Sabrina whipped her napkin at Tru. “Of course he’s worth it. But so are you. And he’s an idiot if he doesn’t treat you right. And I’d tell him that myself if I knew you wouldn’t shoot me if I did.”
“Damn right I would. I can fight my own battles. Now, where’s the damn carbs you promised me? I need sugar. And alcohol. And later, I’ll probably need a nap.”
And then she’d chart out the course of the rest of her life.
Ha.
* * *
Baz waited by the door for Nik to show up, as nervous as if he was going on a first date.
Which was really fucking stupid. But then nothing about the last week of his life had been normal. Hell, the past year of his life had been far from it.
What the hell classified as normal anyway? Up until two nights ago, Ty had been the most average guy he’d known, and then . . . Bam! They throw the Salon at him. A freaking sex-party room.
Sure, everybody has their kinks. But when you build a fucking shrine to them . . . Definitely not standard behavior.
Nik kissing him the way he had last night was so not like him. Why wouldn’t his fucking heart slow down?
It didn’t get any better when he spotted Nik emerging from the parking garage down the street.
He hadn’t noticed last night but Nik’s black-as-ink hair had grown out from the Mohawk he’d had pretty much since the day they left on tour that first time. Now it fell in long, uneven chunks around his face and still managed to make him look like a badass.
Then again, Nikky always looked good. It was part of the reason the band did so well with women. They loved him. Whether it was his looks, which a Rolling Stone reporter had once described as “the face of a fallen angel,” or the way he moved onstage like “sex and chocolate and fine whiskey” they wanted to eat him up.
Female fans mobbed him after shows, held up signs saying they wanted to marry him. Most of them were serious.
Baz still saw the furious little boy who didn’t believe his mother loved him enough to keep him safe and who would sleep in Baz’s bed more often than his own because his mom was just as happy to have the kid out of her house so she could screw around with her asshole of a second husband.
Okay, maybe Baz still had a few unresolved issues with Nik’s mother, too. It served to remind him that they’d been through too much together to not make this work.
Baz had the door open before Nik reached it. He looked just as nervous as Baz felt, which put him more at ease. At least he wasn’t the only one ready to jump out of his skin.
“Hey. Come on in.”
“Thanks. So, what is this place?”
“The offices for Greg Hicks’s production company.”
Nik’s head swiveled, looking all around. “The place is fucking huge.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty much an entire city block. I recorded the music for the score here.”
He wanted to take the words back as soon as they left his mouth but Nik didn’t look upset at the mention of the score. He just nodded and continued to look around.
“So you liked doing the score?”
Was there something else behind such an innocent sounding question? Or was Baz trying to read too damn much into everything that came out of Nik’s mouth?
“Yeah, it was different. A challenge.”
Nik just nodded like his head was on a spring. “Where’s this studio?”
Baz waved his hand for Nik to follow him and lead him down the hall. They walked in silence, Baz trying not to watch Nik like a dangerous zoo animal. Trying not to look at his mouth or even think about that kiss.
If Nik didn’t bring it up, Baz had decided he wasn’t going to either. Maybe it’d be better if they just ignored it.
When they finally reached the studio, Baz flicked the lights on, then couldn’t help the nervousness that hit him. He wanted Nik to like this place. Wanted him to feel welcome here. Wanted him to want to be here. To make music here. With Baz. And Trev and Jase and Zach.
Baz hadn’t realized how fucking much he wanted his band back until last night. It’d become a gnawing ache in his gut.
Nik walked by him and into the studio. Baz followed, letting the door close behind him. Nik walked over to the mixing boards, ran his hands over it in a caress. Then he lifted his head and looked out into the studio.
“Damn. Forgot the light.”
Baz turned and hit the switch to light the interior, then watched Nik take in the studio.
“Wow. He built this for you?”
“Kind of. Greg’s got this vision. He wants this place to be a one-stop shop for artists. He loves music. He’s been to a few of our concerts.”
“That’s cool.” Nik didn’t turn to look at him, just kept staring into the studio. “So he wants us to record here? Or he just wants you?”
“Us. Our band. I want to get back to our music, Nik. I’ve missed it. Last night, I felt what I’d been missing since I overdosed.”
Nik flinched when Baz said that last word but he was sick of tiptoeing around the subject, no matter who he was talking to.
Finally, Nik turned and looked right at him. “I let you down, didn’t I?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“After you OD’d. I was so pissed off at you and I was so fucking scared. I had no idea what the fuck to do so I didn’t do anything.”
“What are you talking about?”
Nik sucked in a deep breath and Baz heard the hitch in it. “I thought I was doing the right thing by Roxy. I honestly thought she was pregnant and there was no way in fucking hell I was going to do to my kid what my fucking sperm donor did to me. I thought you were being an asshole, that you were jealous. I didn’t believe you, and that’s on me. I pushed you over the fucking edge.”
“Shit, no. No way, Nikky. It wasn’t you. My failings are all my own. And I failed myself when I overdosed. I was so fucking stupid. This isn’t on you.”
An awkward silence fell until Baz couldn’t hold Nik’s tortured gaze any longer. He let his eyes lower as he shook his head and fell onto the piano bench.
“So where do we go from here?”
Nik spoke so softly, Baz wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly.
“What do you mean?”
Nik grimaced. “I mean do you really want to come back or did you just say it because you don’t know what else to say?”
Baz’s head popped back up. “Damn it, Nik. Of course, I fucking mean it.” Then something occurred to him that made his stomach roll over. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t want to be part of Baseline Sins anymore?”
Nik didn’t answer right away and now Baz’s stomach started to hurt.
“Christ, Baz.” Nik shook his head. “We used to be able to read each other’s minds. We used to be able to look at each other and know what the other one was thinking. How the fuck did we get here?”
“I don’t know. The questions is, can we get past it?”
Nik’s gaze narrowed. “Do you want to get past it?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. What about you? Why are you here?”
“Because I miss my goddamn best friend.”
Nik’s voice held a leashed fury Baz recognized from their teen years. When he’d been so pissed off at his mom or her husband that he could barely breathe. He and Nik had made some of their best music then.
Would it be different now? Would the music come from a different place?
Interesting question. Baz wrote music because he heard it everywhere. In the scrape of a chair across the floor or the sound of water dripping off a roof. Nik wrote lyrics because they purged something inside him.
Baz took a deep breath. And then another. “Then let’s just forget all the other shit happened and start again.”
“I’m not sure I can.”
“No. No fucking way, Nik. You can’t—”
Nik held a hand out. “Hear me out, goddamn it. Just . . . let me say this.”
It took a huge effort on Baz’s part to keep his mouth shut.
Nik took a breath and kept his gaze locked on the floor. “I can’t forget because I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to forget how it felt to treat you like that because I don’t want to make the same mistake again. I treated you like shit. My best fucking friend in the whole world and, Jesus Christ, you could’ve fucking died. And I would’ve been pissed at you for the rest of my life for leaving me. And how fucked up is that?”