Okay, probably no one saw this coming, but this whole situation with Seb is spiraling and it's time for someone to get to the bottom of what's going on here...Ladies and Gentlemen...the incomparable, the undeniable....Matt del Marco...in his first POV chapter ever.
Matt runs $hit like a boss, so he's always keeping a lot of plates spinning in his life, and this chapter shows it. This is a long , long narrative where he's looking out for everybody, so enjoy.
Bon Jovi's You Give Love A Bad Name is the song...because well...if you haven't figured it out Bon Jovi is sort of the inspiration for Skid Marcs. And also Seb gives love a very bad name, when it comes to his long interaction with the del Marco's. Also, some of Ashlynn's backstory that is revealed is also bad love.
Matt
I slip away from the crowd and quietly file up the curving staircase in Trace's house, so that I can stand on the upper landing and look down into the open living room.
Down at all my family in one place, for the first time ever.
Jax, Artie, and Domâmy band, my boys.
Annie, Street, Bridge, Row, Lane and Alleyâmy life.
Trace. The treasure I never knew I had. And he's bringing his own family to mesh into mineâalthough ironically, they are all absent now, except his ex-wife that really wasn't.
I smile down on her blonde head. She's a very lovely girl. I don't know her very well, but it's clear to me that Trace still considers her family. Right now he's between her and Mason Moran, and his body language looks just like mine the first time Ratch Gorenson came to my house to take Row out.
Hostile.
I don't know why. I think it's a genius plan to throw Angelo Moran's kid out there as a possible love interest for Kat's sister. I've known Angelo forever; he's a good dude and his son is the same. And it couldn't exactly hurt for Soundcrush to have one of their very own inner circle dating their boss's son, because god knows, none of them are doing a stellar job keeping Moran happy right now.
These kids cost the label a lot of money last year and none of them have held up their end of the deal to recoup that money, except Mac. Adam was supposed to write an album for the little Disney Princess and Bodie was supposed to up her visibility. Instead, Adam lost his temper and lost his slippery handhold on that girl's potential, and Bodie didn't show her around town, he escaped to parts unknown with her. And Trace and Leed were supposed to amp up their branding and influencing, and both of them have been hiding out here in the suburbs playing house. Trace with his KitKat, and Leed with his baby mama.
So yeah, they could stand to score some points with Moran. The worst part is...none of them see it. They are hiatus for the first time ever, and all caught up in their personal drama and they are still too inexperienced to know that they should be hustling a little goodwill with the label now that they are back in LA.
So I'm doing what I can to help them along without butting into the band business too much. Mostly with Mac's solo effort. Thank God Mac's EP has gone platinum and she's had two number one pop hitsâthe one where she features with DevBlue-- and also Make it Right-- her duet with Adam. I produced Make It Right, and it's becoming the Love Anthem of the Decade. Moran called me yesterday and told me he wants a remix with a superstar feature, but I haven't called Mac and Adam yet with my ideas. I'm still waiting on a third party to come through.
Right now, I'm helping out in more subtle waysânamely trying to bring Mason Moran a little help. He's just coming out the other side of a terrible divorce and a bit of a boozey period, so a sunny and sober girl like Miss Ashlynn Ballard is exactly the ticket to bring some happiness back to Moran's only son. Moran loves that kid like I love mine. He'd do anything for him. Including look the other way on Soundcrush's broken promises, if Mason becomes part of that SCIC family thing they've got going on.
I smile. SCIC is alot of syllables. Me and the guys just call our entourage..."The Bus." Although with all the wives and kids, and staff, now it's more like a caravan of buses when Skid Marc's actually tours.
Annie's laugh catches my attention and my eyes go to her. Dom must have cracked a lewd joke, because Annie and NicholeâDom's wifeâare both shaking their heads and laughing. She looks up to me with her eyes shining and fuck me if I'm not still seventeen and seeing her for the first time across a grungy coffee house in Jersey on open mic night. I give her the chin tip. She winks at me and returns her attention to Dom, but my eyes stay on her.
She's my secret.
People ask me all the time, how I stay young, how Skid Marc's stays relevant. I always make a joke of having no idea, but it's Annie.
Her love keeps me seventeen forever. All the experience, all the contacts, all the power, all the shit I make happen, none of it means a damn thing. My enthusiasm for life all comes down to getting next to her, making her smile, making her gasp with excitement, the same as the first night I saw her.
I almost fucked it up, being a dumbass punk when Skid Marcs blew up. Thank god she's a better human being than me, and forgave years of stupid mistakes.
A door on the upper landing opens quietly behind me and when I hear an intake of breath, a clatter of phone dropping, and a muttered curse, I turn. Gina is dressed for the event in a nice emerald green cocktail dressâit goes well with her auburn hairâbut she looks a little uncomfortable to see me, which is weird. Over the last year or so, I've seen her several times, sometimes just with Trace and sometimes with Annie and it's always been cool. When I reach down to pick up her now cracked phone, I realize why her face is paling.
Shit. There's a long text thread with someone labeled only as "R". I can't help reading the final two texts. One from Gina that says, It feels wrong, to go to this event. I feel like a hypocrite. How many unloving marks did I give you when we fought?
R's reply: Your slaps stung. Mine were the ones that left the marks. I used my strength to sometimes hurt when I should have only ever used it to protect. But the point of the del Marco's new philanthropy is making change, right? If you can forgive me, maybe you should go to this event and...try to forgive yourself.
Fuck, I really wish I hadn't read that.
She reaches for the phone, but I hold onto it. She tugs harder, and I give her a hard look. "You gotta be kidding me, Gina."
"Don't, Matt. Just...don't, okay? You and I...we don't even really know each other. Please, respect my privacy."
She's wrong. We knew each other. It was brief and people change, but once, for a week, we knew each other. I knew her well enough to know I could have loved her, if my heart wasn't already bound to Marianne in a way I could never loose.
I let the phone go. "What? I just wanted to say...you look great. And you look happy. Healthy. Strong. Too damn strong to move backwards."
She joins me by the rail, looking down on the crowd. "I'm moving forward. For the first time in twenty-four years. I'm finally off the merry-go-round of secrets and lies and resentments. So is Ross. Look, I know it's easy to judge, from the outside. I know it's easier to see my family through Trace's eyes. But he was a child. He didn't see everything. Ross is not a bad man. He was a broken man, and now he's healing. We are all healing."
