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

Chapter 9

Nine

S hane

“I’m sorry, Shane, but Stellar is booked to overlap with you for the week. Morrison plans to work with you during the evenings, but days he’ll be with them. Lydia is free for the first couple of days to work with you as well.”

So many ugly things wanted to come out of my mouth, but that would feed into my reputation as a total dick, and none of this was Rose’s fault. As the manager of Bolder Breed Studios, it was her job to keep Lydia Pride and Morrison Jones on schedule, and to be their buffer in situations like this. The issue was on our end.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Jeff should have let me know we’d be splitting time.” Our manager, of all people, should have known I wouldn’t want to be in the same studio, much less the same area code, with Boone. “Tell Lydia we’d love to see her tomorrow then.”

“I’m really sorry for the miscommunication,” Rose said. “But the rehearsal space is open in Cabin Six for you guys. You’ve got your usual rooms in the east wing, on the second floor.”

I didn’t want to ask where Stellar was staying. I didn’t even want to be breathing the same air, be in the same time zone as Boone…

Because I didn’t trust myself.

He’d been all I could think about, especially after seeing him lose some of that golden-boy gloss the night our grandparents reconnected. But if I was being honest, it really hit me while watching him sing with my grandfather. Oh, man, the two of them sounded good together.

Since that night, I’d spent my time vacillating between wanting to support my grandfather in his determination to win back the love of his life and wanting to forget about the entire Collins family. Pops was hurt time and time again by his best friend and the woman they both loved, and it seemed I was the only one who remembered that.

Dude was completely gone. He was so in love with Vera Jean. He’d loved my grandmother, Eddie Mae. They married shortly after John and Vera Jean were married, and had my mom around the same time Jean Collins was born. Grandma and Pops had a tumultuous marriage that wasn’t helped by their drinking. Sadly, she passed when I was little.

My mother blamed him for everything that went wrong in their lives. I overheard some teary conversations he’d had with Mom after yet another setback in his life. She thought music had ruined his life and made him an addict. She finally told him to stop coming around when I was in middle school, which was the beginning of the end of any sort of positive relationship between us. Shortly after that my father left, and though he tried to stay a part of my life, he got tired of fighting my mother as well. Obviously I hadn’t had a whole lot of experience observing healthy relationships, so what did I know?

I just wanted to see him happy, and he was over the damn moon.

The guys and I carried our stuff up the grand staircase and as I turned the corner, I heard laughter behind me.

Guess who.

“Shane.”

Boone stared at me with the type of grin on his face that had me thinking he was ready to dig at me again, but he said nothing.

“I’ll meet you down there,” Annie, his bass player, said before trotting down the steps and over to Rose’s office.

“Didn’t know you guys were going to be here,” I said. It wasn’t the douchiest thing I could have said, but it probably sounded that way to him.

Boone cocked his head and walked toward me, stopping farther away than usual. He was kind of a personal-space invader, but this time he remained out of arm’s reach.

I’d been a total dick in New York.

“I thought you knew. I’m sorry if that cuts into your plans,” he said with a wince, and I actually believed he meant it. “We would postpone and give you guys the time, but Gran is coming in a few days to work on the plans for the benefit show, and I need to wrap Stellar stuff before she arrives. Morrison and Lydia invited her to have it at the venue here.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Instead of LA?”

Boone lifted a shoulder. “The Bowl is under renovations, and since they’re donating the venue fee, it means more of the funds will go to the foundation.”

“Vera Jean does good work. I’m glad it worked out.”

Boone stepped closer. “Hey, Shane?—”

“Butler, we’re going down to the mess hall. I’m starving.” Dean, Tucker, and Drew stood there staring between us like they were itching to grab some popcorn and ringside seats.

I waved them off, though they all hesitated at the top of the stairs, probably waiting for the predictable drama. Fucking Dean pulled out his phone, and I swear he hit record.

“I’ll see you down there,” I said, inviting them to fuck right off with the flick of my middle finger.

Boone chuckled, and my eyes shot to him, expecting him to make a smartass comment and walk away. What was he waiting for?

Dean, Drew, and Tucker left us alone, finally. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, I turned back to Boone.

We both spoke at once.

And there was nervous laughter.

For the first time, I didn’t feel animosity toward him. I wanted to hear what he had to say. Maybe he, too, had been feeling some kinda way about all that happened between us recently. But then I spoke first.

“I’m sorry I pushed you.” What are you doing, Shane? “In New York. I was out of line.”

