Hearts the Last Beat (Angel Fire #6) - Ellie Masters Page 0,62

long before Bash figures it out.”

“I need to find Spike.” I can’t believe this is happening. We’ve been so careful.

“Spike’s out of pocket,” Mitzy says.

“I’ll call him.”

“He never picks up. When Spike is gone, he’s gone.” Forest pulls out another chair and props his feet on it. “Don’t stress about it.”

Forest’s wrong. If I call Spike, he’ll pick up.

“Don’t stress? How can you say that?” I glance at the three of them in turn and realize one important thing. “None of you seem to disapprove?”

“Why would we?” Skye shrugs.

“Do I really need to spell it out?”

Mitzy looks confused.

“She’s worried about Spike and Bash.” Forest leans back and cracks his knuckles.

“Why are you worried about them?” Skye finishes her banana, gathers Forest’s discarded banana skin, and tosses both in the trash.

“Um, because I’m Bash’s daughter?”

“It’s unconventional for sure.” Mitzy stands and stretches. “But I can’t see Bash having a problem.”

“You don’t think he’s going to have a problem with his friend dating his daughter?” I can’t believe none of them are concerned about that little twist.

“As long as Spike treats you right.”

“None of you get it. Bash is totally going to freak.” I’m freaking out right now, and I’m ungrounded without Spike by my side. “Do none of you know where Spike is?”

Mitzy’s lips press together, but Skye and Forest shrug.

“He’ll be back when he’s back,” Forest repeats. “You can try calling him, but honestly, it’s not a big deal.”

“What’s not a big deal?” Bash and Holly wander in holding hands.

Holly’s hair is wonderfully wild as it bounces around her shoulders and falls to her waist in a cascade of unruly, but perfectly beautiful, curls.

I love her hair. It’s free and not constrained, much like her personality. In contrast, Bash has no hair. I know why that is now. Yet again, I feel bad about the things I said to him.

“Nothing.” Not in a mood for a confrontation, I storm out and pray Forest, Skye, and Mitzy keep my secrets.

I need to get a hold of Spike as soon as possible.

But when I dial his phone, he doesn’t take my call.

Twenty-Three

Spike

Ian Lovecraft is a very sick, incredibly strong twelve-year-old battling cancer. When the call came in, matching me to Ian as a bone marrow donor, I didn’t waste any time. I dropped everything, even rushing past Angel in my haste to get to the hospital as quickly as possible.

Now, I sit with his parents and the doctors. Since this isn’t my first time donating bone marrow, the doctors’ explanations of what to expect answer more of the parents’ questions than mine.

“Kaleb, we really can’t thank you enough.” Ian’s mom takes my hand in hers. “This is just the most incredible gift…” Her voice trails off as tears pool in her eyes.

Kaleb is a name very few people know.

Outside of the bone marrow transplant physicians, and the families I help, nobody uses my real name.

I guess I’m like Noodles in that regard. He earned his nickname before the age of three. As a piano virtuoso, he learned to play before he learned to talk. His parents said he had fingers like noodles as they flew across the keyboard.

I don’t know if he even remembers his real name. I don’t, but I know the story. He had his name legally changed to Noodles when Angel Fire first started playing. It’s on all his official documentation, driver’s license, passports, school records—everywhere. Which might explain how Mitzy hasn’t uncovered his real name. Actually, I’m surprised with all her technical skills she hasn’t figured it out yet. I’ll never tell. I took a vow of silence when Noodles told me. We were twelve years old. The same as Ian is now. Although, instead of battling leukemia and spending our childhood from inside a hospital, we were out making trouble and stirring shit up, doing normal boy things.

Ian doesn’t have that luxury.

Regardless, Kaleb Crowne is my legal name, known to only a few. It’s the one piece of myself that I selfishly keep to myself. I don’t want the rest of the world to take that piece of me away. It’ll get perverted and twisted, especially when people discover what I do for my bone marrow recipients. The thing is, matching a donor to a recipient is a roll of the dice. I can’t save the world, but I can meaningfully touch three lives.

Mr. and Mrs. Lovecraft didn’t know about my alter ego as Angel Fire’s lead guitar player until a few minutes ago. I like to