Page 145 of Nevermore

“Shoulda been.”

With my blood pressure slowly starting to rise, I refrain from smacking this dude upside the head and say as politely as possible, “Unless I went fucking blind the second I walked through the door, I didn’t see any cases foranyof the stringed instruments over there and?—”

“Look lady,” he grunts as he sets the catalog down on the counter and slowly lifts his head. “I… Leo?”

“Keyton?”

“Holy shit,” the frontman for one of the bands we came up with says with a chuckle as he crosses his arms against his chest.

He doesn’t do more than that, though.

No hug or high five, no fist bump or slap on the back.

Not that I want anyone to have that kind of reaction to seeing me for the first time in years, I don’t want anyone inside my bubble unless I invite them in, but that’s also not how this man rolls.

Key was never like that, primarily because he was a pretty big dick with an uncomfortable darkness sitting in those green eyes the entire time we knew him, but he never was to any of us and his shithead attitude became endearing after a while.

Seeing him sitting here behind the counter at Mikey’s is kind of weird, though.

“Dad finally retired,” Keyton says as if reading my mind. “After all the shit with Hastings.”

Shockingly, I don’t flinch at that.

His delivery was blunt but that’s normal for him, it was probably a lot tamer than what actually went through his head, and I already sort of knew things changed at Mikey’s because one of its employees tried to murder me.

“Probably for the best. I imagine it wasn’t all good publicity.”

Key shakes his head. “We closed for a while, more or less out of respect but it didn’t last. Not unless we wanted the fucking thing to tank.”

“You just made sure Jake Tennison didn’t walk his happy ass through the doors when they reopened.”

“Exactly.”

I arch a brow as he starts ringing me up. “How did you end up here, though? I thought?—”

“Long story,” Keyton grunts.

And since he doesn’t elaborate, I’ll take that as a sign that he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Key Tennison and I went to the same art school, and he started The Four Horsemen of Doom around the same time I joined The Ravens. We even got signed to Vintage within a year of each other and co-headlined our first major tour. They were on the same track we were, actually, so I’m assuming something big happened for Key to be sitting here now.

“Pop got sick.” He reads my mind again. “Dad took over when he passed, then the shit with Hastings. Didn’t want to let the store go to hell.”

I nod and give him a small smile. “Sorry to hear that, Mikey was a great guy.”TheMikey, who opened this store back in the fifties when Key’s dad was a baby and I’m sure if he hadn’t gotten sick, he’d be the one ringing me up instead of his shithead grandson who seems miserable doing it.

“He was an ornery fuck but yeah, I guess he was.” Key gives me my change and receipt before he comes around the counter. “Chino and I fell out.”

Ah.

That was my other question.

Looks like The Horsemen didn’t have the same staying power this store does.

“I’ll go grab you a case.”

Watching Keyton lumber his way through the instruments toward the back room has me shaking my head.

He’swaymore ornery than Mikey ever was but I’m sure some of that is due to the way things have seemingly gone for him the last few years.

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