“La Migra, La Migra, get down!” I yelled as I ran into the kitchen at The Plate Bar. Two of the cooks hastily dropped what they were doing and ran for the back door. I howled with laughter until my sister tapped me hard on the forehead.
“Damn it, Stella!” She took off after the fleeing cooks as Reid stood next to me at the stainless-steel counter, cashing out his tickets and thumbing through his tips.
He lifted a perfectly arched brow. “Do I even want to know what La Migra means?” he asked as the cooks resurfaced seconds later and proceeded to call me the devil, and several other choice words in our tongue.
“She told them border patrol was here and to get down,” Paige said as she rounded the corner and made her way back toward me. Her lips trembled as she tried to hide her laugh. “That’s so wrong, Stella. Why would you do that?”
“It was a drill,” I said as the cooks shot daggers from behind the counter, causing Reid to burst out laughing. I sauntered up to the line and blew them individual kisses before I reminded them of the earlier conversation they had that I overheard. Only one of them had the decency to lower their eyes.
“What’s she saying now?” Reid asked behind me.
“That she would marry every one of them if they didn’t already have a wife in Mexico and a girlfriend here.”
I turned around and crossed my arms. “I heard them bragging earlier about their women. About how tight my ass is, and you don’t even want to know what they said about you, sister. And now they’ve pissed themselves. You’re welcome.”
Smiling, Reid slowly shook his head while Paige blew out a heavy breath.
Paige snatched a bowl of fresh tortilla chips from my hand. “If the manager heard that, they could lose their jobs.”
“Oh, I’m sure the manager is very aware they are here illegally, and I’m sure they are being ripped off by the hour because of it. Get real, Paige,” I said as I gathered the Chula bottles and began wiping them down.
“I can’t believe I agreed to let you work here,” she muttered as she pushed through the swinging doors with a tray in hand.
“One big happy family!” I called after her and winked at Reid. He took his apron off and folded it a few times before he joined me to get our side work done. I’d been at the restaurant for a week, and though the tips were decent, I hated it.
“That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble.”
“Au contraire, mon frère, me and my notorious mouth are going to be wildly popular. Honesty will get me everywhere, especially as a journalist.”
I ignored the smell of Irish Spring as he leaned in close. “Honesty will get you enemies.”
I shrugged. “I call shit like I see it. Sugarcoating doesn’t help anyone, and it’s bad reporting. If I do a good enough job and stick my neck out there, I better be ready to deal with the backlash.”
“So, this you take seriously.”
Shoulder’s touching, we loaded up the napkin dispensers. “Music, always. I’m twenty. My education, my future, I take that seriously. This place?” I looked around the kitchen and wrinkled my nose. “Hell no. And why should I? If you ask me, you, Neil, and Paige are a little too stuck in this bullshit bubble of adulthood. This isn’t the future for any of you.”
I paused to look over at him. Our eyes locked. “For any of us.”
“Good to know. Now you can predict the future? Tell me, what’s mine?” His voice was filled with condescension.
“Better than what it is now.” I waited a beat. “You’re just going through a rough time.”
His back went straight and he narrowed his eyes.
“You don’t know anything. The world swings at you long and hard enough, little sister, you’re eventually going to hit your knees.”
“Well, I can take a punch.”
“Good for you.”
I let my eyes drift down his arrogant stance. From his plain black V-neck, dark jeans, and crossed black boots. I felt the confrontation radiating from him. He was tired, bitter, and pissed off at the world. As he should be. I saw a glimpse of his life in that apartment. Mr. Crowne seemed to be the king of nothing. I could feel his desperation as he stood next to me with a hand full of shitty tips, though his face gave zero away. His eyes always had a hard edge, even when he smiled. “Things will get better, Reid, believe me. Okay?”
He ran his fingers through his tangled hair and gave me a lip twitch. “Sure, little sister, whatever you say.”
“You just need something to look forward to.”
“Alright already, enough with the pep talk I didn’t ask for and don’t need.”
“Oh, good, then you know everything, too.”
His pale green irises seemed to grow brighter, and his nostrils flared. He stared at my lips as if he were willing them to stop moving. I smiled despite him. We were in a silent standoff as Paige walked back into the kitchen and put a ticket up.
