Wicked Beat

Chapter 26

Eric had lured the guys to his house with promises of a huge turkey dinner and football, so they weren’t too pleased to find out they were actually being put to work.

“Did you seriously sign us up for kitchen duty?” Trey grumbled.

“Yeah,” Eric said. “It’ll be fun.”

“Fun?” Brian said. “What’s fun about shoveling food on the plates of homeless guys?”

“You’ll see,” Eric promised.

“It’s great publicity,” Sed said in his deep voice. “Jerry is getting a news crew to cover it.”

“Aggie wants to join us. Is that okay?” Jace asked.

“Yeah, I signed up the ladies too,” Eric said.

“And Rebekah?” Trey asked.

“I don’t know if she’ll show up or not.” Eric secretly hoped so. “She’s the one who suggested it originally. Her family does it every year. I kind of got carried away on the sign-up list and volunteered everyone.”

“So we’re supposed to give up our Thanksgiving dinner and football because you were trying to impress a girl?” Trey said.

“I wasn’t trying to impress a girl,” Eric said. “I thought it would be good for us.” Impressing the girl was just an added bonus. And she hated him now, so it didn’t really matter anyway. He’d called her like a thousand times, and she never answered. When he drove past her parents’ house, her car was never there. He checked his messages every twenty seconds. She was obviously avoiding him. Probably busy planning her wedding with Dr. Perfect. Fuck!

God, he wanted to see her. He hadn’t slept all week.

“Dave was excited when he heard we were all going to be there,” Eric added, trying to get the guys to cooperate. “I think he wants to show us that he’s willing and able to get back to work.”

“We’re going,” Sed said, and that was the end of all arguments.

Eric rode with Aggie, Jace, and Trey in Aggie’s brand-new Mustang. Brian and Myrna rode with Sed and Jessica in Sed’s Mercedes. It was great to have everyone together again. Everyone got busy with their own thing when they were home on break, and he didn’t get to see them. At times, Eric longed for the good ol’ days when they’d all been bachelors, but then he saw how happy his bandmates were with their significant others and decided he’d been just as happy when he’d had Rebekah. Home wasn’t supposed to be hell.

When they arrived at the shelter, the news crew started hounding them before they were even inside the building. Sed—bless himstopped to talk to the reporter about “Sinners’ new Thanksgiving tradition,” while the rest were directed into the kitchen and given sharp utensils.

While most volunteers were too intimidated to boss them around, Myrna had no such reservations. She had Jace and Aggie peeling potatoes, Jessica putting ice in cups, and Trey spraying whipped topping onto pieces of pie. An entire flock of women watched him the entire time, probably because he got a lot of cream on his fingers and kept licking it off in a most Trey-like fashion.

Brian mostly followed Myrna around trying to talk her into taking it easy due to her pregnancy and insisting on lifting anything that weighed more than two ounces.

Eric looked around for something he could do.

“You can help me with the cinnamon rolls,” a familiar voice said behind him.

Eric’s heart was already pounding before he even turned around. Rebekah offered him a timid smile and lowered her gaze. She’d dyed her hair all one mousy brown color and was wearing a plain white blouse and trim black pants that accentuated the gentle flair of her hips. His eyes automatically went to her throat. Instead of the sapphire butterfly necklace he’d given her, she wore a slender silver chain. Her wrist was completely unadorned. He took her lack of jewelry as an obvious sign of rejection. She hated him. And she looked so abysmally normal and sedate. What had happened to the vibrant, quirky girl who’d captured his heart? Had that all been an act? Or was this girlnext-door persona an act?

“I don’t know how to make cinnamon rolls,” he admitted.

“But no one shakes spices like you do.” She glanced at her mother who was staring at her with stern disapproval.

“I do have good wrist action,” Eric said and simulated jacking off vigorously.

Rebekah laughed, her eyes lighting up with delight. Mrs. B cleared her throat, and Rebekah’s smile faded. “Do you want to help?” she asked the middle of Eric’s chest.

“Sure.”

Eric followed Rebekah to a large mixer. Isaac, who was mixing one hell of a huge ball of dough, smiled warmly at Rebekah. “It’s almost ready, angel.”

Eric closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. The man just had to breathe and it pissed him off.

“What are you doing here?” Isaac asked Eric.

