Chapter 58: Rock Stars Throw Beach Parties

Kat

I wake disappointed, with no trace of Trace's warmth in our bed. He always does this...wears me out with sex. He makes me come over and over until I have to sleep, and then he bounces to do rock star business. I love that man—his chill, enduring stamina, his natural inclination to take care of everything and everyone around him. The more I get to know Matt, the more I see that he and Trace are cut from the same rough, durable fabric.

Street is more like Marianne—he has a different kind of strength. I've gotten to know him pretty well this summer—he's been home in LA from Berkely and active in Marianne's events. I like him a lot. I never met a guy like him. Most guys I've been around are like Trace or Matt—complete drivers of their situations but smart enough to talk themselves down and realize they can't always get their way. Or like Colin and Adam— a double edged sword—sweet almost always but then they flip their switch and take care of business when they need to. Or like Leed—the most dangerous kind of alpha of all—one that is so completely comfortable with himself, he doesn't even question his right to rule. Leed was born king.

Yeah, I actually relate to Street pretty well. He's more like me—the real me. He has an up-for-anything spirit, a fun kind of faith, a more limited focus on the things he cares about. He doesn't have to rule his world, like Matt and Trace, he just needs to feel like he's making a difference. But still, he's always been the oldest del Marco sibling, and he's a caretaker, like both his mother and father. I hope he and Trace don't bump against each other, over Row. Street is SoCal cool, but I don't know how he will feel about Trace taking over the big brother role.

Or maybe they will both go batshit on Riley. I sure hope my boy knows what he's about there. I can't tell after one interaction if he really likes Row, or if it's like Bodie said—if he's just found the trick to managing her-- but he's definitely running some flirtatious games there.

And what the hell, Row? Riley doesn't seem like her normal type. She usually goes for the bad boy she can pick up and drop just as fast with no sweat off anyone's back. Riley--the smooth-talking three steps ahead spymaster is not her MO. Might not be her best play either, if she's wanting to run the show...

Then again, I can see it. She is always attracted to older guys and Riley is nearly a decade older than her. Worse than that, Riley is something very different, to Row. Not at all like these brawling, party-hard musicians she's grown up around, that probably seem like a dime a dozen to her. Yeah, I could see Row being intrigued by a guy like Riley. Maybe she's looking for a challenge.

The question is, what is Row to Riley? A difficult artist to be managed, or something more?

Well, I can't worry about that. I've got my own little difficulty to manage.

I know I have to tell Trace the whole story about my henna tattoos. I just...gah...I don't want a fight.

We've been doing so well. Ashlynn is finally behind us. Well, that's not exactly true. I've worked out most of my jealousy, and Trace has worked out feeling responsible for her, and worked out most of his anxiety that I'm going to flip and out start doing club drugs every night in LA. So, she's not a thing between us anymore, but she's still in front of us—I know eventually she's getting out of rehab and eventually I'll have to see her.

My parents are lobbying hard for a full family reconciliation. They are so on it, that they haven't even flipped out about me living in LA and deferring college for a year. Which was shocking. We'll see how they ride when I spring the news that I'm staying on the West Coast for college, instead of resuming my acceptance at Duke. I'm going to wait to make sure I get in at UCLA, before I tell them.

Only Trace knows about that plan. He tells me I'll definitely get in because of my grades and my "internship" experience. Having Marianne del Marco as a personal reference in LA means something in just about any arena. He says my Instagram fame certainly won't hurt, but I'm worried that deferring at Duke makes me look flaky, uncommitted.

We'll see.

My phone rings somewhere across the room. I retrieve it in my bag, dumped on the floor.

"Hey, Lover," I answer.

"KitKat, are you gonna lay in the bed all day? There's a beach party going on, you know," he teases. "Strut is already back from their practice, and Bodie and I are grillin' ribs."

"Ribs?" I say, excited. I haven't had any down home food in awhile. It's all kale and braised fish in the commissary  on the Witchcampus. Gotta keep that bikini bod for the Instagram shots. Eye roll. LA sucks six days a week, at least from the diet perspective.

"Well, there will be ribs, if I could get a little help. You know, unlike these LA chics, you were raised right. You know your way around a kitchen. The crew's coming over, too. Tam, Bodie and I are drowning, cookin' for forty people. You down to help out?"

"Yes, of course," I tell him.

"I knew you would. Thanks."

"Be down in ten."

