Because of Luke Read online

  I part the envelope and my eyes bug when I see the pile of bills inside. "What the hell'd you do? Rob a bank?"

  "Sold the bus."

  "The tour bus?"

  Roscoe nods. He picks up his beer and takes a prolonged swig, eyes closed, a slight smirk battling against his pursed lips. He lets out a belch, then wipes his mouth. "Don't worry, I got all your stuff off, the teenage brat's too. Dropped it off at a garage an hour ago. Sucker paid us fifty grand for that piece of shit."

  I pick up the envelope and thumb through the bills. "How much is in here?"

  He smiles. "Ten grand for you. Five for the girl. I figured she earned as much, putting up with our asses all summer."

  I take a deep breath and rest the envelope down on the table.

  "What's that look for?" His voice is as dark as the expression I meet on his face. Roscoe crosses his arms and leans back as though he knows exactly what's coming next. By now, he probably does.

  "I can't take this money," I begin. "And I can't...I'm not going to New York."

  I expect and instant explosion, but instead he just lets out a heavy sigh and shakes his head. "Why? Because of her?"

  "Because of me. Because of us. I told you I'd give up school for this tour and I've had a great time. It may not have seemed like it at first, but I did. It grew on me, just like you said it would. But Ross, I need to go home. I need to follow my plan now. I can't hide in your damn coattails forever."

  "You're not hiding in anyone's coattails, little brother. You're your own man, clearly. You've got the balls to destroy my dreams, don't you?"

  "You can get another guitarist. You're the main attraction. You know that."

  He laughs. "Not according to Sheila."

  I drop my head to my hands and massage my forehead. "Sheila's—"

  "Right," he cuts in. "She's right. Every band has front men and in this one, that's us. Not that the other guys don't matter, they do, but without your wicked shred and your golden vocals, we'd be nothing. I didn't ask you on this tour just for me, I did it for us. It's time we both grew up and started living the kind of lives we desire, instead of the one we were saddled with. If you don't want to go to New York. I can't make you."

  "That's it?"

  "All of it."

  "You're just...going to let me go." I frown, waiting for the punch line.

  Roscoe laughs. "I don't own you, little brother." He leans forward his hands clasped beneath his chin. "I'll make you a deal." He nods toward the envelope. "You keep that stash, buy yourself a new car, maybe a new wardrobe, some bad ass ink. I don't know. Go crazy for all I care. All I ask is that you give me a few hours at a time. Record with us. Come to New York for a couple weeks, lay down some tracks. The album comes out and no one's the wiser. In the meantime, I'll hunt down the impossible. A replacement for the best goddamn bass player this band'll ever have."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Shannon

  Mom hugs me from behind and presses a soft kiss on my cheekbone, just beside my ear. "Everything looks great, honey. And it smells delicious."

  "Thanks." I haven't said it, but I'm glad she's here. I'm grateful we've patched things up. Even though her gaze still drops to my middle when she sees me and she gets that glazed over look of disappointment in her eyes, I'm glad she's looking at me at all. In the weeks following my confession, she avoided me at all costs. Which, considering our separate living quarters was fairly easy. But when Dave convinced me to go to church with him, I half expected to get the welcoming hug and the giddy chatter I'm used to. It burned when I barely received a glance and murmur of a hello.

  I never thought the day would come when I'd crave my mother's constant phone calls and nagging, but it did, and I'm glad she's finally come around. Because I'd have no idea what to do without her.

  I remove the lasagna from the oven and peel back the foil. Sheila's belated birthday meal is well underway with only a few hours to spare before she arrives with her boyfriend. And I need everything to be perfect. As much as I'm grateful to have them back in my life, Mom and Dad have been here since nine o'clock this morning helping me to prepare. I've appreciated the help, but not the pressure. I haven't seen my sister in far too long to have our reunion marred by the billions of questions they'll be bound to ask her and the scrutiny Dad will no doubt bestow on her guy. Knowing Sheila, he'll be so tattooed and pierced we'll barely be able to see his face. That'll be fun.