“Helping the less fortunate,” Eric said, forcing himself to meet Isaac’s displeased gaze.

“Which would be me,” Rebekah said. “I need help sprinkling the cinnamon.”

“I was going to help you with that,” Isaac said. He dumped the mountain of dough onto the silver countertop that had a coating of flour over its surface.

“I think my dad needs help carving turkeys.”

Isaac located Father Blake carving one of dozens of turkeys.

“Looks like it.” When Isaac turned to walk away, Eric almost cheered.

He’d never been happier to be considered inept with a knife. There would be no turkey carving in his immediate future.

Rebekah handed Eric a big silver shaker. “I’ll let you know when to start shaking,” she said.

Truthfully, he was already shaking. He wanted to draw her into his arms so badly he had to grip the shaker with both hands to control the impulse. He watched her roll out the dough with a big wooden pin.

“How have you been?” she asked, concentrating on her task. She was probably avoiding looking at him.

“Okay. You?”

“Okay.”

She rolled the dough into a big rectangle. An awkward silence stretched between them. She reached for a tub of softened butter and spread it over the dough with her hands. He was imagining buttering up her breasts until they were slippery, pressing the succulent globes together, and sliding his cock…

“Eric?”

Rebekah’s inquiry pulled him out of his delicious fantasy. A fantasy he could have made a reality less than a week ago. “Huh?”

“You can start shaking the cinnamon and sugar now.”

“Okay,” he said breathlessly.

He moved to stand beside her. She worked her way down the dough, still spreading it with a thick layer of melty, slippery butter, and he followed, shaking the cinnamon and sugar mixture over the butter. He was soon lost in fantasyland again. Rebekah was rubbing that butter all over her breasts, her nipples standing erect and begging to be licked. Instead of shaking sweet powder over the dough, he was stroking his cock and spurting cum all over her chest. His attention riveted to her chest.

The first signs of her arousal produced two small bumps on the front of her blouse. He was showing off his own arousal as a bulge in his pants. They had both stopped working and were staring at each other’s hard evidence.

“What are you thinking about?” she whispered.

“Watching you spread butter on your breasts until they’re all slippery, while I jack off and come all over your tits,” he whispered back.

“I want it in my mouth,” she whispered.

Eric groaned. It wasn’t nice to tease him like that. Wasn’t she going to marry Isaac? He opened his mouth to ask her just that when Mrs. B appeared on Rebekah’s opposite side.

“Are you two about finished?” Mrs. B said. “We’ve got to get those in the oven.”

Mrs. B helped herself to Rebekah’s butter and spread it over the dough. Eric’s erection withered to nothingness. He was no longer entertaining fantasies of slippery breasts.

“I’ve got it, Mom,” Rebekah said, spreading butter faster now.

Eric shook his shaker more vigorously to coat the buttered dough.

“Go get the baking sheet,” Mrs. B said to Rebekah.

Rebekah glanced at Eric and then went to retrieve a baking sheet, her buttery hands in the air.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Mrs. B said to Eric as soon as Rebekah was out of earshot. “Trying to interfere with her relationship with Isaac. It won’t work. She will marry that young man, and you will not mess things up.”

Wow, this woman hated him. It wasn’t the first time someone had hated Eric, but it didn’t usually bother him this much.

“Why are you busting my balls, lady?”

Mrs. B made a sound of exasperation. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you any manners?”

“No, actually, she deserted me when I was four years old.”

“I can understand why,” Mrs. B huffed.

Eric set his jaw in a harsh line and dropped the shaker on the counter. He felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. He didn’t often think about the mother who had left him behind. He sure as hell didn’t agonize over his situation or let it bother him, but that… that hurt. Stomach in knots, heart aching, eyes stinging, Eric turned and strode away before he called Rebekah’s mother a fucking bitch to her face.

“What did you say to him?” he heard Rebekah ask her mother as she returned with the baking sheet.

“Nothing,” Mrs. B said in a saccharine sweet voice. “Isaac,” she called. “Would you mind helping Rebekah cut the dough into strips?

She was never any good at it.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. B,” Isaac said eagerly.

Aggie snagged Eric around the waist as he stalked by. “We could use some help,” she said. Eric found himself wedged between Jace and Aggie. They continued to peel potatoes. Eric stood there and gulped air.

“You okay?” Jace asked.

