A Light in the Dark Page 13

  I shrugged one shoulder, not yet willing to be okay with the way things had happened. It wasn’t about forgiveness, though. I wasn’t holding anything against Tom. Or Sebastian, for that matter. Not really. It was more about what I was supposed to do with the revelation about my character I’d been handed. With the things Sebastian’s comments had revealed about him.

  Tom took a step closer and hunkered down a little so he could look me in the face, his hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans, his shoulders up around his ears. He looked like a contrite little boy with his wide, hopeful smile that showed too many teeth, but I was having a hard time meeting his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said again, this time in a whisper.

  I nodded before he felt obligated to apologize again. Glancing over his shoulder, I saw Sebastian watching us, an indifferent look on his face, not even a furrowed brow. I needed to make this right, even if it was only the first step. Reaching out, I touched Tom’s arm, and then slipped around him and moved to the kitchen island.

  “I’m not going to hang around and hash this out with you guys, but let me set the record straight before I leave.” I pressed both hands flat on the counter, and although I was too short to make it look impressive, like those businessmen leaning over their conference tables demanding things get done right or else, it grounded me and gave me a small measure of confidence. “This band, Marauders, is one of the most important things in my life. I don’t care what the shrinks say, music is my identity.” I met Sebastian’s eyes now, forcing courage to flow through my veins. “So just to make this very, very clear. You, Mr. New Guy, as incredible a musician as you might be, are not going to come into this,” I lifted a hand and waved it around in a tight circle like I was stirring a big pot with my fingers, “thing we have and undo what we’ve worked so hard to create. If you’re even planning on staying, that is,” I amended quickly.

  I met Tom’s eyes, noting the smug gleam as he drew up to stand beside me. “And you, Thomas Robert Campbell, are not going to undo what we’ve worked so hard to create by leaving a mess in the wake of your grand exodus.” I held up a hand to stop his response and did my best to ignore the hurt in his eyes. I took a deep breath and smiled brightly, continuing my impromptu exposition with a little light-hearted sarcasm thrown in to ease the telling.

  “That being said, Sebastian, I don’t know who you are or where you came from, but I think you’d be wise to divulge said information to my doting brother who, as a member of the elite Mid-U educational staff, happens to have access to their registration system, a system from which your name is glaringly absent. And you should seriously consider including Tom in on that conversation.” I saw Tom’s smugness return—that man was an open book to me—and I expounded so he wouldn’t get too possessive. “Tom cares about this band as much as I do, and he isn’t going to let some scoundrel sail in under an enemy flag and sink our ship without a fight. But you can explain yourself after I’ve left the room.”

  I paused, gathering my thoughts. I’d already said way more than I’d intended. I needed to wrap this up. I looked first at Sebastian, but reached out to smooth my fingers over Tom’s left bicep. “In the meantime, you were right. I’m a crappy friend to Tom for standing by and letting him hawk his admittedly delightful wares for extra tips.” And then I turned to Tom. “Tom, I’m sorry. You’re better than that. You shouldn’t have to be anyone’s stripper pole, no matter how badly we could use the bonus. In fact, I’m giving you my share of last night’s tip because it’s dirty money—in every sense of the word—now that I’ve seen the light, thanks to Sebastian. You deserve it all for having to lower yourself to debauchery for the sake of the band.”

  Jordan guffawed coarsely and elbowed Tom. “Hated every minute of it, didn’t you, Campbell?”

  Tom chuckled, but Sebastian kept his eyes on me, his face still expressionless.

  “Hold up, Tom. Don’t gloat yet. If I have to take the heat, I’m not letting you off the hook so easily. Sebastian was also right about you. You were a crappy friend to act that way in front of me. And you’re a crappy guy in general if you think it’s okay to treat women the way you treated Belinda, even if they ask for it.” Now I was quoting Sebastian almost verbatim, but the look on his face seemed encouraging now, no longer mocking. “And admittedly, she did ask for it. Sure, you might have made Belinda’s night, but she had to get up and look at herself in the mirror this morning and I bet that wasn’t as easy as getting her freak on with you last night was. As a woman, first and foremost, I should never have encouraged you. Or her. My… unwillingness to take a stand put the reputation of all of us in jeopardy, including Belinda, who probably doesn’t need any help in that department.” I focused on Ani, because for some reason, I needed her support the most right now, but I gestured at Sebastian. “And it totally, totally rots that he had to be the one to make me realize that.”

