CHAPTER THREE

“I Wish I Knew You”

Evan

On the drive back to Quinn’s place, I thought about my earlier conversation with my brother. My reason for hiding out in some woman’s house I barely knew instead of being with my family was pretty simple—my parents wouldn’t understand. Even though they’d never said it, they weren’t big fans of Mandy. They were, however, staunch believers in the sanctity of marriage. To them, divorce was not acceptable, which I found ironic, because my dad was now going on two or more years with his latest side piece. They already disapproved of me. Why make it worse?

Mandy wasn’t the only thing my parents disliked. They absolutely hated my choice of professions. In the Walker family, we each had our thing. Dad’s was the family law firm. Mom’s was raising the three of us and lunching with her friends while spending Dad’s money. My brother got off on making other people rich, while my sister flitted from job to job trying to land a wealthy husband. My thing was music. According to my parents, music wasn’t a profession, but more of a hobby. That was the one thing they seemed to agree with Mandy on. Because I’d chosen to turn that hobby into a profession, I was considered the black sheep of the family and an embarrassment to the Walker name. Funny thing, though. My love for music had stemmed from the two of them.

Like most kids, I was forced to take music lessons from an early age. It was the socially acceptable thing to do and my parents were all about their social status. My siblings hated their lessons. Not me, though. I couldn’t get enough. By the age of ten, I’d mastered the piano. My parents were proud.

“Look at Evan. Isn’t he gifted?” my mom used to say.

When I was twelve, I took two years of saved up chore money and bought a used electric guitar. By then, my parents were beginning to see the error in their ways, but it was already too late. I was hooked. After weeks of shredding everyone’s ear drums, Dad gave in and reluctantly paid for lessons. They thought it was a phase, but I knew different. Music was like breathing. It was an integral part of the person I was becoming, of the man I would grow into.

No, running to Mommy and Daddy with my tail between my legs because my marriage hadn’t worked out wasn’t an option.

The sound of my phone ringing pulled me from my thoughts, and I noticed I was almost back to Quinn’s place. This time, I made sure to check the screen before answering, in case it was Mandy calling to harass me. Bobby, it read.

Pressing the hands free on my steering wheel, I answered, “Bobbbbby—tell me you’ve got good news for me.” Bobby Preston was part owner of LASH Investigative Services. We met this past year through the band and had become good friends. Bobby was there the day I found out about Mandy. He offered to look into it as a favor. Once he’d confirmed she was indeed cheating on me, I put him on the payroll.

“I’ve got Tut and Adam on the job, but we’re going to need a few more days, a week at the most,” Bobby replied.

“Shit. You really think you’re on to something? The court date is weeks away. I know I don’t need to say this, but if we don’t find something concrete, I’ll be shit out of luck.”

As far as divorces went, Texas was a no-fault state. This meant that it didn’t matter if Mandy had cheated or not. It was also a community property state, so anything earned or bought during a marriage is subject to being divided. We would need to agree on a division of property, and since I hit it big with Meltdown while we were married, this could get complicated.

After I kicked Mandy out of the house, she hired an attorney. The guy was relentless. After weeks of badgering me, I finally agreed to let her move back in, but only because I hated the damn place. What my wife didn’t realize, was that I was no longer willing to make the mortgage payments. My lawyer agreed with me, and until the court forced our hand on the matter, this was where I stood. I had no idea where I was going to go. I could rent a place. For that matter, I could buy it, but why do that when I wasn’t even sure I wanted to stay in Houston. It was then that I thought of Quinn.

Mandy didn’t just want the house. She wanted half of what I’d made...over the nine-year period we’d been together. Fuck that. The bitch had cheated...was still cheating. She wasn’t getting a dime from me, not if I had anything to say about it. This is where Bobby came in.

“I’m onto something, but I need total confirmation before discussing it with you,” he explained.

“Will it get me out of this mess without going broke?” I asked.

“If it pans out, it will,” he answered.

“Do what you have to.”

As I disconnected the call, I wondered, for the trillionth time, how it had come to this? A year ago, I was happily married. Our life wasn’t perfect but it was good. How did we end up here? I thought back to when I first set eyes on Mandy James...

