Page 253 of Second Sets Omnibus
“Really,” I confirm with a nod as she wiggles excitedly in Kieran’s arms.
“Really?” Rad asks with suspicion, narrowing his eyes.
“Yes. Because your daddies have a show, we’ll be out soooo late!” I say, pinching her cheeks.
“What show?” Callum asks, tilting his head to the side as a slow smile spreads across his lips. “We do have the instruments.”
“What? Where?” Rad begs, jumping on his toes.
“Where else would we go?” Asher snorts. “We’re in Central City. There’s only one place with our names carved into it.” He smiles, chuckling.
“Fuck yes!” Rad whoops.
“Daddy, I think it’s time you owe me money with every bad word you say. That’ll be thirty-thousand dollars,” Lyric says, holding her hand with an expectant look.
I snort. “Yeah, Daddy. Pay up…”
“But… But… Little Pretty Girl! That’s a lot of money.”
“Pay up, Daddy.” She sticks her nose in the air, wiggling her fingers like he’ll pay her right here and now.
“I’ll add it to your college fund,” he grumbles, high-fiving her hand.
I snort. “Responsible parenting,” I commend, earning a grin. “All right, Whispered Words. Let’s get some dinner and then?—.”
“Show time,” Rad interrupts with jazz hands.
“Oh my God, bitch,”Ode breathes, staring out at the sea of people chanting below the stage. Her hands slap at my shoulders over and over, leaving a slight burn behind her hits.
“Stop,” I cackle, lightly pushing her away from my side.
“But bitch!” she hisses, hitting my shoulder. “My bar.” She shakes her head in disbelief as her dark eyes continually dart around. I swear tears form in her eyes as she chokes back a small sob.
Dead End is still an active place. It’s a bar. People come from all over town to eat Leon’s spectacular dishes, drink beer, and talk with friends. Even with my help in getting small bands to play every weekend—because yeah, this is my home. I can’t leave them down and out with no options. From afar, no matter where I am, I’ll always help out the place that gave me every chance under the sun. Still, they haven’t been this packed since Whispered Words left the area.
But here they are in all their glory, slowly setting up their equipment in front of the large, cheering crowd. The volumerises with every person who enters with excitement running through their veins. Nothing beats a free pop-up show with no cover charge. Luckily for Leon and Ode, I’m footing the bill. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, this was all Ode’s idea.
“I think we might be over capacity,” Ode murmurs in awe.
“You mean my bar,” Leon chortles, handing me the biggest plate of chicken nachos I’ve ever seen.
“Yes...yes, his bar!” I quip, salivating at the plate steaming in front of my face.
“I will snatch those nachos away, you traitor!” Ode quips, coming in for my precious chips slathered in melted queso cheese, calling my damn name.
I haven’t eaten since we went to an Italian restaurant a few hours ago. The food was amazing. Like out of this world orgasmic. Especially for Central City. Granted, it was on the edge of town near their old stomping grounds. People stared and pointed as the boys walked in. And even more when I trailed behind them, scrunching my nose.
I’ve never been the type of person to care what others think about me. Where the hell would that get me? Nowhere. I am who I am. And my roots started in this very city. I’ll always give back to the people and places that raised me from the ashes of my demise.
But Leon’s nachos? Nothing beats them. Not even a five-layer lasagna with extra cheese and garlic bread at a snooty five-star restaurant. Especially when he adds creamy cheese on top with shredded bits of cheddar below, leaving it a melting pot of cheese, meat, and lettuce on top. It’s his specialty he loves to call…
“You love my cheese-on-cheese!” he says, grinning as he leans against the bar, placing his elbows on the top. “This is so surreal, Riv. You. Them. All here again.” He blinks several times, staring up at the now empty stage, devoid of human life. Theonly sign they were there is the instruments glistening in the blue and yellow spotlights. “They treating you right, baby girl?” he asks, raising a brow.
I shove a chip into my mouth, stuffing my cheeks. Nope. Nu-huh. Don’t want to have this conversation again.
“She’s afraid they’ll leave her again,” Ode, the loudest traitor, says. “Which I get, by the way. They were jackasses to the extreme. I still don’t want to trust them.”
Can’t she see I’m stuffing my face and don’t want to talk about this again?
