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Flight.
Chapter 1
Knox
Itwasn’tsounusualfor me to wake up with a woman in my arms. What was unusual — extremely unusual — was that we were both fully dressed. I popped open an eye to get my bearings. I was crammed on a couch, my neck jammed against the armrest at an ungodly angle, in some unknown flat with a petite brunette on top of me.
My head was fuzzy, but thankfully, not pounding. The night before slowly came back to me. I’d been flirting with this girl — Sharon or was it Karen? — with sensational breasts that were almost too big for her slight frame. She’d heard my accent, the one that always became more prominent the drunker I got, and clung to me like glue for the rest of the night. For her benefit, I might have called her a ‘bonnie lass’ and thrown in a few extra ‘ayes’ and ‘wees’ into the conversation. My Scottish accent never failed to leave a girl’s panties soaked. At least that had been my experience here in America.
At the end of the night, we’d ended up together. We were going at it hot and heavy on the couch, practically sucking each other’s tonsils out, when she’d passed out with her hand down my pants. I never would have fooled around with her if I’d known she was that drunk. Since the party was over, I’d removed her hand from my raging hard-on like a gentleman and fell asleep with a case of blue balls. Not my most successful of nights.
It appeared to be mid-morning, but no one was up yet. I tried again to think back to how I’d gotten here or whose flat I was at, but I couldn’t remember. I’d started the night out partying with Ghost, but he’d disappeared before I’d left the weird nightclub with Sharon.
Ghost was the frontman for our band, Ghost Parker, and I was the lead guitarist. Besides me, he was the only one left who still partied regularly; the others had all fallen over the last 18 months or so. Ryder was married and just had a brand new baby girl with his wife Talia. Sid, our bassist, had just gotten engaged to his girlfriend, Kaylie. Her brother, Bash, our drummer, lived out in the suburbs with his son, Kody. Two years ago, Kody had been abandoned on Bash’s doorstep with a note claiming he was the baby’s father. Bloody hell. If that wasn’t close to a guy’s worst nightmare, I didn’t know what was.
So much had changed, but the guys in Ghost Parker were still my best mates here in America. I’d been living in the U.S. for almost six years already and had been playing with Ghost Parker for nearly five of them. We’d been on the road touring for the last year and a half, and then I had to travel back to Scotland to get my work visa extended. Now, we were all enjoying a much-needed break, while our record label was already making noises for us to get back into the studio.
We’d made a ton of money, mostly thanks to the hit single Sid wrote, so now was the time to enjoy it, but I didn’t know how to do that. Buying a fancy house like two of my bandmates had, or even a penthouse apartment like Sid’s didn’t interest me. I was content in the same flat I’d lived in for years. A luxury getaway sounded appealing, but the band had just spent months traveling all over the world. They wanted to stay in L.A. so they could spend time with their families. Who would I even go with?
We hadn’t been home long, and already I was feeling restless. I needed to be moving. Playing guitar. Keeping busy.
What I really needed was to get out of this flat and away from this girl before she woke up. It was a Saturday morning, but I had no plans. There was no practice with the band today; I had no commitments. Hours of nothing lay ahead of me.
I didn’t enjoy sitting still. It gave me too much time to think.
Last Saturday, I’d spent it with my band family at Bash’s house to celebrate Kody’s second birthday. It was a crazy day, but surprisingly fun. It was great catching up with Ghost Parker’s extended family. Even Josie, the nanny, was there. After Sid found out that he wasn’t Kody’s father — long story — Josie continued to watch Kody until Bash moved into the suburbs.
I’d been surprised to see Josie there, especially on such good terms with Bash. Back when Bash was living on my couch, he used to complain about her all the time. He had some kind of hate-hate relationship going on with her. According to Bash, she was some kind of militant grandma that had taken an instant dislike to him. Now they seemed like good friends.
A surprising feeling of nostalgia washed over me. I thought about the months before we left on tour. At the time, I wanted nothing more than to have my space back to myself, but now it seemed so empty. Before Bash had been living on my couch, Ryder had camped out there for about a month after he sold his house to pay off a loan shark, but he hadn’t been partying every night like an animal. I’m pretty sure Bash had been fucking chicks on my couch and that was just…no.
That should be the first thing on my list of things to do: buy a new couch. Eighteen months had gone by and I hadn’t spent much time in my flat during them. It didn’t feel like much of a home anymore. I shook off my glum thoughts, telling myself that I just needed some more time to get used to being off tour again.
The tour schedule was brutal, but it had kept me busy. The longer I spent aimlessly floating around without focus, the more I felt like the walls were closing in on me. I had to keep moving — then maybe next time I could outrun whatever shite life wanted to fling at me.
Speaking of moving, it was time to split. I slowly maneuvered myself out from underneath the snoring girl on top of me. It wouldn’t be too awkward if she woke up; it wasn’t like we’d done anything, but I didn’t feel like sharing a cab or making small talk with her. She sleepily resettled on the couch while I stretched my aching muscles.
I patted down my pockets, making sure I still had my keys and wallet, found my shoes and baseball cap, and then headed toward the door. I’d let my hair grow longer since the last round of promo photos were taken and I hadn’t shaved since I’d gotten back from Scotland. That and a ball cap were my disguise.
We’d all gotten used to living with mobs of fans always wanting a piece of us, and we’d learned the hard way to follow our security team’s rules while we were on tour. Now at home, we were all having to readjust to new rules. I’d been able to get around without security with various levels of success, depending on where I was and who I was with. Ghost wasn’t having any luck. He stood out like a sore thumb.
I hit the sunny streets outside the apartment building feeling restless as I started my walk of shame. First off, I hadn’t gotten any action last night, so that was pretty shameful. Second, I probably looked as shitty as I felt. I was rocking rumpled clothing, severe bed head (or was it couch head?), lots of itchy hair on my face, and a nasty drool ring on my T-shirt that circled my left nipple, compliments of Sharon. Looking like this, I didn’t think I’d have to worry about anyone recognizing me.
My first order of business was to get some food; I was starving. A cup of coffee would help clear my head. Then I’d figure out where the fuck I was and get the hell home so I could play some guitar. I began scanning the shops, looking for sustenance as I walked down the sidewalk.
I walked about a block when I noticed a line of people spilling out the door of a shop across the street. The sign read Underground Coffee Bar. Good enough for me. I crossed the street and got onto the back of the line.
I vaguely noticed the girl in front of me only because she was so bundled up. It was sunny out with almost no breeze; it must have been close to sixty degrees Fahrenheit. Hell, in Scotland we only got this kind of beautiful weather at the very height of summer.
Her outfit was classy. Immediately, I thought she was rich. I didn’t know much about fashion — she had on one of those really long sweater-type jackets over some skinny pants and was wearing high-heeled short boots. But this girl looked ridiculous because she was wearing a knit hat and scarf with her getup like she’d been exploring the polar ice caps. I couldn’t see her face, because her back was to me, but the long blonde tresses that spilled out of her knit cap looked pretty.
Because I was bored, I watched her, hoping she’d turn around and show me her face.
Five minutes later, I don’t think the line moved an inch.
“What’s the hold up here?” I spoke out loud.
I snickered to myself when I heard the thick Scottish accent that came out of my mouth. Yeah, after living in the States for six years, I could imitate an American accent pretty spot-on when I wanted to. My natural accent had definitely softened a bit according to my family back home when I recently visited, so this heavy accent that slipped from my lips was for show. I guess I needed a wee bit of attention.
