A Bleu Streak Summer (The Bleu Series Book 3) (4 page)

“You sure are cute, Beib,” Mave teased while eyeing the odd getup Will had changed into after his shower. Teal plaid pajamas bottoms and those neon shoes rounded out his attire.

“Shut it,” Will sassed back.

“You and Mave are like drum trapeze artists, ya know.” Trace tried demonstrating by twirling a set of drumsticks in the air, but fumbled in catching them. Of course, one happened to track Mave down and smack him in the back of the head.

“Dude!” Mave rubbed the offending spot as he shot Trace a sharp look. “I think you meant jugglers, Space Cadet.”

Trace continued on, looking mesmerized, “Y’all are more epic than mere jugglers. It blew my mind tonight how you never missed a beat and didn’t drop a stick once.”

“Our drum show was epic.” Will offered Mave an exuberant slap on the back as he passed him to pick up one of Max’s many guitars scattered around the room.

“Nah. You gotta hand it to your folks, man.” Mave tilted his head toward the beach where Dillon and Jewels could be seen slow dancing under the dim moonlight. “Now those two are
epic
on a level unreachable. Dillon knows how to bring the house down.”

“Truth,” Logan said slowly, his head swaying to the quiet melody of the guitar.

Max’s eyes wandered in the couple’s direction along with the rest of the group. For the first time all night, the smile was genuine. No way could anyone not respect the epic love story out there on that beach. They loved each other wholeheartedly and didn’t care who witnessed it. Dillon and Jewels made every minute count, knowing from a lesson learned the hard way to never take it for granted. The sudden stinging of his eyes caused Max to look away, knowing how badly he had failed. The smile slipped along with a rebellious tear as he snuck off to his room, hurrying away to hide his embarrassment over things he had no clue how to change.

THREE

“Steady As She Goes”

-The Raconteurs

The anticipated Music Festival Awards had everyone buzzing around in nervous energy. The women were fussing over what to wear and how to fix their hair. Of course, the guys were fussing over what the women chose for them to wear and how they wanted the guys’ hair styled. All the while, the children ran around the house like it was one big jungle gym.

“Ludwig, take that out of your mouth,” a sweet voice chimed over the ocean waves from the open windows.

Brooke and Logan had the harsh reality of not being able to have children confirmed the first year of their marriage, so they took to spoiling the ones around them. Brooke’s mom Gayla had joined in and had designated herself as the band’s nanny. She had become a Godsend when a pile of new babies showed up all at once. Grace grew quite attached to the spunky lady beings that she had no grandparents, so the preteen happily helped Nana Gayla with the little ones.

Even though Dillon’s mom Cora was still living, she never tried mending a rip she inflicted in their relationship. After Dillon and Jewels tried and failed to make amends with her, they knew the only option was to knock the dust off their shoes and move on. God had richly blessed them with enough love and family to make up for it. In their world, there was no such thing as blood being thicker than water. The different ethnicities and backgrounds of the dynamic Bleu family was living proof of that.

Max sat on the back deck, avoiding the craziness inside the beach house as well as inside him. He strummed a tune on his vintage Martin acoustic to accompany the melody of the waves brushing against the shore. A few paparazzi cameras captured his quiet performance earlier, but had finally wandered away when he made no effort of doing anything in true Max fashion, like moon them or approach them and share a few stupid jokes. He kept his back toward them and offered no sign of acknowledging their presence.

“Alright, Molasses, you’re about to get left.” Mave strutted out, brown hair perfectly styled in disarray. He groaned in annoyance when he reached his twin who was dressed completely opposite of his sophisticated attire. “You ain’t even dressed,” he grouched out, motioning to Max’s T-shirt and jeans.

“I’m a grown man. I can wear whatever I please.” He lifted his shoulder slightly, a deflected habit that was starting to wear on his brother. “You can let the girls play dress-up with you all you want. I don’t have to.” He eyed the tailored button-down in a dark shade with the sleeves rolled up to show off the vivid canvas of ink displayed on Mave’s arms. Brand new Vans peeped from under the hem of his perfectly pressed black slacks. The only rebellious touch was the studded belt with a chain dangling from it to the back pocket.

“Whatever. Let’s hit it.” Mave tilted his head toward the glass doors as he shoved his hands into his front pockets, drawing Max’s attention.

“Where’s your cast?” Max asked, already knowing the answer.

“It had to go. Couldn’t let it cramp my style tonight.” Mave pranced in a circle, hoping to get a smile to crack from his melancholy brother.

