Page 8 of The Darkest Note

Picking up my guitar, I tuck myself into the backseat of the limo, glad that I have a level-headed sibling who’s willing to deal with the greedy music agents and starry-eyed record producers.

“We know who our dad is,” Finn says into the phone, his tone edgy with impatience.

Like anyone will ever let us forget.

Jarod Cross’s sons.

That and dollar signs are all anyone can see when they look at us. Which is why we’ve decided we don’t give a damn about chasing fame and making a name for ourselves. All we’ve got is each other and music.

I pluck at the strings, and the heaviness in my stomach lightens a bit.

I’m the only one who wanted to come back home for reasons other than exhaustion and boredom. Being on the road for hours on end made me sick to my stomach most of the time. I’m sure there’s a pill or potion I could take for motion sickness, but if there’s one that works, I haven’t found it yet.

The discomfort increases when Zane sticks his head out of the back seat with a wolfish smile.

My twin plops like a rock into the space beside me. The limo is boxy and stretchier than the average ride. But it’s still not enough for him to sprawl like that.

I glare at him when I see his glassy eyes. “Didn’t I tell you we were going straight to Redwood Prep?”

“Why do you think I had to fuel up?” He arches an eyebrow at me. The heavy scent of cologne is his attempt at covering the stench of booze.

The only things Zane does with any consistency is hit the drums like a maniac, post cringy shirtless videos online, and drink his face off whenever he feels backed into a corner.

We each have a reason for not wanting to go back to school, but Zane’s got it worse than the rest of us.

“We could have stayed if you wanted,” I offer.

“Nah. I was getting tired of it too.”

I pick the G scale in rapid succession, my fingers blurring over the strings.

“You didn’t get much action this time.” Zane slaps me on the shoulder. “What? You’re too high class for the groupies now?”

“Maybe.”

He smirks and plucks a bottle of water from the mini-fridge. “You shouldn’t be so picky. An easy lay is an easy lay.”

I shrug him off. I’m not the type to sleep with fans. It’s too easy to run into the crazies that way and I don’t have the taste for drama that Zane seems to thrive on.

But my brother is wrong. I did mess around on tour. The problem is… even when boredom had me indulging in a nameless chick with her legs spread open, it didn’t rid me of the redhead from the back-to-school showcase.

I can’t remember a melody ever sticking in my head the way hers did. She played like an animal. Not in a bad way. It was raw. Bare. Spirited. Like no one had taught her the rules or maybe she knew but didn’t care.

It’s rare to see something that flawed and unpretentious at Redwood. The redhead served her heart out on a freaking platter and she didn’t care if the blood spattered. If things got messy.

I’d noticed her from the moment I walked in. She was beautiful, standing there like a goddess in a leather jacket and a short skirt that showed off legs for days.

Her lashes were thick and a dark black compared to her red hair. Her nose was pert and tilted up at the ends. Her bottom lip was way too big for the top one. It was the kind of mouth that could keep a man up late at night.

I’d wanted to touch her the moment I saw her standing backstage, but when I heard her play, I knew she was the type of fire I sure as hell should stay away from.

Women like her… they’re the reason empires fall and kings turn into losers. The magic in her fingers has that kind of power. And I want no freaking part of it.

Finn motions to me. “Heads-up.”

I have to fumble around to set my guitar away and free my hands, but I manage to catch the phone out of mid-air. “Took care of the problem?”

“And made it seem like taking a break was his idea.”

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