Fractured Beat (Meltdown Book 1) (12 page)

I whipped back the curtain and shouted, “Luke!”

“What?” he answered from somewhere in the bus.

“Mallory needs a bunk mate!”

“I’m bunking with Nash!” he shouted back at me.
Damn!
That meant Chaz had the bedroom.

I glared at Mallory. “And you just had to address this right now, when the curtain is closed and I’m obviously trying to sleep?” I snapped.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were sleeping. I just wanted to make sure I had a place to sleep tonight.” Her apologetic tone made me feel like shit.

“You will always have a place to sleep Mallory,” I assured her. She smiled and my traitorous dick responded with a big ass salute in her direction.

“Thanks, Grant,” she said. Then she closed the curtain and walked away. Instead of sleeping I whipped off my shirt and quietly jacked my cock until I came all over my bare stomach. After wiping it off with my shirt I drifted into a fitful sleep. This was going to be a long five months.

While on the road everything we did, from sleeping quarters to food prep, was decided by drawing straws. Call it juvenile but it worked. Whoever got the short straw was the loser. The good thing was you couldn’t lose two nights in a row. That night Nash made his famous tacos. Even Mallory enjoyed them, as in really enjoyed them. When Chaz pulled a case of beer out of the fridge I almost stood up and hugged him. Mallory didn’t even blink. She did, however, pass on the beer.

“I bet you’re a wine drinker,” Luke teased.

“Or a fancy cocktail drinker,” Chaz joined in.

“Nope,” she said, between bites of her third taco. I was still on my second but who was counting.

“Do you drink at all?” I asked.

“Nope,” she said, as she shoved the last bite in her mouth. When she reached for the last taco on the tray everyone glared at her. She just smiled.

“I love a woman who eats like a man, said no one ever,” Luke teased.

“You’re just jealous,” she told him. That sure shut him up.

“Why?” I asked.

Her gorgeous blues turned to me. “Why what?”

“Why don’t you drink?”

“Now, Grant, that’s two in a row,” she scolded, and I wanted to kick my own ass for starting this game with her.

“Fine, what do you want to know?” I sighed.

“Ask him about Becki with an i,” Luke chimed in. I shot him an eat shit look.

“Or about Silly and Sally,” Chaz said between chuckles. Silly and Sally were actually a couple of girls Nash and I tag teamed in Miami named Leah and Kaci. We couldn’t remember their names at first, so we called them Silly and Sally the whole weekend. Chaz shouldn’t be talking because he wasn’t even there. I kicked him under the table and he scowled and grabbed his leg. Nash just sat there the whole time with a smirk on his face, the fucker.

“How did you all meet?” she asked. Her innocuous question both surprised and pleased me.

“Nash and I had a class together our first year in college,” I answered.

“Really, where’d you go?”

Ignoring her second question I shot one of mine over the bow. “Were you on a trip with your family when you hurt your knee?”

“No,” she answered.

“We went to Texas Tech. Were you on a trip with a friend?”

“No,” she answered again. “How’d you meet Luke?”

“Luke transferred in our senior year. We were playing at a fraternity party and he approached us after. If you weren’t with your family or a friend, then who were you with?”

She hesitated for a second and, I would’ve bet my guitar that question time was over, but she surprised me by answering, “My team.”

“Team?” Nash asked. It was the first time he’d spoken all night, so I let him have it.

“Yes, team,” she told him. Then she turned to me and asked, “And Chaz?” I opened my mouth to answer and Chaz beat me to it.

“A friend told me Dale was out of the band and they were looking for a drummer. The next day I called up Happenstance and said I wanted an audition.”

“Really? I didn’t know that?” I told him. He gave me a strange look and I felt bad. A few days after we kicked Dale out Blane showed up with Chaz in tow and asked us to give him a chance. When he could competently play every one of our songs we hired him. Chaz was no Dale but he was a damn good drummer. I felt like a douche for not knowing how he came to us. Now that I really thought about it, I didn’t know that much about Chaz at all.