Boone’s beguiling eyes as blue as the deepest sea went even rounder. “Oh, no, it was my fault. I egged you on.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but then his words registered. He was actually admitting he might not be perfect? When I didn’t say anything, he stepped even closer, now in his usual too-close proximity.

“I always seem to say the wrong thing?—”

“It’s not you,” I said. “It’s been bugging me. I shouldn’t have put my hands on you.”

Boone tucked his chin and smiled up at me. “I mean, maybe not in anger.”

“I—” Pardon?

“Maybe I wanted you to. Want you to. Maybe that’s why I poke you.” His gaze dropped to my lips, back up to my eyes, and then he sighed. “See you around, Butler.”

And he fucking winked as he walked away, his hippie pants riding low on his hips, leaving a gap of pale skin where his black stretchy top didn’t quite reach.

I was left sputtering on the top of the steps.

What the…? How the…? Why would he…?

“Shane! You coming, man?”

Dean stood at the bottom of the steps with his hands out.

I was so close to making this internal dialogue external that I took a minute to breathe deeply, shake off this…whatever it was. Irritation? Annoyance?

No. If I was honest with myself, I recognized it.

Lust. Attraction. Intrigue.

I couldn’t deny any longer that I absolutely did not hate this confounding man. There was a reason why he kept getting to me, and perhaps he saw it clearer than I did. I tended to stay in my feisty and furious mindset most of the time, which didn’t allow for tight relationships with anyone other than my band, who had to deal with me. I was prickly. Abrasive, even.

Why the hell would the golden boy want to engage with me? And why did I want him to?

I held up a finger, trotted to my room, opened it with the key Rose had given me, and dropped my guitar and bags inside before locking it again, first taking a moment to smile at the place I’d lay my head for the next several nights. I loved the decor of these rooms. Morrison and Lydia had acquired an enormous collection of rock memorabilia over the years and they decorated the rooms thematically to make each one special. They usually gave me the one with the giant Led Zeppelin “Stairway to Heaven” mural. Dark-stained wood walls, thick drapes in case you wanted to sleep in, and a king-sized bed with a padded headboard and enough pillows to hide a body underneath looked so inviting right now, but it was work time.

I took the stairs quickly and brushed past Dean without giving his smart mouth an opportunity to talk shit.

“Everything okay?”

“Peachy.”

Dean laughed and jogged to catch up with my long strides. We headed out the front doors and down the gravel path toward the mess hall. We ate better at the compound than I did anywhere else, so we made it a point never to miss meals while we were here.

“You know, I think you and the cherub should just fuck and get it over with. No one is going to care. I don’t know why you just?—”

“Stop.”

Dean was the only one in my band I would even allow to talk shit about my personal life. Yeah, I did run the show a bit like a dictator from time to time, but the guys were with me because they liked me being in charge.

During a period of weakness—I don’t know if I should call it that or not, but a period when I was going through some shit, I tried to get the guys to make some of the decisions, take more ownership of writing songs. I was sick and fucking tired of everything being on me. They didn’t go for it, and we went right back to the way things were. Some bands do change it up, some are a democracy. But not Wicked Soul. I wrote the songs, Dean, Drew, and Tucker assisted with arrangements, and I liaised with our manager Jeff and the label.

I wanted my fingers in the business. I didn’t want what happened to Pops to happen to me. I wanted to make enough money that I didn’t have to worry about it, and so I could take care of the old man. So far, I’d met my goals.

“Come on, Butler. You going to tell me there’s not something there? Everyone sees it.”

“Stop. Seriously. We’re here to record. We’ve got a tight schedule, made tighter by this little hitch in our plans?—”

“Is that what we’re calling him?”

“Fuck off.” But it didn’t have any venom in it. Part of me was secretly thrilled to potentially get to see Stellar behind the scenes, maybe even get to watch Boone sing.

“All right, but if you want to scratch that itch, nobody’s gonna blame you. And frankly, I’d be happy to cover for you if you don’t want the other guys to know.”

“Gee, thanks. I’m touched.”

Dean cursed under his breath. “You need to be touched,” he muttered.

I let it go as we were nearing the mess hall and I knew that if I protested any harder, I’d make a total ass out of myself, and that wouldn’t be a great way to start our week here.

We were well cared for by the whole staff at Bolder Breed. Felix, Morrison’s chef, took extra care to meet everyone’s likes and dietary needs. Dinner that night was grilled mahi mahi, vegetables, and mashed potatoes, just enough to satisfy but not too much that we’d leave feeling like we’d had a heavy meal. Then the guys really wanted to go into Portland and see a burlesque show, and even though I wanted to get some rehearsal time in, I didn’t want to be a curmudgeon.