“I was until Mrs. Bitch showed up.”

Jace sniggered. “She makes a guy miss his mama not at all.”

“I think she’s even worse than my mother,” Aggie said, “and that’s saying something.”

“She gets along with Isaac just fine. She just hates me.”

Aggie bumped Eric’s leg with her hip. “She just doesn’t know you, doll. If she got to know you—”

“She’d hate me even more. Maybe I should get a haircut and wear something nice and be more careful about what I say and—”

“Don’t go there, dude,” Jace said.

“Who cares what Mrs. Blake thinks about you?” Aggie said.

“Rebekah loves you. What her mother thinks doesn’t matter.”

The three turned to watch Mrs. B chatter animatedly with Isaac, who was cutting dough into strips, while Rebekah coiled them and placed them on the baking sheet. Rebekah glanced at Eric and offered him a miserable smile before turning her attention back to her dough arranging.

“Rebekah would obviously rather be over here with you,” Aggie said.

“Yeah? So what’s stopping her?”

Aggie shoved the pot of peeled potatoes into Eric’s chest. “Go rinse these in the sink over there, and bring them back so we can cut them up.”

Eric did as he was told. While he was washing the potatoes, Rebekah appeared at his side. “Do you mind if I wash my hands?”

she asked. She held her greasy fingers up for inspection. “I’m all buttery.”

Eric stepped aside. “Go right ahead.”

“Did my mother say something to you?” she asked as she scrubbed her hands with dish soap.

“No.”

She sighed heavily. “Liar.”

She rinsed her hands and was gone before he could find his tongue. He was starting to wish he’d never come. The heartache wasn’t worth viewing Rebekah from afar.

Eric did his best to avoid Rebekah and crew while they were in the kitchen. When it came time to serve, he found himself in charge of serving mashed potatoes. Rebekah was to his right with the gravy, and Isaac to his left with the stuffing. Hell. On. Earth.

What made it worse was that Trey was at the end of the line.

Being the social creature that he was, he kept slowing up the line as he chatted with and teased every person who wanted dessert. And everyone wanted dessert when Trey Mills was offering it.

“Can I get some extra stuffing?” a legless man in a wheelchair asked Isaac as they waited for the line to start moving again.

“Of course. Just don’t tell my boss,” Isaac said and scooped more stuffing onto the man’s plate.

“You can have extra potatoes too, if you want,” Eric said.

“I would like more potatoes. Thanks.”

Eric added potatoes to his plate.

“The stuffing is excellent,” Isaac said and scooped more onto the man’s plate.

“But not as good as the potatoes,” Eric insisted and added to the heap already on his plate.

The man looked relieved when the line started moving, and he could get some gravy for his mountains of stuffing and mashed potatoes.

Isaac scooped larger and larger servings of stuffing onto each plate. Not to be one-upped by a twerp, Eric made sure each person’s serving of potatoes was larger than their pile of stuffing.

“What are you trying to prove, rock star?” Isaac growled out of the corner of his mouth.

“Not a thing, doc.”

Rebekah shook her head. “Will you two take it easy? We’re going to run out of food. I know you’re both generous, but—”

“I’m way more generous than he is,” Isaac said.

“Not!” Eric added.

The news crew flitted about, zooming in on the band members as they served people they would never encounter on a regular day.

Despite Isaac’s constant presence as a thorn in his side, Eric started to remember why he was there in the first place.

It wasn’t to ogle Rebekah. It wasn’t to wonder if he’d ever win over Mrs. B. It wasn’t for good publicity. It wasn’t even to hang out with his best friends. It was to make a small difference in a stranger’s life. Instead of stuffing visitors with potatoes, he shifted his focus to talking to them while they waited for Trey to stop yakking at the end of the line.

When a mother with two young daughters made their way through the line, Eric’s heart melted. The two girls stared at him with wide eyes, uncertain what to make of the tall, thin guy with the crazy hair.

“How come your hair is blue right there?” one of the girls asked.

Eric estimated her to be about seven.

“I wanted it to match your eyes.”

“Mah eyes is brown.”

He leaned over the counter for a better look. “I guess they are.

Should I change the color to brown then?”

She shook her head. “I like blue. I never saw blue hair afore.”

“Don’t frequent West Hollywood much then, do you?”

Rebekah snorted.

