Chapter Thirty

As the time for his and Haru's performance grew closer, Dev's adrenaline-fueled energy grew, just as it had always done before any gig. With the awareness zinging through his veins he couldn't keep himself to a walk, loping across Harrison House's lawn with a wave at Winnie Barrows, the last song in their set list—one of Haru's, which he'd never had a chance to perform with POV—rolling out in his head.

They'd open with "Wait for It," and Dev's chest warmed, his smile dawning. Casey's gonna love it. When they got to the last verse—

The screen door banged open and Nash stormed down the steps and directly into Dev's path.

"What the fuck, Dev?"

Dev skidded to a stop in the gravel before he barreled into him and knocked him on his ass. Not that the asshole doesn't deserve it.

Nash's face was a mask of fury and revulsion. Whoops. Guess he must have seen the new lineup.

But Nash Tambling had no power over him anymore. Not when Casey had proclaimed right to his uncle's face that they were together. Not when he'd found music again.

"Afternoon, Nash."

Dev tried to sidestep him, but Nash blocked his way. "What kind of fucking rig are you running here, Dev? Are you trying to screw with my head? You know I need my space before I go on stage."

Is that what you call finding somewhere to fuck a groupie? Asking for a former friend."You've got your own room, Nash. Go there."

"I would, but it's been defiled." He crossed his arms. "Your little boy-toy probably did it out of spite."

Dev kept his temper. Barely. "Casey is neither little, a boy, nor a toy, and he is the last person on earth who would ever be spiteful. Whatever's got your boxers in a bunch has nothing to do with him."

"No? Go upstairs then. Look at what he's done to my bed."

Dev really didn't want to waste time with Nash, not with the clock ticking down to his first public performance in almost two years, but he didn't want the asshole to take his beef—whatever it was—to Casey.

"Fine."

He took the stairs two at a time, Nash stomping along behind him, and stepped into the bedroom. It smelled of Nash's Tom Ford cologne with an undertone of weed. Nash shoved past him and struck an overdramatic pose, one hand on his hip and the other pointing at the pillows on his unmade bed.

"There! Are you trying to tell me that's not a pointed attack on me, a blatant attempt to scare away the competition?"

"Competition for what?" Dev murmured as he moved closer. If the pillows held what he thought they did… Yup. "Mouse tails."

"What?" Nash's face could double for the vomit emoji. "He cut the tails off mice just to punk me?"

"For fuck's sake, Nash. Casey didn't do this. It was—"

"Hey, Nash. Oh, hi Dev. Didn't expect to see you up here." Owen beamed at them from the doorway, a smug and purring Randolph Scott in his arms. "Look who decided to visit us."

Dev jerked a thumb at the cat. "There's your culprit. And you're right about one thing. It's definitely a pointed attack."

"A cat? You let your cat in my room?"

"First, he's not my cat. Second, he goes where he wants and nobody's figured out how to stop him yet. Third"—he pointed to the pillows—"he doesn't like you."

"What are you talking about?"

Dev shrugged. "Well, he had three dead mice, and he didn't even give you one. That definitely sends a message."

Nash's expression hardened. "You need to get rid of that animal. Shoot him, drown him, whatever, but get him away from me."

"Aw, Nash," Owen said, "don't go all Miss Gulch on us." He nuzzled the top of Randolph Scott's furry head. "He's just doing what cats do. You can't blame him for that."

"Maybe not." Nash turned to face Dev. "But I can blame you. If this is how you treat your guests—"

"Hold up." Dev folded his arms and drew himself up, emphasizing the four inches in height he had over Nash, something that always stuck in Nash's craw. "I didn't invite you. You demanded room and board as part of your fee. You've been here before, Nash. You know what Harrison House is like. If you didn't approve of the accommodations, you could have stayed in town."

"I expect that would have ruined his plans."

All of them—Dev, Nash, Owen, even Randolph Scott—turned at the terse comment.

Haru stood on the balcony, clearly just emerged from his room, since he held his guitar case and his hair still looked damp from a shower.

"Plans?" Owen glanced from Nash to Haru. "What plans?"

Haru advanced, although he stopped at the head of the stairs rather than joining the crowd in the bedroom.