“I just got two more tables. It’s going to be at least an hour. Why don’t you guys take off for a little bit?”
“I’m going to meet up with the guys. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Reid said as he gathered his apron and his cash.
Paige’s eyes lit up. “Take Stella. She would love it.”
“What would I love?” I asked as Reid looked between the two of us.
“Some other time,” he said dismissively as he walked through the double doors.
I turned to Paige in question. “What would I love?”
“He’s going to meet up with his band.”
Goose bumps covered my arms and hair stood up on the back of my neck. “What band? He’s really in a band? I thought he was joking. Why didn’t you tell me?!” Paige looked me over, brows drawn. “Uhhh, because maybe you two don’t like each other?”
I rummaged through my tickets and shoved the cash and credit slips into her hand.
“What’s the band’s name?”
“Dead Sergeants.”
My eyes widened.
“He’s the drummer, or will be again when he gets out of that cast. Wait, where are you going? Stella, don’t run after him!”
But I was already out the door.
“Hey!” I called to Reid’s back. “Reid!” I yelled into the darkening street as he turned the corner and moved just out of sight. Cursing, I ran after him, sure I was in for another fight or about to eat crow. Catching up with him, he paused his steps as I latched onto his cast, and he looked down at me with impatient eyes.
“What?”
“Well,” I said with a small smile, erasing the imaginary line I’d drawn in the sand between us with my orange Chucks littered with Stone Temple Pilots lyrics, “can I come?”
“It’s practice. We don’t bring best friend’s little sisters to practice, or anyone else for that matter.”
“I’ll be quiet. So quiet, no one will even notice me.” He hung his head and slowly shook it.
“Stella, you’re like a screaming neon sign. Everybody notices you. And no.” He made quick work of throwing off my diligent grip of his arm and took long strides to try to lose me.
“Please!” I called to his back.
“Go back to Paige,” he called over his shoulder.
“Please, Reid. Please! I need something to look forward to!”
He stopped walking, his whole frame tense under a yellow streetlight, and looked back at me. I tried my best to hide my victory smile. I was sweating buckets and hustled to catch up with him while I lifted my hair and tied it back before the lecture began.
“Mute. I want you mute. I’m going to introduce you as mute.”
“Got it.”
We rounded the corner, and at five-foot-five, I struggled as he kept his six-foot-plus pace steady and expertly navigated the streets.
“The band is good. Really good, Reid. How did you guys start?”
“Ben used to sing in a band called Everly. I was in another. We got together after a show at a club we both played at. Neither of us was happy, so we mutated.”
“Mutated. I like that.”
“Yeah,” he said absently. “My ex-girlfriend sang in my old band, but we didn’t work well together.”
“Oh? You didn’t like drumming for her?”
“I loved her voice, hated her style.”
“Is that why she left?”
He pushed his sweat-slicked, ear-length locks away from his face before he glanced at me. I could see the indecision. Either he didn’t want to talk about her or he didn’t want to tell me. Well, maybe it was both.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“No, it’s not why she left. That was years ago, when she and I first got together. Ben and I started the Sergeants three years ago. He sucked on guitar and I knew a guy. After we jammed a couple of times, we all decided we worked and then our bass came along.”
“Do you miss her?”
Completely off topic, I bit my lips, knowing I better shut the hell up or I’d never find my way back to the restaurant alone. “Sorry,” I said as he glared at me. “Sorry.”
“You should probably ease into the personal questions if you plan on doing this for a living.”
“Technically,” I pointed out, “this isn’t an interview.”
“No, it’s the Latina Inquisition,” he said with a twist of his lips.
“What got you playing?”
“I hit a pot when I was a toddler, too, but I was good at it.” He stepped off the sidewalk, and I was too immersed in him, fixated on his story, and stumbled off. His arms shot out to steady me as I was about to take a good bite of the pavement.
“Thanks.”
He winced as he withdrew and gripped his cast with his palm.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”
“I’m still sore from dragging your drunk ass to the cab on your birthday. You’re like Bambi on new legs, drunk or sober. Next time I let you fall.”
“My grudge-filled hero,” I sighed after him, stepping double time to keep up with his pace.
And even though the dark street recommended we remain eerily quiet, I couldn’t stop asking questions. “Who got you your first set of drums?”
