Home > Franco (Bright Side #3)(10)

Franco (Bright Side #3)(10)
Author: Kim Holden

I suspected he wasn't the fighting type by our brief interaction, but I needed to confirm. I look at Gemma. "What's his name? I feel bad not calling the dude by his name."

"Jeremy," she says. "In my mind at the moment, though, because I'm a selfish cow, I'm calling him Jeremy, the mood slayer."

"I don't know, Gem. You looked fucking hot in latex, down on all fours, scrubbing vomit from the carpet." I use my most convincing, sexy voice.

She counters with her sexy voice, which honestly isn't much different than her regular voice because the accent makes everything sound like she's trying to slay me. "Mmm... Vom is dead sexy. You can call me the filthy, domestic duty seductress."

I toss the trash in the dumpster and then turn to her, close my eyes and rumble out my best, over the top, porn-worthy moan. "I love it when you talk nauseatingly and literally dirty to me."

She keeps up the exchange, "Totes filthy." Until she can't and cracks a smile, which fades to sincerity. "I really am sorry, Franco."

Pulling her into a hug next to the dumpster, I kiss the side of her head. "Don't be sorry. You fed me the best stew I've ever eaten and let me touch your boobs."

Laughter bursts through her, and I feel her body vibrate against mine. "Shut up, naughty American boy."

I laugh with her because it's contagious and whisper in her ear, "Tomorrow night I've got band stuff, but can I take you out Sunday night? I'm not much of a cook, but I know a great burrito place, and I'll let you touch my boobs."

She pulls back from the hug and her eyebrows rise while she looks longingly at my chest before asking, "Promise?"

I nod solemnly before I give her a peck on the lips. "Go shower. You smell like someone puked a low-grade, skunky brewery on you."

"You're so romantic," she deadpans.

"To my core. And then some," I tease.

I don't miss the glance she steals at my midsection before she turns to make the journey back to her apartment. "See you Sunday night. I should be home by eight. Waiting to fondle your spectacular breasts."

"I've been working out. They're a solid seven on a scale of one to ten. I hope the anticipation keeps you up all night," I call back over my shoulder.

I hear her laugh. "A seven? I can't imagine that level of splendor, definitely not sleeping tonight."

"You're welcome," I yell because we're far enough apart now we're shouting to be heard.

"Sweet dreams, naughty American boy."

"Night, Gem."

Saturday, January 20

(Franco)

I woke up a little after five this morning and couldn't go back to sleep. So, I showered, and I'm sitting in my bedroom ready to go for the day, and it's only six o'clock. We don't have to be on the road to the studio until seven-thirty. Which gives me plenty of time to think.

And worry. I'm a quiet worrier like my dad—I blame him for the hereditary affliction. I tend to keep negative feelings tucked away behind my smile.

Today's significant. It's a day we all knew was coming, but refused to discuss. Sometimes when a situation is potentially explosive, it's best to leave it alone and deal with detonation at zero hour instead.

It's hard to think it was a year ago today that Kate died. Some days it feels like yesterday, and some days it feels much longer than a year—either way, it sucks. We all miss her. She was an unofficial, but integral, part of this band. Whether she was writing with Gus, or singing with us at practice, or cheering us on from the crowd or side stage at one of our gigs, she was part of us. We wouldn't be half the band we are if it weren't for her influence and inspiration. She pushed Gus, she pushed all of us, to be more creative, to play from the heart. I miss that.

And besides being crazy talented, she was one of the best people I've ever known. She would do anything for anyone, whether she knew them or not. And her sense of humor was off the charts. She left her mark on everyone, we're all better for having known her.

Today is a reminder of all that. The passage of time has healing powers, though. It can turn grief into gratitude. Giving thanks for knowing and loving a friend like Kate. The tattoo on my wrist is a reminder of her legacy and will be with me for the rest of my life. I look at it often, Do epic. Two little words that make me feel powerful.

Today I'll celebrate her. Jamie and Robbie will be with me.

It's Gus I'm worried about. This anniversary will mark the progress he's made. Or set him back like a sonofabitch. I'm scared to walk out of this room and find out which one.

I can hear his muffled voice through the wall. He's awake and talking on the phone. I can't make out words, but I would guess he's talking to his mom, Audrey. I'm sure she's celebrating Kate today, too. I'm glad she's the first person Gus is talking to today. If anyone can put you in a good mood, it's Audrey.

There's movement out in the hallway now, Jamie and Robbie must be up and around. I find them in the kitchen. Robbie is always quiet, but for the first hour or so he's awake he's zombie-like. I nod at him because speaking to him is like poking a bear with a sharp stick. He nods back, opens the fridge to pull out a Red Bull, and retreats with it to the bathroom to shower and rediscover his communication and social interaction skills.

"Morning, Franco," Jamie says when we're alone. There's a fragile look in his eyes, today is messing with him too. "You talk to Gus this morning? How is he?" He's not just wearing his heart on his sleeve, he's serving it up on a platter for the world to see. He's a good dude, who's just as worried as I am.

I shake my head. "Nope, haven't seen him yet."

He nods his concern and takes two English muffins out of the bag on the counter. The dude is addicted to English muffins and has two every morning, toasted with orange marmalade, no matter where we're at. He's like an eighty-five-year-old woman. When we travel, he brings his toaster for Christ's sake. "Want one?" he asks.

"Sure, why not. Let me in on this geriatric obsession."

The English muffin and orange marmalade is tasty, I can see the appeal now. We eat them while scrolling through the photos on our phones and sharing old pics of Kate. It's funny how many we have between the two of us. And in every single one, she's smiling like it's the best day of her fucking life. That's how she looked all the damn time. All smiles. And after trading shots for a few minutes, we're both smiling too. It's impossible not to. Her spirit is infectious.

   
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