A Bleu Streak Summer (The Bleu Series Book 3)

  A Bleu Streak Summer

  T.I. Lowe

  •♫DEDICATION♫•

  Happy 10th Birthday, Lydia Lulu Lowe.

  I love you to the moon and back!

  Abandoned

  “I Will Buy You a New Life”

  -Everclear

  Abandoned… What a perplexing word. First meaning of this word is deserted, left unattended, having to fend for one’s self. I get it. But then it also means to be reckless, unrestrained, uninhibited. I get that as well. My life has seen me living both sides of the confusing word—first meaning from no choice of my own, but the second I claim all responsibility.

  One early morning, I claimed my freedom. With my five string—yes, one was missing—Fender strapped to my back with an old leather belt serving as a makeshift strap and a duffle bag filled with my hand-me-down wardrobe, I walked away from my childhood before the sun could rise and catch me. Loaded up in a beat-up van with my boys, all five of us teenagers thought we knew everything and had it all figured out. As I sat on a hard floor in the back of that van, my eyes focused on the rusted side door instead of the grimy back window, swearing to never look back.

  Youthful, dumb, and just naïve enough to think I could leave that abandoned kid behind. Poor kid was starved for more than just food.

  Now in my advanced thirties, still dumb and naïve enough to think I can keep running from him. Maybe the age—how did I get so blame old—is starting to slow me down enough to allow things to begin catching up with me. That scrawny kid is still starving, but he has gotten faster than me.

  My old Fender, with grooves worn into the finish along the neck from my fingertips, rests behind a glass case nowadays as a reminder of where this crazy-cool life was launched—a shed behind the trailer park, no less. My first guitar and the hundreds of others I’ve collected over the years are a testament to all the struggles my music family has overcome. But that success didn’t help us overcome everything.

  You can’t buy a new life if you’re shackled to a deep hurt the past carelessly inflicted. Cars, houses, and other shiny new possessions will all fade to rust and will have to be replaced eventually. But you only get one life, no matter how fat the bank account, so somehow it’s up to us to figure it out.

  I have failed at figuring it out.

  My friend, who is more of a sister figure, says we have no choice where we come from, but we can choose where we go. Jewels used to have a hang-up with the white-trash stigma she inherited from her childhood. She always felt insignificant simply because stupid people looked down on her for living in a tin-can trailer and wearing secondhand clothes. Jewels is farthest from insignificant, and people, like the ones on the opposite side of the lake haven’t a clue in their pampered, thick skulls as to how amazing she is. The chick is pure and that heart of hers is the richest I’ve ever witnessed. Her nickname suits her better than any of ours. Jillian will always be our Jewel. She’s sacrificed more than any of us for our betterment.

  Dillon is Dimples. Dude got a pair that makes the girls swoon no matter what.

  Mave is Klutz for obvious reasons. Ask him how many bones he’s broken, and he’ll ask you how many does he got.

  Logan is Mr. Mellow. The guy is smooth. I’m pretty sure he’s unable to yell or get angry or say a word without adding a melody to it.

  Trace is normally called Space Cadet. Dumb-blond jokes follow him around wherever he wanders off to, and he’s earned every one of them.

  I’ve gotten stuck with the nickname Pepper Man, thanks to my sister-in-law Izzy, aka Doll Baby. I might have brought that on myself, but pranks are part of my DNA. There’s no denying them. I guess that’s better than my old nickname. Wormy. With motivation from a personal trainer and a contract with this protein shake company, I’ve worked hard on ridding myself of that image. The company tried at one point to buy me out of the contract due to my frame stubbornly refusing to pack on any weight. Eventually we got enough muscle on me to run a campaign and call it done. I’m just naturally slim with a weird jacked-up metabolism. The girls of our group hate me a little for this.

  So where was I before my thoughts got carried away…

  Oh yeah. My issues… Don’t we all have them?

  Growing up in a two bedroom trailer with sagging floors and having to make do with secondhand everything was never an issue for me like it was for Jewels and the others. Some may say it’s because I didn’t know any better.

  Wrong.

  The poverty struggle was real, but that was something I knew how to survive. Other matters, the ones that secretly bruise your soul, were where my struggle was deeply rooted. My plan of escape as a teen wasn’t from the trailer park or poverty. Not even close. I was running away from my father abandoning me and my twin brother like we were debris left from his wrecked life—easily discarded and forgotten.

