Page 13 of A Daddy for Christmas 3: Matty

I spent a lot of time on that flight home crying. And hating myself for crying. That might have been the breakup. Maybe my stay was simply to say goodbye. Or I was being ridiculous. It didn’t matter, and it didn’t stop the tears.

Chapter five

Drake – Miami

Matty’s phone call made me fucking late. Ugh. The guys were waiting for me in the van Jinx had rented for our use while we were here. The Midnight Hunt guys were doing so much for us, the God-damned least I could do was be on time. But no. Matty wanted to wish me luck, and his last-minute call took me too long to hang up. That man did that to me every single time. He turned my brain into mush and my dick into a steel fucking rod.

“Hurry the fuck up, man.” Finn tossed his head back, long blond hair falling around his head, while Gonzo silently slid over and patted the seat next to him.

I sat by our big drummer and glared at Finn, daring him to give me any more shit.

Which was all he needed to encourage him. “Actually, I don’t think you even lasted fifteen minutes…so much for sexy time…”

Gonzo snorted, and I elbowed him while simultaneously flipping off Finn.

“Knock it off, ladies,” Tank grumped. “This is an important day. I’m sure Drake needed to share it with Matty.”

“Oh, he shared something with Matty, I’m sure.” Finn couldn’t help himself; he was a joker at heart, but this wasn’t helping my frustration with myboyfriendwho was still in Vegas. Since we’d left, he’d called me all the fucking time, always very positive and upbeat, but never stopped asking when he could come out to Miami. And I didn’t exactly want him here. We hadn’t been exclusive until I came out here, but Matty’d always acted like we were since the beginning. I thought it was his way of making me feel special when we were together, now I wasn’t so sure. I’d been thinking about our relationship for months, especially while we were apart. I wanted to be more, but I didn’t know how everything would work, and now I didn’t know what the hell Matty expected from me. And I sure as hell didn’t know if I could give it to him.

I contemplated the situation on the way to the studio while Finn picked a different target. Poor Tank. Our quiet bassist always took the ribbing in stride. We all did. It was just how we rolled.

The van pulled up to the studio’s security gate. After the driver punched in the code, it opened wide, letting us enter the world of Midnight Hunt. Whatever I’d been expecting, I was wrong. It seemed ordinary. Hell, it could have been an auto repair shop or a warehouse or something, just a long white squat-body building. But when we entered the front door, that’s where it changed. We couldn’t see inside through the heavily tinted windows, but they hid a large reception and lounge area, and behind that there was a break room with a kitchenette. That’s where Cat was waiting for us.

Cat McPherson was a legendary producer. A goddess behind the mixing board. We were honored to be working with her and Wolf on this project. “Hey, guys. Come in here. Grab some coffee or water or something.” She waved to the fridge and the longcounter beside it, where a coffee maker brewed some caffeine elixir. “Make yourselves at home. I’m Cat.”

“Oh, we know. Nice to meet you for sure.” Finn flashed his flirty face.

She snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “You must be Finley Linville.”

“You’ve heard. Yes.”

She smiled and shook her head. “More like warned. And so you know, I’m not putting up with any bullshit from you.” Her words were hard but delivered with a sweetness that we couldn’t be mad at, especially when Gonzo snorted loudly.

“She’s got your number, Finn. We’ll try to keep him in line. I’m Gonzo.”

“Nice to meet you.” She shook Gonzo’s hand. “Michael Reynolds, right?” She looked at him sideways as if she wasn’t sure. I suspected she knew precisely.

But Gonzo smiled and nodded. “I prefer Gonzo.”

“Noted. And that leaves Drake Puckett and James Clifford.” She pointed at me, then at Tank.

“Just Tank, please.” He shook her hand.

“Got it. And Drake? You have a nickname?”

“Nope. Just Drake.”

“Alright then. Now that all of that bullshit’s out of the way…” She picked up a clipboard from the counter. “We want to start off by warming up on, uh…” she looked over her notes. “Frontman. Wolf noted that one has potential. Let me show you where we make the magic, boys.”

She led us to the hallway, pointing out the conference room, then ushering us into the actual studio. It was what I imagined with two areas partitioned off by glass. One side for the musicians to play, and the other for the producers to record and direct and whatever else the fuck they did. What was different or unusual, at least to me, and not that I had any experience, butthe musician side was large. Enough to put our entire band and a few more people as well. There were instruments hung on the walls and a full drum set kitted out near the back. All of it sat on a plush carpet.

“Where’s Wolf?” Tank asked, eyeing a pretty red bass.

“They have a special show out in Vegas.”

“That’s ironic as fuck.” Finn huffed and opened up his guitar case. “I can use my own, right?”

“Of course.” Cat waved a hand toward the various equipment around the room. “Or help yourselves. This is about being creative.”