In the fall of my Sophomore year in high school, my buddies and I formed a band. When we weren’t at school, we spent every available minute practicing. By our junior year we had a pretty decent following. This was when I landed on Mandy James’s radar. Mandy was a year older and queen of the popular scene. With her long dark hair and firm little body, she was every jock’s wet dream. She was also prim, proper, perfect...and not for me. We were like oil and water, two opposing forces. I was a rebel. She was a do-gooder. I bucked the system. She figured out how to manipulate it. Even though we didn’t match up, she wanted me and I wasn’t smart enough to refuse her.

Like most high school romances, it happened fast. One minute she was talking to me in the hallway and the next we were making out behind the gym. Our relationship didn’t progress past second base until the weekend that our drummer, Dave’s, parents left town and he decided to throw a party. Stoned out of our heads, we thought it would be cool to give an impromptu concert. While attempting to conquer Dave’s nine-hundred-year-old piano, I belted out the lyrics to “Smoke on the Water.” It was both epic and awful. Awful in that it sucked ass and epic because it got me laid by the one and only, Mandy James, who’d just so happened to show up drunk with three of her friends. Evidently, my mad piano skills were the key to her magic kingdom. Who cared if she was shallow and we had nothing in common? The girl was a fucking rock star in bed.

Mandy and I were together until the summer after my senior year, when I decided I was too cool to be in a committed relationship. I was college bound and there was pussy to be had. I was ready to take back my freedom. In a dick move, I showed up at Mandy’s house one afternoon and told her it was over. She cried, I consoled her, and that was that. If only it had stayed that way...

As I pulled onto the mile-long drive that led to the Kinley Estate, I mulled over my conversation with Bobby and found myself thinking about the day I discovered Mandy was cheating...

The final morning of the tour, the band had one last breakfast together. Regardless of the three-month shit storm we’d just been through, everyone seemed in good spirits. Sean was dead but Olivia, thank God, was okay. Marcy’s betrayal hit hard, but it was nothing compared to what Sean had done to Chaz and Olivia...to us all. At the end of the day, Meltdown was as united as ever, which made walking away one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do. No one came right out and said it was over, but we all felt it. At least, I did. For a moment in time, I’d been one of the guys. I’d gotten the chance to live my dream. Now it was time to go home and take care of my responsibilities—responsibilities I’d neglected for far too long. I wasn’t the only one walking away. Grant was going home to take care of his pregnant wife, while Nash and Rowan were going home to plan their wedding. Chaz and Olivia were going to visit Chaz’s mother before heading back to New York and I was flying home to Houston. It had been hard keeping the news from Mandy, but I wanted...no, I needed, for it to be a surprise. After I was home on Christmas break, we’d grown closer. I wasn’t kidding myself. We still had a hell of a lot of work to do, but at least we were together, united, and willing to fight for the life we’d built. A life I’d almost thrown away.

My phone rang in the middle of breakfast. “Excuse me,” I said to the table. On the way out the door, I checked the screen. Smiling, I swiped my finger to answer, “Jonas, you fucker, what the hell’s up?”

“I’m kicking my own ass for not taking you up on those free tickets,” he grumbled. Damn, it was good to hear his voice. I’d made a million acquaintances along the way, but there were few people I could actually call my friends. My high school bandmates, Jonas and Dave, were definitely two of those.

“So...you called to bitch?” He laughed.

“How much longer is the tour?” he asked.

“It’s over, man.”

“Seriously?” He sounded surprised.

“Yep, the band is taking a break. Honestly, I’m ready for it.” I didn’t bother to tell him it was for good. There would be plenty of time for that later.

“Hey, man, that’s great. I know we don’t live in the same town anymore, but Dallas isn’t that far away. We’ve got a spare bedroom if you need a place to stay.”

Finding his statement odd, I asked, “Why would I need a place to stay?”

“Well, with things the way they are with you and Mandy, I just thought...” His voice trailed off into silence. His words and the tone in which they were delivered caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand at attention.

“Exactly how are things with me and Mandy?” I asked, starting to feel uneasy. When all I got was silence on the other end, I repeated, “How are things with me and Mandy, Jonas?”

“Awww, fuuuuuck” he groaned, and the feeling of unease morphed into a tight band of apprehension.

“Talk,” I ordered as the band wrapped around my lungs and began to cut off my air.

“Shit, man. Okay, okay,” he chanted as if trying to gather courage. For some strange reason the conversation I had with my brother over Christmas popped into my head. I dropped my eyes to the carpeted floor. I knew what he was going to say.

