Chapter 53: Rock Stars Never F*cking Ever Want To Get Married Again

Author's Note: This chapter has a POV change in the middle...from Trace to Kat...just thought I'd point that out because I haven't done that so far...switch POV in the middle of a chapter...

Trace

Meeting my siblings Street and Bridge for the first time is fucking unreal, especially because it happens so casual. Kat and I step on the plane and no one hardly notices. Matt and Marianne are pacing at the back each on phones—each directing a staff of six people to call somebody else. There are calling every hotel, every casino manager, every promotions guy, every club owner in Vegas—all their contacts—letting them all know to intercept Row, if they can—hopefully before she gets hitched to someone whom I hear Matt describing as a "forty year old no-talent stoner that has been kicked out of every band in existence, and whose pretty face Imma bout to fuck up permanently." I can hear him ranting this even as the flight attendant is greeting us and ushering us in.

There is no mistaking the two kids sitting side by side in the seats where Kat and I were this morning—which seems like a lifetime ago. They both look pretty much like their mom—which is to say they are beautiful people. Raven hair like Marianne, angles cut on all the right facial planes, perfect symmetry—except Street has the gray eyes, just like mine and Matt's, and Bridge has darker eyes like her mom.

Both pairs of eyes boring through me.

Street rises. He's a bit shorter than me, but so is Matt. He rubs the back of his neck, and shakes his head at me. He doesn't have the assertive rock star thing like Matt. More like the SoCal surfer vibe. After a second, he shrugs and sticks out his hand with a friendly enough grin, but he doesn't say anything.

"Sup. I'm uhhh..." I shake. "Shit, I guess you know."

"Yeah, I know." His laugh is easy. "Life is hella weird, huh?"

I grunt amiably in agreement. "Creeps me the fuck out, on occasion." Beside me, I hear Kat's breathy laugh and she touches my back in support.

My half sister Bridge uncrosses her long legs and rises. She is taller than her brother on her wedge sandals and moves like a gazelle, her long navy maxi dress swinging as she comes forward. Bridget is like a younger, softer copy of Marianne. No wonder Matt fell in love with Marianne at sixteen. There is no other way to describe Bridget than to say she's as pretty as a princess—like the Snow White kind, not the spunky new kind. Dark hair, creamy skin and genteel. "You look more like him than any of us." Her voice is understated and her smile is sweet.

I smile at her. "Well, you look like your mom. Should I call you Bridget or Bridge?"

"Bridge," she confirms. "I just go with the theme. Why fight it?" She rolls her eyes.

"So this is Kat Ballard, my girlfriend," I put an arm around her and guide her forward a step, since she was sort of standing behind me, letting me meet my siblings for the first time.

"Hi," Bridget says. "You guys grew up together, right?" she asks Kat.

"Yes," Kat smiles back. "Neighbors practically my whole life, til he left for college, and then LA. He was always a punk."

I smile down at Kat. She's being so amazing about this Vegas bullshit. It can't be easy. She has to be thinking about me and Ashlynn and Vegas. But she hasn't brought it up. She's really being there for me, in this crazy del Marco family drama thing. The last thing I really want to do is take Kat to Vegas and make her think about where Ashlynn and I stayed, where we said our vows, all that. To be honest, I don't know what the hell I'm doing up in the middle of this hot mess. But Matt said "get your ass to the airport so we can handle business," and well...I'm here. Matt has that authoritative effect on everyone, apparently—in the industry, and his family. So it's like double for me.

Kat and Bridge are still chatting.

"I bet," Bridge says sweetly. "We'll need to hear all the dirt. It's no fun to have a brother you can't tease." she winks at me.

I blink. Wow. This is going better than I thought.

And then there's a hiccup.

Street switches his cool gray gaze to Kat. "The famous Little Sister," he smiles. There's no mistaking that little look of interest in his eyes as his gaze rolls down her. I don't react. I'm getting used to every guy that recognizes her giving her the same roving speculation. I can't even really blame them. Kat is a gorgeous girl. I guess I've also made her a bit of enigma to people, with the song. But if Street's eyes don't switch focus from her body in about three seconds, I'm going to switch his focus for him.

One Mississippi...two Mississippi...three Miss-

He blinks, and shakes his head almost imperceptibly, like he realizes he's making a douche move. I let out the breathe I didn't realize I was holding. It would have been all kinds of awkward, to have to check Street's ass right off the bat for leering at Kat.