“I played in school.”
“In band?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t picture that at all,” I said with a chuckle. “A band geek? Not you, Reid Crowne.”
“Oh, yes, me. My parents couldn’t afford drums. It was the only way for me to learn and play.”
“I get it.”
“I fucking loved it. Marching, competing. All of it.”
“Okay,” I said, pulling out my peppermint lip gloss and smearing it on, “now you’re just screwing with me.”
His deadpan stare confirmed it. Reid was anything but social. I could only imagine how hard it was for him to partake in anything school related. In fact, it was probably a nightmare for him but a necessary sacrifice. As if reading my mind, he shrugged. “I got to practice as much as I wanted. I made nice with the director, Mr. Burris, so I was there every day after school until I got kicked out.”
“You know one of my heroes played in high school band and then ping-ponged around before he landed a gig playing back up for Linda Ronstadt.”
“Some career,” he said with pressed brows, as if trying to understand my logic.
“I think so. He played with Glenn Frey until they both quit and decided to bet on themselves. They formed a little band called the Eagles.”
Reid paused and looked back at me.
“Yeah, Don Henley,” I said, satisfied. I loved the surprise in his eyes. “Just a guy from our great state who played football and trombone in a high school band that ended up writing some of the best songs in music. And that voice, don’t get me started.”
I rattled on with a little more bounce in my step. “That’s the thing about music: don’t take your back up for granted. You could have Don fucking Henley playing for you.”
Reid paused his feet, his lips twisting in a small smile he was trying to hide.
I was too interested in the present to give him any more of a history lesson. “Wow, so you were a band geek. You’ll have to thank Mr. Burris when you get big.”
“You haven’t even heard me play,” he said as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his jeans.
“I’ve heard your band. They wouldn’t keep you if you couldn’t play. I bet prom was hard on you.”
The brief flame highlighted his smug smile before he blew out a steady stream of smoke in my direction. “I screwed the prom queen in her little blue dress before the king picked her up.”
I stopped my feet and waved the stench away. “Okay, ew. And wow.”
“I got good at a lot of things in high school, little sister.” There was a split second of something in his eyes before it disappeared. “Mostly being high,” he admitted before he threw the cigarette he’d only taken a few drags of in the street and crushed it with his boot.
Aside from the occasional stray car, we were alone. And my mind was spinning with questions.
“Tell me about your parents.”
“I have a mother and father.”
“And.”
“You’re shit at taking a hint.”
“No, I’m good at avoiding them.”
“They live in Nacogdoches.”
“Did you grow up there?”
“Yes.”
“Come on, Reid, throw me a bone.”
Another corner, another vacant street full of warehouses.
“They’re both drunks. I see them once every couple of months.”
Panting, I sped up again, my legs burning from the race I was enduring. “I’m sorry.”
“Why would you be sorry? They aren’t dead. They’re drunks.”
I shrugged. “That’s why I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. There were perks to being David and Courtney Crowne’s kid. No curfew, no rules, and no punishment. We got along just fine.”
I pressed my lips together because I didn’t believe him. My mother spent a solid year once getting drunk on White Russians after she’d given birth to my brother, Pete. He came out without having taken a single breath. It was the worst day of our lives and every day after. We’d not only lost our brother, we lost our mother, fearful we would never get her back. I called it her Russian Depression. Shit got real, really fast. Having a drunk parent was very similar to having an absentee parent. My father threw her in the drunk tank when he decided enough was enough, and she hasn’t touched a drop since. It seemed she came back to us a little more guarded, a little less carefree. She also started taking birth control, which was a big old Catholic no-no, and my mother was old school Catholic. But she beat it. And I respected the hell out of her for it, even though she didn’t come out of it stronger. Reid’s earlier words rang true. Some people can only take so many punches. I knew life wasn’t as cut and dried as I thought it was, but I hoped I never hit my knees. And if I ever did, I hoped I was strong enough to recover.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, which seemed to put him on the defensive.
“They fed me, they put a roof over my head. Hell, my father managed to keep his job for twenty years on a fifth of gin a day. That’s a feat.”
“And your mother?”