“Some buddies of mine were playing at the Roundabout in Houston a few weekends back. You know, the place that used to be The Old Tavern. Anyway, I took Livy to see them and—” he paused.

“You saw Mandy,” I finished for him.

“We did.” Livy was Jonas’s wife. Jonas and I wanted Livy and Mandy to be friends but neither of them had embraced the idea.

“You’re sure it was Mandy?” I asked, thinking that maybe he’d seen someone who looked like my wife.

“Livy and I both agree that it was definitely Mandy. Look, we knew you two were having problems. When we saw her, I just assumed you’d called it quits. In fact, that’s why I’m calling today. I wanted to check in and see how you were doing.”

“Did you recognize the guy?” I asked, while trying not to choke on the giant fucking knot in my throat.

“No. Neither of us had ever seen him before.”

“And you’re sure they were together?”

“God, I can’t believe this is happening. I’m so damn sorry,” he stammered.

“Hey, man, none of this is your fault. I would have thought the same. Listen, I’ve got to run. I’ll catch up with you once I’m back in town.” Before he could reply, I disconnected the call. Then, tossing my phone onto the nearest table, I collapsed onto the chair, lowered my elbows to my knees, and dropped my head to my hands. My wife was cheating on me. I’d just bought her a house. The thought that she was nailing some dude behind my back and that she’d lied to my face about it, was just so...wrong. So unbelievably beyond fucked up. I couldn’t even begin to wrap my brain around it. The Mandy I knew could hold a mean grudge, but would she really cheat on me? A noise caught my attention. Lifting my head, I noticed Bobby standing in the doorway.

“You okay?” he asked. Bobby was one impressive dude. Hell, LASH as a whole was impressive, but especially Bobby.

“I thought you took off,” I muttered, deflecting his question.

“Cas left this morning, but I still had some stuff to cover with Chaz and Olivia. I’m heading to the airport in a little while. I just wanted to stop by and say goodbye.” Chaz had been through hell. The fact that he was making plans with his girlfriend and not cowering in a corner somewhere was a testament to his strength. Bobby stared at me for a long moment before asking, “You sure you’re okay?” I was on the verge of blowing him off but something made me change my mind.

“I think my wife is cheating on me.” His eyes widened in surprise. Clearly this wasn’t what he expected me to say.

“What makes you think that?” he asked in his matter of fact way.

“Some friends of mine saw her out with...another guy,” I barely managed to get out.

“Want me to look into it?” My eyes snapped to his. Did I want him to look into it? Did I really want to know?

“This is so fucked up,” I whispered.

“But you need to know,” he responded for me.

Yes, I needed to know...

Jonas had tried to reach out after that, but I wasn’t ready to talk. I should give him a call, I thought as I pulled into the main drive. One of Quinn’s three cats greeted me as I stepped from the car. With a light “Meow” and a leg rub, she followed me up the steps and onto the porch.

“Quinn told me not to feed you, little pussy,” I murmured, smiling at my play on words. Whether Quinn agreed with me or not, I knew I was a funny guy. I would be even funnier when I was finally rid of my ball and chain. I never looked at marriage that way. I always thought of it as more of a union. A “together we stand, united we fall” kind of thing. I’d fallen alright.

After unlocking the door, I told the cat to stay. These cats are ratters. Quinn had said. They may look domesticated, but don’t let them fool you. They have wicked claws and are outside animals only.

“Meeeeeeowwwww,” kitty responded as I made my way inside. My parents were too sophisticated for pets. Elaine came home once with a baby kitten and my father made her give it to the maid. She cried for weeks. No wonder we were all so fucked up.

I glanced at the Kinley family photos on the way up the stairs. Quinn favored her father but she had her mother’s eyes. The Kinley’s were a nice-looking family. Then again, so were the Walkers. Behind every picture was a story. Some good. Some bad. All of ours were fake. Fake smiles. Fake happiness. Fake life.

My room faced the back of the house, while Quinn’s faced the front. The two were divided by three other bedrooms and a large sitting area in the middle. I was curious about Quinn’s room but snooping wasn’t my style. Tomorrow my piano would arrive. Tonight, I would have to settle for second best.

After a quick change of clothes, I snagged my guitar from the stand. Then I headed down the back stairs to the pool house. I wanted to make sure the acoustics sounded as good as I’d claimed.

