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I went to my uncle first, since he took longer to wake up. Dumping the water on him, I nudged him with my foot. “Up. Before I get the ice.”

He groaned, rolling onto his side, but didn’t immediately wake up.

Moving on to my dad, I dumped the second bucket out over him. He gasped and spluttered, sitting up quickly. “Wha– What?”

“You two make terrible lawn ornaments,” I commented dryly.

He looked up at me, his eyes narrowed like he was trying to figure out who I was. Once he was awake enough to figure it out, he beamed at me.

“Hendrix, my boy! I didn't know you were coming for a visit.”

I shook my head with a smirk. “I was in the neighborhood. I hope you didn’t forget your guitar at the bar this time.”

He flapped his hand dismissively. “Don’t gotta worry about that no more. Me and Bob made a deal. I can keep my guitar stored there as long as I don’t play any more songs about your mama. He said I was depressing the crowd.”

My mom, the smart woman that she was, left my dad when I was still a baby. She naively thought he’d straighten his act to spend more time with his kid, but no such luck. I was raised mostly by her while Dad wallowed and wrote songs about lost love to ease the pain. She loved him enough that she’d probably have taken him back if he at least put in the effort, but Dad was a free spirit at heart. He loved music more than he loved her. It was a shame, but she remarried right after the integration and she was happier for it.

“You need a new muse, old man. You’re going to lose your fans if you don’t move on.”

“Psh. I’ve been playing these parts since before you were born. My fans are die hard. I’m not losing nuthin’.”

Another groan behind us signaled my uncle finally waking his ass up. Good. He was heavy, and I didn’t want to hurt myself by dragging him inside.

Despite the trouble he caused, I loved my dad. I really did. He taught me about music and used to sneak me into the human realm when I was just a kid, using expensive glamours to make us look human so we could watch bands together. When he wasn’t drinking, he was a fun guy, and I loved playing music with him when I came to visit. As long as the visits were short. Taking care of him got tiring after a while. He was also the reason I very rarely drank and never had more than two drinks a night.

“Come on. Let’s go inside. I’m sure you’ve got hangover cures in the bathroom.”

Dad took my hand when I offered it, getting to his feet. When he was balanced, he pulled me in for a hug, slapping my back hard. “I missed you, kid. We gotta jam sometime soon.”

“We can do that. At your place, though. Ruby says you’re not allowed in the apartment.”

He wasn’t even offended, chuckling as he went to nudge Uncle Marley again. “Can’t say I blame her. Come on Mars. Get your ass up.” He looked over his shoulder at me while hauling my uncle off the ground. “You finally got under that skirt, then?”

I made a face. “Ew. Don’t say it like that. And no. Ruby and I are just friends. I don’t hook up with my bandmates.”

And even if I did, I wouldn’t step on Laz’s toes like that. I wasn’t a douche. Besides, I wanted something new. Something exciting. It’d been a while since I was truly excited about something. I didn't know what I was looking for yet, but I’d figure it out once I found it.

CHAPTER FOUR

ARTHUR

I hadto wonder at what point this obsession moved from fanatic to borderline pathetic. I was probably toeing the line, if not completely on the other side by now. The Children of Myth wasn’t a big enough band to have people following them around. But here I was, at my tenth official show, my eyes glued to the stage as Hendrix belted out the final notes of the song. I had most of them memorized at this point. If they were online, I would’ve downloaded them by now. Even Sophie noticed me humming their songs on the weekends. Not well, I couldn’t actually hold a tune, but she thought it was funny. I was just glad she wasn’t close enough with her mom to confide in her. I didn’t need Val to know I came here every week.

When Hendrix smiled and thanked the crowd, I swallowed down my disappointment. He couldn’t play all night just because I was obsessed with the sound of his voice. I just wish they had a CD or something to tide me over until next week.

“You know, I see you here a lot. Big fan of the band?”

Startled, I whipped my attention off the stage to where the bartender was watching me. Other than taking my order and checking if I needed a refill, she never really looked my way before. Or so I thought. Apparently, she recognized how pathetic I was.

“I–I–”

The band cleared off the stage, and my stomach flipped over. My mind told me to leave to avoid the bartender’s questions, but my body refused to move. Hendrix almost always came out here at the end of the night. He didn’t drink much, usually asking for a soda while his bandmates got beers. It was creepy that I knew that, right? I needed to go.

I was pushing out of my seat, ready to bolt, when a familiar alluring voice made me freeze.

“Maya! You haven’t sent us a song list yet.”

The bartender’s gaze swung away from me to where Hendrix and the band were walking up. She raised an eyebrow at Hendrix.