Sticks (Black Addiction #2) (9 page)

“Yes, yes. I know. I’m an idiot.” Not that it changed anything. Fuck, the
how
didn’t even matter at this point so I saw no need to continue talking about it. Besides, this wasn’t going to be something I fucked up, even if the shit had been unplanned.

“Well congratulations.” Angie pulled me in for a hug, her tight smile clueing me in that she wasn’t going to ride me about it any further. It was hard for her not to I’m sure. Her gift to me I guess.

“Ooooooooh.” Rusty’s voice broke the silence, our heads swiveling to his direction. “So
that’s
why she was so pissed the other night. Makes sense now.”

Uh-huh.

The nod of my head was all that was needed, the events of the night in the club snapping into focus. I mean, it’s not every day a hot chick calls me an asshole in public. Well, not anymore.

“Yeah, we just found out.”

While I could tell Angie and Rusty probably had more questions, thankfully they kept their mouths shut and didn’t make me go over the story. The guys were awesome like that. When it counted, they’d shelve the name-calling and sarcasm and get behind whichever one of us needed it. Blind faith and absolute unwavering support is what I got back. They didn’t heap on the expectations, just let it be and let me pick the pace and because they did, it made me want to open up. My mouth got busy and gave them the low down about Kenz and I being on the same page with raising the kid together. And other than earning me a few concerned looks, I was saved the twenty questions. Everyone had their manners in place, not pushing me to talk more than I wanted. All of them telling me they were there for whatever was needed.

What I’d said before about needing new friends was bullshit.

They didn’t get better than the three standing around me now.

Honestly, I was relieved. At least it was out in the open, and other than telling my folks they were going to be grandparents—which would happen eventually—I didn’t have to worry about slipping up and saying something I shouldn’t have.

Well, at least not to do with the pregnancy. My mouth could still get me into trouble; it’s not like that shit stopped just because I was suddenly going to be someone’s dad. Fuck, I was probably going to have to stop swearing too. Shit. I mean, shoot. Yeah, that was going to be hard. Thank God I had some time to sort it out. I might have to try and swear out my fucks before November.

“That didn’t go so bad.” Max wandered back into the living room, Angie and Rus heading out soon after my big reveal.

“Yep. That went a lot better than I’d imagined.”

Neither of them giving me the irresponsibility lecture or throwing the lawyer talk at me like Kenz assumed they would. Like I said, when it counted those guys had my back. And with one less thing taking up my mental space I could concentrate on other things. Like not calling Kenzie.

“So you want to talk about the appointment?” Max, took a seat on the couch. “Or anything else? If you don’t, that’s cool too. Whatever you need.”

The dude had a built-in sense of what I needed; he pretty much knew me better than I knew myself, so it came as no surprise he was leaving the ball in my court.

“We’re going to cool it for a few days. Kenzie needed some space.” I started the debrief, not that I entirely understood it myself. Not that it mattered, I’d told her I’d respect her wishes and that’s what I was going to do.

“Dude, it’s a lot. I think if she needs space then give it to her. She’s not packing up and moving anywhere, so a few days to let the dust settle isn’t such a bad thing.”

Of course what he was saying was absolutely true, probably slicker than what I could have managed. Things had moved pretty damn fast in the past few days. Slowing shit a little would probably do us both some good. And it’s not like she was far, I could still hightail it across the Brooklyn Bridge anytime I needed.

“Yeah, you’re right.” I agreed.

“What the hell is
that?” I pointed accusingly at the plant that had been dumped on my counter top, a bright red ribbon tied around the pot.

“I figured you can practice on it—you know—for the baby.” Sara spruced up the leaves; her bright pink fingertips fluffing it like a King Charles Caviler ready for
Best in Show
. “What do you think?” She turned it to face me.

“I think I’m going to kill it. And it’s hideous.”

The weekend had been tough, Monday even tougher. So after I’d slept most of the day, fantasized about the double chocolate fudge cake from the Food Network, had a good cry—because that seemed to be my usual speed—and then thrown up a couple of times, I called Sara.

This time when I spilled my guts it was more metaphorically rather than literally, which made a nice change.

So on Tuesday morning when Sara landed on my doorstep with what looked to be a small tree in hand, I knew it was bad news. For me and the tree. FYI, I had no green fingers or thumbs, and the thought of gardening gave me hives.

“Oh, come on Kenzie.” She shoved the plant closer, presenting it to me like some strange sacrificial offering. “Think of it as a science experiment. Just make sure you water it, talk to it and don’t kill it. Simple. I think we should call him Hendrix. That’s a good name.” She was way too excited about this fucking science experiment. Proof that she needed a project, one that didn’t include me.

