Color Me Crazy (20 page)

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, and the room spun a little. Not too much. Nothing she couldn’t handle. It settled back down, and she cleared her throat, lowered her head, and
whoa!
It was like a Tilt-a-Whirl. She grabbed the leg of the desk with one hand and squeezed tightly what she already held in the other, holding on for dear life because she was most definitely in danger of falling off the floor.

Julian gasped. “Don’t squeeze it.
Shit.
”

“Sorry. I just, um, I need to…”

He attempted to sit up. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Cleo, don’t you dare—”

What happened next was nothing a groupie would want to write home about.

Chapter Eleven

The subdivision north of Austin wasn’t what Julian expected. He double-checked the address.

He could kick himself for letting things get so out of hand after the release party. It was a good thing Cleo had gotten sick. He didn’t have sex with drunk women. It was completely against the rules. How had he come so close? And under such ridiculous circumstances! He wouldn’t blame her if she was mad.

He hadn’t actually talked to her since the Fifty Shades of Embarrassment at the hotel room. Cleo had been asleep—or faking it—when he’d left the next morning for his clinic appointment. Then they’d been occupied with hauling ass to the airport. On the plane, they’d had no privacy to discuss it. Now, two days later, it was too late. Too awkward. They’d both sunk into silence. Cleo didn’t even know how well the clinic appointment had gone, and that’s what he hated most about what had happened between them. He was left with nobody to talk to.

He got out of his car and looked around. It was a fucking suburban neighborhood. Not the neighborhood he’d thought would appeal to Mitch, but then again, Mitch had always been full of surprises.

Patches of green cedar dotted the limestone hillsides that rose above the rooftops, and a lake shimmered in the distance below. The houses were set closely together, and the winding driveways were littered with big plastic toys.

He looked down the sloped driveway of 277 Lantana, squinting through his sunglasses. He hadn’t seen Addie since he’d punched Mitch in the face. He’d fully expected her to start calling and harassing him, desperate to make amends. But she hadn’t. In short, she’d written him off. Landrum had a history of stealing the important people in his life. And now Addie was one of them.

Julian marched down the driveway to the front door. Yanking his sunglasses off and hooking them in his collar, he rang the bell. A pretty young girl answered. He’d expected a maid or servant, and she was obviously neither. Her blue eyes, outlined in thick liner, stared at him with blatant curiosity.

Shit, but she was young.

“Mitch here?” he asked.

“Um, just a minute. I’ll go get him.” She hesitated, unsure of whether or not to invite him in.

“I’ll wait outside,” he said.

Seconds later, the door swung open, and there stood Mitch. He didn’t look all that surprised to see him. “Hello, Julian.”

A piss-yellow cloud floated above Mitch’s head.
That fucking voice.

“Mitch.”

Mitch raised an eyebrow at his swollen lip. “I see you’ve already been in one fight recently. You sure you’re up for another? Or should I just invite you in for tea and crumpets?”

“Tea and crumpets sound lovely,” he said, shoving Mitch aside and stepping through the door.

Mitch followed him into the foyer and called out, “Darlin’, why don’t you put some water on to boil for our English gentleman here?”

They walked into a living room, which, again, was a surprise. No lavish chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, no obnoxious posters of Mitch or framed gold records lining the walls. It was a plain old living room with some lived-in furniture and a television.

“My, how the mighty have fallen,” Julian mumbled.

“What’d you say there, pal?”

“Nothing. And I’m not your pal.”

“Have a seat,” Mitch said, pointing to a worn beige couch.

A disgusting mass of hair with four legs thought Mitch was talking to it and jumped on the couch before Julian had a chance to sit. Mitch frowned. “Scoot over, Costello. We have a guest.”

Costello didn’t budge, and Julian sat next to it, trying to take up as little space as possible. The mutt let out a moan and stretched, shoving Julian’s thigh with its hind legs.

Mitch sat in a chair and ignored the dog’s ill manners. Wearing an orange University of Texas sweatshirt and gray sweatpants, he was a man at ease. Not a worry in the world.

“I reckon you came with a couple of messages for me, Lazros. First and foremost, you want me to stay away from your sister. And second, I’m betting you’re about to tell me that this state isn’t big enough for the both of us. But honestly, brother, we both know I was here first.”

