But best of all…she hadn’t been wearing a bra. I had no clue if she knew…or if she’d shown up braless on purpose. She wouldn’t be the first. But those nipples had been pointed dead at me. Headlights on high. And they’d stayed pointed even when she got heated up. If she could, she might’ve fired bullets through them.
Weirdly enough, I wanted to continue teasing her. The fury in her eyes and the color in her cheeks had sparked something in my gut, and I hadn’t felt so hot and alive in years.
I didn’t understand it. Out on tour I’d had my absolute fill of crazy, delusional women who thrived on drama, and I avoided them the way Superman avoids kryptonite. But somehow I was drawn to Emily.
My burnout must be worse than I thought.
I started back toward the drums, but my phone went off, playing Darth Vader’s theme from Star Wars. Miriam’s ringtone, chosen because Vader was her favorite character.
“Hey, Mir,” I said, and parked my butt in a lounger. I’d bought it for Grandma, and she’d told me it was the best thing ever. As the soft cushions molded to my body, I couldn’t bring myself to disagree.
“Hey, just calling to see how you’re doing. All settled in?” Her voice was chirpy.
“Sort of. A little tired. Just got here yesterday.”
She made a small sympathetic noise. “The tour must’ve been exhausting.”
“God, yes. You have no idea.”
I couldn’t shake off how I’d just…collapsed after my last concert. Like a puppet with its strings cut. I’d gotten an IV at a local hospital and braved a long, horrific flight, trapped in a death tube thirty thousand feet above ground, to spend two weeks in an overwater bungalow in Bora Bora at my band mate Max’s suggestion.
“Nothing clears your head and recharges your soul like sea and solitude,” he’d said. It was an amazing show of love, since he generally avoided that many syllables if he could. Except it hadn’t helped, which was why I was now in Kingstree to recover.
“So you gonna take it easy there for a while?” Mir asked.
“Yeah. Relax. Recharge.” I needed it badly. My creative well was drier than a handful of Saharan sand. Not even drumming had helped.
“And enjoy the local delicacies,” she said wistfully. She lived in Alexandria and worked in D.C. Too far to drive for ice cream and beer.
“I wish,” I said morosely.
“You wish? Why? You were grumbling about missing them while on tour.”
“Some witch cleaned the store out. You might’ve met her. Emily, Grandma’s next-door neighbor?”
I hadn’t run into her the last time I was in town, to bury Grandma. Even if I had, I probably wouldn’t remember. Everything was such a haze. And I’d started the new tour soon after. My band mates had told me to take it easy, even cancel the tour. The fans would understand. They knew we weren’t machines, but people with hearts and souls.
And they were right. I’d received an outpouring of support and love from our fans. They’d posted countless messages on social media, expressing condolences. And many of them had sent letters and email.
I’d chosen not to cancel and done the tour. The decision had nothing to do with my sense of obligation to our fans or greed or whatever else the media had said. It was that Grandma had been so proud of what I’d accomplished on my own. I wasn’t living off the trust my parents left me and Mir. She’d said I was bringing joy to people with my music…that what I was doing was worth something. She wouldn’t have wanted me to stop, especially not on her account. The tour had been my farewell to her—my pillar of strength, my guiding light, always giving a loving hug when I needed it and the whupping I deserved every time I acted like a dick.
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Mir said. “I don’t think she was in town when we were in Kingstree after Grandma passed away.” She hadn’t been back since. She’d been busy cleaning up and going through things in the Virginia Beach cottage Grandma had left her. Once that was done, Mir didn’t want to intrude on the house in Kingstree that Grandma had willed to me.
“Grandma said she was a lady,” I said. “Remember that?”
“Um…yeah. She was really complimentary.”
I told Mir all about what had happened at Sunny’s. The weird tic and the sweaty, filthy clothes and the teeth baring and the wild mutterings about Molly and Ryan.
“Molly and Ryan? Banging each other? Whaaaat?” Mir said. “That’s crazy.” She paused. “And kind of disgusting.”
“Right? That woman isn’t a lady. She’s a loon.”
“Then why was Grandma so taken with her?”
“Probably got taken,” I said, still peeved about the ice cream. And the beer. Emily had some nerve coming over smelling like Hop Hop Hooray.
“Yeah, but she was such a great judge of character. I just can’t believe she got this one wrong.”
“Everyone makes the occasional mistake.” I sighed. Damn, I missed Grandma, no matter what she thought of my neighbor.
Mir made a small sympathetic noise in her throat. “I miss her too, Killian.”
“Yeah.”
“I hate to cut this short, but I have a meeting in five and need to get going. Chat later?”
“Sure.”
“Welcome back to the States. And Kingstree.”
“Thanks.”
We hung up, and I looked around the living room. The soft white and green muslin curtains. The worn but comfortable fabric sofa with the sage and gold floral pattern Grandma had loved so much. Purple and pink butterflies fluttering away as a black cat chased them—all carefully and lovingly stenciled on white walls.
I should change things up at some point, I thought. This was all Grandma, not me. But right now, I didn’t want to touch anything. This place looked and felt more like home than any of the swanky hotels I’d stayed in.
I went back to the drums and start banging away at Axelrod’s top hits, while praying something new would pop up and inspire me.
Chapter Six
Killian
The next three days passed peacefully. The loony ice cream and beer bandit next door didn’t bother me again, and I drummed away to my heart’s content, even though it didn’t do a thing to get my creative juices flowing again. I didn’t understand how that could be. When the stunning vistas of Bora Bora had failed, I chalked it up to not having my instruments. Wouldn’t I be more inspired with some well-worn drumsticks in my hands?
Of course, I didn’t just drum. I was Axelrod’s lead vocalist and guitarist, as well as occasional keyboardist when our songs called for it. So I also played electric guitar and Grandma’s old piano, just for variety. And to keep my skills up.
But I always went back to the drums. I loved drumming. If Dev wasn’t better at it than me, I would’ve been the band’s drummer. There was an explosive, physical satisfaction to percussion I couldn’t get from other instruments.
Unfortunately, Bouncing Cows and Hop Hop Hooray didn’t produce any more ice cream and beer during those three days. Not even Sunny Zimmerman, the owner of Sunny’s Mart, knew when there would be more.
“Sorry, Killian, I wish I did. You aren’t the only one asking,” Sunny said, her slight drawl a vestige of her Houston roots.