Tell Me Why It's Wrong Page 3

  My eyes snap to the picture on the dashboard, now hanging halfway off from the worn-down tape. I quickly press it back into place, hoping it’ll stay until I can find new tape at the pharmacy I’ll have to stop at later.

  When I look at Grandpa Al, it’s almost like he’s staring right back at me as if to say, “You asked for a sign.”

  But I’m not sure how Violet Wonders or the man I’m supposed to out is a sign at all, much less a good one.

  3

  Garrick

  The Lazy Croc is bustling with people grinding against each other on the dance floor beneath where the guys and I are perched in the VIP lounge. It’s not the type of club people would expect us to occupy, and that’s why we like it. Compared to other popular scenes in the area, we’re under the radar here—content without cameras being shoved in our faces and things being yelled at us in passing.

  Manning and Zayne are slamming back shots across from me while Calder times them to see who’s faster. Jax’s eyes are trained on something across the room, probably at one of the women eye-fucking us instead of the men they’re here with. All the while my mind is wandering despite the loud bass of a shitty song thumping instead of dulling my thoughts.

  An elbow meets my ribcage. “What’s your deal, bro?”

  Jax is no longer paying attention to whoever captured his attention, or the idiots going through shots faster than they do women, which is impressive. I’m hardly one to talk, but I swear it’s always a competition between them no matter what the circumstances. Women, alcohol, press attention.

  I tell Jax, “Not feeling it tonight. Might head out soon and get some rest.”

  We’ve got a long day ahead of us working on the rest of our next album. It’s not even halfway done, and since we’re still settling in after coming back from our tour, we haven’t been as focused as we should be. Something always comes up—someone comes in late, hungover, or uninterested. Then our producer opens his mouth and says shit that only pisses us off because we’re off our game even if his irritation is justifiable.

  “Pretty sure the chick with pink hair was checking you out earlier,” Jax tells me, tipping his chin in the direction of one of the servers who’s looking in our direction. “Curvy little thing.”

  There’s no denying she’s attractive, but the purr in his tone tells me he’s set his eyes on her for the night. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve shared a woman or two, but I haven’t done that in a long time.

  All the women they employ here are eye candy. I spoke with the douche who owns it once, and Roderick—or Rick the Dick as I like to call him—says the prettier the women, the happier the customer. A scummy technique but not wrong, I suppose.

  I shake my head at the shot Manning offers me, watching as he downs it in one go instead. I haven’t had a drink in months even when the guys all called me out for it. The only one who doesn’t push me on it is Zayne. He knows my limitations as well as I do and tries not to encourage me like the others because he knows where my line is drawn.

  It used to be a lot more fun losing myself in alcohol or whatever recreational drug was available at the time. The short-lived escape was everything I wanted when the nights became longer, and the work became more demanding. But what started as a pick-me-up turned into a necessity and the second I realized I was addicted I reached out to Mum for help knowing she wouldn’t judge me.

  That’s why I try not letting it bother me too much when she or Chase bring up my old habits. My old choices are out there for the world to dissect and discuss even if I wish I could bury them for good. But the truth is, I’m ashamed of what I’ve done to get by. I’ve cheated, broken laws, fucked up relationships, and all for selfish reasons. Because I could. Because I couldn’t cope without a little destruction.

  I act like I couldn’t give less of a shit because that’s what people already assume. I’ve learned it’s nearly impossible for people to think any different once their minds are made up about me. To them, I’m a rich playboy who does what he wants when he wants. Sometimes, I even believe it.

  Fingers snap in my face. “Dude.”

  I curse, scrubbing a palm down my tired face and sigh. “Sorry, mate. I’m knackered. Going to head home. I’ll see you fools at the studio tomorrow?”

  Jax groans. “If we’re going to the studio then we aren’t meeting until the afternoon. There’s a chick eyeing me down and I have every intention of not going to sleep anytime soon. Feel me?”

  I snort as Zayne balls up one of the cocktail napkins and tosses it at Jax’s face. My first mate tells our bassist in his slight Boston accent, “You do realize you’re always the one that wants to meet up early to get shit done, right? We always want to sleep in.”

  The point goes over his head. “Is three good? We can grab some food after. We all know this one will keep us as long as it takes until we get the best track.”

  All eyes turn to me as I slide out of the booth. “What? You think Reg is going to take half-assed bullshit? Better if I tell us to do it over before that twat does.”

  They snicker. None of us like Reggie, but he’s a damn good producer. One of the best in the industry these days.

  Zayne tilts his chin up. “You out then?”

  “Yeah. See if the little is home.”

  He grins. “He still leaving the house and heading over to your mom’s place?”

  Chase thinks Mum won’t rat him out, but she’ll always text me when he arrives. The first time he stormed out of my place he did catch up with friends for a while. But since, he’s just gone back to his basement bedroom at our mother’s until he thinks he’s allowed to come back.

  “I told him he could come out with us, but he said he had other plans.” The guys shake their heads to some varying degree over the boy they all consider a brother. “He’ll get over things on his own.”

  It’s Manning who brings up the legal battle Chase has been battling. “Did the ‘suit get dropped? Last I heard they didn’t have shit to go on and the trial would have been a joke.”