“Who’s Dale?” Mallory asked.

“What team?” I shot back at her.

“Why don’t you drink?” Chaz asked. I gave him a shut-the-hell-up look and he flipped me off.

Mallory’s phone, which was sitting on the table next to her, suddenly rang. She glanced down at the screen and then stood up and said, “Sorry, it’s my boss, I really should get this. Thanks for dinner, Nash,” she added, and conveniently escaped to the front of the bus.

Game over. Mallory might have won this round but she wouldn’t win the next.

Lies, Lies And More Lies

Mallory

R
ight as Grant
and Chaz fired their questions at me my phone rang. Being that I would rather talk to the devil himself than answer either of their questions, I didn’t care who was calling. When I glanced down and saw it was CiCilia, I quickly excused myself. As I stepped away to answer I left their questions hanging in the air and scowls on their handsome faces.
Sorry guys, maybe next time.

“Hello?”

“I’m at your place. You’re voicemail sounded urgent. Is everything okay?” CiCi asked.

That morning after Grant ran off in a huff I jogged back to the hotel with Hank and hauled it up to my room for a shower. While showering I started to put together a mental list of things I needed to do, but found myself day dreaming about how damn good Grant looked with barely any clothes on. I noticed he had a sleeve of tattoos on one arm but none on the other and wondered why. Deciding to file it away as one of my future questions to ask, I focused back on what needed to happen now. On the top of my To-Do list was to call CiCilia and see if she could call me the next time she was over at my place watering my plants. I wanted her to check and make sure the gun was still in the closet where I’d left it. Nightmares about my accident were par for the course but this was a new and very disturbing development. Why was I suddenly dreaming about the gun my dad taught me to shoot a lifetime ago? CiCilia’s voicemail picked up, so I left her a detailed message.

“Thanks for calling me back,” I wondered how to ask her to check my closet without telling her I was having the dreams again. I decided to just make it up as we went along.

“I need a favor. At the top of my closet is a silver lock box. Could you please get it for me?”

“Uh, sure, do you need me to mail it to you?”

“No, I just need you to get it while we’re on the phone.”

“Okay, I’m walking in there right now. I see it. I’m going to put you on speakerphone and grab it.” A few seconds later she said, “I’ve got it.”

“The combination is seven-seven-five-five and then the pound key,” I instructed.

“Are you planning on telling me what this is all about?”
Not really.
I heard her gasp and knew she’d seen it. “You told me you didn’t play with guns anymore.” I let out the breath I’d been holding.
Thank God it’s still there.

“No, I told you I no longer shot rifles. That one doesn’t count.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t count? Is it broken?”

“No, it’s more like an heirloom of sorts. I just wanted to make sure it was still there.” An uncomfortable silence slithered between us and I scrambled for something to say.

She beat me to the punch. “You’re going to have to give me more than that, Mal.”

Letting out an exasperated sigh I started to explain, “You remember me telling you years ago that my dad taught me to shoot when I was a kid?”

“Yes, when you were fifteen,” she answered.

“More like thirteen, but who’s counting,” I teased.

“Even worse,” she muttered under her breath, and I smiled. Like my mom, CiCi hated guns.

“What you’re looking at is the very first gun he gave me.”

“Oh joy,” she sarcastically replied. My father was a hunter, an outdoorsman and a survivalist. He was my mentor, my teacher, my biggest fan and my staunchest critic. He believed in me and I’d let him down. My regrets were many but the loss of his love was by far the worst. “I hate to break it to you but I can’t mail you this without getting in a shitpile of trouble.” Her exasperated tone brought me out of my reverie and made me laugh.

“Thanks for checking on it. I forgot to before I left. Please put it back up before you leave.”