"You guys wanna drink?" his eyes meet hers again briefly and almost automatically switch to mine. He casually hooks a thumb at the bar cart. There's no challenge in his eyes; he looks entirely friendly again. "It's kinda tense up in here."

I turn to Kat, "You want something Kitty? I'm gonna hold off, until we do this blogger thing."

"Energy drink maybe? I'm dead tired," she stifles a yawn. Yeah she has to be exhausted. Unused to jet lag, and then all that sex with the crazy intense emotions and the edge of pain and the orgasms—all new to her, too. Actually I'm wrecked, too, but I'm used to a grueling schedule. I give her a knowing smile, trying to work on that silent communication thing.

I know you're tired, baby. Hang in there. Get you a suite in Vegas as soon as I can. Just really need you here with me in this.

I'm pretty sure she's feeling me, because she reaches out and squeezes my hand.

"Sure, let's see what we've got," Bridge says.

While Kat and my brother and sister move to the middle of the plane, Matt strides up past them, giving Kat a friendly arm squeeze as he slides past. To me, he gives the rock star homie handshake.

"You find her yet?" I ask. I know what it's like to be frantically looking for somebody bent on fucking up big time.

"Naw. One of the kids in her band said they are driving on his motorcycle. We'll beat them there. I'm trying to put the word out in every casino, but there's so many damn little chapels..." He tears at his hair. "Fuck, that dude doesn't give a shit about her. He's looking for a meal ticket and a status boost. She's just...upset right now, because of..." he stops, and rubs a hand over his face. "Fuck. I can't believe she would fall for his bullshit. I thought I taught her how to handle herself. Since she turned fifteen and started playing gigs, guys always on her, you know? She can handle the normal guys...but the goddamn musicians..."

I nod. I do know. I see it all the time. Hell, I guess I do it—bring the swagger and overwhelm. Matt probably feels about this Ratch douche like Michael Ballard used to feel about me. Like he's gonna feel again pretty soon. "I'm sorry to be causing static with your family," I say. "She probably wouldn't have done this if it weren't for you telling her about me, huh?"

He grabs the back of my head pulls my face to him. "You are family, too, now. My blood. My kid. Row's drama, doesn't change a damn thing about me and you, ok? Life ain't always easy. We'll make it all work, somehow. Figure it out."

"Ok. Thanks."

He's still got me by the back of the head. "Marcy's got the blogger in a car on the tarmac. You ready for this?"

Not really, but I nod anyway. He turns me around, and pushes me toward the plane door. "Let's go."

I give Kat one brief Oh shit! glance and she gives me a tiny fist pump of solidarity, and a nod like you got this. I hold onto that as Matt practically manhandles me down the stairs and across the sun-bright concrete, into a dark limo.

*******************************

KAT

"Uhhhh, what?" I ask, tearing my eyes from window where I can see the limo that Trace and Matt disappeared into a half hour ago.

"Nevermind," Street says with an easy smile. "I asked what you are into, but it's not really the time for bullshit small talk, huh?" He leans forward, looking at the window at the car, too.

Suddenly, I feel bad. Street is trying to be nice and I've been rude—practically catatonic since Trace got in the limo. I'm very distracted. What's going down in that limo is a huge, world-changing, identity-rearranging thing for Trace. I guess most of me is there with him, supporting him.

"I like to paint," I say absently to Street, surprising myself. I used to love to paint, but I haven't put a brush on canvas in two and half years. But whenever someone asks me what I like to do, that's the answer that comes to mind, the response I've been biting off since I started a new school and decided not to be the artsy stand-out girl anymore. "Just as a hobby, you know. I actually haven't painted in a while, but I do really enjoy it."

"Not surprising that you are an artist," he murmurs, still hunched over the window. "You have the vibe."

"I wouldn't say I'm an artist. Not compared to Trace," I tap the glass to indicated the limo bearing two of the most celebrated rock artists of our time.

Street's unnervingly familiar eyes meet mine. He starts to say more, and then shuts his mouth, looking at the window again.

"I guess that's a dumb thing to say," I say with a smile.

He looks at me quickly. I feel a weird prickle. His eyes are giving me the creeps. They are too much like Trace's in the wrong face. "No not at all. I sketch a little." He blushes. "Actually, alot, but I never tell anybody. Exact same reason. I'm not really the artist in the family—not with Dad, Row and Bridge all making the strings sing."

