Chapter 1
Nina Byrd propped her bass against the amp with a tired grace, the cord coiling lazily like a snake. Stretching her arms overhead, she laced her fingers, cracked her knuckles, and let her gaze drift over the band she’d called family for the past two years. The guys weren’t exactly cover model material—more like survivors of wild nights fueled by cheap beer and cheaper decisions. But they were her brothers in sound, and Dusk Static was their collective sordid heartbeat.
She hadn’t signed on for romance. Nina joined Dusk Static because she played bass like it was an extension of her soul, and they’d been desperate for someone who could keep time in their chaos. Across the cramped studio, Kal “the Hammer” Cunningham lounged on a grimy couch, a beer bottle in one hand and a crumpled Swedish magazine in the other. The pages were dog-eared, and the cover featured a blonde who had seen better days, much like the room itself.
Nina wiped the sweat from her forehead, feeling the humid residue of an all-day jam session clinging to her skin. Trip Harker trailed their manager out into the hallway, his movements casual but deliberate. Nina hesitated, the faintest tug of curiosity gnawing at her. Trip wasn’t the lead singer, but he carried himself with a quiet authority she admired. He had a way of looking out for her, like an older brother—or, at least, the older brother she wished she’d had.
Leaving her bass precariously leaning against the amp, she followed them, hoping Kal wouldn’t think it funny to spill beer on it again. Not that Screw would let him get away with it. Screw was a name he went by but his real name was Craig, and he was Trip’s older brother, having been born into an emotional ghetto of endless abuse a year before Trip, but they acted night and day differently. Screw Harker was the unofficial dad of the group and Nina? Well, she supposed that made her “daddy’s girl” in this twisted family dynamic.
Something most female fans of Dusk Static would kill to be called.
She understood why, Screw was a great-looking guy, and he was so kind. But she still saw the band as a gaggle of guys with no looks. Nina was gay. Something their manager had told the band to keep on the down low, which made them all laugh, lesbians were hot they’d cheer.
It wasn’t like their music was played in churches. Their music certainly wasn’t even close to being considered religious. But she understood why they should keep it on the down low. It was okay by her. It was her business, not their fans’ business. She peered around a corner and saw Trip and Mr. J. Verger.
The hallway smelled of stale cigarette smoke and yesterday’s pizza, a sensory ode to their scrappy beginnings. She rounded the corner quietly, spotting Trip and Cecile J. Verger in conversation. Their manager always dressed as he’d wandered off the set of Miami Vice, all slick hair and diamond cufflinks that might’ve been real—or might’ve been picked up at a flea market. Either way, Cecile treated them better than most managers treated nobodies. That earned him Nina’s respect, even if she didn’t quite trust his salesman grin.
She was too far away to catch the full exchange, but Trip’s voice rose, tinged with frustration. “You want her to be the bassist for another band? You can’t be serious, Cecile! What about us?”
The words hit her like a slap. Her heart stumbled, then plummeted, an ache lodging itself somewhere deep in her chest. Another band? Her?
Cecile’s response was calm, and measured, the kind of tone that made you trust him even when you shouldn’t. “She really needs a bassist for her tour,” he said, running a hand through his hair like it was part of his routine.
Nina’s stomach churned. Was she dragging Dusk Static down? The idea lodged itself like a splinter she couldn’t quite reach. Without thinking, she stepped forward, her voice wavering but determined. “Please don’t make me leave Dusk Static.”
Both men turned to her, startled. Trip’s expression shifted instantly, and before she could process it, he had wrapped her in a bear hug, lifting her off her feet. “No way!” he crowed, spinning her in a circle. She felt the air squeeze out of her lungs, her confusion rising with every second.
Trip set her down, his face alight with mischief. “You cannot walk away from a gig like this!”
“What gig?” she asked, crossing her arms. “And I’m not leaving Dusk Static for some band I’ve never heard of before.”
Cecile’s smirk deepened. “Are you saying you’ve never heard of Kimber Rose?”
Her heart stopped. Kimber Rose. The name hung in the air like a spell, wrapping itself around her. Nina’s knees turned to jelly, and her voice, when it came, was barely more than a whisper. “I know Kimber Rose.”
Trip laughed, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “Then you know this is huge. And don’t worry. When it’s over, you’ve still got a home here.”
The weight of his words sunk in slowly, like ink spreading across paper. She looked at Trip, then Cecile, then back again. This wasn’t just a gig. This was Kimber Rose.
Without thinking, Nina hugged Trip, burying her face in his chest. For all their rough edges and ridiculous antics, these guys understood her in a way that her own family never had. Except maybe her twin sister. “Thank you, Trip,” she whispered.
She didn’t know what the future held, but for the first time in a long time, she felt the faintest flicker of something like hope.
