Kiss the Stars (Falling Stars 1)

“That’s it,” Sebastian added from where he was sitting behind the desk, arms tucked behind his head and rocked back in the chair.

Sebastian Stone was Sunder’s original lead singer. He’d relinquished the mic a handful of years back to be closer to his family, and he’d started a recording label of his own, Stone Industries.

Now his baby brother, Austin, had taken the lead, though it seemed Baz hadn’t really taken that far of a step back from the band.

You hardly saw a picture in the tabloids or music mags without all five of them together.

“Honestly not a big deal, but there’s a ton of money in it for you.” Baz cocked a wry grin.

“Probably could have just shot me a text rather than dragging me out to L.A. to ask me.” I eyed them, defenses lowering, but still, this was over-the top.

Zee shook his head. “Nah. Needed to invite you face-to-face. Let you know what it will mean to me, considering you’re the only person who can do it, and I need to be there for my son.”

“Sorry, you could have saved yourself some time because I can’t stay in L.A. Plan on getting the hell out of here tonight.”

Never should have come in the first place.

Had no clue what that compulsion had been.

The fiery blaze that had me tapping out an acceptance.

Like coming here might bring me closer to vindication.

But I had to chill the fuck out. Wait. Bide my time. Do it right.

Baz rocked forward in the chair and tapped his fingers on the desk. “Not going down in L.A. We’ll be recording at my studio near Savannah, Georgia out on Tybee Island. Puts you in a good spot to go back and forth when your band needs you since you’re predominantly in the south.”

“You aren’t going to catch my ass hanging out in L.A. for any length of time, either.” Ash added. “Most of us are raising our families back in Savannah. Only one of us who even has a place here any longer is Lyrik. This fucker is the only reason any of us dragged our asses across the country in the first place.”

Lyrik grunted. “I share custody with my son’s mother,” he clarified, like I needed to know all the intricacies that made up their lives. Like they needed to lay it all out to gain my trust. “Brendon will be spending the entire summer with us in Savannah, so it works out.”

I hesitated. Only good thing I’d ever learned from my pile-of-shit mother was if something seemed too good to be true, it probably was.

And why the hell did I want this, anyway?

But it was there . . . the thirst to play.

The thing I’d kept for myself.

My one love when the rest of it had been ripped from me.

I bounced my knee. “How long do you plan on being in the studio?”

Sebastian rubbed his hand over his face, contemplating. “Six weeks . . . two months tops.”

“And we all have places there . . . you’re welcome to stay with any one of us.” Austin Stone seemed to be the most reserved of the group. Something deeply thoughtful about him. “Or we can put you up in your own apartment if you’re more comfortable with that. I mean, basically whatever it takes for you to agree.” There was the tug of a smile from him at that.

Lyrik stretched his long legs out in front of him and rocked farther back against the desk. “My wife and I actually have a guest house on our property. At the risk of soundin’ cocky, it’s pretty damn sick. Yours if you want it.”

“You? Cocky? Never.” Ash smacked him on the back. Probably a little harder than necessary.

“Fuck off, dude, you want me to take you out?” Lyrik threw an aimless punch at him. Ash jumped back and returned the favor, laughing hard. “Try it, fucker.”

Two were acting like they were thirteen and hanging at a graffitied skate park rather than in a multi-million-dollar mansion.

“So that’s it? Play some music with you, and then I go on my merry way? No questions? No attachments?”

“That’s it,” Baz said, elbows on the desk, angling my direction. “It’s great exposure. Know Carolina George has been in talks with Mylton Records about a possible deal. This can only help you.”

Disbelief pulled at my brow as a chuckle ripped free. “Last time I checked, you and the CEO of Mylton records weren’t exactly friends.”

Their band had almost fallen apart because of the pressure from their old label, which was the reason Sebastian had started his own.

Didn’t necessarily like the head of Mylton Records myself. Karl Fitzgerald was a fucking scumbag. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t do great things for our band.

“How much?” I asked.

“Thirty K a week . . . plus royalties.” Sebastian lifted his chin.