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Madison shook her head.
“He’s not all bad,” he said.
“Just ninety-nine percent of him,” Owen added with a laugh.
“I don’t want her to meet him,” Adam said.
“Why not?” Jacob asked.
Adam shrugged, but he knew why. He didn’t want her to look at the train wreck that was his father and realize Adam hadn’t fallen far from the tree.
By the time they finished their meal and collected a to-go order that cleaned out the food shack’s entire inventory of crawdads, it was too late to relax in the hotel before the show. Adam and Madison followed Jacob and Owen back to the venue. As far as Adam was concerned, he could ride his bike for eternity an
d ignore all the weights that dragged him down, but he had to learn to cope with real life. Had to cope even if his first instinct was to use drugs to make his problems go away—Madison had showed him that drugs only made his problems worse, he’d just been too high to recognize the truth of that—and his second instinct was to run from them by avoiding them. He was still working on how to get over the tendency toward avoidance.
He left the bike behind the bus and helped Madison climb off.
“My luggage is at the hotel, isn’t it?”
“Did you need something out of it? I don’t have time to go with you, but we can send you over in a cab. Unless you want to take the bike out on your own.”
She appraised the motorcycle as if she were actually contemplating climbing back on, but ultimately she shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ll just change back into the clothes I wore on the plane. I’m sweltering in this leather.”
That was unfortunate, because she looked fantastic in her new outfit. But Adam wanted her to be comfortable, so he patted her butt and sent her up the bus steps with her sack of old clothes.
Owen headed toward the venue with the food. The guy loved doing nice things for people and really loved taking all the credit for his random acts. Jacob headed onto the bus with Adam behind him. Jacob pulled a beer from the fridge and twisted off the cap.
“So how did the song writing go this afternoon?” Jacob asked, drawing on his beer.
Adam’s stomach dropped, and he immediately bristled. “Fine,” he said. Which was an outright lie. He hadn’t written a thing all afternoon. Hell, he hadn’t written a thing since he’d gotten clean. He tried, but nothing gelled. He could sit there with his guitar in his hands for an hour and produce nothing but a scale. Stare at a blank sheet of paper for twice as long and write a single word. The. All of his lyrics started with “the” these days, and every song went nowhere from there. Maybe he should try starting with “a” or “when.”
“So you wrote something?” Jacob pressed.
“Yeah.” No, no I didn’t write a damn thing. Shit. Why did he always lie to cover his weaknesses? But if he could come up with some new lyrics quickly, Jacob would never know he hadn’t written them earlier that day.
“Is it good?”
“Of course it’s good.”
“I’d like to hear it,” Jacob said.
So would I. “I’d rather surprise you,” Adam said.
“Is it in your notebook under your mattress?” Jacob straightened from the counter he was leaning against and headed toward Adam’s bunk. “Let’s see it.”
Adam charged between the man and his bunk. “You’ll see it when I’m ready for you to see it.”
“Just be straight with me, Adam. You’re not as good a liar as you think you are.”
Adam’s jaw hardened. He didn’t like to be called a liar, even when it was true. He knew he had to get out of the habit of trying to cover for himself, but it had become a pattern when he’d been trashed all the time, and he couldn’t seem to break it.
“I didn’t write much,” he amended. “Or anything,” he added, when Jacob continued to stare at him eagerly.
Jacob nodded. “I kind of figured that,” he said. “So what’s the problem?”
“I dunno.” Adam shook his head. He kind of did know. Maybe. “I think . . . I think maybe I’m too happy.”
Jacob gave him a strange look. “Huh?”
“The music always came from the darkest part of me. It was a balm to my miserable soul, and now that I’m not miserable . . .” Adam held his palms in front of himself, lifted his shoulders and shook his head.
“Do you want me to make you miserable? I’m probably up for the task.” Jacob chuckled.
“I don’t know. If it would help. I don’t want to let you down. Or the band. The fans. If I have to be miserable to make music, then do your worst.”
Jacob lifted a fist. Adam stiffened, preparing for the blow that was sure to rattle his teeth.
Jacob pounded Adam’s shoulder cordially. “It will come, just give it time. I still think you should talk to Kellen’s chick. She composes. She might have some pointers for you.”
Adam scowled at Jacob. “She composes classical music. Entirely different.”
“Not entirely different,” Jacob said. “It’s music. She has to have an ear for various instruments to come up with harmonies and crescendos and all that stuff.”
“But I start with lyrics. I always have. The words are a story I add music too. No story, no music. You know that.”
“Maybe it’s time for a change.”
Adam hated to admit that Jacob might be right, so he didn’t respond with anything more than a shrug.
“And maybe it’s time to let the rest of us write some music,” Jacob added. “You aren’t the only one in this band with talent, you know.” He winked.
If he lost his tenuous hold on being the primary songwriter for Sole Regret, Adam really would feel replaceable. The reason the guys put up with him through his struggles with addiction was because he was the main creative engine for the band. He had to show them all that their patience had been worth the trouble.
“I’ll work on some stuff this weekend,” he said.
Jacob opened his mouth but then shut it again. He nodded instead. “Can’t wait to see what you come up with.”
Adam kind of wished Jacob would give him a little grief. Give him something to be pissed about or depressed about. Adam drew on emotion for his work and if his life continued to be sunshiny and easy, he’d soon be writing songs about kittens and pixies with glitter shooting out of their asses.
Madison came out of the bathroom in her loose denim skirt and plaid shirt. She’d carefully folded her leather and had it cradled into her chest.
“That’s better,” she said. “I thought I was going to sweat myself into a coma.”
“Adding that to my list of things I don’t need to know,” Jacob said and tugged his sunglasses out of the neckband of his shirt. Before he left the bus, he said, “I still think you should talk to what’s her face.”
“Dawn?” Adam said. Her name was easy to remember because she had hair that reminded him of a sunrise.
Ugh. There he went with the happy thoughts again.
“Yeah, her.”
Once he and Madison were alone, she turned to him. “Dawn?”
“Some girl Kellen met and is currently mooning over.”
“Oh. Is she pretty?”
Was that a hint of jealousy in her tone? He smiled. Madison had nothing to worry about in that regard. She was the only woman he wanted.
“Yeah. So?”
“Why does Jacob think you should talk to her?”
“She’s a composer. He thinks she might be able to help me with my writer’s block.”
“You have writer’s block? You never told me that.”
He shrugged. “I didn’t think it would interest you.”
She set her clothes on the table and wrapped her arms around his neck. She stared up into his eyes and said, “Of course it interests me. Everything you do interests me. I love you. I’m here to support you whenever you need me.”
He stroked her hair from her upturned face and searched her eyes. He had never had anyone available for him in the capacity she offered. Her devotion delighted him and at the same time terrified him. She was too good for him. He didn’t deserve her. But his heart didn’t care. It gladly accepted all she gave him and was greedy for more.
When he kissed her, he didn’t mean for his passion to escalate, but as always, the heat between them burned intensely. She pressed more firmly against his body, and he instantly ignited, his kiss deepening, his hands sliding down her back to draw her closer.
He pulled his mouth from hers and turned her to face the opposite direction. His fingers dug into her hips to pull her