I shower quickly and don a brown crocheted bikini that matches the lovely warm hue of my tan and my henna tattoos. Over that I thrown on a pair of tiny denim shorts and a brown-green-and-cream hued flannel shirt and Rainbow sandals. I like LA, but I'm like Adam—easin' off my LA persona for a little R&R Southern style.

When I get downstairs, the situation is not as dire as Trace made it seem. Most of the food is pre-made—a catering order of summer salads—potato, pasta, and green varieties. Bodie and Trace are having the time of their lives playin' dueling grillmasters on two massive units. But there's bread to be buttered and warmed, and Trace wants to grill a truckload of corn on the cob and mix a shit-ton of what we call boat drinks back home on Lake Lanier—sangrias and white whine spritzers and rum punch. The counter looks like a liquor store. I leave the drinks to Tam, and grab a huge bowl and twenty pound sack of corn, sauntering out onto the deck.

There is music—of the live variety. Surprisingly, Street and Leed are strumming acoustic guitars, and Bridge has a ukele. That girl can play anything with strings. Chili is playing a bongo, and Mac and Row are leading a sing-along of beach tunes—Jack Johnson, Ben Harper, that kind of stuff.

Trace drifts over to me from the grill in dark swim trunks and an open dark button down, sleeves rolled up, sunglasses on, and two ice cold Coronas in hand. Always a rock star. I'm checking out his swagger, he's checking me out head-to-toe as he hands me my beer.

"My grunge girl," he growls, tugging at the front of my flannel and pulling me in for a peck. I take the Corona from his hand and take a sip.

"You like that flannel, huh?"

He nods, "Looks good with your tats." He cocks his head. "You wanna get inked for real?"

I shake my head. "No, but you go ahead. Put property of Kat Ballard right here," I trace K-A-T over his heart.

He laughs. "That would be the end of our commitment to not commenting on our relationship."

I tip back the Corona before I say something that makes tension. I don't understand his continued need to keep us unofficial. He says he loves me. I believe him. He's big time famous and uber-entrenched in the industry, thanks to being a del Marco. Matt was right—he's untouchable when it comes to minor bad press now. I'm probably stalked more because we refuse to comment than if he would just make us official. But he's spent his life guarding his business, and he just can't get comfortable with the public display.

I love him, and part of loving someone is accepting them, even when you don't agree. So I'm working on respecting his need to keep us casual, at least to the public at large.

Instead, I point with the bottle to the guitarists. "Decided to let the amateurs have some fun, huh?"

Trace grins. "I figured Street played better than he let on. No way Matt let him get out of childhood without some music instruction."

"I didn't know Leed played."

Trace nods. "He's decent. Acoustic is mostly about rhythm, and he's got enough of that."

"So say the ladies," I wink. He rolls his eyes. "You worried about him and the Strut girls?" I ask casually.

He watches Leed. "We give each other shit, but he's my boy. I trust him to be decent. Anyway, he wouldn't mess with Row, for sure—she's too mean for him. She would make him cry on a daily basis."

"True," I laugh.

"Her friends...he already thinks of them as Inner Circle. He wouldn't take one to bed unless he meant something by it. Harper, Chili, Sadie—they are LA born and bred. It ain't their first rodeo with a musician. All grown-ups. I'm not worried." He pulls me into a hug and rubs my back. " If I aint gonna worry about you in LA, I sure as hell ain't gonna worry about the Strut girls, here."

I punch him lightly on the shoulder. "Look at you, not having to watch out for everybody," I plant a kiss on his chest.

"I know, right? I decided to retire that role, except when it comes to Row, but god knows she needs it." He rolls his icy beer beneath my shirt, on my bare back. I jump, shriek and shove in all one motion. He laughs at me and sips his beer. I sit down and start shucking corn. Trace checks the ribs, and wanders back, picking up an ear and helping.

After I few more ears, I decide to bite the bullet. "Speaking of Row...and Riley..."

Trace looks at me blankly. "What about them?"

I pick at silk on the corn I'm shucking. "Uhhhh, they seem a little flirtatious."

Trace looks at me quizzically. His head turns to Riley automatically. "What? No. Riley..." Trace trails off, watching Riley laugh with Mac over a flubbed lyric to a Buffet song. Trace shakes his head. "No. No way. He has too much damn sense for that. He's just...you know...dealing with her."

I nod. Trace knows them both better than me. His gut instinct is probably right.

"Shuck that corn, girl," Adam says as he makes his way out of the kitchen with a beer and a water in his hand. He appears to have sobered up.

"You could help you know," I grin at him.