“Can we be done with the questions?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Five blocks later, he opened a metal box next to a lone door of a small, gray building on the side of one of the warehouses. Inside, the stale smell was the first to breach my nose as I eyed the missing tiles in the ceiling and the littered hallway. It looked like a house for junkies. I heard the faint sounds of rehearsal in each room, but it was mute enough to where I could hear Reid’s footfalls.
“What’s this shit hole called?”
“The Garage.”
“The Closet would be a better name.”
“Mute, Stella.”
“Yes, sir. So, what’s your style? You said you and your ex didn’t mesh. Who influenced you?”
He paused at a door with “6” written in permanent marker then looked back at me.
I covered my mouth and mumbled through my fingers, “Got it.”
I could barely hold in my excitement when he pressed at the hesitant door with his shoulder until it gave. I’d watched dozens of rockumentaries about garage bands and seen countless interviews about rockers who’d gotten their start in minuscule rooms just like the one I stood in. Three sets of eyes found us as we closed the door behind us. Old school egg crates were hastily stapled to the poster board walls and there were beer cans everywhere. Ben was the first to break the silence.
“What are you doing here?”
He addressed me directly, and Reid didn’t come to my defense. “I invited myself.”
Ben smiled, and I wondered if he remembered me, until he looked past my shoulder.
“She’s not with you?”
Reid looked between us with drawn brows. I explained quickly as two other guys sat on a red plastic couch, sipping beer mutely and eyeing me with interest. I addressed Reid first. “We met at the bar the night of the show. He gave us some tickets.”
“What the hell, Crowne?” one of the guys asked from the couch.
“She’s just here to watch us,” he said in a tone that told him there was no room for argument.
King Crowne had spoken. Still, I wanted the mic.
“She is going to sell a few articles to Austin Speak in a few months. I can profile you guys in one of them, if you all agree to it.”
Ben looked impressed. Reid’s eyes told me he didn’t believe a word I was saying. The two guys on the couch—one that looked like a hot Shaggy from Scooby Doo, and the other was a poster boy for Ink magazine with multiple piercings and gauged ears—shared a conspiratorial smile.
“She isn’t working for Speak,” Reid said as he walked over to the couch and took two hot beers straight from the carton.
“I had an interview with Nate Butler, the owner of Speak. He gave me six months to come up with a set of articles to sell.” Reid looked back at me with accusing eyes and then shrugged at the guys.
“Stay, baby, you’re welcome here,” Ben said as he walked up to me and threw an arm around my shoulders. Reid pressed a hot beer to my stomach in offering before I was ushered to the couch by Ben. Claustrophobia hit as I realized nothing else would fit in that room. The equipment was practically piled on top of itself. In a mere two steps, I was seated and silenced with a frothy hot beer. Ben made the introductions as Reid walked over to the drum set and inspected it.
“This is Rye,” he said, pointing to hot Shaggy, “and this is Adam.”
“Hey,” I said. “Stella Emerson.”
“STELLA!” Rye belted out. “Good movie! I love Rocky.”
Adam rolled his eyes and addressed me. “He’s better left stupid. Don’t bother to correct him. He’s indignant about being stupid.”
Rye furrowed his brow. “What, fucker? What did I say?”
“Told you,” he said with a chuckle. “Wrong movie, dick,” Adam said as he looked me over in a way that let me know I was his type. “It’s a Streetcar Named Desire.”
“Huh?” Rye said as he popped another beer.
“The movie,” Reid said patiently as Rye’s face twisted.
“Dumb as Chicken of the Sea Jessica Simpson, but plays the guitar like an old soul,” Adam said as he moved to stand. “What are we fucking with tonight?”
Ben tossed a yellow notebook on one of the amplifiers and nodded toward Reid.
“Wanna see if we can make this work?” Reid glanced over at it with a sharp nod before a painful attempt to tap on his set. It only lasted a frustrated minute before he chucked his sticks.
“You got it easy, remember that,” Adam warned.
The only sign of pain was the fast appearance of sweat that lined his forehead.
Ben interjected. “Don’t rush it, man. We’re talking weeks, and Jason said he was good for the next couple of gigs.”
Reid’s eyes met mine briefly. Maybe because he thought I would chime in, but I was done with the pep talk. Something about him behind that cheap set of drums had my curiosity piqued, and not just about his skill as a drummer, but about him. I had that lame women gene that made musicians seem like gods, but the wool had never fully been pulled over my eyes. I’d just been singed. I was safe for the moment, even with the full attention of hazel eyes and naturally stained, full red lips.