Bloody hell, he hated how Mitch exaggerated that ridiculous drawl. “You’re not hiding a six-shooter beneath that dreadful sweatshirt, are you, Mitch? I feel like I’m at the O.K. Corral.”

Mitch laughed. “Who got the better of you?”

“What?”

Mitch pointed to his eye and lip. “Who beat you up? A boyfriend, a husband, or a dealer?”

Julian gingerly touched his swollen eye, where Cleo’s forehead had made contact, and ran his tongue over his healing lip. “Believe it or not, I was tied up and beaten senseless by a woman.”

Mitch laughed heartily. “What’d you do to deserve that?”

“We’re off the subject, Landrum. You were right, of course. I want you to stay away from Addie.”

The girl came in carrying a small box. “All I could find was chai. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine, darlin’,” Mitch said, grinning stupidly as the girl walked back to the kitchen.
What a pervert.

“A little young, I’d say. Even for you.”

The grin slipped from Mitch’s face. He’d hit a nerve.

“That’s my daughter, you sorry asshole. She’s barely sixteen.”

The piss-yellow cloud disappeared. Mitch’s voice had turned into a darkening thunderstorm of black and gray. He stood, and Julian, too stunned to defend himself, waited for a fist. But it never came. Mitch just stood there, waiting for what? An apology?

“Sorry, I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

The girl came back in the room, trying not to spill the two cups of tea she carried. Mitch’s face melted back into its former pleasant expression.

“Rachel, this is Julian Lazros. Julian, this is my daughter.” His emphasis on the word “daughter” was unnecessary. Julian already felt like slime.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. The girl flashed a shy smile as Mitch took the cups. Her neck had developed telltale red splotches. Mitch, recognizing the signs of a teenage girl falling under the influence of a rock star, sighed and guided her back to the kitchen.

Mitch was a father? He hadn’t had a kid when Julian knew him. Now he had a sixteen-year-old?

Mitch ambled back into the room. “So where was your daughter back when I knew you? I don’t remember any toddlers running amok in your dressing room.”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Mitch said, frantically dipping his horrible American tea bag in his cup, “but I adopted her when I married her mother.”

So, he’d gotten married. “You’re quite the guy. I guess you’re divorced, then? I only ask because you’re shagging my sister.”

Mitch set his mug down on the coffee table and massaged his temples. “No, I’m not divorced.”

“Brilliant. You’ve seen the last of Addie, then. And me. This was fun, but I can see myself out.” He headed for the door with Mitch on his heels.

“Would you believe I was actually happy to see you?” Mitch said. “I thought we could hash some things out, talk like men. But you’re deranged, as usual. Just as crazy as you ever were.”

“Maybe I’m crazy, but you’re disgusting. I feel sorry for your wife and kid.”

“For your information, my wife is dead. Now get out of my house before I blacken your other eye, you stupid prick.”

Julian stood at the pump, wrinkling his nose at the gas fumes—snot green—and trying to sort through his feelings. How was he supposed to have known Mitch was a widower? Now he felt like a real prick, which only increased his aggravation.

The pump handle clicked off. Julian pulled it out of his tank and replaced the gas cap. This had been a miserable fucking day, and he couldn’t wait to get home—although he wasn’t looking forward to a run-in with Cleo. Maybe he’d head to Rooster’s for a mindless jam session instead.

He settled into the El Camino and started it up, already thinking of a backup plan in case Rooster was busy. The Dolls had a gig tonight. He could probably sit in with them. Just as he was about to pull onto IH-35 and head south toward San Antonio, a little blue coupe that looked suspiciously like Addie’s darted past—heading north—
toward Austin
. Well, bloody hell. He was going to put an end to this once and for all. He turned right instead of left and took off after his sister.

Addie darted in and out of traffic, but Julian managed to keep her in sight. The exit for Mitch’s neighborhood was coming up on the right, and sure enough, she took it. Julian followed her through the winding hills, back to Mitch’s house. By the time he climbed out of his car, Addie waited for him, leaning against her trunk.

“I saw you in my rearview mirror,” she said.

“We need to talk.”

“No, actually, we don’t. I’m an adult, and I’m in a relationship. I’m sorry if it upsets you, but it is what it is. If you’d like to come in and behave like a civilized human, I’m certain Mitch would be happy to have you.”

