Rhythm, Chord & Malykhin Page 39

Chapter Eight

The moment the bus rolled to a stop, I elbowed Gordo out of the way with a “Move it, sucker,” spat with the single intent that I be the first one out of there. Laila had texted me to let me know she was already waiting at the venue in San Antonio, and sure enough, I spotted her making her way across the parking lot.

After the Houston date with our soccer match and my head shaving, then Dallas with my family, and another stop in Austin—I was ready to get away from the guys that drove me nuts and see my best friend.

At four-foot-eleven and with a smile that took up her entire face, Laila was like a breath of fresh air after being surrounded by so much testosterone. The second we were close enough, she wrapped her arms around my middle as I hugged her above her shoulders where she could fit perfectly under my chin. The pedals on her wheelchair dug into my shins, but I didn’t give a single crap.

There was something about Laila’s hugs and warmth that always radiated understanding and comfort. There was also the fact that she didn’t judge me when I laughed at things I shouldn’t. Even though I would never ask for another sibling to replace the three I already had, I loved Laila fiercely.

We’d survived high school together. Stayed friends even after she and her mom moved to San Antonio for her to go to school, and I’d gone on tour with Ghost Orchid. Then she’d let me live with them when I’d had to move out of my ex’s place.

She was still hugging the hell out of my middle when she finally spoke. “I’m so happy to see you!”

“I’m so happy to see you too, you lazy broad.” I gestured to her wheelchair before giving her another bone-crushing hug.

“I didn’t feel like dealing with my braces all day,” she explained.

I made a face at her just to give her a hard time, but really, I knew how hard it would be for her to be on her feet for such a long period. Someone just needed to bust her chops so she’d keep walking around as much as she could handle. Pulling away from her, I took a step back and looked her over. Slim, with dark hair and a unique light caramel color to her skin that she’d inherited from her Cuban mom and Caiman dad, I’d always thought she had the face and personality that belonged to a princess in a cartoon movie.

It took me all of a second to realize that her hair had been cut to her shoulders. “When did you get your hair cut?”

Laila blinked back at me. “When did you get your hair cut?”

“That was the surprise I was telling you about,” I explained, touching that shaved section with gentle fingers. The rest of my hair was in a low-side ponytail but it still couldn’t hide the obvious buzz cut. “Surprise!” I muttered, wiggling my fingers in the most unenthusiastic way possible.

She just stared at me before slowly asking, “Holy bologna, Gabba. Was this Soccer Death Match loser crap?”

I nodded. I’d already told her about the ball to the jaw I’d taken. In person, the huge bruise confirmed the story.

She tilted her head to look at me and finally nodded, almost sagely. “You got lucky they didn’t do your whole head at least. You look cute like that, but if it was everything…” She let out a little whistle and flared her nostrils. Sure, she was sweet, but the honesty that came out of her mouth at times was candy-coated brutality at its finest.

Laila opened her mouth for a split second before shutting it at the same time she went bug-eyed. I turned my head just a little to see who she had her eye on. Sacha, Freddy and Julian had all gotten off the bus and were looking in our direction intently from their spots twenty feet away.

“Those guys are on the tour?” she whispered.

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