Ruin Porn (3 page)

“I want to go to Mexico,” another voice chimed in.

The screeching wheels of a beat-up pint-size cart came around the corner first, and Miah’s lanky body came into view. His blond hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, his chiseled jawline and cheekbones standing out as he smiled. The bright blue tee and white linen pants looked more suited for the beach, but Miah’s godlike beauty pulled the ensemble off with flair. It was the colorful sleeves of tats running up and down his right and left arm that was the most noticeable, though.

“How big do we have to get to book a tour of Mexico?”

“How much fucking lube are you bringing, Miah?” Finn doubled over and wheezed, grabbing his belly as he laughed hysterically. Ritchie pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

Miah was unapologetic. “I have a rep to keep up.”

Finn snorted and picked up a bottle from the bottom of the cart, glancing at the label. “Gonna need desensitizing lube and not this normal Astroglide shit if you plan to fuck your way through a whole continent.”

“You would know, you banshee whore,” Miah replied with a mischievous smirk, ripping the sucker dangling from Finn’s mouth from between his lips.

“Jesus, fuck,” Ritchie muttered. He grabbed the lube bottle from Finn and the stick of the lollipop from Miah and gave each back to their respective owners. “Lube and candy? Seriously? How the hell did I get stuck taking care of your childish asses?” Ritchie took a deep breath and pointed at Kevin. “Miah, meet Kevin. He’s the guitarist for Sock in the Sun.”

“I know who he is, dude. I’m the one who hired them.” Miah extended his hand and shook with Kevin. “Nice to see you, Ev.”

Kevin started to correct his name—’cause how fucking embarrassing would it be if he didn’t say something now and the lead singer of his favorite band in the world called him the wrong thing for four months straight ’cause Kevin was too chickenshit to correct him…. But he waited too long and Miah’s phone beeped with an incoming message. Miah swiped the screen and typed something back. While Miah was distracted with his text and Ritchie was talking to the pharmacist, Finn tossed at least a dozen more candy bars onto the counter next to Ritchie. When Finn saw that Kevin had caught him red-handed—or sugar-handed as the case seemed to be—Finn winked at him.

Holy fuck. The next four months were going to be a lesson in patience and restraint under constant sensory torture. Luckily, before Kevin could turn all shades of red again, Miah pocketed his phone and brought his attention back to Kevin.

“Why don’t you come play with us at our sound check? I just got a text from your manager that the rest of your guys are delayed with construction traffic. We’re going to take first sound check and Sock can go second.”

“Play with you guys?” Kevin practically squeaked out, then shrugged to try to make himself look more nonchalant. “Yeah, I mean, I’d love to. I need to head back to the hotel and grab my guitar. I’m hauling my own gear on this tour.”

Miah nodded. “Finish packing up and meet us at two. The west entrance.”

“Text me your contact info so I can make sure the security and roadies have you on the list,” Ritchie added. He gave Kevin his cell number and waited for the ping of a new message to come through. “Don’t want them giving our new best friend any shit.”

“Fucking eloquent, Myer,” Finn ribbed him.

“Me beat sticks on animal hide,” Ritchie mocked, then put back all the candy bars Finn had added to the pile. “Now do you fuckers need anything else? A fresh supply of tampons? Or can I pay this exorbitant bill of useless shit?”

Miah and Finn flipped Ritchie off in unison.

The three of them had grown up together, and if they didn’t look so different from each other, Kevin would’ve sworn they were brothers. They were completely comfortable with each other and with who they were. Whether it would be the same when they were out of their home territory was something Kevin would have to wait to find out. He wouldn’t have to wait too long, as after the Detroit concert, they’d all be headed to London for the first set of shows in the European leg of the Made in Americana tour.

Miah thumped Kevin on the back. “See you in a few hours.”

Finn gave Kevin a peace sign and followed Miah out, that damning sucker still hanging from his mouth. Kevin watched them walk away, the reality of what he was getting into fully settling in with the chance meeting.

He turned back to Ritchie and cocked his head in the direction of the door where Miah and Finn had walked out. “Does he know my name is Kevin and not Evan?”

“Yeah, he knows, kid. Ignore him. He’s the most intelligent dumb-acting man you’ll ever meet. It’s equal parts frustrating and adorable. Go figure.” Ritchie set his bags down and helped Kevin put his pile of stuff on the counter by the register. “We’ll see you at sound check.”

