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“I wish. It’s rare that we all get to take a break. Me and Liam especially, with our dedication to perfection.” He stretches his legs out over the front of the buggy. “Tonight’s a special occasion. It’s Liam’s birthday. We thought we’d celebrate by forcing him to play the sport he hates the most.”
My brows shoot up. I glance back at Liam, putting on the previous hole. He doesn’t look the least bit frustrated. In fact, he’s hyper-focused, his ringed and inked fingers gripping the putter. As soon as the ball drops in the hole, he gives the putter a couple of taps on the green. No sign of emotion on his face. A master of control.
Hail snorts on a laugh. “That’s his happy dance.”
My own laughter fills the air. It’s a rare sound, almost shocking me that something so light could be produced from my tainted body.
I could get used to this.The words stick in my throat. I bottle them inside, doubling down on the seal to keep them in place.
Hail’s amber eyes dance with mirth. “You ever think about after the music?”
The question hangs in the air. Needing to put my body into motion as I form an answer, I climb out of the buggy and grab the biggest iron just for shits and giggles. Malek twerking next to my target green in taunt has me praying for good aim.
“There’s nothing for me after the music,” I say quietly, then I line up my shot and smack the ball right over Griff’s head, dropping it next to Malek’s leather shoes.
“Hit the deck!” Griff shrieks, dropping onto the grass. “Fuckers are trying to kill us!”
Malek leaps onto Griff’s back. A wrestling match ensues right in the middle of the course. If they weren’t famous, we would have been kicked out hours ago.
From the buggy, Hail cocks his head. “You gonna write songs forever, Z?”
I lick my lips, my heart sinking into my stomach. I don’t want to admit to him that I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Future wasn’t a word that existed in my vocabulary after I let my brother drown. But that’s not the kind of thing you dump on someone in the middle of a game of golf.
So I shrug instead. “Maybe. You?”
That masochistic part of me wants to know if I could fit into his vision of a future. Or at least for as long as this gig permits.
“I don’t see giving up on music either, but I’d like to give the softer stuff a go for a while. And when I’m too old to get on stage, I’d like to teach lessons.”
My chest tightens, and the empty ache there seems more noticeable than before.
“I want a house, too. Low-maintenance, with a giant grill and a pool.” Hail sighs, stretching his arms behind his head. “I want to entertain these hooligans. Watch sports and rock out in the garage. All the shit I didn’t get to do as a kid since I was forced into activities I didn’t give a rat’s ass about. Every summer, no lie, I would look forward to practicing music, and I’d get sent off to camps instead. Like my parents couldn’t stand to have me breathe the same air as them for more than a weekend.”
I drop my head, not wanting to give him an opening to dig into my past. There’s not much to tell, anyway.
Reaching for another bottle of water, I down the contents as Hail’s gaze bores into me, prodding for that little crack in my armor. I know I’m not being fair, but I’m also trying to keep myself together for the night.
When Hail finally glances away, he lets out a whistle. “Jesus. Someone arrest them.”
I turn in time to see Malek ram his golf buggy into the back of Griff’s at the peak of a hill. Both of them tip over. Mad laughter ensues from Malek as they tumble out of the buggies.
“I’m not paying for any more damages you assholes leave in your wake!” Liam bellows, his tone shooting my balls up inside my body to hide.
“Liam have any kids?” I ask, cocking a brow.
Hail chuckles. “With the dad tone he’s mastered? He really should. He’s the oldest of us. Closest to settling down, too.”
My head shakes in wonder. It’s wild how different people can be from the image the world paints of them. Fans see rock gods. A singer filled with rage. A guitarist with a callous exterior. A bassist and drummer with demonic energy. Fans assume theyknowthem. What they like. How they think.
But they don’t really know a thing, do they?
By hole eighteen, nearly three hours later, Malek has fallen deep into wild conversation.
“Hey, Griff. What if I just did that? What if I just, like, threw up everywhere? All over the golf course? How long do you think it would take them to clean that up? Or would they just let the sprinklers wash it away?”
Griff tilts his head and runs a hand over his buzzed hair. “Is this another manic thing where you’re going to continue to bombard me with hypothetical situations that are so outrageous I won’t know how to answer?”
“Yes.” Malek nods frantically. “That is exactly what this is.”