“Happily,” she grumped. “Now that’s over can we please talk about something else? How is the rock star doing? Please tell me you’re having better luck than I am?” I thought about my earlier “tryout” for the band and smiled. I had a horrible singing voice. I used to torture my teammates with it during practice. Grant was trying to get the best of me today but I flipped the tables on him. Who knew it would be so much fun? “I’m making progress,” I lied. After listening to her dissertate about her tennis pro I made up an excuse to get off the phone.

I was in the middle of checking my emails when I heard music playing. Peeking over the top of the chair I found both Grant and Nash with their guitars out. Nash was strumming his while Grant was busy writing on a pad of paper. Luke had what looked like a mini keyboard sitting on the table in front of him and Chaz had an iPad. At least it looked like an iPad. As if sensing me ogling him, Grant looked up. Our eyes connected and desire pulsed between us. I glanced away, but I couldn’t deny I felt it. A few minutes passed before I stole another look. Of course, Grant busted me again.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

I held up my phone and said, “Uh, yes, CiCilia was just checking up on me.”

“CiCilia?” he asked. I’d forgotten he’d never met CiCi.

“Oh, sorry, my boss,” I explained.

“The tempo is too fast. What if we slow it down?” Nash interrupted. Grant returned his focus to the guys and relief washed through me. My job was my number one priority. It was the only thing that mattered, yet every time Grant Hardy even glanced my way I lost sight of that. I watched them play part of the song through with a slower tempo and had to admit, I liked it better. His eyes found me again and his brow rose in question. It took me a second to realize he was asking for my approval. Like a huge dork, I gave him a thumb’s up and was rewarded with an ear splitting grin.

Not wanting to interrupt their session, I held up my phone and mouthed, “Picture?” He nodded his head and I shot several photos of him and the guys working through the song. Before putting my phone away I checked to make sure the pictures looked okay. My breath caught in my throat as I scrolled through them. This was Meltdown in action, history being made, and I was smack in the middle of it. My favorite was the one of Nash and Grant laughing over something Nash had said. Their smiles were bigger than life and it was clear as day to anyone watching how close the two were.
So why have they been acting like complete strangers to each other
? I felt like I was flying blind where Grant was concerned and this was just a reminder of how little progress I’d made. Instead of answers, I was collecting more and more questions. I was beginning to think I might be in over my head with this one. Conventional didn’t work with me and I knew in my gut that it wouldn’t work with Grant either, but if I didn’t find a way in, and soon, I might have to throw in the towel. At the end of the string of photos I paused on a picture of Grant and Luke standing in the middle of a group of girls. Grant was holding a bottle of Jack in one hand and a shot glass in the other. The next photo was of Grant signing some girl’s stomach. In the one after that he was signing her bare breast. On and on they went. By the sixth picture my hands began to sweat. At the eighth I felt physically ill. In all, I counted fifteen photos. Fifteen photos I’d never seen before in my life, all of Grant Hardy in precarious poses, and all on my phone. My stomach lurched. Literally, I thought I was going to vomit. After scrolling back through the photos a second time I sensed I was being watched. When I looked up, Chaz was staring straight at me.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he commented.

“Everything okay?” Grant asked. The urge to show them the pictures was strong, but something stopped me. Some people called it intuition. I called it my gut, and right now my gut was telling me to think before I acted.

I held up the phone and plastered a big smile on my face. “Great pictures. I, uh, just remembered I need to make another phone call. Don’t mind me,” I waved my hand in the air and quickly escaped to my bunk. I could feel their eyes on me as I crawled in and closed the curtain. I lay there with my phone clasped tightly to my chest and waited for them to start playing again. Once the music started back up I released my death grip on my poor phone.

What do I do?

I opened my pictures back up and fought back the tears as I scrolled through them again. This time I made sure to study each one. These were taken the night I arrived in Houston. Not only did I remember what Grant was wearing that night, but I recognized one of the girls in the picture. She and a group of her friends had been standing next to me on the side of the stage while Meltdown was playing. In the picture Grant had his lips all over her and I wondered what she meant to him.