He looks sheepish, as he twists the cap off the water and takes a gulp. "I would, but..." he gives Mac the chin tip. She's so in tune to him that even though it didn't seem like she was even aware of him, she rises at once and moves to meet him on the walkway that leads over the dunes.

"It's okay," I smile at him, reaching out to squeeze him arm. Trace slaps him on the back as he goes to join Mac. They don't say a word, don't even really look at each other, but he takes her hand as they walk down the boardwalk, and she lets him.

Trace and I return to shucking corn. I reach out for his hand. "Love you." I say. "Always."

He looks surprised, and he turns my hand over, kissing my wrist. "I love you too—always—but what was that for?"

"Just...it might not always be easy, but I will always love you." I watch Mac and Adam trail down the beach. She's gesturing with her hands, so I know she's talking, and he has his in his pockets, nodding as he listens. That's good, at least. Healing starts with talking.

Trace takes my meaning. "Yeah, every couple goes through hard shit. I'm hoping we've done our time," he says quietly. "At least for a good long while."

We shuck in silence. Tamara slides out onto the deck with a boat drink, and beside her is a tall, pretty blonde that looks vaguely familiar to me, but whom I can't place.

Trace rises off his chair. "Oh hey, glad you're back. Thanks for picking up that...thing," he says vaguely. "Riley has all the travel arranged and riders are set for the venue tomorrow, and the afterparty tomorrow night is big, so it's staffed. He's taken care of everything."

She smiles and rolls her eyes. "He hardly leaves me anything to do."

Trace snorts. "Well, the thing I need you to do is my Instagram shit all weekend, ok? There should be lots of photo ops with bonfire and the festival. And Adam's too—he won't post if you don't do it for him." He sweeps the crowd. "Everyone here is fair game, except Kat, of course. Keep her out of all pictures."

Cause I'm not officially his girlfriend. So I can't be seen here. I look away, and take a long swallow of my beer.

There's an awkward pause . Suddenly Trace remembers his manners. "Oh, shit! Sorry! Penelope Winters, Kat Ballard...Kitty, you remember Nellie, right?"

I stare at him blankly. Nellie? He calls her Nellie?

I shoot her an alarmed look. Remember her?  I haven't been around since he hired her. What is he talking about? I stare at her. She does look familiar...

She gives him an irritated glare—which I find overly familiar of her since she's worked for him all of two weeks, and then she says, "How many times do I have to ask you not to call me that, Trace? Anyway, I don't think she would remember me." She smiles at me and sticks out her hand. "Hi, it's nice to finally meet you. I knew your sister back in high school? I was a couple of years older than her—in Cam's class— but we were friends."

It clicks. "Nel? Nel Winters?"

She looks happy. "Oh! Great, you do remember me! You were so young, just a kid, really, the last time you would have seen me..."

"No, I definitely remember you," I force my mouth to smile, and I look at Trace, giving him the What The Fuck!?!?! silent communication. He presses his lips together, and gives a head tilt, which I take to mean, Please, not in front of the staff.

"So uhhmm, Penelope, one other thing...NDA's. You know, if Leed or Bodie, or the Strut girls, or even if...Street or Bridge have a guest stay overnight..."

"Got it," she says. "I'll have some printed out and ready to notarize."

"Good," he nods. She hesitates, a look of question on her face as she glances at me and then at Trace.

He takes her meaning and laughs. "Oh, Kat doesn't need an NDA. She's Inner Circle—unofficially, of course."

Ok, what the ACTUAL fuck? Is Trace really telling Nel Winters that I am "unofficial?"

I glare at him some more. Penelope gets a big breathy smile to cover her embarrassment. Tamara is looking between us all and giving me the Girl-I-Want-The-Story-Later stare-down, but she winks and says, "Come on Penelope. Let's go watch Ben and his guys start the bonfire."

I return to viciously shucking corn as they meander down the long boardwalk. Trace silently joins me. Once they are out of earshot, he says, "Okay, so I didn't realize you would have a problem with Penelope. I'm sorry. In my defense—"

I throw an ear of corn at him. Not very hard, but he laughs as he catches it and strips the husks, and that pisses me off, so I throw another ear at him, hard. He gets an irritated look and holds up a finger. "One Rule, Kat. I made one simple rule when we are fighting. Don't get physical. That includes throwing shit at each other. Jesus!" He yells as he bats another missile away. "Fucking stop!" he growls.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!" I yell. "You hired your prom date as your personal assistant and you didn't realize it would be a problem?!?!?!"

"She was not my prom date. I was her homecoming escort," he says, calmly picking up the corn.

