Chapter One

Dylan

December

 

Not many people knew, but I grew up in Big Bear, California.

As an eighteen-year-old, I was happy to leave small-town life and venture out to seek my fortunes, but now the family cabin was a well-kept secret I’d done my absolute best to maintain since joining Jake’s band nine years ago.

While Jake Lindsey was the face, every member of the band was recognizable—part of why I let my beard grow this winter while we had time off.

Made it a lot easier to hide from the tourists.

Now it was Christmas Eve and time to head back to L.A. and be sociable.

Of all the days for a friggin’ blizzard.

The plan was to play the gig at the lodge and go home. A few songs wouldn’t delay me much. It had been years since I played a solo request, being the bass guitarist for one of the biggest artists of the decade, but when the Parkers asked me for a favor, I figured it couldn’t hurt.

Julia might be my ex, but her parents always liked me and were friends of my folks.

In trying to leave, I came out to see my ride already coated with snow. The road wasn’t closed, yet, so I scraped the ice off the windows and started the car. “Come on, baby, just get me down the mountain.”

I drove slowly, tires crunching the ice crystals. Leaning over the steering wheel, I tried peering through the white blur, the wind gusts sending the flakes sideways. The headlights gave me maybe five feet ahead to see.

“Not good. Not good.” I turned the corner.

There was a streak of something crossing the road, smaller than a deer.

The car slid on a patch of ice into a drift. Not hard enough to cause any damage, maybe, but I was probably stuck without help, as we were sitting at an angle now.

“Shit.” I pressed my foot down on the gas pedal, but the tires merely spun in the snow. “Wonderful.” Trying reverse wasn’t any better, confirming my fear.

The snow fell fast and furious. I could be buried in the car or risk finding shelter outside. The heater died two years ago, so that was no help (it was the AC that was necessary in Los Angeles, not heat). No blanket in the car and only a leather jacket to keep me warm.

“Here goes nothing.”

I shoved the door open.

After tying a scrap of orange plastic to the antenna, I turned off the engine and grabbed my guitar case off the passenger seat. Pulling the hood of my sweater up didn’t give me much protection, but it’d keep my hair dry for a little while. Carrying the guitar, I crossed the road toward flat ground and hoped I’d find a house before I froze to death.