  Turns out my plan was in vain, because the abandonment issue lingers like an unwieldy shadow, never allowing the sun permission to touch me. So I have to make my own sunshine by doing stupid stuff—my crowd calls it stupid, but I just call it having fun and blowing off some burdening steam.

  Everyone says, “Grow up, Max!”

  I say, “The heck with that! I ain’t gotta! And I ain’t gonna!”

  Laughter feels better than the alternative.

  Laughter keeps running off the dark sadness for at least a spell.

  Laugher won’t allow me to break… completely.

  Laughter has never abandoned me for long.

  ONE

  “Peaches”

  -The Presidents of the U.S. of America

  The May afternoon lazily swept by with the Bleu family paying it no mind. In the midst of the Bleu Peach Orchard, an elaborate pergola allowed the Georgian sunshine to glance through its cedar planks and play along the large gathering as they celebrated life. The group had witnessed many blessings in the form of marriages, babies, and career successes, but that day was set aside to celebrate the first kid to join their family. Will Bleu had not only graduated from high school, but had also been awarded a full music scholarship for college. His parents had secured college funds years ago, so he humbly declined the scholarship and asked that it be awarded to someone with more of a financial need. It was an honor to have been awarded just the same to him and his family. Yes, a lot to be celebrated indeed.

  Still proudly wearing his graduation cap proclaiming “He Willed it!” that glittered in the sun—thanks to Mave taking Grace’s Bedazzler to the top of it—he set into opening the stack of gifts. He made quick work of tearing open a black envelope. Studying its contents, the young man’s head jerked up with his dark-blue eyes lit in excitement.

  “No way!” he yelled, waving the thick card embossed with intricate designs.

  “Yes way!” Dillon exclaimed, matching Will’s enthusiasm. “We all have it and now that you’re eighteen and about to set out in your adult life, I think it’s time.”

  Jen snorted as she handed Trace their blond toddler, who was anxiously reaching for his daddy. Casio was making a game of going from one lap to the other, and then back again. “Only because Jewels gave Dillon permission is why Will can finally get his first tattoo.” The crowd laughed as she mocked Dillon, trying to mimic his deep voice, “I think it’s time.”

  Max leaned over and studied the logo on the card for Case Art. “We get to make a trip to Charleston. Hot dang!” After cramming another forkful of cake into his mouth, he mumbled, “Mave, your Doll Baby might as well get hers while we’re there.”

  Each member of their motley crew had the same tattoo on their hip, an unofficial family emblem. Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 was inked as a reminder that they woul
d always have one another’s backs and remain by their side through thick or thin. They had wisely figured out that life on your own can hand out a lot of downfalls, but with your brother or sister by your side as well as God, you tend to have less falls and can get back up easier when one occurs.

  “Now that Mona has that fat diamond on her finger, she gonna get it, too?” Mave fired back, giving Max a look that no one else seemed to catch. Going on the defense on Izzy’s behalf was second nature to the drummer, and he knew his wife was skittish about needles.

  Cramming in another chunk of cake, Max shrugged and gave as honest of an answer as he could. “I don’t know.”

  “Brooke has it,” Logan’s mellow voice chimed in as he combed his fingers through his wife’s honey-blonde hair as she sat on his lap. Her mocha skin seemed to sparkle in the rich sunrays as she gazed at her husband.

  “Speaking of Mona. That’s one busy woman. When are we going to see her again?” Jewels asked.

  Max’s shoulder hitched up before he could stop it. “Being a publicist keeps her slammed all the time. She should be able to make it to the Music Festival Awards next month.”

  “Good. We’ve got to catch up on the wedding planning,” Izzy commented as her eyes wandered over to the children frolicking under the peach trees.

  “I think them two are trying to get into the book of world records for the longest engagement in history,” Trace joked, but Max showed no interest one way or the other.

  “It’s going to be a family reunion out in California. Kyle plans on staying at least two weeks. Right, Pretty Girl?” Dillon asked, glancing at Jewels.