"That does NOT make it better!"I throw another ear of corn at him and hit in square in the chest.

"Do that shit one more time and I'm fucking out!" he warns. "And I didn't hire her!" Trace hisses back. "You can thank Leed for that poorly made decision!"

"What?!?! That doesn't even make sense. How does he know her?" I look over at Leed and the others. They are all staring at us. Leed chuckles, rises, passes his guitar to Sadie, says, "Kumbaya and carry on, Circle. I gotta go save Trace from a HellKat mauling."

Leed rubs his bare chest  and strolls into the house, smoothly tilting his head for us to follow him. Trace rises at once, offering a hand to me. It reminds me of exactly the way he looked as he offered his hand to me backstage at the Fox after Colin punched him. Pissed off, trying like hell to dial it down to talk to me.

Crap, I really shouldn't throw stuff at him—I know I shouldn't—but how can he think Nel working for him is an acceptable situation? He dated her! Or went on a date with her. Whatever.

Just like at the Fox, I refuse his hand and but I go with him.

Leed is sampling the rum punch Tamara made. "Damn," he moans, leaning against the counter as he drinks deeply. "Tam makes the best drinks. I wish that woman would forsake other men and commit. I've asked her twenty times to be my bartender-slash-fuckbuddy-for-life. She says I'm too sensitive. Do you think I'm too sensitive, Kat?"

"Yes," I say at once. "Way too. Save the eccentric artist act for the fangirls."

"Act? I don't play." he looks super offended now. Christ, now I want to throw stuff at him! "Damn. If a guy is...himself and not running games to get in your pants, you think he's a pussy. That's not really cool, you know..." he grumbles, frowning into his drink.

"Shut.The.Fuck.Up.Leed. And start talking." I hiss.

He laughs. "You make no sense, Little Sister."

"Leed!" Trace interjects. "This is not about you, man. Either help me out or get the fuck on."

Leed nods. "You're right. Sorry." He puts his drink down. "I hired Penelope when Trace was MIA in New York City for a little afternoon delight with you."

"You expect me to think you hiring someone that Trace went to high school with was just a coincidence?" I glare at them both. "Do you guys think I'm a complete idiot?"

"Of course not." Trace says calmly. "And it wasn't a coincidence." He shoots Leed a dark look. "Tell her, Leed."

Leed sits down his drink and pull his long red hair into a man bun as he rolls his eyes. "So I hired her as a favor to Ashlynn. Ashlynn recently reconnected with Penelope. They have been going through some similar shit."

I blink. "What?" I take a moment to consider Leed's words. They are wrong on so many levels. Why is Leed doing favors for Ashlynn? And what kind of similar shit? Addiction? Rehab? Why would they hire someone with those kinds of problems to hang in their party lifestyle?

"Keep going," I say, trying hard not to explode.

"Look, Kat—I get that you and Ash aren't there yet, but she doesn't have many friends, except me and Mac. So when she calls, I take her calls. We talk. She's trying hard for a comeback, you know? She burned alot of bridges with her high school and college friends, after her accident. She thought Penelope was one of those burned bridges. Ashlynn hardly saw her after high school, but after her accident she went to her house and stole from Penelope...some pain pills or something, I think. You know an addict is supposed to reach out and try to make amends for people they have wronged."

"She doesn't reach out to me—" I interject.

"You're lying to yourself, Little Sister. I know for a fact she's tried, several times. You ignore her calls, " Leed shoots back. I say nothing. Leed sighs. "Anyway, she reached out to Penelope to apologize, and Penelope forgave her. And they talk a lot now. Turns out Penelope has been going through a divorce, and she lost her job as an executive assistant because the executive she worked for was her father-in-law. So...we're just doing a friend a favor. It's not a permanent gig. Penelope  needs a little adventure, you know? She'll probably move on after we are done with the tour. Honestly, I didn't know about her and Trace."

"I told you it wasn't the best idea, when you first mentioned it. I told you I knew her, too, and it might be awkward. Then you hired her anyway."

Leed squints at Trace. "Yeah, but you didn't tell me you tapped that—"

"I DID NOT!" Trace yells, backing up with his hands up as I round on him. "Goddammit, Leed!" He looks at me. "Kat, I did not have sex with her. I've never really dated her. She needed a homecoming escort...she was desperate..."

I slap my hands over my face. "Why does this sound like a familiar fucking story!!!!"