Kevin put his hand out for a low five like Ritchie had greeted him, but instead Ritchie tapped his hand with a closed fist and smirked. “I’m just giving you shit, rookie. Good to see there’s someone else with a fucking brain on this tour. It’s gonna be epic! See you in a few.”

Kevin paid for his armload of supplies, went back to the hotel, did a quick hand job in the shower to try to minimize his anxiety—fuck, he was about to go play with Miah, Ritchie, and Finn on the same stage—then he grabbed his guitar and headed to the venue.

But it was all over before it started.

He never made it onto that amphitheater stage in the Detroit suburbs. Never got to feel the heat of the lights or the pounding rhythm of the words and music he’d written pulsing through a whipped up crowd dancing in a fading sunset. The other three members of Sock in the Sun showed up blitzed out of their fucking minds, high on coke and meth and who knew what the fuck else, and Miah promptly recited the drug usage clause on their contract and pulled the entire band off the tour.

Kevin was back on a plane to LA before he was sure what had happened.

I
F
SOMEONE
had put a gun to Miah’s head and forced him to say what it was about Evin Rene that was making Miah take an ill-advised trip across the country on the night before he was set to leave on his first European tour, Miah would have told the asshole holding the gun just to shoot him. He had no concrete reason for what he was doing. It was a decision that probably had wider implications than he understood at the moment. But as unsure as Miah was about the logic of this move, he was completely sure about the need to do it. Rez needed Evin. Not just on this tour, but as a songwriter and in the studio with them.

The only reason he’d agreed to take on Sock in the Sun as Rez’s opening band was because of the promise he saw in Evin. The man had raw talent that was uncorrupted and unhinged. The other members of Sock were okay, but it was Evin who had caught his attention from the beginning. He was the main songwriter for Sock—both lyrically and musically. Whatever magic Sock had was because of Evin, not the other members. Thing was, though, Miah didn’t want Evin as another guitarist. He wanted Evin to join Rez as their bassist. It would be a huge adjustment for Evin—for all of them—but Miah couldn’t shake the idea. No matter how anxious he was, he hadn’t wavered since he’d sent a text to Evin after midnight.
Stay in LA. I’m coming to meet you.

The idea that Evin might say no—regardless how fucking dumb that would be—was the part that was making Miah the most nervous. His chi was already buzzing and the anticipation ramped up the closer he got to the address Ritchie had sent him. He might have been years away from the anxious kid he’d once been—locked behind a hollow-core door, always just one fraying thread away from snapping—and yet his childhood was exactly what the churning in his stomach reminded him of.

The only thing keeping Miah sane at the moment was that he had the unfailing support of Ritchie and Finn on this. The constant texts from Ritchie would have driven him insane if it were anybody else on the other side of that phone. But Ritchie knew how to be present without being intrusive. Ritchie had learned early on in their friendship not to try to restrain Miah; it only made him claustrophobic. Instead he became the steadiness Miah craved. And Finn? Well, he was a sarcastic fuckstick. But he’d agreed without hesitation when Miah suggested the idea of bringing Evin on. Since then he’d remained quiet. Finn always had his back, no matter how crazy his ideas got. They all knew their places pretty damn well at this point. They’d had almost a lifetime together to get it right. And now Miah was going to bring in a fourth to the Detroit 3. He was pure electricity with the nerves and anticipation.

Just when he wondered how far into this battered neighborhood they would have to drive, the cab pulled to a stop in front of a crumbling four-story brick building. It was surrounded by a dinged-up metal fence that wouldn’t keep an arthritic old woman out.

The cab driver looked over his shoulder at Miah. “You sure this is the place?”

Miah checked the GPS on his phone one more time and confirmed it with the text Ritchie had sent him. “Yep, this is the place.” At least he’d remembered to change out of his flowy Zen pants before making this trek. Maybe the dark shades, black tee, and black jeans snatched from Finn would make him appear a bit less of a target.

Growing up inside the city limits of Detroit, Miah knew a bad neighborhood when he saw one, and this was the definition. He paid the cabbie, leaving him a nice but not exorbitant tip so it wouldn’t look like he was loaded, then got out of the cab and approached the front door. As soon as he jabbed the button to call up to Evin’s apartment, a shock coursed through him and he jerked back.