"You've really forgiven him?" I ask slowly.
"I'm not sure," she says, "But I am sure he's finally forgiven me," she smiles down at our son.
"Trace is not a thing to be forgiven," I growl, and she looks at me quickly. She pats my arm.
"Not for Trace. For asking him to keep the truth from Trace. He always wanted to tell him the truthâthat he was not his biological father. He was always afraid Trace would find out when he was an adult and be so angryâthat we would lose him. It's the thing we always fought aboutâthe lie that festered into every argument."
I nod. "Gina...I should have said this already, but...I'm sorry. So fucking sorry. I put you in that positionâto feel like you had to ask that of Ross. It was my neglect, my irresponsibility that put you in an unsafe marriage. Honestly, I'll probably never forgive myself for not leaving you without a way to contact me. I knew we weren't careful...and I...well...I regret the way I left things."
She smiles. "I didn't marry Ross because I was pregnant. I married him because I was in love with him. Let me ask you something, Matt. If that December when Trace was bornâif I had sent you a picture of me and Trace with my contact information, what would you have done?"
I blink.
I would have grown up right then. I probably would have rushed right to Annie and told her about Trace. I would have gotten down on my knees asked her to forgive me for making a baby with someone that wasn't her, and if she had, I would have asked her to marry me then, instead of marrying her three years later when Street was born.
I don't say that. I say the other things I would have done. "I...I would have called you. I would have asked to see him. I would have taken care of my son. Of you. Things would have been different for you."
"I found your manager's office address. I had an envelope with Trace's picture and an explanation ready to go. I...I just couldn't send it. I wanted to be a family with Ross so badly. I thought time would ease his hurt, but instead it only made him bitter. So...you see...I should apologize to you. I robbed you of knowing your son for twenty-two years. It was my fault, not yours. Not Ross's."
I look down at my family. So many years, so many choices, so many mistakes. "Okay, between you and me, I can accept that there was no fault. It just was. But Ross hitting you, hitting Trace, that was his fault. Please don't forget that."
"I'll never forget that," she says. "But then again, neither will Ross, now that he's committed to staying sober and making a different kind of life. Forgiveness is something different than forgetting. Forgetting is acting like something didn't happen. Forgetting is what I did for twenty-two years, on a daily basis. It didn't work. Forgiveness is about change, and growth. And I do believe people can change, for the better." She smiles. "Trace has, thanks to all the love he has in his life now."
"He's a good kid. You both can be proud," Annie's deep yet feminine voice rises behind me, and I smile. She's come to rescue me gracefully, my beautiful girl that always has my back. I turn, knowing without knowing how that she will be carefully balancing three glances of champagne. I kiss her temple, taking two and passing one to Gina.
"Wow, you're a peach," I murmur to Annie, and then nudge Gina in the elbow, "She's letting me day drink."
Annie laughs. "Just a couple, okay? Your blood pressure..."
"I know, I know," I tell her and Gina laughs at the rock star who has to watch his salt and alcohol intake. "What shall we toast to?"
"To familyâblood and blended," Annie says graciously. Gina smiles at her, "To your Loving Marcs campaign making a difference."
I grunt in agreement, "To my great fucking luck, to have children with the two fiercest women on the planet."
"Everything okay up here?" Trace's wary voice is preceding him up the stairs.
Annie rolls her eyes and says to Gina, "He is so worried that we are just pretending to like each other."
"I know. You would think he would be cool with a mother and a stepmother interacting, considering his dynamic with Kat and Ashlynn. He should used to managing his women by now," Gina mutters back, tipping her head down to Ashlynn.
"I heard that," Trace says dryly, arriving on the landing. "Ashlynn isn't mine. Not anymore. I know that."
I laugh at my son, who is more fucked than anyone I know in the "It's complicated" relationship department. "Do you?" I ask him. "Cause it looked like you wanted to tear Mason's throat out."
"Yeah, that's what I came up here to talk to you about." Trace leans on the rail, but says nothing. I exchange a look with Gina. She gives Annie a head gesture and they both slide away down the stairs.
When Trace still says nothing, I slap him on the back. "Great pre-game for this event. Thanks for hosting."
He snorts. "You showed up with a caravan and announced you all were getting ready here because you didn't want to ride out from Beverly Hills in a tux."
"Yeah, but it's your booze. Damn, I wish I had more," I salute him and finish the champagne. He snickers and passes me his flask. "Quick, before Marianne sees and yells at me."
I take a swig. "So what's up? You've been in a bad mood all afternoon."
"Well...that...Kat and I had a blowup this morning. Leed is with her at the gallery and says she gets that it was all a big misunderstanding, but we haven't had a chance to work it all out. The show must go on."
I grunt. "You got time to work it out, Son. Real love is patient. That thing about never letting the sun set on your anger? Like every hurt can be wrapped up tidy and put away in a few hours time? Bullshit. There will be rough times. Days, hell even weeks of rough times. But you love through it."
I think about Gina. Is that the way she sees it with her and Ross? Somehow I don't think it's the same when you can't trust the man you are sleeping beside not to hit you when he's drunk, but it's not my place to judge.
Trace nods and then sighs. "Look, why didn't you tell me that the guy you wanted to set Ash up with is Angelo Moran's son? This is gonna be a fucking disaster."
"Disaster?" I look down at Mason and Ash. Okay, so now that they are alone, the body language isn't too promising. He's leaning in and she's got her arms wrapped tightly around her ribs, her shoulders tense. "What's the matter? She no likey? How come? He's a good looking kid, and personable. He's got a degree, a job, and a trust fund. What's the problem?"
"She's...with Leed now."
"No fucking shit," I say. "Is it serious?"
Trace looks up to his ceiling, like he's appealing to heaven. "I'm afraid so. They are throwing around the goddamn L-word like they are chasing the World's Most Obnoxious Couple title."
Damn, I'm shocked. I thought that front man of Trace's was going to follow in my footsteps and fight the feels for at least a decade. Leed is a lot like me, in some ways. Exuberant, reckless, full of fun, but able to come through with insightful action needed in a clutch. All good front men are like that. Bigger than life, full of shit and intermittently wise.