I grin. "Ahhhh, engineering student by day, passion by night. That's a pattern I'm familiar with."

He runs a hand through his hair, looking a little confused. "What?"

Now I'm blushing. Shit. Not that kind of passion. "I meant...Trace," I explain. "His major was engineering, before Soundcrush got signed and he dropped out of college."

"I didn't know that. Weird." He squints at me. "You gonna do the whole painting thing, on the WITCH Campus?"

I shrug. "Maybe." I grin. "I might be a lot rusty."

He squints his eye. "If you're any good, the classes they give will be too basic. But there's an artist with a studio really close by—Seb Morrigan. He used to be my drawing teacher, as a kid. Look him up, he might could get you back on track."

"Thanks for the tip," I say earnestly. Bridge flounces down in the seat beside Street and hands him a piece of paper. It's a map of Vegas, and it has a big red circle around the North end of the strip. "That's where you and I are supposed to check," she says dryly."Mom says we're going hunting for Row, sector by sector. Yay," she says dryly.

Street nudges her. "I hope you brought your fake ID. Otherwise you won't get into half these places we need to search."

"Course. You got yours?"

Street smiles "The one mom had made for convenience getting us into places, and the one she doesn't know about, too," he grins.

I look at my map. "I don't have a fake ID."

Bridge shrugs. "I don't think Mom expects you and Trace to help, but anyway arm candy never gets carded."

Street kicks Bridge's ankle. He shoots me a sympathetic look. "She didn't mean it like that."

Bridge's eyes go wide. "Oh! I really didn't! I just meant, Trace is an all access type and you're with him..."

Bridge's eyes are wide and full of concern. I can tell she really didn't mean it like that. She seems young and innocent...younger and more innocent than me, even though we are the same age. I wonder if it's just her natural sweet personality or if she's more sheltered than her siblings for some reason. "It's okay." I search for a way to change the subject. "So what are you supposed to do if you find your sister before she gets married?"

"Text me first, and then, whatever it takes to slow her down," Matt says dryly as he manhandles a shell-shocked Trace ahead of him down the aisle. "Buy her shots, tie her up. Anything you can do short of permanent injury would be better than her getting hitched to Ratch Gorenson." He forces Trace down into a seat and sits down in front of him, staring at Trace. "You okay, man? You look like you are going to hurl."

Trace cracks his neck and rubs a knuckle across his lips. "Fuck, we really just did that. We gave him the paternity test results. We said...stuff about each other. Personal stuff. To a celebrity blogger. I mean...it's real now...you're...I'm...it's real."

Matt grins. "Yeah, it's real, son. The world will know before morning. Marcy's gonna have a press junket set up for tomorrow at the hotel before you have to leave to get back on tour. Have a drink, you could use it. But don't get wasted. Short flight and then we gotta find your sister." He slaps Trace on the knee, and leaps up. "Annie--any word?"

Marianne is shaking her head silently, never breaking the conversation she's having on her phone. We are already taxiing down the runway before Matt makes it to her at the back of the plane, rubbing her shoulders lightly and kissing her on the top of the head, before taking the seat next to her.

Bridge and Street stare at Trace, during take-off. He looks tranced, not seeming to notice. As soon we level off, I rise silently and pour him brown liquor from a heavy, expensive-looking bottle. But not too much. He accepts it gratefully and pulls me down in his lap, taking a long swallow, then offering me a sip. I scrunch my nose and shake my head, and he laughs softly at the face I'm making. He slugs the rest back and clears his throat. I try to rise, but he holds me firmly on his lap. "I need you," he says softly, and so I stay. After a few quiet moments, our fingers laced together, and Trace seems calmer, more aware. He looks between Street and Bridge.

"So...are you guys worried about your sister, or just annoyed at her drama?"

"Worried," Street says, at the same time Bridge says, "Annoyed."

Bridge rolls her eyes. "Dad thinks Row is getting played, but it's more like she's playing him. She's not even in love with this guy. She's just doing this to piss Dad off."

"That's true," Street concedes, "but Ratch is...he's not some dumb-ass kid. He's playing, too. If they get hitched, he will use it for every ounce of publicity he can get for his band. He won't go away quietly, even when Row gets tired of pissing Dad off."

Bridget shrugs, and looks shyly at Trace, "What do you say, New Guy? You don't know Row, but do you have an opinion of this Vegas circus in general?"

