Bounty (Colorado Mountain 7)

She was a stylist. A rock stylist. A good one. She styled bands and singers for tours (hell, she styled tours). She styled bands and singers to attend events. Photo shoots. Anything and everything. And everyone wanted her.

This was because she was good at it. And it helped she lived the life, walked the walk, talked the talk, but best, rocked the look herself.

If Joss wasn’t so well known as my mother, someone could mistake her for my sister.

These were all some of the reasons why she’d caught the eye and married Roddy Rembrandt, lead singer, lead guitar and just plain leader of the hair metal band The Chokers. A guy who was only nine years older than me, ten years younger than Joss, right in the very weird middle.

The Chokers had been cool because they had an edge of alternative and punk that both dulled and amped the metal in a good way, their lyrics having more meaning, their songs more like short (but sometimes epic) stories, their vibe angrier than metal, less angry than punk, gliding the line of call-the-shit-of-life-as-you-see-it grunge. They were kind of a morph between Bon Jovi, Guns ‘n’ Roses, Nirvana and Green Day.

They just didn’t hold that edge. Booze, bitches, dope and success just straight up dulled the good right out of their music so now everything seemed a retread. But mostly, they didn’t often record anymore. Just toured and fed off the love and loyalty of their fans.

This was not a bad thing.

I just could not imagine doing it, not making music. Challenging myself to keep making it better. Even if I didn’t record my own stuff or perform anymore, I sold songs all the time which meant I wrote them all the time. Sometimes, for people I liked, I even went in to produce.

I could never just coast.

And it sounded like Rod was done coasting too.

But it sounded more like Rod was done watching his wife grieve another man.

“I am not going to be on a reality show,” I bit out.

“I’m not either,” she told me. “But he’s up in my shit about it constantly, Jussy. He will not let it go.”

“He can dog-with-a-bone it all he wants, Joss. It doesn’t matter. You don’t sign to be on camera, he can’t do anything about it. And I’m sure as hell not going to sign.”

“I need you to call him and tell him to back off.”

It was safe to say I was done with this. And this wasn’t about Dad dying.

This was about Joss dealing.

“He’s your husband,” I pointed out.

“He listens to you,” she retorted.

“Which is weird and it makes me uncomfortable. I’m not your marriage guru.”

“He adores you. He knows you adore him. He respects your craft. He knows you dig his music in a way that’s meaningful. You guys have that connection and it’s a connection, Jussy, baby, you know I can’t have, no matter how much I dig the music. You can get through to him.”

“You know, he died for me too.”

It was out of left field at that juncture in our conversation, blunt and not nice.

But I couldn’t take on her shit with all the rest.

And it pissed me off she called to ask me to.

Joss said nothing.

I did not return that favor.

“You need a break from Roddy. You need to get your shit together because Rod is your husband and as much as he’s not Dad, will never be Dad, you love him and he’s important to you. So you have got to get your head wrapped around the fact that this hurts. Rod’s a dude but he’s got feelings and watching his wife grieve the love of her life has got to suck. You either have more patience with him, Joss, or you take a break from him and get sorted then come back and give him back his wife.”

“That isn’t cool, laying it out like that, Justice,” she said quietly, the hurt evident in her tone.

I felt guilt.

And I also didn’t.

“Mav is contesting the will,” I shared.

“Not a surprise,” she retorted. “And you know that. That fuckin’ cunt stole my husband. She tried to take Johnny to the cleaners when he got shot of her. And she’s been giving him and Dana shit for years. Her playing puppet master with that pissant of a son of hers is no shock.”

This was all true, including the fact that Luna was a homewrecker.

Of course, this meant Dad cheated, something unforgivable that Joss never forgave him for, no matter he paid the price in a lot of ways, including losing the only woman he ever truly, deep down to his own poet’s soul loved. A fact he was well aware of. Marrying Luna because she was knocked up with Maverick, dumping her not long after Mav was born because he could take no more, he tried to get Joss back.

Joss was just so certain they were the only ones for each other and they were forever, Dad cheating had broken something in her and she just couldn’t trust him again.

So she never went back.

“Bianca’s disappeared and no one knows where she is or has heard from her, not even her mom and dad,” I declared.

“Fuck,” Joss whispered. “Perry and Nova never did take good care of that girl.”

She was right.

Perry and Nova, Bianca’s lead guitar of a heavy metal band dad and B-movie bombshell mom, loved their daughter, to be certain.

They’d just never taken good care of her.

But the time wasn’t right to talk about that either. Not that there was anything to talk about. Joss and me had often lamented the fact Bianca’s folks were so into their dysfunction, they never really were about looking after their daughter.

“And the man I met who inspired ‘Chain Link’ is working on my house.”

Total silence. A void so deep, it felt like it’d suck me, my house and all the nature around me into it.