Her younger sister stared at him, but was apparently too shy or too scared to initiate conversation. “Do you like blue too?” Eric asked.

She nodded.

“It’s about time for me to change colors again. What color do you think I should do next?”

“Purple!” the older girl said.

The younger nodded again.

“Purple?” Eric pretended to be perplexed. “Isn’t that a girl color?”

“No, pink is a girl color,” the girl insisted. “Boys can have purple.”

“Alright, purple it is. I trust you wouldn’t steer me wrong and make my hair a girl color.”

The younger girl laughed. “Pink. Pink. You should have pink hair!”

“Now I know you’re trying to make me look silly.”

“You’ve already succeeded in that on your own,” Isaac mumbled.

Eric refused to take his bait.

The mother offered Isaac a scathing look and then smiled at Eric. “Thank you,” she said quietly and helped her girls push their trays further down the line. Eric caught Rebekah smiling sadly as she offered gravy to the two little girls. He placed a gentle hand in the center of Rebekah’s back, and she leaned against his arm. When she looked up, his throat closed off, and all he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss her.

“Yo, Eric,” Sed called from the beginning of the chow line.

“Gather the rest of the guys and come down here for an interview.”

Eric knew Sed could do a fine job with the interview on his own, but he did his bidding anyway. Something about Sed made Eric always want to do his bidding. “Bring Dave with you. And Rebekah too.” Especially when Sed made requests such as those.

Eric gathered his bandmates and Dave. They went to sit at one of the picnic tables. Trey sat on the table with his feet on the bench, while the rest lined up in a row. Dave maneuvered his wheelchair into the space at the end of the table next to Sed. The only one not present was Rebekah. Eric made a return trip to retrieve her.

“Sed wants us all to have an interview with the news crew.”

“Why me?”

Eric shrugged. “I dunno. He specifically requested you join us though.”

She handed her gravy ladle to a volunteer and wiped her hands on her black pants. Eric noticed the flour handprints on her ass and wondered if they belonged to Isaac. He wished he could say that they belonged to him.

“Where are you going?” Isaac asked.

“I’ll be back,” she assured him and headed toward the group.

Eric hung behind her so he didn’t take her hand. He sure wanted to hold it, but that would bring Mrs. B running for sure.

“Okay, everyone’s here now. You can start,” Sed said to the reporter.

The reporter spoke into her microphone, “It’s been awhile since you gave an update on the state of the band. It’s obvious that Trey’s hands are better.” Trey wriggled his fingers to demonstrate. “But how’s your voice, Sedric?”

“Perfectly fine,” he said.

Which wasn’t exactly true. His throat specialist harped on him constantly about screaming in live shows. He was getting better at keeping his volume down and allowing the soundboard operator to increase it electronically. Rebekah made a lot of adjustments for him. Eric glanced at her. She looked a bit shell-shocked to be sitting amongst them in an interview.

“A lot of fans were upset when the new single had less of your signature screaming and more singing. Was singing a decision or necessity?”

A little of both, but Sed chose to sugarcoat it.

“Well, as a band we wanted the new album to show our growth as musicians,” Sed said. “When I first started out, I screamed because that’s what I knew how to do best. As my singing voice evolved, I wanted to sing more, but the fans have come to expect screaming.”

“We’re taking a lot of chances on this album,” Brian said. “We hope our fans stand beside us as we stretch our creativity to its limits.”

“So there are more surprises in store for fans?” the reporter asked.

“You might say that,” Eric said.

“You’re the main composer, right?” the reporter asked Eric.

“More of an arranger,” Eric said. “Brian writes the guitar music.

Sed writes most of the lyrics. I pick out the pieces that work well together and arrange them into songs. Then I add drum tracks, and on this album, Jace worked out the bass lines.”

“What does Trey do?”

“I just look pretty for the camera,” Trey said.

Everyone laughed.

“You don’t compose at all?” the reporter pressed.

“Brian writes the guitar music,” Trey reiterated. “No way could I ever come up with the amazing stuff he composes. I’m just along for the ride.”

“Trey has written the lyrics for a couple songs,” Sed entered.

“I did write ‘Goodbye Is Not Forever,’ our only ballad,” Trey said. “And I wrote one of the new songs.”

“‘Sever’?”