Suddenly I burst out laughing. I can't help it. I like Bridge's funny way of dramatic speech, but more than I'm laughing at her, I'm just feeling a little giddy. I'm exhausted and this whole Vegas thing has got my nerves stretched tight. "Sorry," I mutter slapping a hand over my mouth. Street and Bridge are looking at me like I'm a lunatic. "Sorry," I repeat. "It just struck me funny."

Trace is staring at me with sad eyes. "You cracking up on me, Kitty? Is this what I've caused?"

I push him. "Trace, come on. Laugh or cry, right? I forgave you, you know that, but this is some bullshit—the irony."

He nods solemnly. "It's too much to ask of you, to be here. I'm so fucking sorry."

Street and Bridge are looking at us warily, and exchanging glances.

"Just answer Bridge's question," I sigh.

Trace nods and looks down at our linked hands, like he's uncertain what to say next. I rub his thigh in reassurance. "Yeah, I have an opinion about Row eloping to Vegas. Based on experience. I got hitched in Vegas when I was twenty-one. Mine wasn't real, either. Maybe even less so than Row's. I was drunk and I married a girl I...I was trying to help, but I didn't love. But even though we were never together together...well, it gets complicated, taking vows. I hope we find Row before she goes through with this. It's not easy to undo, even if you do it for the wrong reasons."

Bridge frowns. "I Googled you today—there was nothing about you being married." She blushes. "Sorry, just...curious about you."

He smiles. "I Googled you guys, too. There wouldn't be anything about my marriage. It was a big big mistake that I paid lots of people to keep quiet."

"Why the big secret?" Street asks. "Lots of people get drunk hitched in Vegas and divorced right after, no biggie."

Trace bites his lip and then squeezes my hand. "I didn't get divorced right way. I vowed to help the girl I was married to. I meant it. It took a while. Kat and I...we've both...had a thing for each other for a long time. I've always been hoping we could get real, eventually, but what I did in Vegas stood in the way of that. I kept the whole thing from her."

I decide to help him out. "He married my older sister. She'd run away from home. She has a little bit of brain trauma from an accident, and she's not...stable. She was putting herself in danger in LA. The only way he could keep her safe was to marry her. It's complicated, but their marriage was about convenience, not love, and he didn't want me or my parents to know, until he got her some help and they annulled it."

"Are you serious?" Bridge whispers.

Trace is looking out the window, but he nods. "Yeah. I really fucked up. I married the sister of the girl I love."

"Sometimes it be like that," I say crisply.

Trace leans his forehead on my shoulder and says heavily. "It's not funny when you try to make fun of my fake marriage to your sister, Sweetheart."

I tug on his hair, a little harshly, forcing his face to mine and pecking him on the lips. "You're right. It would be much better if I punish you forever."

"Punish me?" Trace says, a half lazy/half wicked expression spreading across his beautiful face as he pulls away from my hand, in effect tugging his own hair. "Promises, promises," he growls.

I release his hair and smack the back of his head, "Shut-up, Trace! God, your siblings are going to think you are a freak, too!"

He shrugs and grins cockily, "They might as well learn me now." He looks at his brother and sister. "I'm a little dark. Got some childhood baggage, you know? However, I'm also intensely loyal. As in, I'm down to scour every fucking wedding chapel in Las Vegas to stop a sister I haven't even met yet from fucking up like me. Is that cool with y'all?"

We are all silent. Finally Street chuckles. "Damn, bro. You are a little bit crazy, I think. Much like our patriarch."

Trace shrugs with the rock star face. I laugh.

Bridge is watching us with her big dark eyes. "Street?" she says to her brother, pursing her lips in concentration.

"Yeah, B?" he asks casually. He's watching us, too.

"I like him. Her too. Let's keep them." She smiles as she rises and heads towards the back of the plane.

Street nods. "I'll go talk to Jack and get you guys a map with an area of Vegas to check." He and Trace exchange their first brotherly nod. I feel a strain in my throat—the kind that precedes happy tears. I close my eyes to keep from shedding them. I'm so glad for Trace that Street and Bridge seem open to accepting him.

Trace and I are alone in the front of the plane. "I like your brother and sister," I whisper.

He smiles as slumps down in the seat drawing me with him. "Yeah, they seem pretty cool." His expression is losing focus. "Fucking crazy, thought...that I have brothers and sisters that are strangers."