"Yep," Trace continues. "So you see, the last thing Soundcrush needs is Angelo Moran's son looking at Ashlynn tonight with bedroom eyes. Leed has a hard time not acting like a jealous asshole when it comes to her. I'm scared as shit Mason will touch her and Leed will lay him out and Angelo will freak the fuck out on us."
"Shit. Why didn't Ashlynn just cancel the date?" I ask.
Trace rounds on me, as he gestures up and down my person. "Because Matt fucking del Marco insisted on setting it up. They are all a little bit afraid to cross you, you know..."
I take another swig of Trace's liquor to hide my smirk. Damn right they are a little bit afraid. I'm the fucking patriarch of this giant ass entourage. I wince as I swallow the liquor. Jesus. Heartburn after just a couple of shots?
Fuck this getting old shit. I take another swig in defiance of my esophagus.
"You need to tell your crew, I don't bite. They gotta problem with me, or a problem in general, they can always come to me. We're all family now. Mine and yours." I sweep a hand over the room below.
Trace's eyes go wide. His Rock Star face slips and his smile twitches, but he recovers himself. He gives me the chin tip. "I'll do that, old man."
I let him call me that. Just him, not the other kids, because I am not fucking old. But Trace, he needed a nickname for me, because he's in between now. Right now, he feels awkward calling me Matt, but Dad is never going to be who I am to him. For better or for worse, that's Ross's title and probably always will be.
I feel the need to fill the awkward silence that's growing.
"Well, hell. So Leed Lawson is in love. Poor bastard, he's not ready for that."
Trace snorts again. "I'm not ready for it. Not him and Ashlynn."
"Tell me about it," I murmur, just as a new player enters the space below.
Dev Fucking Blu.
Tossing his dark shock of hair, looking around nonchalantly, winking covertly at Bridge as he scans for me, fronting like he's not trying to stamp her V-card.
"What the fuck is he doing here?" Trace straightens, looking at me like he's also a little bit afraid to cross me. "I didn't invite him, I swear."
I laugh and grip Trace's shoulder. "Relax, I invited him. We've got business."
Trace blinks. "You...you're good with him? I mean...you do know...he's..."
"Trying to get up under my Poodle's skirt? Yes, Trace. I may be slightly older than you, but I can still smell love on the wind." Not seeing me, Dev is now sidling up to Bridge, giving her the casual LA half hug and air kiss, but his hand lingers at the waist of her babydoll cocktail dress as they speak earnestly, their dark heads bent together. "Let's rain on their love parade, shall we?" I lean over the upper landing railing. "Cavendish!!!!" I roar at the rap bastard. He jumps, takes a second to recover his smug British nonchalance before he raises his face to me. He deliberately pats Bridge just above her ass in farewell as he bows slightly to me to indicate he will join us up here.
Trace hears the growl in my throat and laughs. "That fucker has balls, you have to give him that."
"I don't have to give him shit except a hard time." The truth is, the fucker does have balls and to be honest, that fact goes in his plus column. It won't be easy for any dude to date one of my daughters. Their lives will be a three ring circus now that they are eighteen and I can't control the narrative for them all the time. They don't need insecure boyfriends, that's for damn sure.
Dev has acquired a glass of champagne by the time he reaches us. Carrying that champagne so casually, wearing that tux like he was born to it, it's easy to see what my daughter sees in him. She's thinks he's a fucking Prince Charming. I know about his background. Born out of wedlock to a blue collar mother, embraced by his aristocratic father, given every advantage yet prone to rebellion. I get it, but I'm not sure the rebellion is all an act, like Bridge claims. She says with her, he's a perfect gentleman. She thinks the rapper-thug thing is just his celebrity.
His arrest record seems to indicate otherwise.
Then again, that's pretty fucking hypocritical of me. It's been a while since I've been booked, but I had done my share of overnights in a drunk tank by the time I was Dev's age.
Dev stops in front of us. He raises his glass to me in a mock salute, and claps it out with Trace. "Nice place."
"Thanks," Trace says warily, cutting me a look like he's afraid to be too friendly.
"Well?" I say with a raised eyebrow. "Did you do what I asked?"
He grins. "I just spoke with him. He's says he's just like the rest of the world, crushing on Madam and mad over Make It Right."
"So he's in?"
"Already messing about with a beat before he rang off."
Excellent. Another wedding present for my favorite newlyweds. I pull out my phone and ring Heartley on speakerphone.
"What the fuck is going on?" Trace looks back and forth between me and Dev, but I just hold up a finger as Adam picks up.
"Yes, sir, what can I do you for?" he says. Wow, he's been back in Nashville for three months and he's really gone native.
"It's what I can do for you. Get your missus on the line, I've got some news..."
In seconds, Mama-child's voice comes on the line. "Matt! Aren't you supposed to be playing the philanthropist tonight?" She sounds breathless, just like Annie always does at nine months pregnant. Poor thing is all filled up with baby, there's no room for her lungs to expand.
"In a couple hours. Right now I'm playing Cupid. Moran called me. He wants to keep the hype around Make It Right going with a remix. A feature with real gravitas. Just so happens, I've got a match made in heaven for you."
"You made a match?" Dev scoffs. "He's delusional. He doesn't even know the bloke. I made a match for you, love."
"Dev!" Mac squeals. "What are you doing with Matt? Wait, where are you?"
"At my place, pregaming the launch," Trace cuts in.
"Hey brother, didn't know you were there!" Adam greets Trace. They spiral, discussing the weekend plans. Apparently SCIC is all going to Nashville.
"Can we get back to the deal I just cut for you?" I say impatiently.
"The deal I brokered," Dev interjects.
Now he's really pissing me off.
"At my suggestion," I growl.
"Stop pissing on each other's shoes and tell me who!!!" Mac demands. Adam laughs.
"How do you feel about Ed doing that romantic, clever, understated British rap he does so well?"
"Are you fucking serious?" Mac whispers.
"He's all over the idea," Dev confirms. "Says the song is genius, would love to spin it up. I gave him your number. Hope you don't mind. He's such a fucking prodigy he'll probably have something for you by tea time tomorrow."
