* * * *
A scrawny ginger cat sat at his doorstep when Nate arrived home. “I knew if I fed Dorito, he would only keep coming back,” Nate grumbled.
He walked up the two front steps and frowned. Christ, now Jade had him calling it by name.
Big copper eyes stared back as he dug the keys out of his pocket. Dorito wound his body around Nate’s legs and meowed.
“If you think you can sweet-talk me into letting you inside for more food, you are mistaken big time, buddy. You don’t have a sexy redhead here to help you out this time.”
Once he had the door unlocked, he didn’t open it fully. He squeezed himself through the small gap so the cat couldn’t squirm his way in, and quickly shut the door behind him.
“Surely he’ll find another sucker to feed him.”
After a quick shower, Nate went into the kitchen to see what he could put together for dinner. When he opened the fridge, he smiled. Fi-Fi had come over sometime during the day and left him a tray of lasagna. But what had made him smile was a note she’d left propped on the dish.
There’s enough for two. Maybe you’d like to share it with your cute teacher. Enjoy.
Love, Fi-Fi.
Nate knew his grandmother would have done some research on Jade. Fi-Fi could be like the FBI and probably had a file thick with information. He shook his head. She meant well. She wanted to see him settled down and happy.
After cutting a slice of lasagna, he heated the meal in the microwave. When it was done, he took the plate to the living room and set it on the couch—the coffee table now firewood. He pulled out an old Cold Revenge vinyl and put it on the record player he’d pulled out of the garage of his grandmother’s house. The rough and raw sounds of electric guitar, bass, and drums filled the room; sounds that as much as Nate tried to emulate, he could never achieve. His dad was a genius in his craft.
As he listened to the scratchy sounds of vinyl—the way music should sound in his opinion—an unmistakable meowing noise came from the front door. Dorito.
Nate turned the volume up to drown out the sound, but as he went to fork a bite of food into his mouth, the meowing only grew louder. Like the cat knew he had to compete with the music.
Sighing, Nate dropped the fork back on the plate. If Jade found out he ignored the stray, she’d be spitting mad and he’d never hear the end of it. He got off the couch, marched to the door, and swung it open. The cat darted in the house like the Flash, jumped on the couch, and scoffed into his pasta.
“Hey! That was my piece.”
There was no chance Dorito was giving up his feast, and Nate had no intention of fighting for it. Going back to the kitchen, he heated another plate of food and ate it standing up. He didn’t want to take any chances of the cat stealing more.
Back in the living room, Dorito had finished his meal and curled up in a corner of the couch, purring like a freight train. He was one content feline and didn’t look like he was going anywhere soon.
Nate left him alone, turned off the record player, and went to work on the songs Mike had emailed him. It was too late to call him in New York to discuss them, so Nate grabbed his laptop from his bedroom and sat gently on the couch next to Dorito, trying not to disturb him. What the hell! He was worried about waking the fleabag now?
Opening his laptop, he pulled up the email. You’d think he’d just opened a can of tuna because Dorito’s eyes flew open. He stretched, pushed himself under Nate’s arm, and made himself comfortable on his lap. The cat closed his eyes, tucked his face under a paw, and the loud purring started again.
For a moment Nate sat stunned with his computer sitting precariously on his knees. How was he supposed to work with this bag of bones on his lap?
He nudged him with a finger. “Move.”
Dorito didn’t bat an eye.
He poked again, this time harder. “I said move.”
No response. As soon as the cat woke up, he was going back outside. And Nate would never feed him again, no matter how loud he meowed.
He shifted so he could reach the keys on the computer and scrolled through Mike’s email. Listed were five new song titles with lyrics. “He’s been busy.”
He skimmed through them, making notes of what he liked and what needed fixing. Then he opened the video Mike also sent. He’d titled the song Stop Calling. Nate watched his drummer and guitarist perform. It was good. Edgy and heavy on guitar. The fans would love it. Much like his father’s music, it had all the rough sounds of a heavy rock band.
“Why don’t I love it?” He rubbed the back of his neck. He’d grown up listening to this style, was taught it the second he was big enough to hold a guitar. The son of Liam Harvey had his father’s passion passed down to him.
Maybe it was too soon after the tour to appreciate what Mike had sent. He was tired. Months of non-stop touring and living two different lives had drained him. He needed the break to recoup and focus on the band and make new music.
He didn’t bother opening any other videos. Instead, his gaze drifted to the guitar leaning against the wall. A strong pull to pick it up and play made him gently shift Dorito and move him on the couch. One eye cracked open to give Nate a dirty look, and then he rolled into a ball.
