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  He nodded, looking much more serious. “I don’t expect you to. I’m sorry you walked in on it. We’ve been working so hard for so long and now we’re back home in LA and we’re playing the Greek. It’s like a dream. Everybody is really pumped up. Things are blowing up and I guess we’re getting a little carried away.”

  “I know how it is. Well, I can imagine.”

  “It’s not… it’s just shit that goes down after a show. But it’s not what this is about, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He exhaled and smiled again. That smile was enough to make her doubt every resolution she’d just made. Was she really contemplating becoming friends with this man? Could she?

  “Give me your number. I’ll text you my address. Come over tomorrow afternoon and we’ll talk. Just talk.” He cocked an eyebrow at her, making her laugh, and the awful tension and anger finally began to dissipate. She took his phone from him and typed in her number, then pressed send. Her own vibrated in her pocket.

  “There. Now you know how to find me.”

  “I guess I do. I’m sorry again about tonight.”

  “Forget it, okay?” Justine wanted more than anything to do just that.

  “Sounds good. Are you okay getting home?”

  She laughed. “Very funny coming from you. I’m the sober one here.”

  He gave a rueful chuckle. “Yeah, I guess. Okay, tomorrow, then?”

  She took a deep breath and nodded, still unsure if she was doing the right thing. “Yeah, tomorrow.”

  Dillon took his time making his way back to his dressing room. Partly because he wanted to be sure Ash was done when he got there and partly because he needed a minute to clear his head. The rush from his earlier hit had ebbed, leaving him feeling worn out and tired. An hour ago he’d welcomed all these people and noise backstage. He’d felt triumphant after such a great show back in their home town. Now he just wanted to be alone so he could drink himself to sleep.

  He saw the girl who’d been all over him when Justine walked in on them—he couldn’t remember her name, if he’d ever known it—but he kept his eyes averted. He was done with that for the night.

  Rocky was standing just inside the green room door as he passed.

  “Hey, you seen Ash?” Dillon asked.

  “A while ago. Some girl came in with more blow and they went down there.” Rocky nodded his head down the hall.

  Dillon groaned. “Fuck, he was already a mess.”

  “You’re welcome to go drag him out of there if you want.”

  “I can’t deal with it yet.”

  “Where’d your hot friend go?”

  Dillon rubbed a hand over his eyes. When did tonight stop being fun? And when did he get so tired? “She went home. And it’s not like that.”

  “You mean you don’t find her hot? Because I gotta say—”

  “Don’t. Don’t say anything. Yes, of course I do. But you saw her sing. She’s not… She’s—”

  “She’s better than that,” Rocky finished for him, taking a pull on his beer, both finishing Dillon’s sentence and making a declaration of his own.

  “Yeah. She is. Too good for this scene.” Dillon glanced around the crowded green room, all the people, the laughing, the drinking, the haze of sweet smoke.

  “So what’s the deal with her then?”

  “We’re friends.”

  Rocky let out a sharp bark of laughter. “You’re gonna be friends with that girl? Just friends?”

  “Yes, just friends.”

  “Good luck keeping your hands to yourself.”

  “Whatever. She’s really talented and she’s going nowhere right now. I want to help her if I can.”

  Rocky nodded. “You’re right, she is talented, even if her band sucks. She deserves a shot with a voice like hers. Just be careful.”

  Dillon scowled at Rocky. He was generally the most laid-back member of the band. Despite that, he was one of the most observant people Dillon knew. “Why careful?”

  “She seems like the kind of girl a guy falls hard for. So be careful. Unless that’s what you’re looking for.”

  “Look at this circus,” he replied. “You think that’s what I’m looking for right now?”

  “Nope. Which is why you should be careful.”

  “Understood. I’m going to go peel Ash off the floor.”

  “Call for help if you need reinforcements.”

  “Thanks, but I got this.”

  He found Ash still in the chair in their dressing room, now passed out. A girl—not the same one from earlier—was curled up on his lap, also out like a light.

  Dillon shook her. She opened bleary eyes and raised a hand to swipe at her mouth. Dillon grimaced.

  “Hey, time to go,” he said, not mean, but not leaving her room to argue.