Trace curses in frustration but then he yanks out a chair and sinks into it, putting his head in his hands. "Kat, she had an on again off again boyfriend; he was supposed to be her homecoming escort but they had a fight the week before. She was a senior, I was a sophomore. She asked me to be her escort. We went in a group—with Ashlynn and Cam. Nothing happened. Truth is, I got drunk and she got her feelings hurt that I didn't pay more attention to her and Ashlynn got enraged. It was a disaster. But you're right. The fact that she asked me to be her escort and I went...I mean there was obviously a little bit of interest both ways. But you know how it was. I was sixteen, and you were twelve, Kat. I dated a lot of people, and you had little twerps falling all over you in middle school. That was an awkward time for us—we were really not in the same place for a couple of years there, you know? You were crushin' on that Deacon kid, remember?"

I swallow. Fuck, I hate it when he's right. Trace was so far out of my league for awhile, he was like a boy on a poster on my wall--even before he was a boy on a poster on my wall. And I did go with Deacon for months...texting constantly, and even messing around a few times. He was my first kiss. And there were others after him. I kissed two dozen boys between middle school and that fateful New Year's Night.

"I'm not upset that you have a past, Trace. But I don't think it should be a part of our present."

He looks up at me with soft eyes. So full of love. He smiles—a sweet closed-mouth agreement. "Yeah, you're right. Penelope has got to go, Leed."

The flock of seagulls rises in my stomach. "You would do that? For me?" I whisper hoarsely.

Trace pulls me to him by the hands, and I let him. "If there's a choice to be made, I choose you, KitKat. Every time. It's that simple."

I wrap my arms around his head and he leans against my stomach. I don't know what to say.

Leed still has things to say, though.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Leed slaps his hands down on the table. "I can't just hire somebody and fire them two weeks later. She's doing a good job—you know she is."

"Leed, I'm not trying to undercut you, but you shouldn't have hired her. I told you—"

Leed raises a hand. "Fine, I get it. You and Kat don't need a repeat, and I'm not going to fuck with true love. I don't want that kind of karma. But I don't want Penelope on my conscious either Here's the deal, if you want to cut her loose, we pay her contract out. And you have to get the rest of the guys to agree. And we don't tell her until the weekend is over. She's been through a shitty summer, and this is a party for the crew, too. Let her have a fun weekend, alright?"

Trace nods in agreement. "Done."

"It's not done. You have to get Mac, Adam, and Bodie to agree," Leed says.

Trace winks at me as he rises. "Then I better get out there and help Bodie with those ribs."

Suddenly, I feel guilty about Penelope. I feel like...a petty bitch. "Trace—"

He puts his hands in my hair and cuts me off with a kiss, tender and full of promises that he can't say with words, but that his body betrays. He kisses me like forever.

"It will be fine." He kisses my nose, my forehead. "As long as you and Leed are straight." He winks and grabs an empty tray from the counter, leaving me to face Leed alone. Well, at least he has confidence in my abilities as a lion tamer.

Leed and I stare at each other. He pours two rum punches and offers me one. I take it.

"So what's the deal?"

He knows exactly what I mean. Him and Ashlynn. He shrugs. "Did you know that my mom had some problems like Ashlynn?"

"No, I didn't."

"Yeah. She wasn't as bad off as Ashlynn, but...yeah. She was always a little bit...different, I guess, according to my dad. They got together young, and after Mac and I came along...they were running at different speeds, you know? He was doing his thing, building his career. She was stuck at home with two babies. She got depressed during the day...and then she got high in the evening, and it stayed like that for a few years. Don't get me wrong—it wasn't like Trace's family. She was sober for us when she had to be...she was a loving mother, but there were too many nights she cut out when my dad came home, too many rough mornings, too many party weekends, too much money spent on booze and pot, too many counter-culture friends for my dad to swallow. They got divorced when I was five, Mac was four.

"She realized pretty quick that she'd messed up, when he was awarded custody. She didn't go to rehab, but she went to live with friends on what you would probably call a hippie commune. She got right. She learned moderation and balance there. It was too late for my mom and dad by then, and she had broken up our family, but sometimes that happens. People fuck up. I was mad at her as a kid, but as I got a little older, I got over it. I realized her story didn't end with her fuck-up. She's a good woman. She built a life for herself. She's happy, and she makes other people in her life happy. She's always there for me, now, when I need her. She would be there for Mac too, if Mac would let her.

"She's eccentric as hell," his broad lips open in a grin and lifts his shoulder. "I guess I get it honest. But the thing is...my mom might not have bounced back if she didn't have some friends that didn't judge her.It was her friends, not family, that embraced her, helped her get back on her feet. There are several people that you probably would think are overly sensitive, that showed my mother her path. I have them to thank for giving me my mother back."