  Ani nodded, her face glowing with pride as she beamed at me like a little mother.

  “So Tom? Sebastian?” I looked from one to the other. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I hope you can forgive me. And now I’m leaving before I make an even bigger fool of myself than I have already. Ani?”

  My friend looped her arm through mine and drew me away, up the stairs to my hideaway, where I actually broke down and cried without really understanding why.

  I felt like such a child in a world where growing up seemed a necessary evil, making the same childish mistakes over and over, never quite catching up with everyone else. Tom, Ani and Paulo, the other guys in my band, my brothers…. Okay, Jordan still seemed to have a few things to figure out, but he had a real job at least. And Sebastian? The fact that he could see right through the veneer to the true state of things? That alone ranked him far and above me on the maturity scale.

  ***

  There was a knock on my door and Jordan stuck his head in a moment later, not bothering to wait for permission. “What you said down there?” He came in the rest of the way and came over to sit on the edge of the bed beside me. “You made me proud, Squeak.”

  He put his arm around me and I lay my head against his shoulder, a tissue held tightly to my dripping nose. When pale people cried, well, things just got ugly real quick. “Were there any casualties? Are they gone?” I asked.

  “Nope, and no. Both still alive. Both still downstairs.”

  “So did you learn what you needed to from Sebastian? Is he staying?”

  “Yep, and yes. Information downloaded and available if you want it, and from what I gather, he’s still in the band.”

  “Is there anything I need to know about him? Serial killer? Eats onions? Zombie porn?”

  “I say ask him yourself, Squeak. You know how second-hand information can get a little sideways. It all seemed to line up to me.” Jordan squeezed my shoulders comfortingly. “Although I didn’t think to ask about Zombie porn. I’ll do that when I go back down. But Tom wanted me to make sure you’re okay before he texts you to ask if you want to practice since tonight’s show canceled.”

  I pulled away a bit, the tissue still in place. “Wait. Does he want to know if I’m okay? Or if I want to practice? And who canceled the show?”

  Jordan stood, evidently satisfied that I was going to be all right. “He wants me to make sure you’re okay. If you are, then he will text you and ask if you want to practice. I’m not supposed to ask you that.” He shot Ani a conspiratorial grin as he pulled open the door. “And I have no clue who canceled the gig. You’ll have to ask him.”

  I snorted and shooed him out the door. “You can tell Tom I may or may not read any text he sends me.”

  Jordan paused and ducked his head back inside. “What about texts from the smoldering Sebastian?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Squeak, the way that guy looks at you? No wonder Tom—”

  “Get out,” I demanded, pointing at the door. He got out.

  “It is pretty intense,” Ani said after he was gone. “Hungry is a good word for it.”

  “But why
?” I didn’t get it. It wasn’t because I had any hang ups about my looks. I knew what features to play up, and guys flirted with me all the time. It kind of came with the territory with the band. But Sebastian seemed to be drawn to me in a different way altogether. When he looked at me, it was like he was trying to peel back the outside to see what was underneath. In a way, it made his interest seem more genuine, like he really wanted to know who I was, not just what I looked like. But it also made me feel disoriented, like standing under a spotlight on stage without being prepared for the performance.

  “Why not, T-Bird?” Ani countered. “There are a million reasons for him to be drawn to you. Besides, I like him. Yeah, he’s a bit of a mystery, but I’m kind of impressed with his notions of how men should treat women and vice versa. Maybe it’s time to entertain the idea of having a real relationship with a guy.”

  “I don’t think I have time for that.” Too busy trying to figure out this growing up thing at the moment.

