Feuds and Interludes (Rock ‘n’ Romance Legends #1)

Chapter 3

Three

S hane

Teeth-chattering is not very metal.

I pulled my suit coat a little tighter and tried not to shiver.

It was bad enough having to fly out to New York in the wintertime, but then to have to get dressed up in a damn monkey suit and play nice? The worst. I was surly about the whole thing and doing a terrible job of hiding it from my beloved grandfather.

“You could have stayed home,” he teased. “I know you had a whole weekend of…what are you playing now?”

“Fuck off,” I said with a laugh, knowing full well he was going to give me shit about my obsession with Warhammer, a humble pastime that kept me sane in between tours.

“As long as we can both agree I’m the hippest one in this car.”

“Yeah,” I snorted. “You’re the hippest, hep cat.”

It was fun joking around with Pops, but I knew he was trying to distract me from my beef with this whole Rock Hall of Fame bullshit.

“I can’t believe the committee asked his band to play the tribute and not yours. So wrong.”

“Now, Shane,” Pops answered in his lilting Irish accent. “I have no problem playing with Stellar and letting Boone Collins take the lead. It gives the show buy-in with the younger fans and might get us some movement. It’s been a while since the band has had a moment in the sun.”

We rode in a stretch limo from our hotel to the venue, and I wished I was anywhere else. I loved being my grandfather’s escort, don’t get me wrong, but I hated New York. Nothing good ever happened in this city, and even though my band spent a lot of time here, I never felt comfortable. Always felt like a small fish in a big sea when I should feel on top of the world.

“I just think since you co-wrote most of the songs from California, you should be the one singing.”

Pops shook his head. He knew he wasn’t going to convince me that Boone was a great guy. That ship sailed a long time ago.

“He’s got that voice, though. Even better than John’s.”

I grunted my reluctant agreement. Boone Collins had the most sultry and sensual tenor in all of rock music. He had more range than Elvis, more sex appeal than Jim Morrison, and more balls than Mick Jagger and Steven Tyler combined when he was onstage.

And yet he was a total prick in person.

“Anyhow, it’ll be great to play the songs. I’m glad Vera Jean will be there.”

Pops got a thoughtful smile on his face whenever he mentioned John’s widow. She was a nice enough lady, did a helluva lot to support the LGBTQ+ community and folks in the music industry who were in need.

But how my grandfather could be so charitable after everything that had happened to him as a result of his friendship with John Boone was beyond me. John had been painted as the hero after California split up over “personal differences”—yeah, John insisted they keep their drama to themselves so he would continue looking like the good guy. But I knew the truth. I seethed whenever I heard people gushing over John Boone and his schoolboy grandson.

Meanwhile, Pops spent twenty years nearly killing himself while touring with hired guns until he finally mended fences and reunited with the other former members of California. They formed the band Brothers, and their collaboration was a massive success, a comeback that lasted over a decade. Now mostly retired, Brothers played the occasional casino tour or Vegas residency, but Pops spent most of his time alone these days.

“I heard you talking to Mack the other day. You guys still planning the anniversary tour?”

“We’re talking about it. Mack said there’s a lot of interest, but I’m not sure how many of the guys are physically up to it.”

I knew he was happiest on the road, even though it was terrible on him physically, as well. I hated to think he’d miss out.

“Maybe a few festival dates? A livestream or Pay-Per-View show would be cool?—”

“Let’s just get through tonight. I know yer always onto the next set of plans.”

“Yeah, you know. Headed up to Oregon to Bolder Breed Studios for a stretch, then rehearsals for Rocktoberfest. Then a tour in November and December before the album comes out. Gotta stay busy to stay relevant.”

He gave me a sad smile. “Probably drives yer bandmates nuts, huh?”

I cracked my knuckles and stretched my neck out. “Probably. But it’s why they’ve all got sports cars and big fancy houses.”

Pops slapped his hand down on top of my thigh and squeezed.“I’m so damned proud of ye, ye know that don’t ye?”

I patted his hand. “Thanks.”

I did know, and I was grateful. Grateful for him . If my parents would have had a say, I’d be working some boring nine-to-five out in the valley with a husband and two-point-whatever kids. My mother hadn’t spoken to me—well, not civilly—since I’d left home fifteen years ago to make it as a musician. She wouldn’t admit she was wrong when she said I’d never amount to anything if I pursued music, and so I had nothing to say to her. Or my father, who let her run the show without ever standing up for me.

The limousine pulled up in front of the Barclays Center and we stepped out to the familiar sounds of screaming fans and the flashing lights of cameras. Many voices shouted out my grandfather’s name, but even more shouted mine, which was always weird. I wished they all appreciated him as much as I did.

I put my hand on his back and waved to the crowd, loving the smile on his face. People didn’t recognize his genius as much as I’d like, but there were definitely adoring fans here.

Once we were inside the lobby, we were whisked away to our table and there were lots of well-wishers who stopped by and said their hellos. Grandpa and I gave plenty of hugs and backslaps. There were so many faces, I started to lose track.

Until I saw the one that made my blood boil.

Damn that Boone Collins, looking like the devil he was in his navy-blue velvet tuxedo. He’d lost weight since the last time I’d seen him, and his long auburn hair curled handsomely around pronounced cheekbones under deep-set innocent-looking blue eyes. He wore his long hair parted in the middle from a widow’s peak and it was always so damn healthy looking, it was as if he’d stepped off a modeling shoot. Premature balding hadn’t affected him , no. I was the lucky one in that department. I finally started buzzing mine to the scalp about five years ago, which I got complimented on, but still. What did they say about plumage and the male of the species? It was our glory or some shit? It felt like I’d had my damned peacock feathers plucked out.

Oh well. Some people thought bald was beautiful. I’d have to go with that.