I take a swallow of my drink. "So you're paying it forward with Ashlynn? Is that what you are telling me?"

He shrugs, and looks out at the ocean. "I guess. I mean, I didn't plan it. It wasn't a deliberate thing, but yeah...she's my friend and god knows she needs somebody in her life that doesn't judge her for what she's done. Your mom and dad are trying, but every time they look at her, all she sees is shame on their faces. And you won't talk to her at all. And she knows she and Trace can't really be friends right now. So where does that leave her? She needs a few friends, Kat. She's made a couple in rehab. She's friendly with Penelope. She talks to Mac occasionally. And she talks to me. That's the deal. I'm her friend."

I swirl my glass around on the counter. "Okay."

He chuckles, "Okay? That's it?"

"What do you want me to say? I'm still really angry at her, Leed."

"But you forgave Trace," he reminds me.

"It's a lot easier to forgive someone when you like fucking them, " I mumble.

He roars with laughter. "You right, Little Sister, you right."

I smile at him. "So are we good?"

He closes one eye and squints at me. His eyes are traveling my henna tats, but he's not leering at me in any kind of sexual way. He looks thoughtful. He pours two more drinks and slides one across the counter to me. "Not quite," he says, his eyes focusing again on the flowers on my stomach.

Suddenly I feel nervous. I wrap my flannel shirt over my exposed torso. The gesture does not go unnoticed. Leed's eyes flick to mine. "You know what, Kat? Street's a damn decent guitarist."

"Yeah, I heard," I manage to choke out.

"His fingerwork—way the fuck the better than mine. Not anywhere as good as Trace's. I can't even follow Trace's. But I was watching Street's hands, trying to make out a few licks he played." The feline gaze is steady on me.

"Yeah? Did you learn something?"

"Yeah. I learned his fingers are stained with henna."

I guess I have a glass face, because Leed smiles, and says, "Yeah, that's what I thought. Street painted you like that."

"It's not what you are thinking," I say.

"I'm thinking you are a big fucking hypocrite, HellKat. Giving Trace a hard time about Penelope, when you have been spending time with his brother. It must have taken hours, you laid on a table for Street--naked, I imagine. You think Trace would be cool with that?"

Fuck, there's no point in denying it, because I do plan to tell Trace...just not this weekend. I decide to brazen it out. "How do you know Trace is not fine with it?" I sneer.

Leed shakes his head at me and his bun waggles. "Because I know Trace, and I'm positive Trace doesn't know Street is the one that tatted you. This weekend would be going down a whole different way if he did. What kind of games are you running, girl?"

I glare at him. "It's not like that. There's nothing going on between me and Street. I would never betray Trace like that." The truth is I have a good reason for the body art—and for letting Street paint me, but I don't have to explain myself to Leed.

He nods. "I believe you. I see you the way you look at Trace. But do you see the way Street looks at you?"

I find myself breaking away from Leed's penetrating gaze. "He knows I'm in love with Trace. It's all good, Leed."

"Okay, if you say so.  But here's my thing: you can hang with Street, but Penelope can't work for us? Think about that, Kat, because you're wrong somewhere. One way or the other, you are wrong somewhere. Just sayin'." He smiles, no anger or judgment in his expression. He's just calling me out, like he would any other part of the Inner Circle. He squeezes my arm as he glides out of the door.

When he leaves, I wish I had my damn rubber band. Suddenly I'm filled with anxiety and dread, because I know Leed is telling me the truth. I'm wrong, somewhere. It happens effortlessly—going wrong. So much harder to get right.

Uhhhhm....Kat? What's going on girl? Any theories? I'd love to hear. Please don't forget to vote/comment/list/follow!

We are quickly approaching the end of this book...don't worry...Kat and Trace have one more hurdle to overcome--his need to keep their relationship unofficial and the way that hurts Kat.

BUUUUUTTT..we'll be left with a few cliffhangers:: Is Mac pregnant or not? Either way, she and Adam are still struggling--what's going on with them? And Riley and Row? Will the band really fire Penelope?  And what possible reason could Kat have had for letting Street get that close and blurring some big boundaries there? What the heck is going on in LA while Trace is out there on tour? Hmmmm....Book 2 of the Soundcrush series will explore all these urgent questions....in fact the Prologue of URGENT will be out soon!  (Maybe even before we finish EPIC!)