  I chew the inside of my lip and stir the lemon filling, willing it to thicken quickly so I can go back in my room and put my feet up. This pregnancy is killing me. I'm tired all the time, I wake up with a headache nearly every day and I swear my feet have grown two sizes. But other than that, I don't look like I've so much as touched a man, let alone let one get me pregnant. And I'm glad the bump is taking it's time to show. Mom said she didn't really show until she was around six months and that she only looked a little fat until she was almost ready to give birth. That's good. Because it's not the first thing I want to tell Sheila and I'm not entirely sure I want to marry Dave. If I can do it on my own, not worry about my parents' need to save face, then I will. I'd rather.

  I glance out to the living room where Dave and Dad are. Dad is leaned back in the arm chair legs crossed and arm resting on either side of him, while Dave leans forward, at the edge of the sofa, eagerly nodding his head. The best of friends—also not the life I had in mind. I can't marry a man handpicked by my damn parents. No matter how much history we have. Even if he is willing to raise a child that's not his own.

  But the more I've thought about it, I can't marry Lucas either. Whatever it is we had, it's long gone and I need to leave it in the past. Will I tell him about the child? Absolutely. He deserves to know, but I won't hold him to anything. If I can just focus on my job, maybe put a few more hours at the pharmacy, everything will be fine. I'll even move out of state, eventually, if it makes it easier on everyone else.

  As if he senses me watching him, Dave glances over his shoulder offering me an encouraging wink. I smile back, then drop my gaze to my lemon custard and turn off the stove. As I pour the pale yellow filling into the pie shell, my stomach flutters and nervous thoughts cross my mind.

  There's a baby in there. I am going to be a mother. How am I going to be a mother, when I still long for the comfort of my own? How will I tell Sheila? And how will I reject the only person who's been there for me since the beginning?

  I've drifted off to a foggy state when I hear the commotion in the living room. I'm sprawled out face down on the bed, drool pooling on my pillow. My headache has finally subsided, but based on the rolling in my stomach, the morning-turn-any-time-of-day-sickness is going to give my secret away before I can. I bolt up from the bed and rush down the hallway.

  I hear my sister call my name, just before I slam the door behind me and I'm rinsing with mouthwash when she knocks.

  "Can I come in?"

  I grunt a response and the door opens.

  The moment I see my little sister, I start to cry.

  Sheila's eyes mist over and she steps forward, wrapping her arms around me. "I missed you too, sis. And I'm so sorry for leaving the way I did. For blaming you. I can't believe I yelled at you for getting a hickey. I should have thrown you a party."

  We break out into a gaggle of giggles, until my stomach gurgles again and I force back a burp.

  Sheila holds me at arms’ length, an eyebrow arched. "Sick of me already?"

  I shake my head and retreat to perch on the edge of the tub, as close to the toilet as possible.

  "What's wrong with you?"

  I sigh, staring up at her. Her near-black hair has grown, settling in long dark waves at her waist and she looks like she's spent most of the time she's been away in a tanning bed. Her skin is a perfect bronze that accents her deep blue eyes. And she looks thinner too, damn it. Not in a stick-model-thin kind of way though, because the curves she's exhibiting beneath that dress are so fierce, I'm sure Dad must have nearly had a heart attack. She's
Sheila, through and through. No apologies this time around.

  "You look beautiful." I smile and beckon for her to join me.

  "Thank you." She does a little curtsey, before lowering next to me. "You look like hell."

  I chuckle. "I'm fine. Just tired. What'd Dad say when he saw you in that dress?"

  She adjusts her cleavage. "Nada. He was too busy scoping out my hot boyfriend." She closes her eyes and rests a hand on her chest. "I can't wait for you to meet him. He's a dream come true, Shannon. Hot. Sweet. Smart. The whole package. And he followed me home."

  I kiss her on the cheek. "I'm happy for you. And so glad to see you. You could've called sooner you know."

  "I know."

  "I'm just glad you finally did. How was the tour?"

