How could I blame Jack, Leila, or any of them for treating me like a child? I’d hurt them, and I’d made it my one and only purpose to try to never let them down again.
“Oh, wife of mine!”
“Uh-oh,” Leila said as Jack trotted over while laughing his ass off.
“We are in need of an ice pack.”
“What happened?”
“Hunter took a shot to the nuts.” We followed his sight line to where Hunter was doubled over as Scott and Leila’s brother, Evan, laughed their asses off while the rest of the soccer game went on around them.
“It’s a good thing his balls aren’t needed to successfully play the drums,” I said, causing Jack to laugh harder as Leila smacked me. “Oh, come on, Little Lair. That was funny.”
In typical fashion, she again rolled her eyes just before reaching over and taking my hand. “I’m glad you’re here, Trey.”
“Like you ever gave me a choice.”
Chapter 2
Trey
Come Monday morning, I couldn’t help the smile that spread as I watched the DVD of the first Devil’s Lair performance after Leila joined the band. Lately I’d been starting my day watching those concert clips to remind me of the man I once was. It also helped me remember the connections I had to those who loved me. Sad that I needed reminders at all.
My gaze fixated on the cocky smart-ass on stage, dark shades in place, black T-shirt, black jeans, black boots. The only colors found on me were from all the tattoos that the spotlight accentuated when it skimmed over them.
I could always make that bass guitar come to life with little effort. As an extension of me, it was my tool for seduction, and I used its full potential.
The camera angles changed, focusing on Jack as he sang front and center for a few long minutes. The shot then flipped to Leila on keyboards, Hunter on drums, Scott on guitar, and finally back to me. That predictable surge of hunger that playing live on stage always created intensified as the camera swept over so many faces mouthing the words, screaming their appreciation. Chants of my name, or Jack’s, could be heard despite the loud music. Occasionally a faint Hunter or Scott would audibly filter through the thick air.
I smirked when girls reached for Jack’s leg in a futile attempt to connect with their fantasy as his dimpled grin spread when he looked back to witness Leila’s exasperated reaction.
That tour seemed like a lifetime ago. In actuality it was, because what I had experienced since then, both in tragedy and triumph, most people would never get a taste of in their lives.
We all looked so young, so clueless. Yet even before we hit fame, we had it in spades. That it factor was what made us rock stars. Anyone with a brain could see during that first show of our first tour it was only a matter of time before the world caught on.
Back then I had no fucks to give when it came to emotions. The guys let me be, let me come and go as I pleased, and those parameters suited me just fine.
It allowed me to act the role of a promiscuous rock star. I was able to coast through my fame while reaping the monetary benefits. I was able to connect with a woman on my terms through meaningless encounters. I was able to control my heart in the same way.
The truth was, love caught up with me. Once it did, I gorged on the way it made me feel, and now that it was gone, I was lonely as fuck. Yet I’d rather that than to experience any more debilitating heartbreak. If I could’ve gone one further, I’d rather not have loved at all. Having a lonely heart was most definitely the lesser of two evils over having a ruined one.
A buzzing from the intercom interrupted my thoughts. Right on time, as usual. I shut the TV off and grabbed my guitar case before making my way down to the lobby.
“Hello, Mr. Taylor.”
“Morning, Carl. How they hanging?”
The old man’s cheeks reddened at my typical crassness. “Much lower these days, unfortunately.” I grimaced at the TMI, but hey, I asked.
Carl was a good man and took a liking to me when I’d moved in a year ago. As much as I loved my old place, I’d needed out of that tomb of memories. Tara was everywhere, yet nowhere. Her scent was gone, the sound of her laugh no longer echoed between the walls, but there wasn’t an inch of space that didn’t remind me of her.
This place was nice and sterile, free of ghosts.
“Well, have a great day,” I offered. With a warm smile, he dipped his hat before I sauntered out toward the black Escalade idling at the curb.
No sooner had my ass hit the plush leather back seat than Leila turned and handed me a steaming cup of coffee. “Hey,” she said with a brilliant smile.
“Morning, Little Lair.” Jack shifted into drive and pulled into traffic as I added, “Thanks for taking care of me.”
“It’s not morning,” Jack chided. “And you’re like her fifth child.”
“You’re just jealous she likes me better. Don’t I get props for being on time?”
“Yeah, I’m impressed we only had to buzz once,” he grumbled reluctantly. Usually, getting downstairs involved a round of relentless intercom buzzes, a phone call or two, and a threat to beat the shit out of me if I didn’t move my ass.
“Aw, come on. Your average is at least eight or nine attempts. I deserve major props.” When Leila twisted her head to look back at me, I winked.
Although, since Jack and Leila had fired our old agent, Jen Baxter, left our record label, and opened their own production company, our crack-of-dawn meetings had been moved to a much more respectable hour. That bitch had hated me and dragged our asses to the studio at the most ungodly hours just to bust my balls.
Now that she was gone, we were all a lot less cranky. Regarding Jack’s new role as our boss, I didn’t doubt that his newfound patience for me had more to do with my recent meltdown. Every now and again, they all appeared to walk on eggshells when around me. I guessed based on how close they’d come to attending my funeral, they had the right to be cautious.
Using my go-to attempt of adding humor to give them hope that the old Trey wasn’t far, I said, “Hey, Little Lair. What do you call a virgin lying on a waterbed?”
Jack’s eyes found mine in the rearview mirror as I waited for her to concede. “What, Trey?” she said through a sigh.
“A cherry float.”
Jack cracked first, and then his wife followed. “How do you remember all those awful jokes?”
“It’s a gift.”
We fell into a comfortable silence as the traffic reporter droned on, covering all the accidents clogging every bridge and tunnel in and out of the city. The ride to the studio was short. Of course, we were early since Mr. Anal needed to be the first one there. I got that he was now more than just the front man to our band. He and Leila had put a lot of time and money into JLL Productions and had a lot to lose if it failed.
Jack parked in the studio’s underground private lot before the three of us filed into the elevator. The smell of the fresh coat of paint still permeated the air. We’d moved into this location only a few weeks ago. Jack and Leila wanted a building that could hold studios of different sizes, office space for their growing staff, and state-of-the-art security measures to ensure we could all come and go without being detected by the public.