I surveyed my newly acquired botanical child, knowing my friend was just trying to help. That phone call Sara had been on the receiving end of had been one of a rambling, scared and insecure little girl, something I’d never been. Like the life that had been implanted in me sucked out my previous courage. And that’s what scared me most of all, that in only a few days I’d been reduced to a mess. It wasn’t me, and I didn’t like the feeling.

“Fine, I’ll play nice with the plant.”

“Hendrix,” she whispered, covering its leaves with her palms like my words would mortally wound its ego. Honestly, if anyone were capable of sending flora to therapy, it would probably be me.

“
Hendrix
, I’ll play nice with Hendrix.” I lifted the pot, bringing it closer, my sweetened tone for Sara’s benefit, not the plant.

“That’s the spirit.” She gave me a quick side hug. “So what do you want to do now?

“Take Hendrix to get his first lap dance and buy him a forty ounce malt liquor.” I laughed, glad for some semi normal conversation. It had been about the baby and me almost every time we spoke, and I was glad for the distraction.

“Ha, see I know you don’t mean that because you can’t stand malt liquor.” Sara grinned, not skipping a beat.

“Oh, but the lap dance is completely okay?” I laughed, loving the lighter tone of the conversation. How long had it been since I genuinely laughed? Too long, if I had to ask.

“Actually, if you wanted to do mother-of-the-year right, you would be
performing
the lap dance.” She popped her hip to the side and danced suggestively, her hands roaming over her body despite me being her only audience. “Right up until you delivered. I hear that’s a kink.”

“Ewwww. Sara. Too fucking far.” I both mentally and physically shivered. The visual not one I would be able to get rid of in hurry.

“Hey.” I stopped giggling and looked at my beautiful friend, the act of kindness going beyond the gift she’d brought me. “Thanks, I really needed the laugh and I know I can be myself around you without you thinking I’m being an asshole.”

“Kenz, I brought you a fucking
plant
. I willingly walked into a nursery, picked it out, paid money for it and hauled it here. I’d say no one in this room has any grounds to pass judgment.”

“I just want you to know how much this all means to me.” I stopped talking before the lump in my throat got any bigger. There really wasn’t any need for words, none of which would do the feelings I had justice anyway.

“Awww, Kenz.” She pulled me into a hug. “You know I love you.”

“I love you too.” I hugged her back, fighting back the tears that seemed to be on constant rotation these days.

“All right, enough of this shit.” Sara straightened, her shoulders squaring off in a move I knew meant business. “We’re getting out of this apartment and doing something normal for a change.”

Other than the gigs on the weekend and the doctor’s visit, I’d been pretty much in lockdown. Granted it had been self imposed, born out of a whole lot of what-the-hell-is-going-to-happen-next, but my exile had been long enough.

“Please don’t say day spa,” I pleaded. I’d happily go almost anywhere with Sara, anywhere but there. “You know I don’t like strange people touching me.”

“You say that with a womb that is bearing Joey Shaw’s fruit.” She raised an eyebrow, the added smirk to soften the blow. “Strange people have already touched you.”

“Ha. Ha.” I mock laughed. “Seriously, what do women see in those places? Let’s all get naked together and have overpriced mud smeared into our skin.”

“Firstly, I am completely bummed you don’t want to get naked with me after I just showed you my moves.” She shook her head feigning offense. “Secondly, day spa? When have I ever suggested that? I said normal, not crazy talk.”

“Do I need to point out the obvious?” My head tipped toward the bright green-leafed visitor she had brought to my house. “You and crazy—cannot be ruled out.”

“Fair call.”

“Actually, I have an idea of something we could do.” The mental stretch felt good after the emotion of the last few days.

“I’m already liking this idea.” Sara grinned, holding up her arms in victory “Kenzie Clark is back ladies and gentlemen.”

“Dom has been dying to collaborate, you know they just got signed to a minor label.”

“Ah, Dom. He’s so fucking hot. Just looking at him makes me want to touch myself inappropriately.”

“Well, hopefully you can keep your hands on the mic stand so we can get something down. They’ve got paid studio time and everything. If the label likes what we do, who knows? We might get on the album.”

Two things.

I loved music passionately. It wasn’t just what I did, but also an expression of who I was. Writing music that people got to hear was a high you couldn’t describe. And there was no better way for me to process emotions other than putting them into notes and playing them.

Bad boyfriends, heartache, happy times, disappointments—all of it manifested into the music and provided me with a kind of therapy that kept me sane. Which brought me to my next point.

I hadn’t written a song in months. Stuck in a weird purgatory of contentment, I just couldn’t get inspired. As tragic as it was, bad stuff always breeds the better tune, and I had been baselining happy for a while. Trust me—I know how dumb it sounded, but you can’t rationalize art. And Dom and his band had been itching to do something together, looking to spice up their darker, metal sound with something that had a bit more light. Which is why they had asked to team up. That, and I think for as much as Sara wanted to touch herself when it came to Dom, he had similar feelings as well.