Vera Jean walked in on Boone’s arm looking like she was at the Oscars rather than the Rock Hall Induction Ceremony. She was a stunner, to say the least. But she’d always seemed like she was too good for the plebes in the music business. The sea of people parted to let them through to the table next to ours. I hated that I couldn’t take my eyes off of them and tried to force myself to remain sitting when my grandfather practically launched himself in her direction.

Here we go.

I hurried after Pops, though why, I don’t know. Did I think I’d keep him from embarrassing himself? That I’d save him from getting his feelings hurt? I’ve no clue what I hoped to accomplish, but I followed nonetheless and planted myself at his side with my hands clasped in front of me like some burly bodyguard. I even had my stupid sunglasses on still, why? To protect myself? To hide the eye rolling?

Whatever my reason, I was acting like the quintessential douchey rockstar, and I hated it. Boone Collins always seemed to bring it out in me.

“Vera Jean, you look lovely.”

Pops took her hand and kissed it as though he was a knight or some shit. But I saw what maybe no one else did. First, his sheer happiness at being near her…and her grand dame facade slip to a genuine smile. Her eyes watered. I’d never seen the glamorous woman let her guard down at all, and yet here she was, having a moment. With my grandfather.

And Boone saw it too. He moved to support her, placing an arm behind her back. He whispered something in her ear and she gave him a nod.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Bruce. It’s been too long.” She pulled him closer by the hand and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

And he blushed.

“How are you, Shane?”

I almost didn’t see Boone’s extended hand; I was so caught up in my grandfather’s reunion, I’d missed Boone’s attempt at a greeting. By the time I noticed, he’d pulled his hand back.

“Or not,” he said with an eye roll.

Shit. There was no recovering from that.

“Collins.” I kicked my chin out in his direction. “Hope you’ve been practicing. Sounded like there was some trouble in rehearsal,” I said. I couldn’t help myself. He needed to be taken down a peg.

“Shane.” I didn’t miss the warning in Pops’s tone.

Boone’s returning smile was so condescending, I wanted to slap it away.

“I can certainly handle my own. I was practically born playing this music.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t write it.”

Why did I have such animosity toward a guy who shouldn’t matter to me? Maybe because my whole life I’d heard how great he was, how successful he was, and damn if I wasn’t a little jealous.

“Shane, that was very thoughtful of you to donate your piano to the auction.” Vera Jean was irresistible, and she had impeccable timing. It was hard to accept her compliments, and yet she always had them. “You’ve always been so generous to the foundation.”

She held out her hand, and I shook it.

“It’s the least I could do.”

She gave my hand an extra squeeze before she turned her attention back to Pops.

“He’s so much like you,” she said, squeezing Pops’s biceps.

“He’s smarter, more handsome, and more talented…but similar, yes,” Pops said, and he winked at me.

“Whatever.” I hated this shit. The compliments, the kissing up, the fake humility. My pops meant it, but I hated the one-up bullshit.

The house lights flickered and it was time to take our seats. Pops and Vera Jean shared one last smile and turned to go—but this interlude wasn’t over.

“He’s right, you know.”

I felt Boone at my back, and it raised my hackles. I turned to face him and was surprised at his proximity, but not enough to step back.

“He’s what?”

Boone did that big blue-eyed demure thing he does that’s sold Stellar a million albums. It didn’t work on me. No. His “thing” didn’t work on me. At all.

“Your grandfather’s right. You are smarter, more handsome, more talented.”

Fire shot straight down my spine. Was I pissed? Furious? Or something else?

“The fuck you talking about, College Boy? You don’t know anything.”

His goddamned blue eyes flared, and he flinched at my words. I think? Or did I imagine it?

“Right,” he said with a smirk. “I don’t know anything. Keep telling yourself that.”

I saw red and acted before I could even consider where I was or who was around. I pushed him. Not hard, but still. He stumbled back with a laugh, and crashed into fucking Roger Taylor from Queen, who patted him on the shoulder and moved on to his seat. And then he was right back in my face. Still laughing. Was he laughing at me? Was he covering up his embarrassment? Or did he really want a piece of me?

“Boys,” Pops snapped. “This is not the time or the place.”

Vera Jean caught Boone’s eye and somehow managed to smile at him and give him a “how dare you” look at the same time. The woman had a gift.

My heart was still pounding in my ears as Pops led me to our table. Boone stared me down the whole way to his seat, and even as he lowered himself into the chair, he kept glaring his challenge my way. What was his game? What the hell was he trying to prove? Why the hell did he have to say anything? Why the hell did I always let him get a rise out of me?

“Why do you let him get a rise out of you?” Pops asked close to my ear. The bastard and I were still staring at each other, and I knew for certain if you took my blood pressure right then it would’ve been through the roof. I downed my water and reached for the pitcher to pour another one.

“He’s the one…he just…he’s always… grrrr .” I felt my nostrils flare as I looked at him across the aisle, smiling and laughing with Vera Jean.

Prick.

Someone was speaking over the PA but my heart still thundered in my ears, quieter now but still. Then I heard the opening chug-a-chug-a-chug-a of “Edge of Midnight,” and I realized the show had begun. The ever-magical Stevie Nicks had taken the stage, and all eyes were on her.

Except Boone’s.

And mine.

Why the hell was he still staring at me? Why did he always do this?

Why did staring back make my heart beat faster?

I told myself over and over to stop giving him the power to set me off, but there was just something about him that made me…weak. Which was probably why I reacted. Definitely why I reacted. But what the weakness was about, I hadn’t figured out.Shit like this had happened every time we ran into each other over the past few years.

Well, someday we were going to have it out, because I was sick of him acting like he was better than me when we both put our fucking pants on one leg at a time.

Why the hell am I thinking about his pants?