In the middle of playing a song Chaz and I wrote together, I heard the sliding glass door open.

“Playing in the dark?” Quinn’s sultry voice bounced off the walls and hit me right where it counted. Yep, the acoustics were just fine. I paused long enough to take her in and noticed the bottles of beer in her hands. “I didn’t know you played guitar.” Her excited tone made me smile.

“I can do a lot of things,” I replied, wondering if she’d catch the double meaning.

“I bet you can.” Her dry comeback made me laugh. She’d caught it, alright. She held up one of the two beers, and with a challenging expression on her pretty little face, said, “I’ll trade you a song for a sip.” Damn, this woman was potent.

Reaching out my free hand, I grabbed the empty chair from beside me and dragged it around to face me.

Nodding to the chair, I told her, “If I’m only sipping, that could be a lot of songs.”

With that electric smile on her face, she settled onto the chair. “I’m up for the challenge, if you are.” Damn, but I did like a good challenge.

“Okay, but only if I get to choose every other song.” There was only so much country music I could take.

“Deal,” she said, handing me the beer.

Taking a swallow, I asked, “What do you want to hear first?”

“How about ‘You Never Even Called Me by My Name?’” Shit. I knew the song, but couldn’t she pick something a little more current?

“Wow, talk about old school. David Allen Coe’s got to be at least a hundred and fifty years old by now,” I teased.

Her smile faded into a shrug, and I thought, Damn, Evan. Why don’t you ruin it before it even begins, you dumb ass. Out of the blue, a fleeting thought skittered across my mind. Was this why Mandy wanted out? Did I ruin all the fun for her? Then I realized what I was doing...again. The why of it no longer mattered. Instead of working through our problems, she’d cheated her way out, and because of that, she’d cheated me. So why was I still beating myself up about it?

“It was a favorite of my dad’s. You don’t have to play it.” Quinn’s murmured response snapped me back to the moment at hand. The sadness behind her confession felt like a punch to the gut and I suddenly had the desire to take it from her. To ease her pain in any way I could.

“For your dad,” I said, and with a nod of my head, I started playing. The look of awe on her face was priceless. In all the years I’d been with Mandy, she’d never asked me to play for her and I’d never offered. Yet, across from me sat this wild-haired woman who I’d known all of three seconds and she’d already gotten to the soul of me.

Quinn’s eyes widened in surprise when I started singing the first verse. By the time I hit the second verse, she was singing along with me. Neither of us knew the rest, so we just made up the words.

“Oh my God! That was so fun and amazing!” she exclaimed when the song was over. Sadness banished, I thought.

Winking at her, I asked, “What? You assumed it was all about the looks?”

“Yeah, that’s it,” she shot back at me and we both laughed.

I took another swallow of beer and smiled. “My turn. I heard this on the radio a few days ago and it made me think of you.” I didn’t tell her I’d spent three hours learning it. Some things were meant to be kept secret. I had a lot of those. With my eyes glued to hers, I began to play the Revivalists “Wish I Knew You.” I didn’t expect her to know the song. To my surprise, she joined in on the first verse. Pretty soon, we were on our feet—me singing and playing and Quinn dancing circles around me while chiming in on the chorus.

Her next song choice was Sam Hunt’s “House Party” and I followed it with a dumbed down version of Meltdown’s “Avalanche.” After that, it was a free for all—her shouting out songs for me to play and me surprising her with a few of my favorites. A little after four in the morning, we decided to call it quits.

“Why aren’t you the lead singer in your own band?” she asked on our way up to the house. “I mean, no offense, but I think you’re a far better singer than Grant Hardy.” Oh, the power those words could wield. Quinn’s hit hard and burrowed deep, straight through the hurt and the heartache, until they reached the heart of me.

“I’ll tell Grant you said so,” I teased, while still trying to catch my breath from her comment.

“Don’t you dare,” she laughed. When we reached the top of the stairs, she turned and hit me with that smile. “Thanks, Evan. I really needed this tonight.”

The urge to pull her in, to show her what this night and her kind words meant to me, to taste her, overwhelmed me to the point of almost doing something we would both regret.

“Goodnight, Quinn,” I managed to say. Before she could respond, I was through my bedroom door.

“Goodnight,” I heard her say as the door closed between us.

“Shit,” I whispered to the empty room.