Avenging Us - Gina Whitney Page 0,21

home was safe from prying eyes. Well, as safe as hired security could make it. I almost forgot what it was like to be out with him in public. The mayhem that surrounded him. I don’t know how he’d become so well-adjusted. Ha. Abel and well-adjusted really have no business being in the same sentence.

“What’s so funny, Beauty?” he asked, forcing a smile. And that pained me. Here I sit, being consumed by my own thoughts. I’d never considered it—what he was feeling. How this affected him… I would be blind to think this had no impact on him or his life whatsoever.

“I was just thinking how well-adjusted you are.”

“Pfft,” he muttered. “You mean maladjusted don’t you?”

Sometimes I forgot how witty he could be. We needed some downtime. And the Fourth of July party couldn’t come at a better time.

He hadn’t a clue of how I or others viewed him. Sure, he had his addiction and shortcomings. But he was something a lot more to me. “You are my rock. Do you know what that means? It means you protect me. A redeemer or protector. Your words are always with the intent to uplift, encourage, and please me. There is never self-pity, complaining, envy, or anything selfish about you—at all. So, maladjusted isn’t the word I’d use to describe you. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes for one day…just to know how I see you.”

“I just did, Beauty. I just did…” He smiled, but his voice broke.

I searched his face. His thick, dark hair and green eyes held so much adoration and understanding. The female in me couldn’t help but gush, and the lover in me felt honored to call him mine. I lifted my hand to his face, gently palming over the stubble I loved, and leaned into his open collar…breathing in his warm, spicy cologne. He was more than a man. A fiancée. A rock god worshiped by many. He was more than my north, south, east, and west. He was my center. My gravity. My morning, noon, and night. My physical, living, breathing compass… My rock.

July Fourth

We decided to keep our house as the venue for the biggest party anyone had seen yet. The party was outdoors, around the enormous infinity pool. There were some traditional red, white, and blue decorations. However, it also had the opulence and seduction of Gatsby. A huge white tent was set up on the far lawn to the left, just in case of inclement weather. The sound guy set up on the opposite side of the pool, across from the tent. I was surprised there weren’t any instruments set-up. However, that didn’t mean a damn thing. If the boys wanted to play, they would play.

Gigantic oscillating fans blew cool air for anyone that was hot and didn’t intend on swimming. Which, looking at how most were dressed, swimming wasn’t an option. Three bars were set up in a triangle near each other, and people were already buzzing around with drinks in their hands, chatting away. He hired a catering service to help Michael and a serving staff. The staff were both male and female, and beautiful…every last one of them. They wore black pants with white shirts and passed around trays filled with champagne, wine, tropical drinks, and hors d’ oeuvres.

I saw Mr. Gunner standing by a raw seafood bar looking too good to be anyone’s father. His tan slacks and white cuffed shirt looked crazy sexy. Jesus. Abel’s mother wore a cream tweed Jill St. John summer suit and looked…well, like Abel’s mom. She was beautiful, but the sorted history left me with a bad taste in my mouth.

Three men shucked oysters, clams, and served a cold seafood cocktail Abel adored from Italy. I looked at my watch, checking the time. Chance went to pick up Cindy and they should be back any minute. Who, despite my begging, decided to stay at a hotel. Something about getting lucky and not feeling comfortable fucking in my house with McPrick around. There was no sense arguing; her stubborn ass would never budge.

The mix of people varied. The fabulous and fashionable. No doubt some of the executives and their wives. Then we had the girls. Whose girls I couldn’t say. Abel’s answer was: they’re at every party for every band and were unattached. Fucking-fan-girl-hardcore groupies. The die-hard bitches that traveled from city to city. The girls that had names like Candy or Penny Lane. The bands felt they owed them