"Damn. That's...that's awesome. What an honor. Shorty, you can't lose. You're that good." That's Adam, ever humble. He truly feels like his wife is the most talented singer song-writer in the game right now, and deserves all the credit for their duet. He doesn't see that he laid down all the music to Make it Right, and wrote the hook that grips hearts.
"A well-deserved honor," Trace pipes in. "It's a great fucking song. It's just..."
"Not Soundcrush," Mac and Adam say together. Trace laughs. "We know, man. We know," Adam soothes.
As we are winding down with Madam, British-pain-in-my-bum #2 stalks into Trace's living room from the kitchen. I guess he pulled into the garage. Row rudely walks away from her conversation with Ashlynn and Mason and stomps across the floor in her olive steampunk gown and medieval soldier boots, blocking Riley's way with crossed arms and a grin. He gives her a fond look, a kiss on her cheek, and a chaste pat on her back that's not fooling me at all.
Dev is still trying to weasel his way in there with my Poodle, but Riley fucking Eddison? He's already made it with my Doodle, and he's got be at least a fucking decade too old for her. I would kill him, except Trace really seems to think a lot of him.
So does Row, from the way she's always looking at him like he's...a rock star. Actual rock stars don't impress her. Creepily genius mastermind managers that makes rock star's careers? That gets Row's juices flowing.
Riley looks up at Trace, holds up a finger, and speaks into Row's ear, obviously trying to disentangle himself from her attention.
She's shaking her head petulantly, just like she did when she was two. She shoots a murderous glance up to me, says, "Riley! I'm so fucking sick of this bullshit. Just...just...awwww, fuck it..."
She grabs his head and sticks her tongue down his throat. He gives the balcony a look like a soldier about to go into battle, and then he closes his eyes and puts his arms around my daughter, surrendering to the kiss she's desperate to flaunt in my face.
Shit. I look at Dev. "I can't decide which one of your smug Britishes arseholes I'm gonna have to end first."
"Start with him. He's got a few years on me. I feel too young yet, to die. Sir," he adds with all of the smarm as if he just addressed me as "Fucker," instead.
"Cavendish..." I warn.
"Sorry, shutting it," he grins, making a show of zipping his lip, "Well, just after I..." he pretends to unzip, and opens his throat to the flute of champagne. He looks at the empty glass in surprise. "That's quite good. Let's have a bit more for the floor show, shall we?" He snaps at Artie who is by the bar. "Mate, can you help a bloke out and toss up a bottle of bubbly?"
Both Artie and Trace looks at Dev in disbelief. Artie shakes his head, but Trace says, "Dude. You are so fucking pushing it. I don't even talk to Skid Marcs guys like that and my damn dad is in the band." Then Trace shakes his head like he's clearing it of Dev and refocuses. "What the fuck, Riley!' Trace bellows down over the railing, leaning so far in his rage that I automatically grab the back of his shirt, like he's four years old. But I let him raise hell, because he needs to.
"This is over the fucking line, man! That's my sister and you are...she is...she's eighteen, Riley. She's eight-fucking-teen! "
I rub my jaw. I'm down with Trace's sentiment,but he's probably not the best candidate to raise this objection, considering he's the proverbial pot-calling-the-kettle-black. The whole room quiets, thinking exactly what I'm thinking.
It finally dawns on Trace...the hypocrisy. "Shit," he growls, cracking his neck and glaring down at Riley.
Riley shrugs up at him, returning his attention to Row. He edges her smudged lipstick carefully. "Look what you've done now, love."
"So?" She pushes him a little. "What are you going to do about it?" She slaps a hand on his chest and draws him near again, with a fistful of dress shirt. "Huh, Riley? You gonna tuck tail and tell me we can't do this anymore? Because my brother and my dad tell you to leave me alone?"
Riley's lips thin in disapproval of her hostility. He grabs her wrist and pulls her fingers from his shirt. I grit my teeth at the way he's gripping her wrist, but then I see the expression behind his glasses is soft as he turns her clinched fist over and kisses her knuckles. "No, but I imagine there will be quite a few serious conversations all around, now. None so important as the one you and I must have. Very soon. It's not a game anymore, Rowan. It never was for me, but you have just made the status of...whatever this is we've been doing...a matter of some urgency to define, so perhaps you should give some thought as to what you want. Because I've told you since last summer, dearestâan occasional secret shag is not what I'm after. I can get that anywhere. I want...something else, with you."
Doodle always cultivates a pale goth look, but I almost laugh outright to see her go white as a ghost at Riley's threat of relationship. Huh. He probably is too old for her, but he does seem to know how to put her in her place, and that's more than I can say for any punk that ever had the misfortune to think he wanted to date her.
"I...I...I didn't think about it like that..." Row's upswept grey curls bounce as she stammers. He takes her chin in hand.
"No, of course not. You only thought to have your way and flaunt your mischief, discrediting me with your father and your brother in the process. Now be a good girl and let me pass. I came to see your father, because unfortunately this is not the only disaster I have to diffuse tonight."
He steps around her and looks up at me and then Trace, squaring his shoulders as he heads toward the foyer to take the stairs.
"Riley!" Row calls after him, like a plea. He turns back to her, cocking his head in question. "I...I'm sorry. That was bad timing and selfish and immature and...I'm sorry. Truly."
My eyes automatically meet Annie's. My wife's eyebrows pitch upward in amusement and I know my expression must be similar. Row, saying she's sorry? I can count on one hand how many times I've heard that she since could talk.
"Well, since you're truly sorry...it's alright. The kiss was quite nice, actually." He winks.
Trace meets him at the top of the stairs. "I trusted you, man. Everybody tried to tell me you were messing around with my sister and I said, 'No. Riley is loyal. Riley wouldn't do that.'"
Riley puts his hands in his pockets. "Trace, I am loyal. You can trust me. You did trust meâwith your sister's welfare. But what the fuck did you expect? Row is incredible. She's smart and strong and beautiful and talented and adorably cheeky. And then, for me, there's that undefinable thing, and I know you know what I'm talking about. That thing...that makes you crave one girl's presence over all the others. You're right, I've got a few years in the game and I can tell you two things. First, that undefinable thing...it doesn't happen very often. And secondly, Row is not a child, anymore than Kat is a child and frankly, I'm prepared to defend myself in that capacity to your father but not to you. If you think I'm not good enough for your sister, then say that, but don't be a bloody hypocrite and say she's too young. Because you and I are the same."
