“I hope that goes well.”
“It’ll be fine.” I slip on a pair of shorts, leaving the button undone. “I want to talk Valerie into booking us some time at the studio over on Vine. They have an echo chamber that’s supposed to give this amazing reverb. I’ve always wanted to record something there.”
“You’re sexy when you talk all music-y.” She slides her arms around my waist, molding the front of her body to mine and slipping her hands down the back of my shorts. “Am I allowed to come watch?”
“Do you want to after that shit show over there?”
“Oh.” She steps back, taking all her warmth with her. “I didn’t think about that. I was only thinking of you.”
“That’s perfectly fine with me.”
We spent most of the night catching up. I filled her in on the truce with Jacob, hoping she didn’t think I was too much of an asshole. But that’s not Mallory. She’s practical and understands this business better than I do sometimes. She filled me in on the girls bringing over the tabloid and how she knew it was all bullshit. As much as I love writing lyrics and words, even I can’t express how much her belief in me, in us, means.
“Hey,” I tug her close again. “Thank you.”
“For what?” she asks, grabbing her purse off the doorknob.
“Believing in me.”
She stops, her face softening. “I’ll always believe in you.” Her gaze strays to the door. “I’m running late. I’ll try not to be too long.”
“No, do what you gotta do. I’ll unpack, maybe give my dad a call before meeting with Val.”
She tilts her head. “You should. He’s probably worried about you.”
Emptiness rings through the apartment after she’s gone. I glance at my bag. My dirty T-shirts and grungy jeans won’t take long to unpack, so I might as well call Dad first.
My father answers with a gruff greeting—somewhere between “hello” and “who the fuck is this?”
“Hey, Dad.”
“Shit, son. You back in the states?”
“Got in last night. Late.”
“How’d it go?”
“It was an… experience. Rented a Triumph Bonneville for a couple days. That was fun.”
“You get the hang of the driving on the other side of road thing okay?”
I snort. “We had a few dicey moments.”
“We? Huh. How’s Mallory?” he asks with a suspicious tone. To my knowledge, my father’s never picked up a magazine that didn’t have a naked lady, gun, motorcycle, or dead deer on the cover. So, I find it hard to believe he saw the article about our supposed break-up and my subsequent groupie-banging spree.
“She’s fine. Sent her home a few days early.”
He’s silent for a few seconds. “Yeah, I think I read something about that.”
I laugh, a humorless sound given the circumstances. “Since when do you read tabloids?”
“Since one of the girls sees your name in a headline, brings it to the clubhouse like her ass is on fire, and shoves it in my face.”
“It was all lies. The singer of the band we were opening for turned out to be a sleaze.”
“Weren’t they that shitty band you used to listen to all time? Bloody Roosters?”
“Revolver. Bloody Revolver, Dad. Yes, it was a clusterfuck.”
“You handle it?”
“Fuck yeah I did.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Mallory okay?”
There aren’t many females my father gives a fuck about. Not that he’s cruel. More indifferent. My mother kind of soured him on women in general. I’m pretty sure he only bothered to learn the name of one of my high school girlfriends. That he’s asking about Mallory means a lot. Even with all the trouble of getting us involved with the Russians, he’s accepted her. Considers her family.
“She’s good, Dad.”
“She buy your story?”
I grind my teeth before answering. “There was no story to sell her. It was all lies.”
“Thank fuck. The girls in the photo looked underage.”
“They were just fans.” I pause and consider whether I should share this part. “You remember Diane?”
He’s quiet for a second. “Yeah, I remember her.”
“Well, one of them reminded me of her, so I spent some extra time talking to them. That’s it. I think one of Davey’s people took the photo and made up a story to go with it.”
“Fucking assholes,” he grumbles. “You want Torrin to handle him? His enforcer, Freak, didn’t get that name by accident. Won’t matter how much security Revolver has. Torrin’s a sneaky fuck who can get to anyone.”
“No, Dad.” Dragging the MC into some petty rock star spat mixes my two worlds in a way I’m not comfortable with. But I appreciate my dad’s support. “Mallory and I are fine. That’s all I care about.”
“When you coming home again?” I’m starting to wonder if he really means when are you coming home for good.
“We’re supposed to record our new album soon.” First, I need to finish working out a few more songs, and we need to find a producer but that’s not stuff my dad cares to hear about.