Chapter Sixteen

Who thought it would be so difficult to sell a Porsche 911 Turbo with twenty years on her? Blaise shoved his phone across the kitchen table after another prospective buyer said no, and rubbed his aching wrist. He never thought he’d have to sell that car. For him, that car defined the moment Savage made it. No more playing in dive bars and dragging his kit around in a beat-up van. Fast Lane Records had signed Savage with a big signing bonus, and they found themselves in a recording studio putting their first songs down on tracks. After the album climbed the charts and they sold out more shows than anyone expected, he dropped the money on that Porsche. Now he’d come full circle. He needed the money that car would provide, and they weren’t selling out shows the way they used to.

He pushed himself out of the chair and headed to his garden. The sun spread its heat over him before he got to the bottom of the deck steps. Sounds of banging and cursing drifted over the fence from Grace’s house.

“Throw it in the dumpster. Then come hold this ladder.”

Blaise shook his head. Beau was a drill sergeant, but that would be good for Cash, because Cash certainly didn’t listen to him. They were fine if the discussion stayed on things like what to eat for dinner or what time Cash would be back from the library, but if Blaise dug a little deeper, Cash shoved those damn earbuds in his ears and locked himself in his room. Melissa was no help. She said he should figure it out for himself. He would, if he had any idea where to start.

He thought of his dad. Jedidiah Savage was a man who said very little, but when he did, he commanded the room. His presence had made him an effective teacher, and when Blaise or Colton got out of line, their father only had to say a few words and Blaise immediately felt the ice form in his belly and the need for the floor to swallow him up.

He scratched the back of his neck. The plants weren’t growing. His dad would know what to do with the garden too, and he wished he could ask him. He wished he could play music with him again, and he wished his dad were around to knock some sense into Colton about recording new music.

“Anybody home?”

Blaise turned to Savannah’s voice coming from the house.

“Out back.”

His sister stepped into the yard, wearing a dress covered in pink flowers. Her dark hair was pulled back into a knot. Jud followed on her heels. She was always the mother duck leading her ducklings. What would she do when they all moved away? Probably herd them back.

Jud looked like his grandfather, the man he was named after, with the dark, wavy Savage hair Jud wore slicked back. He stood six feet four like Blaise’s dad. And now he sported an almost-full beard much like old Jedidiah’s.

“I brought over a summer salad and a roasted chicken for you and Cash. It’s in the fridge.” Savannah leaned in and kissed Blaise’s cheek. Jud offered a firm shake.

“Thanks, but you didn’t have to. No one is starving over here.” He patted his stomach.

“I had extra, and since Cash runs down to Jake’s every day to grab lunch, I worried you two were only eating takeout. How’s the garden coming?”

“Don’t ask. What else are you up to?” Because there had to be more than just the food. She was buttering him up for something.

“I was hoping to catch your neighbor for a minute, but it doesn’t look like she’s home.”

“You brought her food too?” When had Grace met Savannah?

Savannah’s eyes grew wide. “Does she need some? I didn’t think of it. How foolish of me. I should’ve brought a plate of brownies as a housewarming gift. I’m slipping.” She pulled out a small notebook and jotted down brownies.

“Mom, you really have to get into the twenty-first century. You could keep a list on your phone.” Jud let his smile spread across his face and light up his eyes.

Savannah and Jud always had an ease with each other. Blaise envied that, but Savannah chalked it up to mother-son relationships. She was certain he and Cash would be at ease if they worked at it. Blaise thought she was wrong. Or just trying to be nice.

Laughing, she swatted Jud away. “I like pen and paper. Keeps me sharp. All that computer screen stuff is killing my brain cells. I’ll come back later with those brownies. Hopefully, she’ll be home then. Do you happen to know where she went?”

“Why would I know where she went?” He didn’t mean for his words to sound so harsh. “She’s not all that neighborly. She really doesn’t like me.”

“Really? Doesn’t everyone like you? She seemed so sweet at the library, and she offered to help with the fundraiser. I just thought you might know where she was since Cash is over there working with Beau.” Savannah held her hands up. “No problem. I’ll catch up with her at some point.”

Grace was helping with the fundraiser too? Savannah would hook anyone within reach of her claws. He shook his head. Grace did appear to be the kind of woman who could plan an event. She liked things her way and clearly wanted to be in control. Hopefully, he could avoid her. Living next door was enough.

“Cash, I need you to hold this ladder.” Beau’s voice carried across the yard. “You want to send me to my death?”

The dumpster filled with a clatter and bang. “I can’t haul and hold, Mr. Carroll. Sorry. I’ll come right over.” Cash’s voice sounded like a drumhead pulled tight.

“They need help,” Jud said. “Maybe I should go see?”

Jud was like his mother, always wanting to fix a difficult situation, but Blaise knew Cash wouldn’t want his cousin nearby. “They’ll be fine.”

“Jud, go ask Beau. It’s only the two of them over there.”

“No, really. Beau doesn’t want anyone else on the job. He told Grace that.”

“Hey, Miss Savannah, that your young man with you? He’s grown a foot since I saw him last.” Beau stood on the ladder with a clear view over the fence. “Send him over. We need extra muscle power. I’m paying if he needs a job.”

Blaise’s heart sank. Jud shrugged and jogged into the front yard. Cash was going to be pissed and probably take it out on Blaise, as if he were the one sending Jud over.

“He doesn’t have a job for the summer?” Blaise pulled on the leaves of the tomato plant.

“He looked but was having trouble finding something. We just want him to have a little spending money before he leaves for college. Hopefully, Beau needs him for more than one day, and by the looks of the house, he will.” She turned and locked her gaze on Blaise’s. “Why did you say Beau didn’t need any other workers?”

He squirmed under his sister’s glare. “He fired his crew. I just thought he was scaling back.”

“There still isn’t trouble between Cash and Jud is there?”

Nothing got past her. He didn’t know if he could lie and get away with it. “I think they worked it out.” Holding her stare was harder than he thought. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He broke his stare first and looked over her shoulder to the still trees lining his property.

“Well, that’s good. They can’t fight. They’re cousins.”

Being related didn’t always equal harmony—nothing was that simple. You couldn’t pick your family, and sometimes you got stuck with ones you didn’t jive with. He loved his brother, but right now he didn’t understand him at all. He understood Colton’s drinking better than this decision to stop producing music. Continuing down the same worn-out path was suicide for their band. Why didn’t he see that?

“Hey, big brother.” Savannah waved a hand in his face. “You still there? I’m talking and you’re zoning. I have to get to the library. If you can’t give Jud a lift home, tell him to walk, okay? And heat that chicken in the oven, not the microwave. You’ll dry it out.”

She followed the path Jud took, but stopped and turned. “Have you decided yet how you’re going to play at the fundraiser with your hand like that?”

He hadn’t thought about her fundraiser at all. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Is it just going to be you?”

“You heard Colton. He’s not on board. The other guys most likely won’t play without him. They’re afraid of him and never go against what he says. I’ll do some type of acoustic version of our songs.” He’d arranged most of their music that way already. It had given him something to do in between shows when they were on tour. The older he got, the more he stayed away from the partying and kept to himself in the hotel rooms and on the tour bus. He was tired of being the circus leader. Wasn’t that how he hurt his wrist? Being stupid and childish? When had he gotten so old?

“How about Cash?”

“How about Cash what?”

“Will he play with you?”

“Don’t count on it. He doesn’t do anything I ask these days.”

“Then I’ll ask him.”