“Damien’s parents were approached by a car company. They want permission to use a song for a commercial.”
“Did you tell them no?” It wasn’t much of a question. Damien hated hearing songs he loved being used to sell things, and the rights to Sinner’s Gin’s songs were solely Miki’s. Every few months, the Mitchells pushed to break his hold, and he shoved back… hard. Fighting with Damien’s parents seemed to be all he had left.
“I did. Their lawyer threatened to sue again to gain control of Sinner’s Gin’s catalogue.”
“Last time they did that, they ended up paying the court costs. Why do they keep doing this? We all have enough money. Damien didn’t want that shit. Why do they keep pushing?”
The tennis ball suddenly appeared in Miki’s outstretched hand with a wet thump. The dog was off the couch in an instant, wagging his stump of a tail as hard as he could. He encouraged Miki to throw the ball with a sharp bark and scrambled after it when Miki whipped the stained tennis ball down the length of the warehouse.
“I don’t know, honey,” Edie said in a soft whisper. Her Minnesota cadence rolled over him, and Miki rested his forehead against his pulled-up knees.
“You know I don’t care, yeah?” He fought a brief struggle with the sniffles, and tears filled his eyes. The ball reappeared at his feet, and Miki picked it up and carelessly tossed it over the shoulder for the dog to chase. “I don’t care if they sell everything we ever made to a pork rind company. I don’t give a shit, but Damien… he did. Why can’t they understand that? Why can’t they see that? Why the fuck can’t they just leave me alone?”
“We’ll let the lawyers handle it, kiddo,” she reassured him. “I can’t not tell you about these things, Miki. I have an obligation to tell you. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know. Thanks, Edie. It’s… not you. It’s them,” Miki grumbled. “Let the lawyers deal with them. I’m not going to get into it. I’m too… tired for their shit.”
“You getting out more?” She slid her concern into the conversation as skillfully as Johnny had de-panned his famous jalape?o eggs. Like the eggs, Edie’s concern burned through Miki, and he blinked, hating his eyes for watering.
“I went for a walk yesterday.” He didn’t tell her it was to the liquor store to get bread and whiskey. The delivery truck had been in short supply of both, and he wanted a sandwich. He’d fallen asleep before he could get into the whiskey.
“Is the dog still with you?”
“He hasn’t moved out yet. Might have to raise the rent.” Miki glanced around. The tennis ball was sitting by the doggie flap he had a handyman put into the door to the garage. “Looks like he went out for a minute. Want me to tell him to call you back?”
“It’s good you have him. At least he’s company.” Edie laughed. “Name him yet?”
“He’s not my dog. He just lives here.” He snorted.
“You feed him.”
“Seems like the thing to do. I’d have to feed you if you came up here.”
“Would you let me in, Miki?” Edie asked softly. “If I came up there?”
He closed his eyes, but the past flooded him. Memories of Edie haranguing the band, coddling Damien when he was hungover, and the soft voice she used to coax Miki out of his antisocial shell before an interview. She’d been as much of a mother to him as Damien’s mom had been, and Miki hated that he couldn’t trust the feelings lingering inside of him. The Mitchells turning on him hurt. He cared too much for Edie to shut her out.
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “Yes?”
The older woman sighed, “I’m here for you, Miki. If and when you let me, okay?”
“Okay.” He disconnected the call and lay still under the quilts. Edie’s warmth touched the cold inside of him, and he dozed, cradled in the cocoon he’d made for himself.
Chapter 2
You act like I’m the only sinner you know.
And say I’m someone who sets your skin on fire.
But I know different, little girl.
I know other men who’d call you a liar.
—Empty Promises
THE damned dog was back.
He never seemed to be there when Kane opened his studio, but it was like the dog had radar. He showed up solely to haunt the shop Kane leased from the art co-op.
But then so did the man who owned the damned thing. Well, at least he haunted Kane’s mind.
Something about the younger man tugged at Kane’s guts. His green-gold eyes were enormous, with a faint slant to them, ringed black with heavy lashes, and there was a heated challenge in them that taunted Kane and pulled him in. Fuck with me and I’ll tear you a new asshole, that hazel glare said, but the simmer did nothing to hide the anguish lingering there.