Ben watched us watch each other and sat down next to me. He smelled like green woods, and I found him adorable up close. He had that nice guy look with his cropped curly hair and beautiful sea blue eyes, but I knew he was the corrupting kind of nice guy. The kind that would leave you in a closet of a church pulling up your panties, wondering what in the hell happened.
Lexi was so screwed. I knew she would fall for him. I knew that second.
“So, where’s your friend?”
“Lexi.”
“She wouldn’t give me her name.”
“Because she’s smart. She’s not a game you want to play.”
Reid picked up the notebook and began to read the lyrics scribbled on it as Ben turned to face me, fully engaged.
“I’ll take her anywhere she wants to go.”
“She’d much rather see you sing,” I admitted honestly. “But I’ll give her the message.”
“How about I give her the message,” he said sweetly.
“Nope.”
He chuckled as he took the hot beer from my hand and swallowed it down before he gripped another can and handed it to me.
“What did you think?”
“How do you know we showed up?”
“I saw her the minute she walked in.”
Something about that statement hit me in the chest.
“Awwwww.” It didn’t come from me. It came from Adam. “I’ll make love to you.”
“Would you?” Ben asked in his best feminine voice. “Can we spoon after?”
“Can we do something besides chit-chat? I’m missing UFC,” Shaggy Rye said as he picked up his guitar and began hurdling through chords like the second coming of Jimmy Hendrix. I nearly spit out my beer. “Holy shit.”
Adam and Ben both looked at me with shit-eating grins. “Dumb but brilliant. Can’t tie his shoes but he can strip the strings.”
I watched as Rye plowed through what sounded like a warm-up.
I looked up to Reid as Ben grabbed a piece of hair from my ponytail and rubbed it between his fingers. “You know he’s an asshole, right?”
“Very aware and totally uninterested.”
“Good for you. He’s a pessimist in his prime. He wants to be a good guy, but watch out for that one. He’s a dark horse, baby, and they don’t play nice with women’s hearts.”
I rolled my eyes. “And you do?”
“I’m an opportunist,” he said with a panty-dropping smile. “But I can be tamed.”
“You sure of that?”
“She was wearing a blue corset, mini skirt, and dangling earrings. I promise you, I didn’t see anyone but her.”
“Got to do better than that to get her number.”
“I think she’s beautiful. And I know she’s tough. And I’m willing to put up with her shit to make her smile.”
I sighed and held out my hand. “Give me your phone.”
Ben put it in my palm, and seconds after I programmed it in, Rye drastically changed his speed and left us all transfixed on him.
“He’s not the only prodigy,” Ben whispered. “Some bands are lucky enough to have two.
“You’re humble,” I said with an eye roll.
Ben shook his head. “I have a voice, so I can get away with being a shitty guitarist, but I’m not talking about me. He nodded toward Reid as Rye hit a crescendo that had us all screaming out to him in encouragement. Desperate to get my thoughts down, I looked around the room to see Reid had the only tools I needed.
“Hey, dark horse, can I get that pad and a pen?”
Clearly not a fan of his nickname, he tossed it in my direction. Ten minutes later, I was completely fixed on the insane talent in room six of The Garage. Reid sat next to me as the three of them serenaded the two of us in a melting pot of both original Dead Sergeant and cover songs. With only two guitars and Ben’s voice, I was bleeding the ink dry with unbiased opinion. I was charmed by Ben’s voice. It was pure temptation. He was the perfect front man of a beat-less band. But even with the incredible sound coming from the meshing of Rye’s bold guitar, Adam’s leading bass, and the guttural perfection of Ben’s voice, I knew that something was missing. And that something missing was sitting next to me. I’d curled up on the split plastic couch and completely lost track of time. I looked over to Reid, who was watching the guys thoughtfully, taking mental notes. I was smiling when he glanced my way. He searched for the sincerity and found it. Slowly, he returned it, and for the first time, it finally reached his eyes. The room filled with a fresh kind of air as he beamed on that dingy couch in room six. That smile said it all. Music was where Reid Crowne’s happiness lay, and that smile told me he had already found his something to look forward to.