  “But Ash—”

  “He’ll call you,” Dillon lied easily, tugging her to her feet. She was unsteady, still drunk or stoned or both. Her purse was on the floor by the chair. He retrieved it for her before walking her straight towards the door.

  “Tell him I had fun,” she said.

  “I will.”

  “What about you? You wanna party?”

  Dillon looked her over—her tangled blond hair, her ordinary face she’d tried to make look prettier with too much makeup, her decent body practically spilling out of her clothes— “No, not tonight. Just go home. Get the security guys to call you a cab, okay?”

  “You’re nice, you know? Nicer than guys like you usually are.”

  He remembered Justine, insulted and storming away up the hall earlier, and he shook his head. “I’m not all that nice. Not really.”

  The girl turned and stumbled down the hall.

  Dillon turned his attention back to Ash. There was an empty Jack Daniels bottle on the floor at his feet. Dillon suspected he’d drank most of it on his own. He was still sprawled in the chair with his head tipped back, and Dillon knew he had to move him. If he got sick, he’d choke. Plus, they’d have to clear out of the Greek sometime tonight.

  He gripped Ash’s shoulder and shook. “Come on, man. You gotta get up.”

  Ash groaned and his head lolled from side to side.

  “Ash. Buddy. We have to go. Come on, I’ll get you home.”

  “Fuck,” Ash slurred, reaching up to cover his face with both hands. “Too much.”

  “Too much what, Ash? What did you do?”

  “Blow,” he sighed. “Then Jack to come back down. Fuck. I think I’m going to puke.”

  Dillon hauled him to his feet, pulling Ash’s arm over his shoulder. He struggled to maneuver Ash’s long, slack body to the bathroom. His own reflexes were shot from all the shit he’d done that night. A lot of booze, a line of coke—he couldn’t judge Ash too hard since he just played in the same sandbox. The difference was nobody played as hard as Ash. He dropped him, Ash collapsing to his knees as he started throwing up, just managing to hit the toilet.

  Five minutes later, the worst was past and Ash sat back.

  “Holy hell, man. Can you believe this night? The Greek! We played the Greek! We used to talk about this when we were kids!”

  In spite of everything, Dillon had to smile. “Yeah, it’s pretty amazing. I can’t believe we made it.”

  “Only with you, Dillon. I can’t imagine doing any of this without you.” The booze was making Ash maudlin, but Dillon knew the sentiment was real because he felt the same way. “After everything,” Ash went on, his head leaning against the wall, “all that shit we went through, we’re here together. You and me. Just the way we said it’d be.”

  “I know, Ash. Just like we said.”

  “And we’re not done, Dillon. This is just the beginning. You and me, all the way to the top.”

  “Yep, you and me,” Dillon said. Till the end.

  Justine waited until noon to show up at Dillon’s house. There was a wooden fence surrounding the property, so she parked out on the street and walked up the steeply sloping path to the house. Through the
leaves of the scattered myrtle bushes, she could catch glimpses of the surrounding Silver Lake neighborhood and the hazy outlines of the distant San Gabriel mountains. Once she was up near the house, it was quiet and secluded. Not what she was expecting.

  She’d stayed away all morning to give Dillon time to wake up and get moving—and to get rid of any overnight guests—but she still had to wait five minutes after ringing the bell for him to make his way to the door. He was barefoot and groggy, in jeans and a wrinkled t-shirt, but seemed otherwise sober and thankfully, alone. He smiled ruefully at her as he scrubbed the heel of his hand into his eye and then raked his fingers through his dark bed hair. He looked warm and rumpled and effortlessly sexy. Justine swallowed hard and reminded herself she wasn’t here for that. She couldn’t be here for that. Friends. They were two people who had a lot of musical common ground. So they would be friends. That’s what this was going to be.

  “Hey there,” he mumbled, stepping back and gesturing her inside.

  “Sorry I woke you. I can take off if—”

  “No, no. I need to get up now or I won’t sleep tonight. Does your sleep get all screwed up when you play a lot of gigs? Mine does.”

  “A little,” Justine said, not adding that she doubted she stayed up until dawn the way he did or took on as much alcohol.

