Page 6 of The Sound of Us

We made our way back into the bar and wove our way through the crowd. The band had set up and the drummer tapped out a slow beat on stage.

“Well?” Isla asked as she pushed open the front door. “What happened with your hottie?”

“For a few minutes there, I thought he was… special. Different. Or maybe the same. We had a lot in common.”

She put an arm around my shoulder and gave me a sympathetic squeeze. “At least you’ve got a good story to tell. ‘Isla dragged me to Steamworks for a good time, but all I got was this lousy sweatshirt.’”

I touched the logo embroidered across my chest. Despite the fact I’d misread our encounter, the memory of what could have been was woven into the threads that spelled out his name.

I thought he’d seen me—the real me. But there was no “me” to be seen.

It was the story of my life all over again.

CHAPTER THREE“Electric Love” by BørnsDANTE

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I slammed Quinn against the van as soon as we’d finished loading up after the gig. He’d been high on stage, and his addiction was written all over the lines in his thin face, the sunken eyes, and his almost skeletal frame. Worse, he wasn’t the only one. Both our lead guitarist and our keyboardist had been messed up. It was yet another disastrous gig after a string of bad performances over the last few months.

“What the fuck is wrong withyou?” Quinn snickered. “You’re always taking the best pussy. Didn’t your mother tell you it’s nice to share?”

It took every bit of my self-control not to punch his smug face. My mother had been too busy trying to survive my father’s abuse to share much life wisdom with me and my little sister, Sasha, but she did try to teach us to keep quiet. Sasha had taken that lesson fully on board and retreated into herself. I’d taken the opposite approach and suffered for it every day.

“She isn’t that kind of girl.” If I’d been any other man, I would have given in to the urge to punch him, but damned if I would become my dad.

Quinn held up his hand in a warding gesture. “My bad. You clearly haven’t fucked her yet. I wouldn’t have wasted that opportunity. Did you see that ass?”

I’d seen all of her. She was the kind of woman who drew attentionwithout any effort. My mind flashed back to the moment I’d seen Skye walk into the alley—thick dark hair falling in waves down her back, high smooth cheekbones in a perfectly oval face, jeans that hugged sweet curves and a top that had looked so much like lingerie I’d had to stay in the van until the vivid images of running my hands through the soft material and sliding it off her had passed.

Meeting her in person hadn’t helped the situation. I’d fallen into eyes the rich brown-gold of whiskey, arresting and startling at once. I could still remember the feel of her body pressed against mine, the floral scent of her hair, the soft groan she made when she kissed me. But it was our music connection that had hit me the most, as disconcerting as it was intriguing.

“Ignore him. He’s just trying to wind you up,” Jules said, tucking her drumsticks into the ratty canvas bag slung across her shoulder. Her look was a combination of punk rock and ’90s grunge, with a black leather jacket over a ripped tank, torn skinny jeans, and a pair of combat boots that had seen some serious action. Jules had her problems, but substance abuse was no longer one of them.

“He’s already wound up,” Quinn sneered. “He just didn’t have what it took to bring it home.”

“At least he could play.” Jules turned on him, her pink-streaked bob swinging over her shoulders. “You promised you’d be clean this time.”

Quinn’s face twisted into a snarl. “I don’t have time for this shit. I’ve got a coupla groupies waiting outside, andtheyappreciate my talents. Who’s coming to party?”

“Not this time. I’ve got a show tonight.” I DJ’d the late-night show at Havencrest’s independent campus radio station, WJPK, five nights a week from midnight until 2:00A.M.It was my escape—the only time I could just be me.

Jules turned down the offer as she always did, and we got busy packing up the van. “We need to talk about the band and what’s going on.” She kept her voice low as I helped her load her drum kit. “We can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what? Play with half the band barely able to function? Idon’t think we need to worry about it anymore. The manager wasn’t happy, and I’m pretty sure that was our last gig at Steamworks. We already got the axe from three other venues and the next two have canceled based on the rumors. I’m done, Jules. It’s over.”

“You can’t just leave.” Jules stared at me, aghast. “What will we do without you?”

“It’s my last year at university,” I said. “I need to focus on my marks and preparing for the LSAT or I won’t get into law school next year. There’s nothing I love more than playing live, which is why I’ve been making the time, but that’s my name they’re dragging through the mud—my reputation as a musician that’s being destroyed. The joy is gone, Jules, and that’s everything to me.”

Music had been my life when I was young. My mother had been a singer in a band before she met my dad and through her I learned about rock gods like Led Zeppelin, Queen, Jimi Hendrix, and Pink Floyd. She bought me my first guitar when I was five years old, and my grandmother, a professional cellist, gave me my first electric, a black Les Paul, when I was eight. The most important women in my life had given me the gift of music, and even my father couldn’t take it away.

“It was just a bad night,” she pleaded. “Don’t make any final decisions. We can’t be a band without a bass player.”

“I’m sorry, Jules.” I put my bass over my shoulder, adjusting the strap so it sat against my back. I’d discovered the bass after hearing my middle school music teacher play during our annual teachers vs. students Battle of the Bands. He was like the secret hero of each song, steering the band from the shadows and laying down the rhythm of a song. If the lead guitar was the lightning, he was the thunder. I offered to do his yard work in exchange for the lessons my father had refused to pay for, and he gave me his old bass and taught me how to play.

Jules turned on me, hands finding her hips. “What’s more important than your music?”

Except for Sasha, nothing had been more important to me than music after my mother died. It was my escape, and after Sashatook her own life, it became my retreat. But when I finally got my life back together, music had to take a back seat to vengeance.

“I’m pursuing my dream of becoming a lawyer.” As far as I was concerned, my father was responsible for the deaths of both my mother and sister, and my life goal was to work for the DA’s office, where I would be able to make him pay for his crimes.

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