Page 47 of Licks

August

I led the way to the club, still high from kissing Gwen. From touching Gwen. From marking Gwen’s skin. Unfortunately, the way she’d disconnected her lips from mine and her subject change just now hinted at her worry. She was holding herself back, keeping a piece of her heart protected. I’d quit trying to guard mine. She was everything to me, the center of my best childhood memories, the reason I wrote music. She had all of me, and I’d have all of her before my plane took off. As long as this search for her father didn’t backfire.

And Finch didn’t ruin things again.

A bouncer was at the club door. He had a neck thicker than a tree trunk, bald head, tattooed neck. His black suit was definitely purchased at a big and tall shop. He saluted me, as though we knew each other. “You shaved, Mr. Cruz.”

I kept Gwen’s hand firmly in mine and offered him a tight smile. “Wrong Mr. Cruz. I came to see my brother.” No point avoiding that particular elephant.

He grinned, displaying two gold teeth. “Oh…right. Sure. Go on in. Hope to catch you on stage later.”

I’d wanted to play the Blue-Eyed Raven stage for years. It drew mid-sized bands these days, and bigger acts wanting an intimate setting. The sound system was killer, the audience filled with music devotees. Finch had managed the venue the past five years, bringing it back to life after it had dropped off the radar. He’d never asked me to play. I’d never offered. Our ongoing stalemate.

I led Gwen to the semi-circular bar cradling the patron-filled tables, most enjoying some sort of dessert. Between sets, likely.

She pressed closer to my side. “It’s sexy in here.”

“You’re sexy.”

Even in the sultry lighting, her eyes sparkled. “Trouble,” she mumbled.

She scanned the instrument-filled stage—piano, bass, a couple horns, and one hot-as-hell Fender. The walls and ceilings had been remodeled, the moldings giving the room an art deco vibe. Blues tunes drifted from speakers. Servers wore twenties-inspired dresses and suits. Yeah, I’d always wanted to play this club, and it would probably never happen.

Never loosening my hold on Gwen’s hand, I nodded to the bartender. “Is Finch in?”

The woman did a double-take. “You’re August Cruz.”

“I am.” Although people like that ballerina occasionally recognized me, I mostly flew under the radar when outside Europe. Not where my brother worked.

She planted her hands on her hips and shook her head. The feather in her bobbed hair caught the light. “I’d always hoped you’d play here. I love ‘Girl with a Black Heart.’”

From my angle, I could see Gwen roll her eyes, and I had to muffle my laugh. What had happened between us wasn’t amusing. Writing that song hadn’t been, either. But man, if we couldn’t laugh about it now, find some humor in the darkness, we’d never make it. “It’s one of my favorites,” I said, dragging Gwen closer. “I used to act it out on a voodoo doll.”

“Hardy-har-har.” This from a glowering Gwen.

The waitress detailed a bad breakup of hers, a painful time the song had paralleled. I winked at Gwen, who mouthed, Not funny. But it kind of was.

“Shoot. Sorry.” The waitress waved a frazzled hand. “I’ve monopolized you. I’ll call up to Finch, tell him you’re here.”

Gwen watched the servers bussing tables, the animated patrons chatting. I watched Gwen. She’d always had this effortless beauty about her, but it was amplified now. Her shorter hair was wavy and loose, like she’d been at the beach, her casual bangs falling longer at the sides, framing her stunning face. Looking at her hurt in a visceral way. Tore at pieces of me. Except the hickey. That mark made me smile.

Then I spotted Finch, and my smile nose-dived.

10:30 p.m., 25 ½ Hours…

August

Finch stood at a side door, arms crossed, legs wide, scanning the room like he owned the place. Which he kind of did. Not in name or money, but he’d rebuilt the Raven’s reputation, act by act, month by month. I’d watched his progress from afar, impressed with the growing praise. He deserved the accolades he’d earned. Didn’t make dealing with him any easier.

The second his sights locked on me, his chin jerked upward, and a fizzy feeling snaked through me. The lighting made it tough to read his expression.

“He’s coming over.” I anchored my arm around Gwen. To ground her, I told myself. But that swirling in my gut lessened.

She held her purse against her stomach. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“The owner isn’t around much, but he’s the same guy who ran the place when your mother came here. If anyone has answers for you, it’s him. Finch is your connection.”

My brother was the link to her past. Maybe her closure. Maybe mine, too. All our paths converging. Keeping tabs on my twin’s life from across the globe, pretending I didn’t want to call and congratulate him on his success, had gotten harder over the years. Seeing firsthand how lively and full the club was made me want to drag him in for a hug. None of it changed our past.