“I’ve already had a chat with Mitch this morning, and I don’t think he’d be happy to have me.”

Addie’s mouth dropped open. “Is that what happened to your face?”

Mitch’s voice came out of nowhere. “He mistook my daughter for a groupie and made some crude accusations that are par for the course with him, but I assure you I didn’t hit the little fucker.” He walked barefoot toward them across the driveway.

Julian rolled his eyes. “Addie, you think you know this man, but you don’t. He doesn’t love you—he loves making me miserable. And he has a history of destroying the lives of young, innocent girls in order to do so.”

“God, Julian,” Addie said. “Everything is not always about you, no matter how hard you work at it. And I am not a young, innocent girl. Stop confusing this situation with whatever crazy idea you have in your head about Mitch and Gina.”

Seriously? She’d brought up Gina? Well, since she had…

“Who was the last person to see Gina alive? Ask Mitch that! And for that matter, who was the last person to see his wife alive?”

Addie gasped and covered her mouth. Mitch took a step toward him but then stopped. “Are you under the care of a shrink right now, dude? Because you are batshit crazy.”

“Don’t say that, Mitch,” Addie snapped.

“Listen to him and tell me he doesn’t sound crazy. And if we’re going to continue with the murder accusations, I’d prefer we do it inside. I’ve got a nice thing going with most of the neighbors, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Where are the kids?” Addie asked.

“In the house,” Mitch said, never taking his eyes off Julian.

Mitch had more than one kid? Bloody hell. Julian had a definite image of Mitch, and it would be lovely if he’d try to fit it better.

“Addie,” Mitch added, “why don’t you go inside and check on Emily? She was running a fever this morning.”

“She’s not staying here long enough to check on your sick kid,” Julian said. “Come on, Addie, let’s go.” He reached for her hand, but she yanked it away and walked up the driveway.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Mitch got straight to the point. “I never slept with Gina, much less killed her, you stupid,
stupid
shit. She was a minor, and no matter what you believe, I’m not a sick fuck.”

“So sorry,” Julian said. “Rock stars never have sex with underage girls. How silly of me.”

“Lazros, I’ve about had my fill. You know I stayed away from the young ones. Shit, I sent them to you.”

If this was Landrum’s idea of an apology, it was fucked-up. “Thanks for the castoffs,” he said. “But if it was wet, you stuck your dick in it. I don’t remember you being all that discriminating.”

“How do you remember anything at all from those years? You were a pathetic junkie. If anyone was breaking any laws with minors or otherwise, it was you.”

“
I
was a fucking minor.”

When Julian had joined Slice, he’d worshipped Mitch, just like everyone else. And Mitch had wasted no time in taking him under his wing, introducing him to every vice the industry had to offer, including drugs and women.

The skirts that had followed Slice across the country and beyond worshipped and served two gods: Mitch, who had the predictable singer’s black hole for an ego, and Julian, his newly acquired protégé. But unlike Mitch, Julian hadn’t wanted the attention of the fans. He’d wanted the approval of Mitch, who he’d freakishly decided was a father figure.

As if Landrum could read his mind, he said, “You were just a kid. A punk who deserved someone way better than me as a role model. I regret the part I played in your life, and I’m sincerely sorry for it. But you gotta let it go, pardner.”

“Save it.” Julian started walking. Time to get his sister.

“I don’t know everything that happened that night with Gina,” Mitch called after him, “but I can tell you what I remember.”

Julian stopped in his tracks and turned to face Landrum, his pulse pounding in his head. “I know what happened. Gina and I had a fight—she wanted me to stop drugging—which of course, I couldn’t.” He gave a sarcastic salute to Mitch and added, “Thanks for that, by the way. So I took off for a couple of hours to cool down, and when I came back, Gina was gone. Ran straight to you, didn’t she? And you took her in.”

“I hardly set her up in the guest room. She showed up at my party, and I told her to leave. She was too young, and I didn’t feel like keeping an eye on her.”

“Fuck you, Mitch. It was right after ‘Walk You Home,’ wasn’t it? You and your overinflated ego were full of envy. And you want to hear the pathetic truth? I hated that stupid song. It wasn’t even good—granted, you wrote it, so that was a given—and I have no idea how it went to the top of the charts. It sucked, and I never would have been the one to sing it if Lance hadn’t made me.”