  I nod. “Yeah it was thrown out.” It’s a good thing too, because I would have invested serious money to help him clear his name. The guys told Chase the same thing because they consider him family too and want the best for him, and we all know the man going after him thinks the name attached to his business means he can drain my little brother dry. It’s bull.

  But Chase has always been adamant on doing things his own way—with his own money—so he wouldn’t have allowed me or my bandmates to throw any cash in his direction. The only exception was when I got my first big paycheck and bought him an expensive pair of retro Air Jordan sneakers he’d been eyeing. Mum couldn’t afford them at the time, but I could. Just like I could afford a house for her and the ability to keep her comfortable like she did for me growing up. She never asked for it, never demanded a cent like some people do when their own kids make it big, which is all the more reason to show her how much she means to me for supporting my crazy ass life despite going at motherhood alone.

  When she and Dad divorced it was over a job Mum was offered at a ritzy hospital in California. He didn’t want to leave Australia, where he’s lived his entire life. Both their families are there to this day, and besides a few occasional birthday and holiday cards from my grandparents, we hear nothing else from extended family. Dad and I talk when we can, sometimes he’ll send care packages from back home, but the conversations never last long because we don’t have enough in common. He never fails to tell me he’s proud of everything I’ve done though, and even attended a few Violet Wonders shows that we had in my home country during that leg of the tour. We’d met up backstage after we were finished and caught up before I was called away by someone on my team for meet and greets and interviews.

  I know for a fact that my parents were having issues long before the job opportunity came up though. But the job was what cemented their separation. Mum wanted another kid but couldn’t have anymore, and Dad didn’t want another child unless it was
his own. My mother thought the well-paying job in the Golden State would be the perfect chance to start fresh, so that’s what she did when she told him she was accepting the position.

  I don’t blame Dad for not wanting to leave, but I wish he’d tried harder. That he would have fought for my mother. It’s his loss in the long run, because Mum is the best woman I know. She’s irreplaceable.

  Out of solidarity for Chase, I try not bringing up my irritation over it. His adoption was a closed one, and he’s never asked once about his biological parents. I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t think he’ll get answers, or if he generally doesn’t care. Mum adopted him when he was a baby, so she’s the only mother he’s ever known.

  Waving off the guys, I escape out the back entrance to avoid the crowds of people. One of my favorite bouncers slaps my hand in passing as I wish him a good night before walking into the brisk air. I’m stuffing my hands into the pockets of my leather jacket to dig out a Lifesavers hard lolly. Peeling off the wrapper and popping it into my mouth, I make my way toward the parking lot where my car is amongst a few other expensive sets of wheels.

  Except for one that clearly doesn’t belong.

  Usually I’d let it go, not caring of others around me if I don’t have to. But something draws me in the direction of the beaten-up Altima parked haphazardly off to the side, like someone may have done a little too much drinking before settling in the spot. I approach the driver’s side and instantly notice a waterfall of long blonde hair cascading over the shaking shoulders of what appears to be a young woman in the front seat…crying?

  I don’t have many weaknesses, but one of them is definitely women crying.

  “Fuck,” I curse under my breath before rapping my knuckles against the window.

  A yelp sounds from the inside, followed by the body in the seat jerking to the side. Startled eyes fly to where I stand outside her car, and I see her hand quickly grip the phone in her hand.

  I raise my hands up to show her I mean no harm, even stepping backward to put space between me and the door. “I only wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  There’s no doubt in my mind that she knows exactly who I am once her teary gaze locks with mine. Her lips part in shock and I don’t think she blinks for a long moment. It’s a tamer reaction compared to some I get.

  My hands slide back into the pockets of my jacket. “So, are you?” I ask, voice slightly raised so she can hear me through the closed window. “I mean are you all right?”

  She shakes out of the stupor and stares at the phone in her hand. I notice the slightest slump in her shoulders before she opens the door. One legging-clad leg drops onto the pavement, followed by the other, Canvas Slip-On shoes like Mum wears cover her otherwise bare feet. She doesn’t make a move to stand or ask me for a photo or autograph which makes me intrigued over the stranger as she sits on the edge of her seat.

  When she angles her face up, the parking lot lights hit her eyes perfectly, revealing one orb a muddy brown tone and the other a light blue rimmed with red as she tries blinking back tears.

  I’ve seen those eyes before, I think to myself, a tug on my chest making me want to step closer to get a better look.

  “My car broke down and I barely got it off the road, which was clearly a mistake.” Her hands gesture toward the other cars that make hers stick out like a sore thumb. “Look, if you’re going to call security then—”

  The hell? “I’m not going to call anyone on you. Do you have an idea of what’s wrong with the car?”

  She sniffs, crossing her arms over her chest after swiping her cheeks. “If I did, would you even be able to fix it?”

  A smirk curls the corners of my lips. “So, you know who I am then.” All she does is blink, as if the comment is ridiculous. I sigh. “No, I’m not great with cars. But I know someone who is. He’s right inside if you want me to get hi—”

  “No!” Her eyes widen and fear soaks into them, one of her legs quickly retreating back into the car as if to escape.

