a sexy groan, then pulls back. “I need to get out of this car, and you need to drive away.”
“How about a change of plan? I was thinking more along the lines of making a fast stop in the back seat. A preview for later.”
She laughs but chides me with her eyes. “Not a chance. Like I said, I don’t want you to think I’m that easy.”
Like she said: not a chance. “Then invite me into Emmy’s and we’ll just let what happens happen.”
“If I let you inside, we’ll end up in bed.” Her fingers curl tighter around my shirt as she rests her forehead against my chest. “Can’t do it, E. No matter how much I want to. Unlike you, I’ve got to work if I want to eat. I’ve got a story due tonight for Rolling Stone that I should have finished writing days ago and about ten thousand other things I have to take care of before you go on stage.”
Avery’s a freelance journalist with several trade publications, in addition to the blogs she manages on her own. She’s always on a deadline of some kind, but I remind myself how important her career is to her and to be a good guy. The signs—from both our bodies—tell me it wouldn’t take much pushing to get her to continue this inside Emmy’s.
Lust-fueled frustration floods me. “Then get out of this car, run—do not walk—to the front door, or I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”
She trembles as soft panting breaths fall from her lips, roves me with her gaze once more, makes an exaggerated groan, and then springs from the car.
I lean across the front seat, watching through the open passenger door as she hurries up the walk to disappear into her sister’s house. When there’s nothing worth seeing anymore, my heart catches with disappointment and I kick myself hard for always being the good guy. I reach out for the handle and close the door.
Slouching in my seat, I rake the hair from my face and stare at the view of Redondo Beach from Emmy’s driveway. Even at last reaching the point where we’ve decided to move forward with us doesn’t seem to move me any quicker—or closer—to bed with Avery.
But she’s right.
We both have junk we’ve got to take care of before getting lost in us time.
Jesus Christ, I hope we get lost in bed for a very long while. Starting tomorrow, I’ve got a clear calendar for weeks. Hopefully Avery does, too, though I doubt it. Work, work, work, that girl loves to work. And no way could she ever make me believe it’s just for the money.
I almost start the car, then pull back my hand. Out of nowhere, a strong want not to arrive at the concert venue a second earlier than necessary fills me.
The sensation is different than my usual flashes of listlessness I sometimes get during those random moments when I wonder where my life would be if I’d stayed at MIT and finished my engineering degree, instead of getting caught up on Eric’s road. A road I never wanted.
When we graduated high school, I went one way and Eric went another, and my only goal was to continue my education and someday to marry Tara.
A solid plan for a solid man, my grandfather Jack used to say approvingly before patting me on the back and ribbing me about how alike we were.
But nothing worked out as I thought it would. It’s even more incomprehensible that Eric knocking up my girlfriend while I was away at college and quietly marrying her before he confessed everything to me somehow ended with me back in California, part of the band, and my life moving lock-step with my twin again.
Christ, being fucked over that way should have made me run from Eric. It should never have gotten me back home, tangled up in his life, and yet somehow it did.
I shut down my thoughts there. My attitude is poor enough without drudging up that today. My current lackluster mood has only to do with the screwed-up status of the band, the guys getting in my way—yet again—of being with Avery, the unending rollercoaster of mega-crisis from my brother, and knowing from experience I’m going to get dragged into the middle of all of it if I’m not careful.
There’s a flash of guilt over my not wanting to back up my brother through whatever’s going on with Hugh and the guys, but just a flash. Not enough to make me change course, take a side, and jump into the fray.
No, not doing it. Not tonight when I’ve got something to look forward to with Avery. The guys can only make me part of the war if they can pin me down.
There’s no way I’m letting that happen.
Fuck the meet and greet at the amphitheater.
Fuck the press stop.
As for the backstage party, I can do without that as well.
There. Three hours of alone time nabbed for Ethan. So long as I’m there by the time the band runs on stage I’ve not let anyone down, and something tells me tonight is going to unfold like that crazy Russell Brand movie Get Him to the Greek, with Eric being Russell and me as Jonah Hill.
Sorry, bro, passing on that.
Tonight, Eric, you’re fighting your own wars.
I’ve got Avery on my mind—I inhale deeply—Avery on my clothes, and I sure as fuck hope Avery in my bed later.
Not sure where I want to land until showtime, I grab my cell and switch it on. Twenty-four hours back in LA and the screen is full of notifications. The usual assortment—Mom, my three sisters, friends, and the girls I casually sleep with when I’m off the road.
The only text I decide to read is from Hugh, though the better move would probably be to delete it unread. As I swipe it open, I rub my eyes, feeling the warning of a band hangover to come.
Hugh: Where the fuck r u, E? Don’t pull this shit on me, man. Where the fuck are you and your brother?
Enjoy panicking much, Hugh?
From the sounds of it, I guess Eric’s gone AWOL on the last day of the tour as well. Though it doesn’t surprise me if Hugh was up in Eric’s face the way he was in mine at The Cockyard.
Eric doesn’t take crap from anyone.
Get in his face and you’re going to regret it.
If my brother’s MIA, Hugh has no one to blame but himself since it was a fucked up thing to do whatever he’s done to my brother before we’re officially off tour. And no, I’m not being paranoid here. I may not know the full details of what’s going on, but I do know the guys well.