  My phone buzzed.

  TomCatStrumBoy: Will you come play with us?

  Talk about childish.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “You good with the 80’s tunes we gave you?” Tom asked Sebastian after about an hour of practice. Ani stayed only long enough to make sure the three of us were going to be able to move past the awkwardness. Then she’d gone home to meet Paulo online for their afternoon date. She would probably do something with her folks tonight now that she didn’t have to go to our show, which had been canceled by the guy who hired us, not by a disgruntled Tom after all. He’d come down with either food poisoning or a stomach flu, and the party was postponed indefinitely. Although we offered him a refund of his deposit, he insisted we keep it, so between that and the significant tip from Belinda, we did all right for the weekend.

  “Sure.” Sebastian nodded, glancing curiously back and forth between us, but he didn’t say anything else. I could tell he was being careful, keeping his words few, but I was okay with that. I still felt a little battered by the emotions of the afternoon, and I didn’t think I could pretend like nothing had happened between us.

  “What do you think, Tish?” Tom propped his hip onto a tall stool and rested his guitar on his thigh. “Should we introduce him to Taylors next Friday?”

  Sebastian’s expression was guarded when he looked at me, like he wanted me to think he didn’t care what I thought. Well, I had no reservations about him joining us for this one, too. If he could pick up our stuff so easily, surely he could pull off a night of popular 80’s music.

  “Sure.” I adjusted my strap and played the hook for Metallica’s “Master of Puppets.” Sebastian’s eyes widened appreciatively when I transitioned into Ozzy’s “Crazy Train.” I grinned at him. Without fail, guys always seemed surprised to hear me play stuff like that. I had to admit, too, that I liked seeing that look in their eyes. I especially liked seeing it in Sebastian Jeffries’ eyes. He didn’t play along, but I smiled when his left hand slid up and down the fretboard on his own guitar, mirroring mine as I riffed.

  “This coming Friday we play at Taylors, one of the big clubs off Bernadine Way.” Tom raised his voice over my playing and I deadened my strings sheepishly. “Know the place?”

  “Seen you play there.”

  “Oh. Good. So you know we play mostly 70’s, 80’s and some 90’s stuff with a little Marauders thrown in to keep it real.”

  Sebastian nodded. “I’m game. I’m especially good with the 80’s stuff.” Which didn’t surprise me at all, having heard his guitar playing. His 80’s guitar legend influences were pretty obvious. He’d probably taken the CDs we’d given him to learn just to be polite.

  “Will you be wearing spandex or parachute pants, then?” I asked him without blinking.

  Sebastian stilled noticeably although his expression remained carefully neutral. “Um, are those my only choices?”

  Tom burst out laughing and clapped Sebastian on the shoulder. “As long as you don’t show up in a Miami Vice suit, you’re cool.” He tipped his head toward me. “She harasses me non-stop to go for broke one of these days and break out some David Lee Roth spandex, but my package would scare the ladies.”

  “Gah! Tom! Stop. I just threw up in my mouth a little.” I flicked my pick at him and he dodged it nimbly.

  “For the good of all womankind, my friend,” he said sagely to Sebastian, “I expunged my 80’s spandex collection from my closet.”

  “You’re one selfless dude, Tom.” I, on the other hand, loved my 80’s wardrobe. Half the clothes in my closet looked like they came from the dressing rooms of all the queens of arena rock. I didn’t perm and tease my hair, but I certainly knew how to whip it (whip it good) with the best of them.

  I had put on a bandanna again before coming down, and I broke into the opening riff for “Sweet Child of Mine.” Tom, always good for some Axl Rose snake dancing, got into the spirit. Sebastian picked up the bass line on his Strat, and I nodded encouragingly, thrilled to see him joining in the fray.