Trace puts his hands on hips and toes the floor. "Shit, Riley. You're one of the best fucking dudes I know. You're like Adam-level decent. Responsible. Reliable. Honorable. It's not that. And you're right, I got no room to play the age card. It's just...you're putting me in a bad fucking position, here." He jerks his hand toward me, surprisingly. "I promised him I would watch out for her. And you were too close. Like a fucking sneak attack. I never saw you coming."
"Trace, has it occurred to you that very reason I didn't raise your alarm bells is because I am no threat to your sister? I'm good for her. And she's good for me," he smiles.
That's my cue. I step around Trace. "Yeah, about that. How do you figure that one? Because as much as I love my daughter...she honestly doesn't seem like your type. Which makes me consider the possibility that you are just using her. And I warn you, Eddison, I won't fucking stand for that."
Riley takes his glasses off, cleans them, puts them back on. "People always think I'm older than I am, you know. Trace rounds up my age, implying that I'm in my thirties, but I'm actually a little younger than Leed. Yet sometimes, I feel like the oldest twenty-six year old on the planet. Honestly...I've felt that way since I was nineteen. I..." his eyes unfocus like he's seeing memories. "Well...I had a rather rough start to adulthood. Sad story, in the past." He goes over to the railing and looks down at Row. The whole room is still watching our little drama, but Row...she's actually crying, and I get the feeling she knows Riley's sad story, the one he has no intention of telling here. "Fast forward to now and to Row." He smiles at her as he says, "She makes me feel...young. Alive. Happy. It's pretty simple really. I don't know why, I just know she does, when no one has in a long, long time."
Well damn. Eddison could have said a lot of things, and he has to go and say the one fucking thing that punches me in the gut. I look down at Annie, knowing exactly what Riley is talking about. I am only as old as I feel when I'm loving her, and I'm always loving her, which is why I feel like I'm still seventeen and king of the fucking world.
Shit. Fuck. I look to Annie. She gives Row a long, tender look, and then she gives me the chin tip. She's okay with Riley, but it's my call. I sigh. "Okay."
Riley and Trace give me the same dumb-founded expression. "Okay?" Riley says. "Okay as in..."
"As in, okay, I'm not going to kick your ass. Tonight. Okay, I'm not going to end your career. Yet. Okay, you're welcome in my house. For now. But if you two are a thing, Strut has to have a new manager, pronto."
"Daddy, no!" Row is standing in battle stance--hands on hips, boots wide apart. " Riley is brilliant! We couldn't get a better manager!" She shouts up to us.
"Well that's too fucking bad, Doodle, cause you don't date your manager. That's too much control. So you have to choose."
I mean that shit. That's too much power over my daughter. He has to choose...her or Strut's profit margin.
"That's not a problem for me," Riley says, his eyes on Row. "But I want what's best for Row, so the decision is hers."
Row looks...lost. I feel sorry for her, but I stand by what I've said. Mixing business and personal relationships always leads to ruin, and I'd rather her hurt to make a choice than hurt over having no choices to make, one day. "I...I have to talk to Strut," she says to Riley, tears standing in her eyes.
He nods to her, somewhat stiffly. "Right. Of course, you do. Well...this has turned out better than expected, really," he says brightly, with a wink to her. "The balls in your court, Rowan. We'll talk about it later, okay?"
Her head bobs and she wonders off to the kitchen.
"Well, then. This is excellent! Brits conquer and all that." Dev claps his hands. "Really, can someone toss us up the Dom? Anyone? A celebration is in order!"
"Don't pop your cork too soon, Cavendish. You are still blacklisted."
"What? Why? This is outrageous!" he postures. "What's he got that I haven't?"
"It's the other way around. It's what you've got that he hasn't. For starters, a rap sheet, and I'm not talking about your lyrics. It's not just drunk and disorderly, either, which I could overlook. No. It's B and E, larceny, assault. You're a real thug, and you would be in jail in your home country if your dad wasn't a damn duke."
"Baron," he corrects. "And that's all in the past. Misspent youth," he grins. "If that's your only concern, I assure you..."
"It's not. Let's talk about your music. Your lyrics are all misogynistic and pornographic. I don't like your public attitude, and I'll be damned if you'll write that filth about my daughter. Also I hear you have a set of brass knuckles and you weren't afraid to use them on Dawes. He might have deserved it, but don't bullshit me and tell me your violence is all past." I glance at Trace. "People that enjoy violence don't get access to my kids. So...this is me," I put my arms out in X-formation. "Denying permission to land in my daughter's strip. Find another tower to circle, flyboy."
"Daddy!" Bridge hisses up at me. "You're insane!"
Beside me, Trace laughs. "Dude, you kind of are."
"Shut it, son."
"And I'm eighteen, you don't get to choose who I see!" Bridge is ranting.
"You're right, Poodle. But I do get to make or break musical careers. Perks of being a legend in the business," I say cheerfully. Artie, Dom, and Jax laugh heartily.
Marianne is shaking her head at me, because she'll tell me later I don't have a leg to stand on, and I'm inciting rebellion in our least rebellious child, but I can't see my way clear to let this wolf into my innocent daughter's boudoir. Besides, if Dev is this easily dissuaded, he doesn't deserve my daughter.
"This is really your position? You didn't seem so bloody disapproving when you were asking me to ring up Ed fucking Shâ"
"And I appreciate the professional courtesy. Now, I owe you a favor. I don't owe you my daughter."
"Respectfully, sir" Dev smiles with a coldness that is anything but respectful. "I won't take any pleasure in taking your daughter, but I won't be railroaded by an overbearing aristocratic father with a god complex. Been there, done that, wrote the rap song."
Hmmmm. I'm not scared. Bridge might like this guy, but he's nothing more than a crush to her. She's a serious girl, with big classical dreams. She's rising up in the world and he's spiraling down. "Bring it on, Cavendish. But I warn you, American gods are a bit more brutal than old world ones."