  “Come on in. I’m just going to put on some coffee. You want?”

  “Sure.”

  He shuffled away, stretching his arms up over his head as he went. As they rounded the corner into the living room, Justine stopped in surprise. It was a nice room, with high beamed ceilings, tall windows with great views and a fireplace, but it was completely bare. He didn’t have any furniture.

  “Oh,” Dillon paused, seeing her face, “I just moved in. Well, I moved in two months ago. But yeah, me and Ash didn’t have much in the way of furniture in our old place. Nothing we wanted to keep anyway. I keep meaning to go shopping and buy some stuff, but we’ve just been so busy.”

  “Well, I guess you have a lot of space.”

  He laughed. “Lots and lots of wide open space.”

  “So,” she asked, turning away from the bare cavern of the living room. “You used to live with Ash?”

  Dillon turned back to the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a bar. She hopped up on one of the barstools, hooking her heels over the rung. He puttered through the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets, all of which seemed mostly empty, before finding what he was looking for. He talked while he made coffee, becoming more alert as he moved.

  “Me and Ash have done everything together.”

  “You’ve known him a long time?”

  “Since we were kids. Well, twelve. Not really kids, I guess.”

  “Twelve? That’s really young.”

  “We grew up fast.”

  “Where was that? You and Ash growing up?”

  “Here in LA. We’re local. I grew up in Hollywood. Ash lived up in the Hills.”

  “I don’t think I know anyone who grew up in Hollywood.”

  Dillon snorted, his expression turning hard. “Because it’s a shitty place to raise a kid.”

  “Where did you and Ash meet?”

  Dillon screwed up his face as he tried to remember. “Around. The streets, I guess. We were both running wild, getting into trouble. Two delinquents.”

  “I’d totally buy Ash as a delinquent, but not you.”

  He looked up, flashing her a rakish smile, making her heart stutter. “You don’t think I’m a bad boy?”

  “Maybe now. Absolutely now. But then?”

  He waved a dismissive hand before hunting back through the cabinets for coffee mugs. “I was just left on my own too much.”

  “Where were your parents?” She was almost sorry she asked, as his eyebrows furrowed and his expression turned stormy. She knew he and Ash were both just twenty-three, but it was hard to believe in Dillon’s case, especially when his face looked the way it did now, like he’d already lived a thousand lives.

  “Just a mother. Working. She worked crazy hours, waitressing, all kinds of shit. No money, you know?”

  Justine felt an unexpected pang of sympathy for that younger Dillon, who’d had it rough. It made what he’d achieved all the more impressive. No wonder the guys were partying like there was no tomorrow. Their success must feel like a dream after the way they started.

  “Your dad wasn’t around?”

  “Nah. Never knew him. What about you? You’re not a local?”

  Justine shook her head. “Sacramento. I moved here two years ago to sing.”

  “By yourself? How old were you?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Jesus. You were a baby.”

  She shrugged. “I managed. I tried to get my sister to come and lend moral support, but no dice.”

  “Sister?”

  “Emily. She’s a painter. She lives in San Francisco now. I miss her.”

  “Must be nice to have a family. You know, one you actually like.”

  “You have Ash. He seems like your family.”

  Dillon poured two cups of coffee and pushed one towards Justine across the bar. “I guess he is. Closest thing I’ve got, anyway. Come back to the living room. I have something I want to play for you.”

  She took her mug and followed him back to the large empty room. On closer inspection, it wasn’t entirely bare. On the floor along one wall was an impressive sound system, the wires snaking along the baseboards to large speakers set around the room. An acoustic guitar was propped on a stand a few feet away. Pillows were strewn on the floor in front of the fireplace and that’s where Dillon pointed her.

  “Sorry I don’t have anyplace to sit. But I have an awesome stereo. Priorities.” He grinned at her over his shoulder.

  “Excellent priorities,” Justine agreed, settling in on one of the pillows, crossing her legs in front of her. “Couches are so overrated.”

  “So listen to this.” He spent a minute on his laptop, set up on the stereo, looking for the tracks he wanted. “These guys were playing in this dive bar in Chicago. We caught them on our night off. I was blown away.”