“No, Sed wrote that one. We’re not finished recording yet. My song might not end up on the album, so I don’t want to say much about it.”

“It will end up on the album,” Sed said. He squeezed Trey’s forearm, and some connection between them solidified.

Eric decided it had something to do with Trey’s addiction to painkillers and Sed’s involvement in getting him off them.

“What’s it called?” the reporter asked. Eric could tell she was hanging on Trey’s every word.

“‘Fall.’”

“Like the season?”

Trey shook his head and stared at his hands, which clutched the fabric of his jeans.

Sed patted him on the back. “It’s a great song,” Sed said.

Trey smiled a little but didn’t raise his head. The reporter seemed to realize she should change the subject.

“You’ve added a couple new instruments to the mix too. Will you play violin on the album, Sed?”

“I mostly used the violin to fill in for my screaming when my throat was injured, but yeah, there are a couple songs where I use the violin on purpose.” Sed chuckled.

“Can’t wait to hear that. The piano piece sounds amazing on

‘Sever.’ Did you write that, Jace?”

Jace flushed and shook his head. “It was originally one of Brian’s guitar solos. Eric modified it into piano music.”

Eric caught Rebekah staring at him with something that might have been adulation. He wasn’t sure what had brought it on all of a sudden.

“So when can we expect the new album to hit the shelves?”

“This spring. We still have some tour dates to make up in January, and then we’ll hit the studio hard and heavy in February.

After that, we’ll take a little break and start a tour next summer to promote the new album.”

“Sounds busy.”

Sed chuckled. “We’re always busy.”

“And we’re all happy about that.” The reporter turned to Dave.

“You’re the soundboard operator who was injured in the bus crash in Canada, right?”

“Yeah. David Blake. I’ve been working with Sinners for several years now.”

“Are you still part of the crew?”

“No, I—”

“Yes,” Sed interrupted. “That’s why I called you over here. We want you to come on the road with us in January, if you’re up for it.”

Dave smiled. “Yeah, of course. Sinners is the greatest bunch of musicians I’ve ever worked with. They’re just… great.” The tears in Dave’s eyes were unmistakable. “They’ve given me hope. They also gave up their Thanksgiving to be here and help at the shelter.”

“Myrna said she’d cook for us all tomorrow,” Brian said. “It’s no big deal.”

Dave shook his head. “You’re all coming over to my house for dinner tonight. Mom is a wonderful cook, and she always makes enough for fifteen people.”

“We couldn’t possibly impose,” Sed said. His stomach growled a protest, and he covered his belly with one hand.

“It’s not imposing. I want you to come. I’m sure the folks would be more than happy for you to join us, right, Reb?”

Rebekah started. She’d been staring at her hands clenched in her lap. “What?”

“I just invited the guys over for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“You should probably ask Mom,” Rebekah said.

“Ask Mom what?” Mrs. B said.

“The band’s coming over for dinner tonight,” Dave said.

Mrs. B’s jaw dropped.

“Please, Mom. They let me keep my job. Even though I’m stuck in this wheelchair.”

Mrs. B smiled gently and smoothed Dave’s hair with one hand.

“Of course they can come. It’s the least we can do to repay them for that smile on your face, David.”

Dave’s smile widened. “Awesome! We have dinner late,” he told them. “Around eight.”

“I guess I better head home and get the turkey in the oven then,” Mrs. B said.

Which would finally get Rebekah out of her ever-watchful eye, and maybe Eric could get her alone so they could talk. She was obviously torn up about Dave replacing her as soundboard operator. Even if she solidified his fears that their relationship was over, at least it was better than being ignored and wondering if they’d ever make amends.

Rebekah glanced up and met Eric’s eyes. She looked like she wanted to talk too. Even though she hadn’t answered his calls, he still hadn’t given up hope. Maybe, if he could get her to listen to him, she’d give him a second chance.

“Rebekah, grab Isaac and your father, and meet me at the car,” Mrs. B said. “I’m going to need lots of help.”

“We could all help,” Eric offered.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mrs. B said. She grabbed the back of Dave’s chair and directed him toward the exit.

“Did you have any more questions?” Sed asked the reporter.

“Thousands,” the reporter insisted.

Eric watched Rebekah and Isaac leave the kitchen. He tried to pay attention to the rest of the interview, but it was hard when his thoughts were following the woman he loved out the door.