  My hands go back up again, surprised by her reaction. “Okay. It was only a suggestion. Is someone coming to help you out?”

  Nothing.

  I can see the hesitation in her eyes, the need to lie, and I get it. I’ve heard Mum tell me plenty of times that women need to be ten times more cautious than men, especially in situations like these. Can’t say that doesn’t piss me off that any woman has to fear for herself, but I’ve heard horror stories over the years and seen things I’d rather not when I’m out traveling.

  “Look, I mean you no harm. And I’d ask for your name, but I doubt you’d give it to me anyway. If you need my phone to call somebody, or want me to do it, I will. I’ll even foot the bill to get this towed somewhere. I know a few shops in the area that won’t charge you a kidney to get it fixed or cheat you out of proper service.”

  I give her time to consider my offer, keeping my distance so she doesn’t feel pressured. It gives me ample time to take in her heart-shaped face and those doe eyes that exude innocence. I’m glad her darker blonde hair doesn’t cover the way they meet mine, though I wish there wasn’t defeat shining bright in them.

  I’m certain we’ve met before because there’s no way I’d forget a gaze like that, but the harder I stare, the fuzzier the recognition becomes. Whatever scratched the surface is long gone by the time she speaks.

  The smallest breath escapes her as she murmurs, “My name is Rylee. R-y-l-e-e.”

  Surprise flickers across my face as I offer her a genuine smile. The name doesn’t ring a bell, but I’ve met thousands of women at this point in my life. “Pretty name for a pretty girl, Rylee.”

  Those eyes that once filled with sadness now roll at my cheesy but true line. “Original.”

  One of my shoulders lifts. “Can’t win them all, I suppose. How about that phone call?”

  There’s a brief moment of hesitation before she relents. “Yes, please.” She waves her phone in the air and adds, “My cell is on 2% battery so tonight is clearly not my night.”

  Most women in her position would disagree, but I don’t point that out. Rylee clearly doesn’t give a shit who I am or who I know, which is a refreshing realization. Though it’d benefit her to agree to let Zayne come and check out her car. He’s always loved tinkering with vehicles—he used to say if music didn’t work out, he’d run his own garage. Everyone who pays attention to the media knows his obsession with them, including the collection of classic cars he has scattered throughout his various properties in Cali and Massachusetts.

  If she’d let me get him, he’d probably be able to get this thing up and running again in no time flat even with alcohol running through his veins. But considering she’s opposed to the idea, I let it be rather than pushing her.

  I dig out my phone, letting a few Lifesavers fall to the pavement as I pull out the cell. Picking up the lollies with a set of eyes watching me shove them back into my pocket, I suggest, “Why don’t I call a buddy of mine to come get this? It’ll be cheap and I’ll make sure you get where you need to go.”

  Her tongue drags across her bottom lip before her front teeth bite down onto it. Unlike most women I see lingering around here, her face looks absent of makeup. The natural beauty radiating from her clearly isn’t something she acknowledges, something I respect.

  When her eyes evade mine, I know there’s something she’s not telling me. Chase does the same thing when he can’t admit whatever is on his mind.

  I wait for a second.

  Two.

  Five.

  Lowering the phone, I ask, “What is it?”

  Rylee starts fidgeting before her head drops forward. “It’s nothing. Can you make that call and see how much it’ll be? I’m a little short on money right now.”

  “Tourist?” I guess.

  She shakes her head.

  My eyes narrow curiously. “You live around here?”

  There’s a pause. “Yes…”

  I don’t bother asking where because
I sense she regrets telling me what she has already. I know pushing my luck to get more from her would probably fail. “Okay.”

  Making the call to one of Zayne’s friends who runs a decent shop downtown, I give him our address and wait with Rylee until one of his men shows up. I watch him circle her car and tinker with a few things before loading it onto his truck.

  It isn’t until he gestures his chin toward me after examining the vehicle that I walk over to him. I recognize the man from the few times I’ve visited the garage when Zayne hung out there, so I slap his hand in greeting. “What’s up, Ed? Thanks for coming out.”

  His eyes go over his shoulder for a moment, gaze directed at Rylee who’s leaning against the hood of my Mustang. Her arms are crossed over her chest, hugging her jacket close to her body as she watches something across the street.

  Eddie scrubs his cheek and murmurs, “I can’t be 100% certain, but I think your girl is living in her car.”

  I gape at him with raised brows, hoping I heard him wrong. “Come again?”

  His chin dips. “When I was looking around, I noticed the way her backseat is set up. She’s got all the essentials. Not my first rodeo around here. I’ve seen it plenty times before. It’s not uncommon.”

  Cursing under my breath, I give him a terse nod before he smacks my back in comfort and heads toward his truck.

  I walk over to Rylee, teeth grinding as I contemplate my options. Eventually, I go with my gut. “Come on.”

  She pushes off the car with her bag thrown over her shoulder. “Where are we going? He didn’t give me a bill or—”

  “I’ve got it.”

  “You don’t need to—”

  “Can you afford it?” I pry, eyebrows drawn up in inquiry. I know the truth the moment her surprised glance meets mine that tells me she knows I do too.