Max narrowed his eyes instead. “You’ve got another few weeks before that cast was supposed to come off.”

“All’s good. Are we picking up Mona?”

“I’m going to get her myself. We’ll meet you there.” He studied the strings underneath his fingertips before plucking a few chords from them, dismissing his brother.

“You sure?” Mave asked hesitantly.

“Yeah. Ben’s lined it up.”

“Okay… Meet you there, I guess.” Concern whispered through his words, but Mave left it at that when Tate started hollering that it was time to go, followed by a horn honking from the front driveway. He glanced one last time over his shoulder as he reached the door. Max kept his face inclined to the guitar looking lost, and the guy didn’t wear it well at all.

“I’ll see ya there, dude,” Max mumbled, apparently reading his twin’s warring thoughts.

Mave cleared his throat and nodded before disappearing back inside.

After the house quietened, Max slowly gathered the guitar with enough courage to make it through the night and headed inside. Once he secured the old guitar into its original case—the second guitar he had ever owned—him and the guitar headed out to meet the waiting limo outside.

“Yo, Joe. What’s up?” Max said as he slid onto the buttery soft leather seat, placing the guitar and a black fedora he had swiped on the way out of the door on the bench seat in front of him.

The driver glanced at him from the rearview mirror. “Hey, hey. Nothing’s up except hauling your spoiled behind around tonight,” he teased as he pulled the limo out of the gated drive.

“That’s me, man. Totally spoiled. Thanks for putting up with me.” Max managed a cocky smile as he pressed his damp palms into the cool leather seat. Unfortunately, it offered him no comfort.

“It’s my pleasure, kid.” Joe smiled as he focused on driving through the thick traffic. No matter how old Max and the others grew, Joe seemed to still view them as the naïve punks that hired him after signing up for their first tour, still teenagers at the time.

Max knew Joe had to be getting close to wanting to retire and that only added to the pinch in his chest. He rubbed at it, begging for relief until they pulled up to the front entrance of the hotel. It was a posh establishment with lots of palm trees and thick foliage to shield it well from the outside world.

“Joe, you mind sitting tight a few.” Max reached for the door handle. “I’m gonna—” Before he managed getting the door open or to finish his sentence, a stunning brunette angel began strolling toward the limo. The white goddess gown and gold stiletto sandals added to her ethereal appearance and completely stunned the guitarist.

“Stop drooling and go get your girl,” Joe encouraged, chuckling at the awestruck man.

Max stumbled out and met Mona on the sidewalk. Her eyes clear and colorful as aqua sea glass met him openly, but Max noticed that the subtle lines around her large eyes were carefully holding an edge of pain. The delicate heels on her feet brought Mona to eyelevel with his six foot stature. Not able to stop himself, his nervous hand reached out to delicately brush the long silky curl off her bare shoulder. For the first time in months, he felt he could breathe, yet equally like he was drowning.

“I missed you,” he whispered while taking more than he deserved, wrapping Mona in his arms. Inhaling the familiar coconut notes of her perfume, Max felt a protective surge to just grab her up and run away from life altogether. But when her hushed sniffle reminded him she deserved better, Max reluctantly let go and helped her inside the back of the limo. He climbed in the same side after she scooted over as far as the seat would allow.

“Good evening, Miss Mona,” Joe said, giving her a big smile before putting the limo in drive.

She cleared her throat timidly. “Hi, Joe.”

Her northern accent was so formal compared to the Bleu gang, but it had always been one of the unique parts of her Max found so appealing. He loved that he had rebelled against the group’s preference to blonde southern belles with petite frames and had landed himself a Yankee brunette bombshell strong enough to kick his butt if need be.

Joe delivered Max a subtle nod of encouragement before he sent the privacy partition up between them, giving Max and Mona the moment they needed.

Mona nervously twirled the flashy diamond ring around her finger as she kept her eyes trained out the window and away from Max. He was relieved she was still wearing it. His body instinctively demanded he reach over and pull her close, but the stifling tension warned him to stay put on his side of the limo.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured. The gauzy skirt of the dress touched the top of her tanned knees. She wrapped her hands there as though she could sense his gaze zoned in on that area. “Stunning,” he reiterated, the rasp in his voice proving his sincerity.

Mona finally glanced over and studied him. His hand began easing over the long expanse of seat between them.

“And you look like you just rolled out of bed.” Her words were delivered with no bite, just stating the obvious, but they successfully halted the progression of his hand.

Max moved back to his side, knowing it’s what he deserved.