  “You just came off the road, right?”

  “Yeah, just a few cities, though. We’re going back out in a month for the real deal. Nine months on the road. I can’t wait.”

  “That sounds great. I can’t even imagine it.”

  “I feel like I’ve been waiting for this all my life. Oh, here it is. Listen.”

  He came to sit by her and stretched out on the floor, one arm crooked behind his head. The music started, a scratchy, imperfect live recording, but within seconds, Justine stopped noticing. The beat was enthralling. She could feel it in her feet. Setting her coffee mug to the side, she lay back next to Dillon, staring at the dark wood timbers overhead, but not really seeing them. The lead singer’s voice was hypnotic, so sensual and alive.

  “This is…”

  “These guys are great, right?”

  “I love them,” she said as the song launched into a melodic bridge that stopped her heart. “Oh. God, play this song again.”

  Dillon laughed. “Just listen to the next one. They get better. Wait till you hear them sing harmony.”

  “They’re my new favorite thing. Are they signed?”

  “Nope. Playing these gigs to fifty people in basements. Can you believe it?”

  “I can sympathize.”

  She felt his elbow bump into her side. “And just like them, you’re not staying there for long.”

  The chorus repeated and Justine closed her eyes to listen. Her fingertips drummed on the wood floor at her sides. She could feel her throat go tight with the urge to sing along. Her chest felt heavy with emotion. Only a really good song could make her feel that way.

  “Listen to this one,” Dillon said during the pause between songs. “There’s this chord shift thing they do that will blow your mind.”

  She listened, eyes closed, staring into the darkness behind her eyelids un
til her heart pulsed in time with the music. The singer’s voice reached inside, wrapped around her chest, squeezed tight. She pressed her palms to the floor and waited for the chorus to start again, till the hook she already couldn’t forget took over. Dillon began to hum at her side, a soft raspy sound winding in and out of the song in her ears and in her heart.

  “This,” he murmured softly, and the song opened up, the vocal soaring high, the other voices came in singing harmony, sounding like so much more than four people playing in a small room. Sounding like magic. She felt all the tiny hairs on her arms stand up. The back of her neck tingled. She inhaled, the oxygen feeding the feeling, the song and the moment blowing her away.

  “Wow.”

  “Right?”

  The way Dillon’s voice sounded, she’d swear the hair on his arms was standing up, too.

  When the recording faded out, they stayed silent, laying side by side staring at the ceiling.

  Justine broke the silence first, her voice husky and low with emotion. “Thanks for playing that for me.”

  “I have another recording of them, from a different night.”

  “Yes,” Justine said, before he’d even finished speaking. Dillon chuckled and sat up. He raked his hands through his hair again.

  “Hey, do you want to smoke a little?”

  Justine opened her eyes and glanced at him. Dillon sat up straighter. “I mean, if you do that. Sorry, I didn’t even ask—”

  “No, it’s okay. I do. I mean, sometimes I do. Just not when I’m on stage.”

  Dillon squinted and tilted his head slightly. “Why not?”

  Justine shrugged. “I don’t know. I just… I like performing live. I like the feeling, me and the audience. I don’t like anything messing with it, even fun stuff.”

  Dillon was quiet, seeming to consider that for a moment. Justine kept talking to fill the silence. “But now would be perfect. If you want to.”

  He smiled and pushed himself off the floor. “Hang tight.”

  He disappeared up the stairs and reappeared a few minutes later with a ziplock and a small pipe. After he’d packed and lit it, he passed it to Justine for the first hit. She inhaled, letting the sweet burn sweep down her throat, before passing it back. Through the haze of blue-grey smoke, she watched him raise the pipe to his lips, wrapping them around it and inhaling deeply with his eyes closed. As she floated up on the initial high, the colors of his face sharpened and his beauty became sublime. His upper lip, the perfect shape and swell of it, seemed like a small miracle, as was the tiny cleft in his chin, impossible to see unless she was this close to him. She grew fixated by his eyes, the heavy lids, half-closed as he exhaled, his long, dark eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. Smoke swirled up around him, obscuring his face slightly.