Dev just nods curtly and walks stiffly down the stairs. Bridge rushes him, trying to throw her arms around him but he collects her flailing arms and tucks her arm in his, kissing her temple. "I'm out, Love."
"You're not staying? But you're here! You're dressed for the event. He invited you!"
"It's alright. I think I should go. Lost the battle, not the war. I have to speak to someone first, and then...will you walk me out?"
"I'm not kidding, Cavendish," I yell down. He just gives me a glare and for some strange reason, he escorts Bridge over to Ash to speak to her. Much to Mason's disappointment, Ash's demeanor changes radically and she smiles warmly at Dev as he gives her a brief hug.
"What the hell?" Trace murmurs. He turns to Riley for explanation. "He wasn't one of her...boyfriends while she was on the run, was he?"
Riley shakes his head. "Not that I know of."
"Then what's it about?" Trace demands. "How the hell do they even know each other?"
Riley eyes narrow . "I don't know," he intones in that nasal British way that indicates irritation.
"You don't know?"
"Jesus Christ, Trace. Contrary to popular opinion I don't actually know everything," Riley snaps. I grin. Some things do get under his cool exterior.
"Well, find out," Trace grumbles.
"Not right now. Right now, we have another concern. One that is urgent, I'm afraid." He blinks at Trace. "Put the music back on, Trace. Let them carry on below. Believe me, you don't want them listening to what I have to tell you."
I make a move to go, but Riley shakes his head. "This is a delicate situation. I need...I need your guidance, Matt."
Trace looks irritated, but he complies with Riley's instructions. "All right, last call guys. Time for one more drink before we head to the gallery." The party resumes, and the three of us stand still until the noise level has ramped up, and then Riley opens a door to a quiet bedroom.
"Leed and Kat have run up against a...problem, I simply don't know how to deal with."
Trace's head snaps to attention. "What? What's happened to Kat and Leed?"
"It's not what's happening to them, it's what they are doing. I've just come from the gallery," he checks his watch..."Leed is currently holding back Kat from attacking Seb Morrigan and I have the event security holding back Leed from the same." He pulls an unfamiliar phone from his pocket. "I've also confiscated Morrigan's cell phone, because he'd be calling his lawyers and possibly the police right now if I hadn't. And I found some...disturbing photos on his phone. Photos of some paintings...that...well...Seb has a dark side, as most artists do. But his subject matter is somewhat...personal to both of you."
I gesture for the phone. Riley hesitates.
"Don't fuck with me, Eddison."
He hands it over.
There is a portrait of Kat and Ashlynn's features merged together. I'm more disturbed by the one that merges Street and Trace's face.
I flip through the images.
The burn rising in my chest has nothing do with the liquor I drank.
"Fuck."
Apparently the portraits were just an exercise to create these hybrid subjectsâfamiliar to me, but faces that might not be as recognizable to the public at large. He employs his "fictional" subjects in a whole series of paintings. There's the henna tat disaster-which I know was a real eventâbut with a new twist...he's morphed Trace and Ashlynn into the picture and branded the girl a whore.
That's just the beginning. Apparently, Seb has caught wind of Ash's storyâprobably from drunken nights at the club with Katâ and her troubles have inspired a whole series of dark works in Seb's mind. The use of the Kat-Ashlynn image and Street-Trace image continues with realistic scenes of drug use, cutting, and even pornographic pictures of sex acts. Sometimes the hybrid Ballard girl is with men other than my hybrid son. There's even one of the girl lying on a floor with her head cracked open, and tiny visions of hopeful dreams and dark realities swirling in her spilled blood.
"That motherfucker."
Trace is moving toward me, to view the phone. I drop it on the floor and smash it beneath my foot. Trace is a grown man, but it's still my instinct to protect my eldest son from hurt.
"What the fuck?"
"A bunch of sick fucking bullshit Seb painted with your girls as the subject. A kind of hybrid of you and Street in the mix, too. You don't want to see that." I say tersely.
"Yes, I do," Trace growls.
"Well you're not fucking gonna, and you will fucking listen to me right now. You are gonna be cool for a goddamn second, okay. Take a beat. Let's think this through."
Trace isn't about that.
He rounds on Riley. "The actual paintings are at the studio? Leed and Kat found them?"
Riley shakes his head. "No, that's the weird thing. There was only one, and it was still drying, and it was little different style than the rest. They burned it, and Leed smashed Seb's camera and deleted a bunch of photos from Seb's computer, which is why Seb is raising hell. But once I snatched his phone and realized...there are a dozen paintings on his phone that are missing from his studio. He won't say where they are, what he's done with them. I was going to check his phone for more information," Riley says dryly.
"You won't need the phone. He will tell me," I assure him. "Get the cars ready. Don't say anything to anyone else. Not yet. We are not sacrificing Kat and Marianne's campaign for this. Their show will go on, and we will...handle this behind the scenes. Wait, when you go downstairs, send Street up here," I tell Riley. I put a hand on Trace's shoulder. "Stay." I hand him back his flask. "Have a drink. Be quiet. Let me think a minute."
I pace, trying to figure out how to make Street see what I have to do.
Seb fucking Morrigan.
I despise that man. Since he came into Street's life at eight years old, he and I have had nothing but conflict. He was only a starving art student then, but it didn't matter. He was always an arrogant prick. It was his pushy influence that turned Street away from musicâbefore that he loved his guitar even more than Lane does. I let Street pull away from the family business, because to me it seemed like he had a lot of talent in the art arena, too.
Seb was always encouraging Street as a kid, telling him he was talented, but when Street turned sixteen or seventeen, and started talking about going off to art school, Seb's opinions seemed to change. He told Marianne and I that Street's art would serve him better as hobby than a vocation, because he lacked "artistic vision to create the unique."
I wonder how many times he gave Street the same impression.
I've often thought that's why Street chose environmental science as a major instead of art, and let go of his private instruction with Seb.
Funny how Seb stopped being his instructor and instead became Street's closest drinking buddy.
I've even wondered if that was Seb's play, all alongâto keep Street under his thumb, and keep his social ties. Maybe he didn't want Street going off to art school and finding a different community of artists his own age. Street takes Seb everywhere our name gives him access. Since Street has been down at Berkely, I've even heard a few times that Seb is still trading on his name to get into clubs, implying Street is home for the weekend and he's the advance party to Street's entourage.