"His plan to replace the replacement." His smile was thin. "We go on in thirty, Dev. I'll meet you by the stage." He walked down the stairs, his back straight and his tread measured. Randolph Scott mewed and pushed out of Owen's arms to scamper after him.

Owen peered down the stairs and then back at Dev and Nash. "What just happened?"

"What did he mean, you're on in thirty?" Nash demanded.

Casey stepped onto the lower landing, a grim-faced Haru on the tread below him, Randolph Scott cradled in his arms. "Manchester Blues is finishing up, Dev. It won't take long to set up for you and Haru, but if you need more time"—his gaze took in Nash's furious face, Owen's bewildered one, and Dev's, which, considering the annoyance spiking his insides probably looked like a thunderhead—"to, um, prepare, we can probably call a break."

Dev edged past Owen. If he were honest with himself, he'd have liked a few minutes, preferably alone with Casey in his arms, to reset his mood. But he'd performed under worse conditions. Hell, he'd performed with Nash for years.

"If Haru's ready, I'm ready."

"I can't believe this!" Nash stormed after Dev and caught his arm at the top of the stairs. "If you perform with anybody, it should be me."

Dev raised an eyebrow. "Don't you mean with Persistence of Vision?"

"Isn't that what I just said?"

"Dude," Owen said. "Seriously?"

Nash glared down at Haru. "And you. If you perform with him, I'll… I'll sue. You have a contract."

"Actually," Haru said, "I don't. I'm just the replacement, remember? You pay me like a session musician."

"Dude. Seriously? What the hell?" Owen punched Nash in the biceps. "Harry's been part of the band since… since… well, since Dev."

Haru's smile was crooked. "That's where you're wrong, Owen. I was never part of the band. I was just there to stand in for Dev until Nash finished sulking and made a play to get him back."

"I don't sulk," Nash said.

Casey lifted both eyebrows. "Really? That's what you took away from that statement?"

Haru's smile turned more genuine as he faced Casey. "Guess that's because he can't say any of the rest of it was false."

"Or else," Casey said, "he's just a self-centered jerkface who can't believe everything's not about him. Trust me. I know the type."

"Shut the fuck up," Nash snarled. "You're nothing. Both of you. You"—he jabbed his finger at Haru—"can forget about POV because you'll never play with us again. And you?" He crossed his arms and smirked down at Casey. "Dev will drop you in a heartbeat now that I'm back."

"Funny thing about that," Owen said, brow wrinkled in thought. "You're back. But Dev didn't drop Casey. Also, how are we gonna play our gig tonight without Harry? I mean, Haru."

Nash shot him an irritated glance. "Dev will step in, of course."

"No, I won't." Dev shook off Nash's grip and stepped down onto the first stair tread. "And if you don't stop being such an entitled dickwad, I'll take back the rights to the POV songs. You won't have anything to play."

Nash gaped at him. "You… You can't. They're our songs."

"No, they're not. I wrote them for the band, yes, but I wrote them. Not you. They're copyrighted under my name, but I never insisted on rights or royalties because I considered that I owed it to Owen and Eli not to fuck up their careers. POV is not only you. And it wasn't only me, either. But threaten Haru, threaten to walk on this gig when POV is the headliner, and I'll take 'em back in a hot minute. Your choice." He strode down the stairs, stopping on the landing to give Casey a kiss. He grinned at Haru. "Ready to do this?"

Haru nodded. "Absolutely."

"Hey, guys?" Owen leaned over the banister, a hopeful grin on his round face. "Need a drummer?"

Dev laughed. "Not this time. But we'll talk."

He and Haru descended the rest of the stairs and walked out the door. As they crunched down the driveway toward West Road and the path the performers took to the rear of the stage, Dev cast a sidelong glance at Haru.

"You okay?"

Haru took a moment, gazing up at the trees overhanging the road; at Madame Ivanova's empty house and studio, set back among a stand of maples, its green shutters barred; at the glint of water in the millpond behind Kenny's place.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am."

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. If Dev had to peg his expression, he'd call it… peaceful. Contented. Dev should recognize the look by now—he'd seen it in the mirror every day since that picnic at the quarry.

Dev grinned. "Then what do you say we rock and roll?"

Haru grinned back. "You're on."