Havoc:Mayhem Series #4(37)

"It was crazy," Mike continues. "Shawn had that look in his eye even  back then. Like when he talked about how we were going to make it big, I  believed him. And so did Adam. I just wanted to be a part of that ride,  I guess . . . That night was the first time I ever drummed for anyone  other than my mom, and here I had these two guys telling me I could be a  rock star."                       
       
           



       

When Mike looks down at me, he asks, "What?"

A proud smile curves my lips, and I say, "Look at you now." A faint  blush creeps under the scruff on Mike's cheeks, and I press, "Big record  deal with a huge label. A massive music video with thousands of people.  An international tour." I beam up at him, so proud of how far he's  come. "You've gotten everything you ever wanted."

"Not everything," Mike corrects, and the serious look in his eyes feels like a challenge-Do I need to know? Do I want to know?

"What else is there?" I finally ask, and Mike takes his time with my question, his gaze fixed on the leaves lining our path.

"Right now?" His eyes lift back to mine, drying my throat. "Right now, I really just want to hold your hand again."

I chew on the inside of my bottom lip, weighing the consequences of what  he wants against the heaviness in my heart. And then, before I can  overthink it for even one more second, I stretch out my arm and wait for  him to take my hand.





Chapter 31




The way Mike's fingers lace with mine-his thumb outside of my thumb, his  fingertips snug against the top of my hand-it feels like more than just  holding hands, but that's what I keep telling myself: It's just holding  hands, it's just holding hands.

As we walk, I ask him more about growing up with Adam and Shawn. I laugh  at the way he describes a numskull teenage Joel. I get him to tell me  about his mom, his dad who lives in Texas, his half sister and the  turtle she had as a pet for a while. And I'm not sure why I ask all of  these things, except that I don't have the willpower not to.

Mike is like a book that I can't stop reading. And even if I  finished-even if I got to the very last line of the very last page-I'm  pretty sure I'd want to read him over and over and over again.

We walk toward the cabin but never get there, since we turn around when  it starts getting dark. It's just a walk-a walk in the woods under a  dusk-stained sky, with Mike Madden making me laugh. I'm in a pretty  dress, and he's holding my hand, and nothing can go wrong-until it does.

"Oh my God," I blurt as my feet freeze on the path. My hand jerks from  Mike's, and I stand there in a blind panic. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my  God."

"What?" Mike worries, looking around for a snake or a rabid raccoon or a  chupacabra or something, while I just stand there paralyzed, staring  wide-eyed down at my dress.

"My dress."

In the low light, Mike follows my line of vision and spots the branch  with its fangs lodged in a layer of my flawless red tulle. "Don't move."

"Oh my God."

"Just stand still," Mike orders, dropping to his knees.

"Oh my God."

"It's going to be fine," he assures me. "I can get it out."

"I ruined it."

"When have I ever let you down?" Mike asks, getting to work. I brace my  hands on his shoulders to keep my balance. I can't believe I snagged  Dee's gorgeous, priceless, perfect dress. She didn't even get a grade on  it yet, and I destroyed it.

"I fixed your hoodie, didn't I?" Mike reminds me as I stare up at the  sky, praying for a miracle. "And I saved you from drowning in the pond.  And I rescued you from that basset hound at the animal shelter." I tilt  my chin down to give him a confused look, and he smirks up at me. "That  dog was an insatiable little monster. He probably would've eaten you  alive."

"Barb named him KissyPie . . ."

"Should've named him Cujo," Mike counters, and I laugh.

"My hero," I joke, and he flashes me another heart-stopping smile before returning his attention to my dress.

"So speaking of," Mike starts as he gently maneuvers the red tulle. "I  was talking to Luke last night, and I was thinking . . . when we get  back from tour, I'd like to play a little show at his school. Me and the  guys."

"Why?" I ask in disbelief. I know he's trying to distract me from the  dress, and it's working. I imagine a band as big as Mike's playing at a  school as small as Luke's, and how much that would mean to my timid  little brother.                       
       
           



       

"I was thinking it might help. I know he gets picked on a lot and isn't  having an easy time making friends, but I bet a lot of the kids he goes  to school with have heard of us. I bet they'd think it's cool that he's  our friend."

Friend. Mike Madden, Sexy as Fuck rock star with thousands of people  currently waiting to be in his music video, is willing to be friends  with my twelve-year-old brother to help him make friends at school. When  he looks up at me from where he's kneeling at my feet, all I can do is  stare at him.

"What do you think?" he asks, and I tell him the truth.

"I think you're amazing."

The corners of Mike's mouth tip up, and my eyes follow them when he  stands. All I can think about is how soft those lips must be, how badly I  want to find out.

"I meant about the dress," he says, and when I glance down, I realize  he's holding it out for me to see. He fishes his phone from his pocket  and shines a light on the bloodred tulle, his fingers brushing mine as  we both move the material this way and that.

There's nothing. Not one snag, not one rip, not one trace of the thorn that had promised to ruin it.

Words aren't enough when I look up at him this time. I stare up into his  big brown eyes, and my gaze slides slowly back down to his lips. With  my four-inch boots, they're not so far away. Mike lets my dress fall  from his fingers, and-

"Mike Madden." Adam Everest's voice booms from speakers not too far  away. "Mike Madden, we're going to need you to get your ass back here so  we can start filming, over." A short pause. "Unless you're getting  laid, over. In which case, hurry it up, over."

"I'm going to kill him," Mike decides as we both stare in the direction  of Adam's voice. Mike takes in the beet-red color of my face and shakes  his head. "I'm seriously going to kill him."

"After you play at my brother's school," I agree, and Mike rubs a hand down his face.

"Okay," he says with a frustrated but amused laugh. "After your brother's school. Then he's a dead man."

With a deep, heavy sigh, he takes my hand in his, and I let him hold it  without argument this time. I allow myself to appreciate the way it  makes my skin tingle, the way it causes my heart to pound. I commit it  all to memory, since I'm not sure I'll ever feel it again.

"I bet you went to school with bedhead," I tease as we walk back to the  clearing, recalling my earlier image of teenage Mike sitting in his  lunchroom cafeteria.

The way his mouth twitches to hide a smile confirms it.

"I knew it," I say, and he laughs.

"I didn't really care about school. I wasn't bad at it, but I just  thought it was such a waste of time. I would've rather been home gaming  or drumming or skating or something."

"You skated?" I ask, and Mike grins.

"A little. I wasn't any good at it."

"But you weren't a skater?"

Drumming his fingers against the top of my hand, he says, "No. I mostly  kept to myself. No one paid much attention to me until I joined the  band."

I put everything I know about Mike together, and I paint a mental  picture: a teenage boy sitting in classes he couldn't care less about,  not interested in high school cliques but pining after the cheerleader  he's had a crush on since third grade. He joins a band with the popular  kids. People start to notice him . . .

"And then you ended up with the most popular girl in school," I say out  loud, and Mike stops drumming his fingers against my hand. He holds my  gaze as we walk.

"We'll make sure your brother doesn't do something that dumb. No  cheerleading captains for him." His hand squeezes mine, and he gives me a  sexy smile that charms all my blood to my cheeks. "Only pretty baton  twirlers."



By the time Mike and I break back through the trees, the entire space  looks much less like chaos and much more like business. All of the  extras are lining up just inside the tree line, directed by a hive of  staff workers that buzz here, there, here, there. Mike leads me away  from them, through the stragglers heading toward the woods.