"It will get easier," I promise, just because I want it to be good for him.

He grunts and shifts me again, trying to find a way to make our two bodies rest in one seat, which is nearly impossible. I move to get more comfortable, wincing slightly as I stretch my tender areas. He reads my face at once. "You okay? I mean...physically?"

I lean into his ear. "Stop asking me that. I love the way I feel down there. The ache just makes me want more of you," I whisper.

He leans his head back on the seat of the chair that is shielding us. "Fuck," he groans, massaging my thighs. "This is not how I thought our last night together was going to go, Kitty. I thought dinner at Matt's, home by eleven, and lots of sweet love. Candles and champagne and shit. Not running around Vegas to wedding chapels and making you hate me all over again."

"I'm not going to hate you. Not even in Vegas," I promise.

"I hope not. I really do. I so don't want to be in Vegas," he settles me against him. "Can we catch a half-hour nap? I'm wrecked." He does look so very tired. Meeting his siblings and the Big Reveal with the blogger have decimated him, emotionally.

Sounds great to me. I'm exhausted, too. "Yeah, sure... Power nap and then you'll do what you have to do in Vegas."

"I'd rather do you," he murmurs.

"Well...family first," I joke.

"You are my family,too," he says hoarsely. "Always have been,always will be." His eyes are closed. He's drifting, like maybe he's so tired he doesn't even know what he's saying, but how he calls me family in that sexy low voice, it means something to me. The flock of seagulls taking flight in my stomach at his words makes me almost nauseous. I feel so much—too much—for him.

"Vegas is going to suck," he murmurs, his words so slurred they are almost incoherent. "I hate Vegas. Don't let me get drunk."

"Why?" I mumble-laugh. "Afraid you'll end up married again?"

"Nope. Learned my lesson there, KitKat. Marriage killed my joy. I had to run away to Portland just to be able to write a damn song. Never fucking ever again," he mutters back.

The flutter in my stomach twists, turning into a vacuum, like the flock has suddenly fled...leaving me with a familiar—and awful—hollow. "Never? Perhaps it was your choice of bride, not the institution itself?"

Trace's eyes fly open, sensing my stiffening posture. He grabs my hand as I go to slide off his lap. "I meant—shit—I just meant...I ...I don't know..." He shrugs. "It's just, in my experience, marriage has nothing to do with love."

"I get it. Believe me...I could go a long time without hearing about anyone getting or being married. Ix-nay on the M-word." I say soothingly, sliding off his lap, making sure to keep my face from reacting to his words. He's trying to hold onto me, pull me back in his lap.

"I upset you," he says. "I didn't mean to. It has nothing to do with me and you."

"Trace, I know that. It's not like...I mean, I'm eighteen. That's not really on my to-do list anytime soon, you know..." I trail off. "And you have a right to feel however you want about something like that." He does. I know that.

"Thanks," he says softly. "I guess I just...I don't see the point in something that starts with a piece of paper and ends with a piece of paper and is filled with a whole lot of bullshit in between."

I nod. "Sleep, okay? I can't, not in one seat like that. I'm going to get our portion of the map, ok?" I'm babbling, just trying to get away from him with my composure.

He's still holding my wrist. "Kat," he whispers. "You know I love you, right?"

I run my hand through his hair. I know he is not just talking about him and Ashlynn, but his parents. I nod. I smile. I kiss him tenderly on the lips. I tell him I love him back. I do all the things I should do.

It shouldn't hurt, what he just said. But why I do feel like I've been robbed of what should be the sweetest, brightest part of my future?

Owwwwwwwwcchhh. That stings. Trace and Ashlynn's marriage  is STILL robbing Kat of her happiness.  What do you guys think of Trace's position on marriage? He hasn't seen much positive in his parents or his own...that's for sure...

So don't freak out on me, but I'm just letting you know that we are nearing the end of this tale.  And when I say end, I'm kind of bad at ending...so there could be four or five more chapters, or a dozen. Not exactly sure yet but I know where I'm going and how I'm ending. BUT, the good news is, we will have Mac and Adam's book starting right after. And we won't be leaving Trace and Kat totally behind....they will still be a part of the new book--AND they have some THINGS to work out...a little subplot, hehehe... I'm still fiddling with the title of Mac and Adam's book...I 'll let you know as soon as I decide!