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Nine years ago—Colt family home, Nashville
“Stop waiting for him to call.” Gunner groans, while I slump back on the barstool, staring at my phone lying on the kitchen counter. I stick out my tongue and he does the same before focusing his attention on his magazine. I watch Axl walk around our little apartment, scanning the floor for something, dropping to his knees and peering under Gunner’s seat.
I plop next to him on the couch.
“Ax, what the hell are you doing, man?” Gunn asks.
“I’m looking for my fucking keys,” Axl grits out, reaching under the sofa and coming up with a purple thong.
He flips it against Gunner’s face. That gets a smile from my twin.
“At least try and pretend you don’t fuck your chicks on the couch.” He continues with his search, while Gunner turns a page.
“Disgusting, Gunn.” I drawl, picking up the purple lace and getting it the hell away from me, he grabs the thong from the floor and pushes it down in his pocket with a sly smile.
“Gross,” I tell him.
“You’re gross,” he counters, his eyes wide with glee, and Axl groans as he checks under the kitchen cabinets.
Dad is still downstairs in the studio, obsessing and drooling over his own recording setup. He has taken over from Tom, who is retiring as producer. With Axl being signed to one of the biggest labels around, and Dad having the green light to record him, things are looking up for the first time in a long line of shit shows.
Gunner throws away the magazine he’s been reading with some naked chick on a motorcycle on the cover. He has been hanging around with a group of guys from our old high school who Dad isn’t too happy about. One of them was in jail for a night. Why he doesn’t focus on his Harley and try to stay out of trouble, I have no idea. But then again, trouble follows Gunn wherever he roams.
“I can’t wait to see Rone and Jesse at the Ryman,” Axl says.
Gunner gives me a goofy grin, while I get up to get a glass of water.
“Can’t you guys just chill?” Gunner asks, mischief dancing in his eyes. Like me, he is getting edgy sitting here, doing nothing but waiting for Rone to call.
“Got them,” Axl roars when he finds the car keys hidden under a blanket on the chair.
“Seriously, man, why don’t you use some keychain on your belt or something? Before you know it, you’re going to lose your dick,” Gunner says, laughing his ass off.
Axl throws the couch cushion against his head and within a second, the guys are wrestling.
Dad walks in, yelling over the commotion, “What have I missed?”
I point to the couch and my brothers. Their voices are growing louder and louder. Dad tries to pull them apart but Gunner bellows with laughter when they drag him into the wrestling match. Dad is still a teenager disguised as a forty-something-year-old man and he joins in the fray, laughing and throwing insults around to match.
“Guys, stop it.” I giggle. Yep, anarchy central at the Colt house. When my phone rings, I jump up.
“Ohhh, is that him calling?” Gunner laughs before making kissing sounds that become muffled when Axl takes him in a headlock.
I flip him off and disappear behind the partition of the kitchen.
“Alice, are you there?” Rone rasps, sounding sexy. His deep voice makes my heart flutter.
We’ve spent the last half year talking on the phone every day. When Dad saw my bill, he threatened to pull the plug. After some door slamming on my part and screaming and whining from my brothers when I threatened to stop making them all dinner, Dad conceded.
Since California I have only seen Navarone at the Nashville airport when he had a two-hour layover before heading to New York with Jesse and the band. He started writing songs on the road the last year. He met a couple of guys while touring, and sent me some stuff they had written. They are working with this singer who, if the stories are all true, is a real piece of work. Navarone has also been writing songs with Sterling. They sound great together. I hope he is going to start his own band with his brother. Rone is born to be on stage.
We had never gotten together again after our night in California. Something to do with a promoter that had his dad’s band travel to Europe and Asia before starting the tour in the States.
Sure, we’ve called each other, but I want to see him, feel his lips on mine once more. I want to find out if that night in California had been a dream. I am going to turn eighteen in two days, and I want to spend my birthday with him. I’m pretty sure I am falling in love with him. And I haven’t shaved my legs for nothing, damn it.
“Yeah, I’m here,” I say, my voice breathless. “Can’t wait to see you. I miss you,” I whisper.
“Miss you too, babe.” There’s some muffled talking at the other end of the line. “Your names are on the list and I dropped the backstage passes at the counter. Pack a bag.”
