Chapter 2
Just Breathe
Maverick
Ididn’t know what to think with Cali sitting shotgun in my car. I didn’t know if it was crazy or a terrible decision, but all I wanted was to see it through. I did know that Cali’s grand gesture had kick-started my resolve to believe in some sliver of a happy ending, but it also scared the ever-loving shit out of me.
As our fingers intertwined while I drove us along the busy Chicago streets, my mind skipped to the one place I always knew I had a home: Mountain Breath.
“I think we both could use a drink,” I declared, gripping her tiny hand a little tighter.
“Holy fuck, you’ve never been more right.”
At a light, I shot off a text to the band’s group message.
Me: Cali just showed up in town.
Rodney: She called me last night. Glad she found you.
Me: Fuck you for not telling me.
Rodney: And ruin the epic surprise? Eh, you’ll forgive me.
Dane: What in the damn world? What are you guys doing?
Colt: Holy fuck! Is this a good thing?
Me: We’re going to Mountain Breath—it is Thursday, after all. I think we should crash open mic night. And yes, it’s a VERY good thing…well, I think so at least.
Dane: Fallon has to stay in with little Leilani, but I can get away for a bit.
Colt: Already getting in the car.
Rodney: Heck yes! See everyone in ten.
Opening Cali’s door, I held her hand as she climbed out of the 1970 Ford Falcon Dane and I had restored at the same time he was working on The Judge. It was a hobby that kept our minds busy while trying to get through what had happened to Leilani. Our cars were just another part of our healing process. My dad had decided we needed some way to channel the aggression that came with our loss. Most dads would have made us take up karate, but I was already in boxing classes. One thing my dad knew about both of the young men he was raising was that it was more about keeping our minds and hands busy, that way the aggression didn’t have a chance to surface. We had to build something to help us deal with what had been broken.
Hand in hand, I led Cali into my family’s bar. We were greeted by the kind smile of the man who’d raised me.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Marty Steele was one hell of a man, and he knew if I was showing my face in his place, there was a good reason.
Walking around the back of the bar, I felt the glaring eyes of people who were about to recognize me. In the time The Hysterics had been touring, our fame had erupted, and that had groupies flocking to my favorite watering hole when fans knew we were back in town. Girls would show up hoping to get a glimpse of one or all of us, and we were about to give them a big shock.
“Dad, this is Cali. Cali, meet my old man, Marty Steele.”
“Hey, who are you calling old?” My dad shoved my shoulder before grabbing Cali’s free hand. “It is a pleasure finally meeting you, Cali. My son has told me wonderful things about you, but he definitely didn’t do your beauty justice.”
“Always such a charmer, Pop.” I shot my dad a knowing smile as I poured Cali and I each a shot of Jameson.
“I’m glad to be here, sir.”
My dad shook his head as he chuckled. “It’s Marty—we’re not formal around these parts.”
“All right, Marty. I hear you make some of the best drinks in the state.”
“What’s your poison?” he asked with a jokingly sinister sneer peeking through his gray whiskers.
“Surprise me. Whatever you want to make for me, I’m drinking.”