Whatever’s been brewing—and I’m pretty sure after this afternoon’s scrimmage with Hugh the rest of the guys know everything, though none of them were inclined to fill me in, like always—Hugh’s stirred it up, but why the fuck he made it come to a head today is beyond moronic.
Fuck, he’s like that kid who doesn’t learn from burning his hand on the stove. We’ve all been through this before, more than once. Hugh should know the drill by now. Piss off Eric and he’ll leave you hanging in the worst possible way he can think of until you wish to God you hadn’t messed with him.
Without answering the band’s distress text, I continue thumbing through my messages. Nothing from Eric. Good, since I’d feel obligated to read it and I don’t want to know anything about his problems until I absolutely can’t avoid them any longer.
My hand pauses as my eyes catch a name.
Oh fuck, this is unexpected.
A text from Tara.
I consider opening it, but remind myself of all the reasons not to expose myself to my brother’s soon-to-be ex-wife, then continue to scroll. There’s nothing there I want to do for the next three hours.
Tossing my phone into the center console, I decide heading to my house in the Hollywood Hills is as good a destination as any. It’s close to the Bowl, I haven’t been home since landing in LA yesterday, and some minutes of shut-eye and silence would be bliss.
And if I’m lucky, it will be the only sleep on the agenda tonight.
* * *
“Avery”
Eric: Where are you? Are you still with my brother?
Avery: No. At Emmy’s taking a bath, if you must know. What’s going on?
Eric: We need to talk. Tonight.
Avery: Can’t. Can’t it wait? Things are finally happening with Ethan. I’m in the middle of our first date. An intermission to clean up. Besides, you have a show in less than two hours. No time. I’ll catch up with you later tonight if I can make it work.
Eric: A date? Fuck, I would have thought the two of you would have fast-forwarded into the fucking.
Avery: Ah, hello. A little insulting to me. Don’t you think a guy should work a little to be with me?
Eric: Don’t you think all these years of you two lusting after each other from a distance is more than enough work for Ethan? I bet ninety percent of the calluses on his palms are over you. I thought my brother would never make a move.
Avery: Ah, talking to a girl here. That was crude. He’s not a fast mover like you, for sure. And I’m not changing my plans. We don’t need to talk. We ran into the band at The Cockyard. Don’t get angry. I did what I could to keep E from running into the guys before the concert. Ethan knows what happened with Hugh and the guys at the label. I’m sorry they did that to you, but it’ll blow over. I’ve already got a strategy in mind to help you.
Eric: Not angry. Thanks for doing what you could. But maybe it’s better my brother knows part of what’s going on. Fuck it. I couldn’t care less about the band or the label. That’s not why I need to talk to you.
Avery: ???
Eric: That other thing, Avery. It’s going to happen soon.
Avery: What!!!??? I thought the lawyer was handling it.
Eric: Rochelle refused the settlement. She demanded more, and I don’t have it.
Avery: Settlement. Why the hell did you let your lawyer offer to pay her off? Damn it. You should never have done that. I already told you, no one is going to believe her story.
Eric: Everyone’s going to believe it. Tara. My folks, Ethan, my sisters. Hugh’s believed it since I gave the band a heads-up on what was happening with Rochelle, and I’ve known that fucker my whole life. Not once in four months has he told me he knows it’s untrue. He didn’t even say he’s sorry I’m going through this. Fuck, he put a knife in my back instead and shredded my career.
Avery: Hugh’s an asshole and an opportunist. Why don’t you just tell everyone the truth?
Eric: Because no one’s going to believe the truth. Not from me. Not after all the shit I’ve done.
Avery: The truth is the truth. It’s not like you can be in two places at the same time. You were with me the entire three days in Houston. It demolishes Rochelle’s story.
Eric: No one is going to believe that, Avery. They’ll accuse you of lying and trying to protect me. Everyone knows how tight we are.
Avery: I’ve already told you. The truth is the truth.
Eric: My sweet, naive girl. The truth is whatever people believe. Haven’t you learned anything about life yet?
Avery: Oh, my cynical boy. You need to have a little faith sometimes. People believe the truth when they hear it. Sure, it may be ugly for a while. But we were together. That’s the truth. The lawyer will eventually find a way to corroborate it. And nothing is going to happen to you because of Rochelle’s crazy story if I tell the police that.
Eric: They won’t believe you. Not if we can’t find proof we were together. Why do you think the lawyer had me paying her off all these months? To keep her silent and buy time to build a case to refute her claims and find someone who saw you and me together that weekend. Nothing. No one. We covered our tracks too well and now it’s going to burn me. Because no one will believe I was with you the entire three days.
Avery: Yes, they will.
Eric: Have you thought about what going public with this will mean to you? Have you thought about my brother?
Avery: No. Don’t have to. In a choice, you win, Eric. There’s no choice at all. Ethan will understand. He has to. And I have to do the right thing.
Eric: Heading to Emmy’s now. I really need to see you. There’s so much shit in my head I can’t think straight. I need you, Avery. I need you to help me think things through.
Avery: See ya when you get here. And try to remember. It’s going to be all right.