  But when he launched us into Def Leppard’s “Rock of Ages” with the German-sounding gibberish Mutt Lange had made up in lieu of a count off for the band, I knew we had us a winner. For Marauders, at least. I still wasn’t so sure about Sebastian and me working together. The unsettling attraction I felt toward him warred with the knowledge that he was stiff competition and would push me to new levels, something I wasn’t accustomed to. And I, being the sister of four brothers, was entirely too competitive not to have trepidation about bringing him into my perfectly-aligned world, especially after the way things had gone down a few hours ago. The whole scene was a red flag waving, and I couldn’t afford to ignore it.

  “We get to Taylors around eight PM to set up,” Tom explained. “We’re not officially on until nine, but we typically just start playing when we’re ready to go.”

  “Two sets, a fifteen-minute break in the middle of each set, and an hour lunch break between sets. We start with the pop dance stuff to get everyone loosened up,” I expounded. “But we’ll take it up little by little until we’re pulling out some AC/DC and Sabbath to keep the guys happy who are still standing at the end of the night.”

  “Sounds good. So you want me to play both sets or just be there for introductions?”

  Tom and I exchanged glances. I was game, but I knew we were looking at some of Tom’s last shows with the band, and I wanted him to have the final say. “Why don’t you choose a couple of songs from the second set and we’ll have you join us for those. I have a play list at the sound board.”

  I loved playing at Taylors. The club atmosphere was loud and boisterous, filled with people out on a Friday night who just wanted to have some fun with their cronies, or dance off the stress of the work week with the one they loved. In all the time we’d played there, I’d never witnessed a fight. I’d watched a few people get tossed out by Jannie’s bouncers—two beefcakes who knew how to do their jobs well—and I think a lot of it had to do with the fact that the place had a significant number of regulars. And we were partly responsible for that, according to Jannie. I wasn’t much of a partier myself. Although I loved to dance, I rarely drank. Being in the band was my favorite way to experience the club, on stage, slightly detached from the melee, an observer more than a full-on participant. I knew Tom would drag me into the fray at some point, coerce a dance or two out of me, and I’d agree to a few more offers, knowing Tom was hovering close by, keeping a watchful eye on me. But being in the band gave me an excuse to pull back if things got uncomfortable.

  And honestly, sometimes they did, even at Taylors. Because I was petite and looked a certain way in my bold make up and fitted garb, if I wasn’t careful, I could get targeted for stuff I wanted no part of. Being under Tom’s protection was my security, and I’d never had any real trouble.

  “The tips are good, too,” Tom added, as though he thought Sebastian still needed convincing. “No pole dancing with the patrons required.”

  “Doesn’t mean it won’t happen,�
� I muttered acerbically.

  Tom ducked his head and gave me a puppy-dog look. “I’ll be a better man, I promise.”

  ***

  I was ready to call it a day in the studio. I felt guilty even admitting it to myself, but I was kind of hoping Tom would wrap things up and head home, so I could have a little time to talk with Sebastian alone, to clear the air between us one-on-one. Tom and I would be fine. We always were. We’d had many an argument in the years we’d been friends and always worked through it. But I didn’t want Sebastian thinking that this was the status quo with us; that we fought and then pretended all was well with the world. I didn’t want him to worry that we ran the band on emotions. Because we didn’t. It was Tom’s leaving that had us in this turbulent state, and Sebastian, being the replacement, was bound to get caught in the crossfire. I wanted him to know that it wouldn’t always be like this.

  Besides, even though Sebastian was clearly comfortable with the music and seemed to be enjoying this practice session in spite of how it came about, he was definitely more reserved than he’d been all week, focusing his attention more on Tom than on me. It was almost like he was doing it for the sake of Tom’s pride, which was very thoughtful of him, but it left me feeling a little third-wheel-ish.

  Not that Tom was doing anything that might make me want him to leave. In fact, I hadn’t seen a sad smile on his face since plugging in. But there was no other way to put it; there was definitely a third-wheel element going on, and in this case, I was numero tres.

  I’m the worst best friend in the world.

  I couldn’t help beating myself up a little as I peered through the glass panel at Tom and Sebastian in the mixing room. They were both so focused, so intent, heads bowed together as they studied the play list for next week’s party on the computer monitor.