It makes me think Morrigan has motives other than VIP access. What else does he want with us? The man is crafty, and ambitious. I wouldn't put anything past him. He's a narcissist, that's for sure.
So many times I've tried to break ties with Morrigan, but it always created a further divide between my son and me. Street would accuse me of trying to rid him of his only mentor, because I wanted him to be a musician, not an artist. When he got older and considered Seb a friend, he told me I was trying to control his friendships. Long before Trace came along, Street and I were already tense, and Seb has always been a part of that. It's why I have never exerted my considerable influence to move Seb out of circle.
I was afraid Street might choose ties with Seb over ties with me.
Marianne and I agree on most things, but in this, we've always seen it differently. Marianne likes Morrigan a helluva lot better than I do. But then again, he only shows her his agreeable side. He can be very charming.
I'm not charmed by him.
He's not the kind of guy I would be friends with. A cultural elitist, ,a petty social climber, a fashionista, a shameless name-dropper.
If I'm truly honest, there was another reason I didn't banish Seb years ago.
Seb is gay, it's no secret. I honestly don't give a shit who he loves, but there was this nagging doubt in my head that maybe I might be judging this guy too harshly, because he's different than me. I didn't want to think of myself as not liking a gay guy. So instead of trusting my instincts about this asshole, I told myself I would be the asshole if I moved against him. I told myself to be tolerant of a guy I didn't trust, because I didn't trust myself to make a judgment call about him.
But now...fuck that shit. Straight, LGBTQ, whatever...an manipulative asshole that has crossed the line and betrayed me and potentially hurt my family is still a manipulative asshole who is gonna get my wrath, no matter what his orientation.
Street enters the room, his easy smile fading as he takes us in. He loosens his tie as he closes the door. "What's up?"
I cross to him, and put my hands on his shoulders. "I'm going to ask something of you, that I have never asked, okay? Something I never would ask, unless I really needed it."
Street's eyes go icy as his pupils narrow down. I see him look at Trace, then back at me. "What do you need?"
"I need your blind loyalty, Son. I need you to put your trust in me. I need you to help me, and hurt a friend. I need you to choose family over Seb Morrigan."
Street's eyes close, and he swallows heavily before he looks at me again with a dread in his eyes. "What's he done?"
Fuck. Street already knows. Something.
Trace is as good a read as me. He surges forward. "Shit. You know, don't you? You know what he's done!" I hold Trace back, waiting for explanation from Street. I know my son. He would not be cool with the images I just saw. He cares about Kat, he would be angry to see her likeness exploited like that without her permission.
"I know he has a buyer that contacted him a few months ago. When Kat's sister first came back to LA and Kat started posting pictures of Ash on her Instagram. I don't know who it is, but somebody...an ex-boyfriend of Ash's or something. He wanted Seb to photograph Ashlynn. Seb's been doing it on the downlow...everytime we would go to a club or to dinner with her or something. It was not easy. She's shy and she never stays out long or gives him great photo ops. I told him it was creepyâthis guy sounded like a stalker or something, but he insisted they were all innocent photos. He said the guy was just paying him to professionally finish the photos he could already see on Kat's Instagram. Kat showed me the shoot he did of Ashlynn last week, and..those pictures were personal. Private. Showing a lot of skin. Kat was blown away by Seb's generosity to stage an impromptu shoot like that for Ash, but...I had a bad feeling. I confronted Seb and asked him if he had sent those photos to this buyer without Ashlynn's permission. He said he hadn't, but...he did, didn't he?"
"Motherfucker!" Trace turns and punches a hole in the wall. Then picks up a lamp and throws it. "This shit is never going to end! People fucking hurting her!!! Why can't she get free of her fucking past?!?!"
"Chill the fuck out," I warn him. "The person you are trying to protect probably heard that. You want her coming up here, right now?"
Trace braces his hands on the wall and bows between them. "No," he says hoarsely.
I turn to Street. "It's worse than that." By the time I explain about the weird hybrid faces and give him a brief description of the kind of portraits, Street is pale with anger. He's like his mother...he has a quiet kind of anger.
"He's sold them to that fucker. I know he has. He got caught up in the drama, the artistry, the seediness of it. He protected himself by merging our faces so he didn't have to have the models' permission in case anyone ever saw his originals. But what he really did was sell high dollar dark fantasies to a stalker. Or hell, maybe the guy even commissioned the scenes. Maybe they are...memories. It...seems exactly like something Seb would do," Street says tersely.
Somewhere inside me, a scaffold of icy fear that has grown in my heart over the years collapses all at once. My son knows what kind of person Seb really is. He'll do the right thing here. He'll choose family over Morrigan.
"You should have said something about the photos," Trace growls at him. "Actually, you know what? You should never have brought Kat around that motherfucker. What were you thinking? Jesus Christ."
"I know," Street runs a hand through his dark, longish locks. "I know. I see it. He's a good art teacher, he really is, but he's already starting to manipulate her, too. He treats her like his assistant whenever she's with him and she doesn't even realize. Shit."
"How can you even be friends with somebody like that?" Trace snarls at him.
"That's my fault," I tell Trace. "I let him into our life. I never liked him. I should have sent him on his way years ago. Street was just a kid."
"No," Street says. "I'm not a kid anymore. I know what he's like...Trace is right...I don't even know why I'm friends with that asshole."
"Not good enough," Trace turns around and leans against the wall, crossing his arms and glaring at Street. "You ask yourself why. You find the reason for this mistake."
Wow, my kid's therapy must really be working. He sounds like a shrink. I feel a stab of pride. He's not even offering to punch Street, either. He seems calmer, the more he talks.
Street looks at the ceiling. When he lowers his gaze, it's directed to me. "Because he makes it easy on me, I guess. Because he used to buy me liquor when you wouldn't, if I would give him the money to stock his bar, too," Street grimaces. "Because he used to buy my weed before it was legal and I didn't have to worry about getting popped by a narc and embarrassing you. Because he let me feel okay about whining like a bitch about my famous father and the prison of his fame. Even better, he actively dislikes Trace, although he's pretty clever about not letting Kat see that. Probably because ever since Trace got back off tour, he can't manipulate Kat as easily. I guess lately, I felt like he was my ally in hating on my brother."
