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Rolling my eyes, I ditch the mug on the counter and pull out the remaining chair across the small table. “I know you were in combat, smartass.” I shake my head. “But that was forever ago.”
A deep scoff rings out, echoing off of the wallpapered drywall. “As good as I once was.”
“You have the shop. I don’t want you in trouble. There’s a thing called aiding, or involuntary, that can accompany shit like manslaughter or homicide.”
A grunt and an interest in the coffee in my dad’s palms are all I’m met with.
“But you came to me.” Setting the mug to the old wooden surface, eyes the same as mine crash to my stare with an intensity I haven’t seen in years. “I’m calling Alex.”
“No!” I grab his massive forearm when he stands from the table, only to stop when those same intense eyes beam down at me with a grinding jaw.
“You’re gonna live your life. And I’m gonna make sure you can without scum dimming that pretty smile.” I watch him straighten, his height looming over me. “Alex can watch the shop for the day. I know you have to be at the festival, so I’m coming with.”
I shake my head and stand along with the man I’ve adored my entire life. “You can’t end up in jail.”
“You know I don’t make promises I can’t keep, Princess.” I let out a heavy breath as he speaks because I know where this is going, even as he shakes his head. We’ve been here before, except it was easier then, when taking care of a minor was his number one priority. But I’m grown now, out of the house, and have been off on my own for almost a decade.
“But—”
“Nuh-uh. Not when it comes to you. Now let’s go.”
Chapter Fifteen
Peach
“So…?”
“So, what?”
“How was she?”
“You’ve been dying to ask me that, haven’t you?” The growling scoff that greets me from my client’s crouch plants a grin right on my bruising face. My eyes are showing color, my nose painful to touch after meeting with Fin’s misplaced protectiveness and big ass head.
“Fuck you,” Fin growls and straightens to his full height from adjusting whatever cord that leads into the speaker and spit out a sound he didn’t like.
I couldn’t hear a damn thing, but whatever.
I’m not that kind of artist.
Pushing off from my lean on the thing I’ve come to know as a stack—which is really just a tower of speakers and shit—I follow my client as he stalks across the open space back to his notes and his extension.
The extension being his guitar, or what I call it, because the man rarely leaves home without it. Not that it’s a terrible thing when he also happens to be a huge part of the songwriting process for the band I love to hear on the radio. Or see the shows of. And hang out with.
It was never a phase.
I grin knowingly when he snatches the thing with less care than normal and shrugs the strap over his barely-covered torso before the intensity in his eyes meets mine. “So?”
Fin stands in front of his setup, his hopeful attention completely on me instead of the reason we came here, in a shirt that shows practically all of his inked chest, including the rings through his nipples, and jeans that let the colors peak through, too.
Subconsciously, I tap on the itchy peach tree now inked into the left side of my ribs, courtesy of the same woman Fin’s asking me about.
“Pfft.” Laughing into a shrug, I glance around to find a new place out of arm’s reach to perch and harass my client from afar since he has no problem throwing hands when he gets aggravated.Hello two almost black eyes.And possibly to avoid his burning gaze. “Alive.”
“That’s it?” Another scoff and a shake of the head translates into Fin strumming across the strings of his guitar without thought. The sound is melodic, one that you would hear in a song without Fin even trying. “That’s all you fucking got?”
The music, the notes flowing effortlessly, it’s just natural for him.
“I’m sworn, Clooney.” I shrug and make sure the wheellocks are engaged on a giant case that normally holds a rack of string instruments before hopping up to sit on top of it. “She had a pretty convincing argument.”