Plus—in case everything else hadn’t added up to enough good reason—if by chance the song did make it onto their album, there would be publishing royalties. Not that I was expecting six-figure checks, but even a few grand would go a long way to fattening my soon-to-be-anorexic bank account.

Time in the studio on their dime was the cherry on top.

“You want to put pen to paper and work on something?” And hopefully break the dry spell I’d been battling.

“I was just wondering if the added cargo was going to kick start the creative process.” Sara’s smile enough of an endorsement.

“I’m going to make the call and see if they are still interested.” Hopefully the offer hadn’t expired in the time I’d been considering it. It was always a possibility, it’s not like there weren’t a thousand other bands in the city.

“They’ll be interested. You’re an amazing songwriter and I write kick ass lyrics, they are going to want us.”

“We’ll see.”

***

“Ladies.” Dom greeted us at the door, his long dark hair pulled into a man bun, his dimples popping out proudly when he caught sight of Sara. She may have gone to some extra effort, her push-up bra/fitted shirt combo impossible to miss.

He had jumped out of his skin with excitement when I’d called him yesterday, asking if the offer was still on the table. What was supposed to be a quick conversation, ended up lasting longer than I had intended. Dom and I both tossing around ideas about what kind of song would work best with both our styles. It was hard enough to contain Sara on my side of the phone line, my BFF insisting that the call be put on speaker, which thankfully saved me from relaying the conversation back to her later.

Dom had wanted to get started as soon as possible on something new. If it even had a shot of being on their album then it would need to be written and recorded in the next few weeks. Not impossible, but certainly more pressure than what I was used to. Which is why when he suggested we catch up the next day and start nutting it out, I readily agreed. Anxious to get back to work and start writing again.

“Hey, Dom.” I gave him a hug, my hands barely stretching around his torso, the effort made more difficult by a guitar in my hand. He wasn’t just tall—topping out at six-foot-six—but he spent an obscene amount of time in the gym. While I preferred Joey’s muscular, athletic build, Sara went gaga over the body-builder types, like the man in front of me whose body had so many ripples he could quite possibly be having an allergic reaction.

“Dom,” Sara purred, not offering a hug like I had. Stepping through the doorway and commencing the thinly veiled dance she always did, pretending like she
didn’t
want to jump his bones.

“Sara.” His eyes traveled up the length of her body which left no doubt he was mentally undressing her. Seriously, these two needed a room already.

“So,” I cleared my throat, not so subtly reminding them I was still in the room with them. “I’ve got some ideas for the song.”

“Great, I can’t wait to hear them.” He closed the door behind us and walked into his living room. “I figure we can camp out on the couch and see where we end up.” And unless he was deaf, he—like me, couldn’t have missed Sara’s erotic moan at his suggestion.

It was going to be a long day.

Lucky for all of us, after the initial flirting, they both dialed it back as we slipped into business mode. Dom really liked the melody I had been playing with in between vomiting this morning.

It had been a tough balance. Puke. Guitar strum. Puke. The cord progression churned in my head even while I had my head down the toilet, the ultimate in multitasking.

“You want to play it?” Dom’s head nodded to my guitar laying idly against the floor, dragging over an acoustic one for himself. His smile, hopeful.

“It’s rough, Dom.” I watched as he visibly deflated like I’d just kicked his puppy. “But sure, we can wade through it.”

“Awesome.” His face lit up, giving a little fist pump. Oh, if only we were all so easily pleased.

While Dom and I tinkered with the notes, Sara scribbled furiously in her notepad, tapping out the beat on the page with her ballpoint. A few words here or there but no real lyrics yet, she sat bobbing her head and giving us a thumbs up whenever we got to a part she liked. It was song writing in its crudest form, but I was loving it.

The minutes had slipped into hours, the time passing quickly as we played. The foundation of the song slowly emerged from the melting pot of notes; what we’d written, sounding really, really good.

“You wanna grab something to eat and keep working?” Dom’s search of his cupboards revealed nothing more than a few packs of Pringles, some Ramen noodles and Mac n Cheese. All of those options were going to get a pass from me.

“Sure.” Sara agreed without even consulting with me, her flirty game back in play now we were off the clock.

“Hey, so you guys know Black Addiction, right?” Dom grabbed a stack of takeaway menus, perusing our dinner options. Sara sidling up right beside him in case he needed help.

“Um. We don’t know them
that
well.” My heartbeat went into express mode as I wondered why the hell Joey and his band were getting a mention. Was nowhere safe? Sara’s eyes widened, completely negating the playing-it-cool I was going for.