Trace chuckles. "Fuck, Street, that's the most honest thing I've ever heard you say. I resent you too, in case you were wondering. Not even your fault, I can't help feeling like...you got the good shit I didn't. I ain't talking about what money can buy, either."
"I know," Street says softly. "I guess neither one of us can help the father that raised us, huh? But we can agree, Seb is a motherfucker who won't get away with exploiting Kat and her sister?"
Trace nods, his rock star face firmly in place, but still...he nods at his brother, and says, "You're right, brother."
In the middle of my anger, I smile to see that one glimpse of solidarity in my sons.
I nod, gripping Street's shoulder. "You know how you let go of resentments inside a family? You stop feeding them and you just do normal shit. That's what we are going to do now. You understand? You, me, Trace, just normal shit. A father and two sons. And the resentments, and Seb, feeding them? It's over, and he's out. We're family. Agreed?"
"Yeah," Street nods firmly.
Riley knocks on the door. "It's time."
"Yeah, we're coming. Here's what we are going to do. Play it cool. We are not fucking up this campaign. I'll talk Seb down. You two know nothing about the missing paintings. I'll tell him I didn't show youâwhich I didn'tâand he'll believe me because he knows me. When the auction closes and the last guest leaves. We lock the door. We handle it then."
"What are we gonna do?" Street asks.
"Fuck if I know, but we've got a fifteen minute limo ride to figure it out." I say, beating down the stairs and giving Annie a kiss on the cheek, telling her I'm taking the boys in the limo for a little father son talk. Her brows knit in concern but I pat her arm and tell her it's alright. It is alright, in the way she means at least.
Dev is still outside, saying goodbye to Bridge by his Hummer.
"Cavendish, get over here," I snap and I give Trace a look. He reads me, nodding. Might as well check the obvious suspect first.
He strolls insolently over. "That's the last time I let you call me to heel, you fucking old-ass wankâ"
"Shut the fuck up, you're in my house and that's my father you are talking about," Trace says, getting in his face and grabbing him by the shirt. "Tell me about Seb Morrigan, you fucker."
Dev automatically breaks Trace's hold with a quick but aggressive shove. "Get your goddamn hands of me, Gallant. Who the fuck is Seb Morrigan?" He looks blankly between us, then turns to a little to Bridge, like she might hold the answer.
I hold up a hand to keep her back, and she obeys. I step in and look at Dev closely. "It ain't him. There's no lie in his eyes."
Trace nods but he continues to glare at Dev. "How do you know Ashlynn?"
His eyes goes wide and then darkens slightly. "I only met her once, last summer. June I think. I was at a big industry party in Seattle. Drunk and high...don't even remember whose house. Saw her a couple of times that night...she's a looker, hard to forget. I was stumbling by the end of the night, waiting outside in the rain like a prat for my Uber. She was walking down the long drive...no purse, no phone, no cash. She was wearing a white dress and in the rain, it was sticking to her skin. I could tell she was bleeding...like from a cut," he gestures at his side. "She wasn't high, but she was in a bad way...hurting. Said she had a headache. She had the look of needing a fix. I gave her an oxy, because she was obviously...injured. She said she couldn't go back in thereâif she did, she would get much worse. She said she'd made him angrier than she ever had, and he liked to punish mistakes. But she wouldn't tell me who. She didn't seem to fit her circumstances, you know? She wasn't a girl that could manage a situation like that. Contrary to popular opinion around here, most of my misogynistic lyrics are part of the rap game. I don't actually like to see women controlled like that. I told her I was on my way to the airport--back to London, I had plenty of money to spare, she could come along with, if she wanted. She smiled and said she thought maybe it was time for her to go see her husband. She said he was a good guy and he would help her, if she could just get to him. I told her I would buy her a plane ticket home. We shared a ride and a meal. I got her the ticket to Atlantaâshe said that used to home but he was there for work over the weekend. I gave her all the cash in my walletâa few hundred bucks, because she promised me she would get on that plane. My plane left before hers. I never knew if she did. When I saw her just now...she told me she did, and it was the beginning of a much better road. That's all I know of her. Who is her husband, anyway? Someone attached to you?"
"I was her husband, but we......we aren't married anymore. It's a long, complicated story."
"Oh fuck, I know that one!" Recognition sharpens Dev's features. He laughs. "Ashlynn is your girl's older sister! Kat was quite drunk, at video shoot for The Siege. You know, she's very funny when she's drunk, especially telling that storyâabout your...unusual arrangement with her and her sister."
"Yeah," Trace says grimly.
"Well, I'm glad to have helped Ashlynn out then. Christ, Gallant, do all the women you hang around with get muddled up with sociopathic abusers?"
"Yeah," Trace answers again, even more grimly.
"You should stick with me," Dev says. "I know how to deal with that lot."
I exchange a look with Trace, but it's Street who says casually. "He's right. He should come with. I was there when he and Mac shot their video. When Dawes was getting patched up, I overheard Dev convincing him not to talk to the police about his injuries. Dev can be very...intimidating."
Shit, are we really gonna work Morrigan over at launch party for an anti-violence philanthropy?
Maybe, I muse.
"Fine." I jerk my head toward the limo. "You're with us, Cavendish. We might need some dirty work done. You too, Eddison!" I call and Riley nods, as he packs, Marianne, Gina, Ashlynn, Mason,Bridge and Row, into another limo.
"What the fuck is going on?" Dev straightens his jacket. "I don't commit violence on command, you know. It has to be justified."
"It might well be, I'm not sure yet," I tell him. "Get in the goddamn limo. I'll fill you in on the way."
Oh wow. How did you like Matt's chapter. He's got so much going on with all his relationships, doesn't he? Heavy is the head that wears the crown....
Things are about to get really interesting at the Loving Marcs Launch party. I can't decide who's POV we need to use! I feel like Ashlynn's because it's such a personal impact to her, but I don't think we will see the whole story from her view, because I'm pretty sure there are at least four or five men on the scene that will try to keep her from the ugly truth.... Any suggestions?