  She sighs. "Don't tell anyone I said this, but it was hell." She runs her hands through her hair. "At least the first leg of it. I mean, once I got to know the guys, whipped them into shape and got the hang of everything it was fine but it took some time, you know? Still, I kind of kicked ass."

  "And let me guess, you finally snagged the one you've had your eye on all this time."

  "Hook, line, and sinker," she grins.

  I can only imagine the scene that awaits us. The poor kid backed into a corner. Mom throwing daggers from her eyes, Dad asking him about his intentions. "You sure you want to leave him out there with the 'rents?"

  "Don't worry. Luke can handle himself."

  I start at the sound of that name coming out of her mouth. "Who?"

  Did she just say what I think she did? Luke. That's what she said.

  "I'm the one who should be asking 'who?' As in who the hell? Is that really David Baker?" She gestures toward the door with her thumb. "Or a hotter version of the boy we used to know?"

  I blink. "That's him."

  "I still can't believe you guys are back together?" Her mouth drops open. "Not that I can blame you. He looks freaking hot!"

  I force a laugh and stand. "He's not so bad," I say. "We should get out there though. I'm sure they're all wondering what's keeping us."

  She jumps to her feet and heads toward the door. But I'm frozen on the edge of the tub, still trying to process her words from earlier.

  Luke. From Lewiston. Who's got an older brother he's been traveling around with for the past three months.

  "You coming?" Sheila asks.

  I shake my head, my stomach doing flip-flops in sequence with the relentless gurgles. Things are suddenly starting to make a whole of lot of complicated sense.

  But there's no way...

  "Why not?" Sheila frowns and I snap my attention back to her.

  "I mean, yeah. Of course." I gasp for a breath.

  "You okay?"

  I nod. "Be right there."

  Luke

  I can barely register anything else going on around me as I wait for Sheila to emerge with her mysterious sister.

  Shannon. That's the name she called out. I heard her right. Shannon, she'd called out. Then, What's wrong with Shannon?

  I shake my head and concentrate on the blond haired, Chiclet-teeth dude talking my ear off. He's fucking familiar as hell, but I can't put my finger on it. And I can't remember what he said his name was.

  This whole thing is starting to rub me the wrong way, but I need to play it cool. There are a billion Shannons in the world. There's no way in hell the one girl I fell for is the sister of the one it took me weeks to get off my mind. Damn it. There are times I still catch myself thinking about her.

  Sheila's parents are huddled in the far corner of the living room—no doubt talking about me. I could see the disapproval in their eyes the second we stepped through the door. And I find myself scanning the apartment over and over looking for any sign that my imagination is simply getting away with me. I'm not dating my ex...

  Ex what exactly? She wasn't my girlfriend. She was a fling. At least according to her. But there's no way. I am not caught up with her sister. No way.

  What did Sheila say her parents did again? Did she say? Did I ask? I should have asked. It'd make it easier for me to dispel this stupid theory that I've just been dropped in the middle of a soap opera. I should have asked her about her family long ago. I should have had a clue what I was walking into. That's what boyfriends do. They ask questions. They get to know their girlfriends. All we do is have sex.

  Her parents clearly hate me, she warned me about that much. That they'd think I was the one who convinced her not to go to college, but that she would set them straight.

  A door closes and I jerk my attention back to the hallway Sheila retreated down earlier. She emerges from the shadows, a smile on her face the moment she sees me. But she's alone. The dress she chose—the one that would make her dad's head spin—is giving me some serious regrets right now. I wish she'd pull it up in the front and down in the back. Damn it. I wish she'd bothered to wear a bra.

  "Sorry," she whispers and pecks me on the cheek. Sheila slips her arms around my waist, hugging me close and leaning her head against my chest. Even though I'd rather push her away, wait until we're no longer the center of attention to display my affection, I drape my arm around her shoulder and do my best to avoid her father's steady gaze.

  "Is something wrong with your sister?"

  Sheila shrugs. "Who knows? She'll be out in a minute." She focuses on her parents and paints on a huge smile. I've never seen anything quite like it before. She's somewhat perkier than most girls, but she's more talkative and attentive. Not all Joker-like. She's trying. Way too hard.

