Page 4 of Deliverance

Contrary to my original belief, Hazel is a great wife. Watching Justice trying to be a husband to Nikki was like watching an earthquake in slow motion. They didn’t fit, and I’m surprised Aiden’s such a sweet kid. Although something tells me it has a lot to do with the fact that he’s been living with Justice and Hazel in Santa Barbara ever since his real mother lost all her marbles last year and drove her SUV into a fence while immodestly intoxicated. With Aiden in the back seat.

“You bet I did,” Justice croaks, then changes the subject. “How long you in town for?”

“Not sure. Might stay a while.”

“You should come over next weekend. I’m going to test-run the new grill. We can jam.”

I nod, waiting for more. There’s a small part of me that’s been secretly missing the debauchery of the olden days, and perhaps I hope he’s done taking a break from the band, but my gut says otherwise. Justice Cross doesn’t need anyone to make or play music. He’s his own man and his fans are eager to swallow whatever his brilliant mind cooks up.

“I got an offer,” I say quietly and wait for his reaction.

“Yeah?” He tears his gaze from the painting and turns to look at me, his eyes roaming my face expectantly.

“Bleeding Faith is looking to replace Ashby.”

“No kidding? For good?” He raises a brow, intrigued.

I shrug. “Not sure. We haven’t really discussed the details. Ian just told me.”

“I thought Ashby got clean?”

“He was in rehab last year.” I pause and we both fall into silence. It’s almost symbolic, a moment of remembrance for Chance. Even so many years after his death, I can’t shake off the feeling that we didn’t do right by him. We thought we were invincible while one of us was dying. And this dumb blindness and inability to see things that should have been seen terrifies me. What if I’m missing something important right now?

Justice clears his throat and circles back to the topic. “I mean, they’re cool guys.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I don’t pursue this conversation further. It’s obvious—we aren’t getting back on stage together anytime soon. But I needed to throw the news about the offer out there. For him to hear it. We made a pact back in London right after Hazel was hospitalized in a coma when the limo she was riding was hit by another vehicle. We promised we’d be straight with each other. No more hiding our feelings, no more pretending. Only the truth. Because nothing else holds friendships together, and this relationship—years and years of creating music—is all we have left and I’m not risking it.

“Didn’t we play Germany with them a couple of times?” Justice asks.

“We did.”

Our chat is interrupted by his daughter’s sobbing.

“She’s tired,” he explains, cradling the little girl to his chest. “Let me go find our nanny.” A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “And you need to say hi to my wife. She’s probably on the terrace, hiding from the press.”

We part ways and I wander through the gallery for a little while, glancing at other paintings and engaging in small talk. The jet lag finally catches up with me when I reach the terrace and I text my driver to let him know I’ll be ready to leave soon. The sun is long gone and here, beneath the blanket of atmospheric lighting, people are scattered around the deck like stars in the Milky Way. Soft bursts of laughter and children’s voices float across the warm air as I navigate through the crowd.

I find Hazel at the quieter end of the terrace in the company of her mother and a woman in a white suit.

“Zander! What a surprise!” She pulls me into a quick hug. “I’m glad you made it. So good to see you.”

“Good to see you too.” I draw back from our embrace and take a second to study her. Clad in a light blue silk dress and ankle-strap silver stilettos, the woman looks stunning. Light years from the mess she was right after the accident.

In truth, my earlier memories of Hazel aren’t the ones I particularly want to keep. I had my doubts about her and Justice. She seemed like a rebound at first. A temporary obsession of a man having a life crisis and wanting to save someone to prove his worth. I happily accepted the fact that I was wrong.

Hazel hooks her arm around my elbow and brings me into her little circle. “You remember my mom?”

I offer Clair my hand. “Of course I do. We met at the wedding.”

She shakes it. “You were the best man.”

“I was indeed.”

“This is Tina,” Hazel introduces the woman in a suit. “She’s the gallery owner.” Tall, slim, sharp cheekbones, and a cunning expression.

“You’ve got a really cool spot here,” I tell her, smiling.

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