“Okay, so don’t try that again,” he muttered and pushed on the front door. None of the locks were engaged, and he moved into the lobby easily, the stench of mildew and the smoky sweetness of cheap weed hitting him full force. There was an elevator he didn’t even attempt—he really wanted to make it to Europe alive—and he took the steps two at a time up to the fourth floor.

Miah used his sunglasses to push the strands of his hair back and sought out Evin’s apartment. All he heard was the low sound of TVs running as he passed by other closed doors. Miah shuddered. This place was giving him all kinds of bad mojo. He had an overwhelming need to sage the whole fucking place just for the benefit of a healthier spiritual atmosphere for all the residents. When he found the door marked with the faded dirty remnants of where numbers used to be, he knocked. He wasn’t surprised when the door popped open almost immediately and Evin stood there with a total deer-trapped-on-the-highway look to his eyes.

“Breathe, Ev,” Miah prompted him. “May I?”

Evin stepped back from the door and held it open. “Yeah, yeah. Come in. I got your text and I had no idea how to respond. I didn’t know the other guys would show up like that. I don’t do shit like that. That’s the reason I was on a different flight than them. We make music together, but we—”

Miah swiveled on his heel and put his index finger in front of his lips in the international symbol of be-fucking-quiet-please. “I know. I got a feeling about you as soon as I met you. Doesn’t fit that whole tweaker vibe. Can we sit?”

Miah looked around the apartment, and Evin seemed to be doing the same investigative search for any spot that wasn’t covered in clothes, books, DVDs, or CDs. Only the bed had enough space for both of them, but there was no way Miah was making this request while sinking into a mattress.

“I’ll just stand,” Miah amended. He leaned against the wall between the kitchen and the living room, taking in the details of the tiny apartment. “This is cozy.”

The blush that crawled up Evin’s neck and over his jaw was adorable. So genuine. Miah’s instincts pinged again. This guy wasn’t a born rock star, he was real. The realization strengthened his conviction that Rez needed him.

“It’s a piece of shit, but it was all I could afford, especially since I was planning on it being more like a storage space and me being on tour…. Well, you know the story.”

“So here’s the deal, Evin. Ritchie, Finn, and I want you to join Resonator on our Made in Americana tour as a full member of the band and start work with us on the second album.”

Evin physically reeled back and had to put a hand on the wall. “Holy shit. I thought…. But I didn’t really think….”

“Is that a yes?”

“Are you serious?”

Miah did a mock pout. “Would this face lie to you?”

“Dude. I appreciate it. But you don’t need another guitarist. You have the best in the business.”

“Completely agreed. Which is why we’re asking you to come on as the bassist. And I hear you also play piano so the whole keyboard thing will come in handy during studio sessions. We want you to come on the road with us now. We’ll start you off as a studio and tour contract artist until the official docs work through the label and management companies, and then you’ll be a full member. Our tour manager has the contracts ready for you and your lawyer to take a look at.”

“I don’t have a lawyer. Members of crappy bands don’t need those.”

“We’re not a crappy band.”

Evin scoffed. “No shit, Miah. Are you seriously serious?”

“I’ll even pinky swear on it.”

Evin paced as he talked. “You want me to fly to London with you? Now? To join Resonator as your new bassist?”

“Yes.”

“Holy shit,” Evin repeated.

Miah stepped up to Evin and put his hands on Evin’s shoulders. “Come on, Evin. You know you want to.”

“Why do you keep calling me Evan?”

“Evin with an
i
. Like Kevin without the
K
. The Kevin’s got to go. No cred.”

Evin didn’t say anything, he just cocked his head and appeared as if he was desperately trying to hide a smile. Miah could practically hear the sarcastic retort on Evin’s face:
And the girly name Miah does?
It was something Finn would have said.

“My full name is Jeremiah. That shit is masculine.”

“How the hell—?” Evin began, but cut himself off. “Doesn’t matter.”

Miah beamed. He totally had Evin now. He just had to close the deal and get Evin on that plane with him. “Come on. I have to be on a flight out to London soon, and I left all my lube in trust with Ritchie. If I miss this plane, Ritchie will toss it all out for reasons of spite. Please don’t make me have to find more lube, Evin. Just come with me. Say you’ll be our fourth.”