As we were walking back to the lodge together, Leland Elliot, Morrison’s partner, was jogging down the steps. We’d met years ago, and I always loved catching up with him.

“You guys go ahead,” I said to Dean and the others after they shook hands with Leland, and they were gone. Didn’t even hesitate to leave without me. Not that we went out together in cases like this, but for some reason it niggled at me. Dean checked to see if he had the keys to the rental SUV we’d picked up and waved as he ran off.

“Good to see you, man,” I said, as Leland wrapped me in a big hug.

“Been too long, Butler. I hear there was a little mix-up with the schedule, man, I’m sorry.”

“Not at all. It’ll be good to have some time with Lydia and with Morrison. They both bring something different to the music, you know.”

Leland kept his arm around my shoulders. “You heading up?”

“Nah. Too restless. I was going to grab a guitar and go to Cabin 6, mess around for a while.”

Leland pulled me away from the lodge. “Let me show you what More brought me from his latest trip to London.” He rubbed his hands together, and I followed him. “He knows how I feel about vintage guitars, and he found me the perfect slide guitar. I’ve been itching to show it to someone who will appreciate it for what it is.”

I laughed and patted him on the back. “You’re not going stir crazy out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“Are you kidding? I get to play host to all of our best friends. I don’t have to deal with LA traffic. Ain’t gotta cook. This is heaven up here.”

“I guess it would be,” I said, thinking that I, too, might like a little break from the rat race. “What about the rain?”

He shrugged. “Hasn’t gotten to me yet. We went down south for a bit when it was snowing. Lydia likes the cold, so she booked all the time. Worked out good. Sometimes the damp fucks with my joints, though. Getting old is a bitch.”

“Whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes. And then I realized we were at the two-story house they’d converted into the main studio space when Morrison and Lydia bought the place, and Leland was going up the steps. “Oh, uh, aren’t they working in there?” As much as I was tempted to flirt with disaster, busting in on Boone’s studio time was probably not a great move.

“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just in the control room.” He held open the door for me and waited.

Fuck. Now it would be weird to beg off.

What could I do but accept his invitation?

I walked in and he let the heavy door close behind us. We stood in the foyer of the old house and through a set of glass French doors, I could see Morrison sitting behind the board with his headset on, having some sort of…seizure? He had his hands pressed to the earpieces as he jerked his head and his whole upper body, his track-pants legs flailing about, rolling his chair side-to-side

“Oh shit, I heard what they were working on last night. This album is going to be all kinds of sick.” Leland opened the door and gestured for me to follow.

Beyond the control board, Boone was playing and singing his heart out, his long curls bouncing on his shoulders, his eyes closed. I couldn’t look away. Not even when he opened them and stared at me in surprise.

Leland put a hand on Morrison’s shoulder, making his partner jump. He stood and hugged Leland, bouncing up and down and pointing his finger at the band. He flipped a switch, and the control room was blasted with sound.

The sound of Boone’s voice flooded me with heat. I thought I might black out when he rested his hands on the mic stand and sang a high note that made the hair rise on my arms.

His giant blue eyes were focused on me as he finished the last note of the song. When it was over, he smiled at his bandmates, nodding at them. When he looked back at me , his expression was wide-eyed, as if he’d just gotten caught doing something naughty. Or that was just the salacious thoughts in my head.

“Boone, that was fucking brilliant,” Morrison said over the mic, jarring me from my little fantasyland. “I’m out of my head over here.”

Boone took a dramatic bow, and his eyes connected with me once more.

“I ran into Butler, and I wanted to show him my new toy,” Leland said to Morrison, reminding me we were not here to gawk at Boone Collins.

Leland stepped over to the rack of guitars and pulled out his new shiny. “Morrison already has my heart, but damn, would you look at this beauty?” The guitar was a rare Lectraslide, and he proceeded to run his fingers lovingly along the strings. “I’ve always loved these. I can’t believe you found one.”

Morrison shrugged. “I knew you’d love it. Plus, I thought it could come in handy if Boone agrees that this song we’ve been working on needs slide.”

“If Boone agrees to what?”

Boone stepped out of the studio and joined the three of us. The twins pulled out their cigarette packs and basically snuck out like a couple of kids cutting school. But Boone didn’t seem to notice. He was staring at me. Again. Making me realize that I was imposing on his studio time.