  I snicker. "Relax, babe. You're giving Jack Nicholson a run for his money."

  She nudges me with her elbow. "Well you better get on board," she mutters between clenched teeth. "You don't look like you're winning any points."

  My gaze flickers to the man and woman still relegated to the opposite side of the room, as if they're bound to catch something from me if they get any closer. She's almost an exact replica of Sheila, just as tiny, with eyes just as blue. He's taller than I am, which makes her about half his size. His hair is practically jet black and his eyes dark and piercing—right through me. The guy from earlier stands afoot, taking in the scene with a smile as big as my girl's. So I finally smile back, even though it makes me feel like an idiot.

  I said it before, as a pleasantry, but he was so busy scrutinizing my every move, I'm not sure he heard me. "It really is nice to meet you Mr.— Shit. Did I seriously just flake on my girlfriend's last name? Is this happening right now?

  I squeeze Sheila lightly and she whispers Carlson in my ear.

  "Carlson. Sorry, sir. Long drive."

  He clenches his jaw, glancing once at his wife then back to me. "So you're the one my daughter's been with for the past three months?"

  I nod. "Along with my brother and our friends. Our band. We were on tour. She's...our manager."

  "And now she's your girlfriend?"

  "Yes, sir. She is."

  "When did that start?" I squirm beneath his unwavering stare. "Before or after?"

  "Uh...during, sir."

  "What I don't understand is where you've all been living for the past twelve weeks," Mrs. Carlson says. She hugs herself, allowing a quick uneasy glance in my direction before focusing on her daughter again.

  "It's fine, Mom." Sheila tenses. "I had my own room on the bus."

  "A bus?" The woman's dark thin eyebrows shoot up, and wrinkles line her forehead.

  "A tour bus. That's how we do things."

  "We?" her dad asks.

  "Music business people." Sheila levels her chin. "So are we going to eat or what? We're tired and hungry. And Luke needs to get back to Lewiston tonight."

  Mrs. Carlson's mouth drops open.

  "Relax, Mom. Like he said, we didn't get together until the tour. I haven't been sneaking off to see him all this time. It's only been Coco, I swear."

  A door opens then closes and all eyes turn to the hallway. And just like that my heart rate kicks up again. The elusive sister. And the answ
er to all my questions. Chiclet-teeth steps forward first, blocking the doorway so that I can't see who he's talking to. There's murmuring, he hugs her and I hear the smack of a quick kiss.

  When he moves out of the way, I drop the arm settled on Sheila's shoulders and take an involuntary step backwards.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Shannon

  My first instinct is to run back to the bathroom and lock the door behind me. Or better yet jump in my car and keep driving until I can get as far away from the bomb that's about to blow up my life as possible. But all I do is stand there.

  "Shannon?" My sister is in front of me now. "Would you say something?" she whispers. "I think you're making him more uncomfortable than Mom and Dad already have."

  I nod, my throat so dry I couldn't speak if I wanted to. So I simply cast a reluctant gaze on him and force a tight smile.

  "Seriously?" her voice is a little louder now and I can tell she's angry. "What is wrong with you people?"

  She brushes past me, grabs Lucas's hand and leads him to the table.

  I still can't move, but Dave takes my hand and my legs finally manage to thaw off enough to follow along blindly behind him. My head is swirling and my stomach has bottomed out. I hoped and prayed it wasn't him. Not like it would have made a difference between the short time Sheila left me in the bathroom to gather my thoughts and I stepped into my living room and walked straight into a nightmare.

  I can feel his eyes on me. I always can, but I do my best to ignore it. I can only imagine what's going through his head. Although it can't be as insane as what's going through mine. I'm having my sister's boyfriend's baby—it can't get any more Jerry Springer than that. She's going to kill me. It'll be worse than before. Forget jumping on a tour for three months, she'll never come back. She'll never speak to me again. It's over. My best friend in the whole world is about to fall into serious hate with me and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I let out a little moan that gets Dave's full attention.