Scrubbing his hands over the stubble shadowing his jaw, he admitted, “I didn’t feel like buttoning up in pretenses tonight.”

“How ironic?” She huffed out a forced laugh.

“I know. Stupid choice of words.” He grunted in discomfort. “I am who I am.” He wasn’t referring to his lackluster wardrobe for the evening. His composure began to slip and that starving kid screamed and begged for help. The haunted man knew if the layers of his defense were peeled back, it would reveal him bleeding profusely with regret so debilitating he felt his demise would surely follow.

“You are who you are,” Mona echoed, eyes focused on her hands grasping a gold clutch in her lap as if it were a lifeline.

Max felt things slipping, so he demanded the shadows to retreat as he carefully resurrected his goofball façade, the lopsided grin guiding him into character. He knew he had no right to pull Mona down any farther than he already did.

“I’ll have you know, sweetness, I did wash
and
put on deodorant.” Max lifted his collar and sniffed dramatically. “And I’m pretty sure this is clean.” The white V-neck tee was in stark contrast to his tanned arms and the black music notes of his only visible tattoo. The sheet music swirled up his right arm and disappeared underneath the short sleeve, but peeked slightly out at the base of his neck. He flexed his lean bicep when noticing Mona’s focus was there. He ran his hand over his short hair, mussing it to stick every which-a-way. “Brushed my hair, too.”

He received his desired effect, pulling a faint laugh from her coral glossed lips. Being able to offer her even the frivolous laugh empowered him to push a little more.

Leaning into her personal space, so close her stuttered breath touched his lips, Max whispered, “Glad I wore my boots, ’cause you looking so killer leaves no doubt I’m gonna have to kick the men away from you tonight.” He licked his lips and winked. When her bronzed cheeks warmed with even more color, he couldn’t help but reach over and brush his fingertips there to capture some of her warmth.

“Max…” Mona released his name on a lingering sigh.

The estranged couple overlooked the angst of their reality for a moment, both heartbeats fluttering under the other’s touch and scrutiny. The tension pulled in another, more appealing, direction. Max cupped his hands gently under Mona’s chin as his gaze drifted along her feminine features—high cheekbones, thick eyelashes, heart-shaped lips…

Something shifted between them, maybe a reality check out of the flirty delusional spell he tried weaving around them, as the lusty haze cleared from her eyes and left a watery sheen in its departure.

“Mona—”

“Please don’t do this… I’m here because you asked. I’ve agreed to whatever you’ve asked… I just… I can’t keep this up anymore. It’s confusing… It hurts…” Her voice broke on a tremble, instantly cooling the heat between them.

The anger he had deliberately provoked in Mona months ago had evidently receded in his absence, leaving something in its wake that Max despised—pity. He saw it in her light-aqua eyes in that moment, knowing he deserved her wrath more so. She said it hurt, but the reflection only held pity…

He moved back over and said through gritted teeth, “I know. I’m a selfish bas—”

“Max!” Her eyes now held shock over his unusual outburst.

“I’m just stating the truth. A fatherless, self-centered punk is all I am. You deserve better.” He kept his glare aimed at the guitar case across from him, knowing she wouldn’t deny his claim of her deserving better. She did in the beginning, but he had told her enough that he thought she finally got it.

The limo pulled up to the black carpet that had silver music notes dancing along in a pattern all the way to the entrance of the substantial music hall. Max was livid with himself for casting such a dark mood on them only seconds before arriving. He grabbed the fedora and shoved it low on his head, wanting to hide from the undeserving sympathy she continued to offer him, even after what he had done.

Failure.

All I am is a failure…

The words had been on repeat in the back of his mind for the past year and revved back up as he trained his attention on the sea of people undulating with excitement.

“After tonight, baby, I promise you’ll be free from all my madness.” His words were muttered in defeat as Joe opened the door.

“Your guitar,” Joe reminded as Max emerged from the backseat.

“Nah, man. It’s all electric tonight. That’s for later. Will ya keep an eye on it for me?”

“Sure,” Joe responded, moving out of the way so Max could offer his hand to Mona as she stepped out of the back of the limo. “Always the gentleman your momma raised you to be.” Joe smiled.

Max could barely muster a smile in response, knowing good and well his momma would knock him upside the head if she knew the mess he had made. Brushing the remorse off like a nagging fly that refused to completely go away, he eased a relaxed smirk on his face, knowing that’s what the public expected from him. He lazily wrapped his arm around Mona’s waist—a waist he just realized had withered to way too thin. The billowy layers of the dress had hid that tidbit well.