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And with that, his toxic ass waltzes out the door, looking back at me with a manic, knowing grin.
What the hell did I just do?
"Whythetears,RiverBlue?" I murmur, rage brewing through my veins at the sight of her shaking shoulders.
My fingers curl when her big, moss-green eyes look up at me, glistening with tears. We had just met up on the hill behind the apartment complex—our daily meeting spot.
"Stupid Stacey again," she says, clenching her fists tightly together. One day, I'll show my girl how to use those fists against everyone who decides to put their hands on her.
"You want me to take care of Stacey?" I ask in a low voice as violent images roar through my mind. I'll rip that girl's head off. I don't care if she's in first grade and I'm in third.
"No." Her answer is simple and to the point, like she always is.
I scrub a hand down my face when I waltz out the bar's back door and head down the dark alleyway toward the SUV parked in the back. A faint sense of nostalgia hits me hard as I make my way through the shadows of the night. Being back on this side of town brings so many emotions flooding the surface, even if I fight them off at every turn. For as long as I can remember, I’ve lived on the greener side of town, never venturing into the dark stain of Central City–where I grew up. It’s a vague memory nestled in the back of my mind. One I had forgotten for many years. After losing a piece of myself here when I had to leave her behind, I shoved the memories into my deepest, darkest part and incinerated them for eternity.
After my mother moved us away from the only place I had ever known, that’s when my real nightmare began. Each night I sat and cried, longing for the girl under the stars talking to the man on the moon. But I was stuck, beaten down, and verbally harassed by the new man in my mother’s life–my stepfather, Nigel Montgomery.
At ten years old, I could only handle so much. There comes a time when the beatings become too much, and you stop longing for the one person you crave. Instead, locking the happy memories away until they fade into nothing more than a vague idea.
Now, the memories pour through my mind like a dam bursting open and flooding my every waking thought. Flashes of River’s long brown hair lay past her shoulders and flowed down her back. Those moss-green eyes glared at me when I entered her office, and the pinched look she gave me. Her delicate nose. Those dark eyelashes brushed against her freckled cheeks as her eyes hooded from lust. River Blue, the girl from my old life. The one girl I swore I'd never think about again. Or see again. The girl I forced myself to forget. River Blue was always River Blue to me, never River West. Fuck. I should have read the damn emails Callum wrote to the manager of this place. If I had just seen her name, I could have told them who she was to me–and now, to us.
But now, she's all I can think about as I make the walk of shame toward my friends. Shit. Heat burns my cheeks when I open the driver's door and sit without looking around.
“Oh! There he is! The man of the hour!” Rad whoops from the backseat, obnoxiously pounding his fist into the roof of my Tahoe, making it bounce on its wheels.
I grunt, starting up the SUV, and proceed to the mouth of the alley, waiting for the crowded sidewalks to thin. Leaning back, I stare at the boys and idle the car.
For once, Gloria—the woman who begs me to call her mother—became reasonable when I asked for a larger car. In her eyes, it was a status symbol for the pot of gold at the end of our fucking suburban rainbow.
For me, though? It was a place to store and transport our instruments and the amps we’d bought ourselves over the years. Whatever we got from gigs went straight into our band’s bank account so we could afford new instruments, strings, picks, and sticks. We can provide whatever we need without running to someone for a loan. This band will be entirely ours, and I don’t want Gloria’s money tainting any of it. I’ve built this with my hands alongside the guys.
“You good?” Callum asks in his usual short words from the backseat, nervously averting his eyes.
Sweat sticks to every inch of the curly blonde hair currently plastered to his forehead. His tired eyes watch out the window, taking in the passing patrons lazily walking down the sidewalks at two a.m.
"I read on Spaceface last night that there have been three attacks in the alleyways in the past three weeks, each getting progressively more violent," Callum mutters to the window, worrying his lip until his worry-filled eyes meet mine.
I raise a brow, turning to look at Callum, and shake my head. I'd hate to have a talent like Callum’s, where everything he sees, he stores in his head without effort. Some would kill for a photographic memory, but the cons greatly outweigh the pros. Every event—good or bad, stays with him for the rest of his life. Some would call it a gift, but Callum sees it as the ultimate curse. Especially after what he witnessed with his parents. And God, Jenny. He lost them all, and the only ounce he has left of them is the house he lives in and the enormous trust they left in his name, with stipulations that he lives there for two years before even thinking about selling or moving away from the house that brings him nothing but nightmares. Imagine walking through the halls of your family home and seeing the ghosts of your past staring back at you. I know he’s been counting down the days until he can cash in and move on–only five more months.
His gaze drifts up and down the bar, calculations running rampant through his genius, photographic mind. Ignoring us, he puts his earbuds back in and closes his eyes, peace washing over him. Whatever he's listening to drowns out his worries and settles his soul, but most of all, it takes away the memories of the worst night of his life. There's something about music that lifts us and connects us—whether we're making it or listening to it.
My fingers tighten on the damn steering wheel again until my knuckles turn white, but I offer him a cocky grin—one I don't feel. River fucking Blue. My River is the person we were after this whole time.
“You all should know you guys stood there the whole time,” I quip, glaring at Rad through the rearview mirror. He grins back at me and nods, giving me a look.
My stepbrother, Asher, snorts from the passenger seat. “Yeah, it seems like you had a fun time. But did you find what we were looking for?” He raises a brow, turning to examine my face.
Swiping away some of his unruly brown locks, his eyes hone in on the lump I swallow, showcasing my fucking nerves. My dear, stuck-up stepbrother is all business—all the damn time. He never lets up with his serious scowls, grunts, and whatever the fuck is going through his engorged head. He's intelligent, manipulative, and incorrigible at times—AKA—every fucking second he’s awake.
His eyes narrow in at me, and I blow out a breath, jerking the car into drive. There's no simple answer for what he wants.
Did I find answers? Unexpectedly, yes. Do I want to do this song and dance with him? No. Yes? Fuck. All I had to do was ask the manager to speak with the man we were emailing from before to get a glimpse of the person we needed in our pocket—River West.
My River Blue. And now it's gone to shit. Total fucking shit. I'm a mean ass bastard, but I still have a fucking heart—sometimes.
But if I think about it, it's only ever beaten for her. The only person who calmed my rage and swallowed my sadness, all at the same time. Fuck. How did I live my life without her for so long? And how could I have forgotten those big, moss-green eyes?
This could be our opportunity. Her being her, we could use that as our in with West Records or her brothers. She's a goddamn West daughter to the man who could sign us to an epic record deal. Having her in our back pocket could be priceless, especially when our goal is to blow out of this town and become rich and famous. The music industry is all about who you know; that person is River West. Her name could get us into any venue on the West coast. No questions asked.