  “Yep. Leona and Phoebe will be there most of the summer. She’s bringing her assistant Stella to help with the beach house remodel. I think it’ll do her good to get away.” Jewels voice went quiet. “I can’t even imagine how it felt to lose her husband so suddenly. Grant was everything to her.”

  “It’s hard to believe it’s been almost two years since the car accident,” Jen added in a quiet voice as well.

  Silence overtook the large group for a bit, somber eyes set on the children at play while their thoughts were clearly with the young widow and her daughter.

  Max broke the silence abruptly. “Mave, your kid has something crammed in his mouth.”

  “Ludwig!” Mave hollered as he hurried over and began fishing around his son’s mouth with his un-casted hand, eventually pulling out not one but two peach pits.

  The little guy pushed a brown curl off his face, sticking his tongue out and wrinkling his tiny nose. “It smell good. Taste nasty. Yuck!”

  Mave chuckled while mussing the toddler’s hair.

  “That kid is just as curious as his dad and always looking for something to eat,” Trace taunted, shaking his head. “And y’all messed him up with that name. There’s other drum brands that ain’t so weird. At least you did right by Pearl.”

  “You’re one to talk, naming your two after keyboard brands.” Mave spun around to fix Trace with a glare, but lost his footing in the loose soil, nearly tripping headfirst into a tree.

  “Dude!” Dillon yelled before releasing a gruff sigh in frustration. “Don’t go breaking your other arm!”

  The clumsy drummer threw both hands in the air, one sporting a black cast dressed in custom “cast tattoos” in a flame pattern that covered from his right elbow to the tip of his knuckles, as he shot Dillon that glare intended for Trace. “Chill, man. All’s good!”

  No sooner had the words gotten out of his mouth, than Trace’s rambunctious four-year-old son Roland ran by whacking Mave in the eye with the stick he was waving around with considerable potency for such a little kid. Mave’s hand flew up to protect the offensive spot, but with a little too much surprised force, adding a self-inflicted sting from the cast. He stumbled around while grumbles and moans murmured from him unintelligibly.

  “Good grief! And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the Maverick King Train-Wreck Show!” Max applauded with the group joining in, the roar of laughter deafening.

  “Trace, you and Jen have two wild boys,” Izzy said affectionately.

  “Ugh. Don’t I know it? I’m so outnumbered.” Jen turned her attention toward Mave. “Sorry about that.”

  “No worries.” His glassy eyes blinked in a rapid twitching manner as though they were trying to rid the pain while holding back tears. “Jen, you wouldn’t be outnumbered if you’d learn how to spit ’em out in pairs, one each, like me.”

  “Like you?” Izzy raised her dainty eyebrows.

  “I did my part, Doll.” Mave leaned over and kissed his wife’s pouty lips before settling back down in his chair. “But your part was epic in comparison.” He winked his good eye at her, eliciting a faint blush to color her cheeks.

  Everyone went back to devouring the orange pineapple cake Izzy made at Will’s request, but Dillon wasn’t done with the broken arm discussion just yet.

  “Still can’t get over how you managed to break your arm playing golf, of all things,” Dillon said with no amusement. He rubbed the dark scruff on his chin while frowning at the casted reminder that Mave would not be able to open the summer tour. Good thing another plan had been in place long before his friend’s blunder off the side of a steep tee box.

  “And I still can’t believe anyone in their right mind would finish playing the tournament with a broken arm.” Izzy shook her head.

  “But we won didn’t we?” Mave defended, finally breaking Dillon’s glare. Both men shared proud grins and fist bumps. It was the first time they had won the coveted celebrity golf tournament.

  “That does merit solid bragging rights,” Max chimed in, knowing good and well his only contribution to that winning title was driving one of the golf carts. Several sets of female eyes shot in his direction, so he quickly added, “It was all for a great cause. Our charity got a chunk of change.”

  “I think Music Notes would have been just fine without prize money at the expense of Mave’s safety,” Jewels added while offering Casio another bite of cake while Jen was distracted with scowling at Max.

  Will gave up waiting for them to hash out the delusion of keeping Mave safe—lost cause—and moved to the next gift. He opened a rectangle, revealing a leather checkbook along with information about his new account.

  “Thanks, Momma. Did y’all put me a fat deposit in it?” He waggled his thick eyebrows as black as his head full of hair while grinning widely. The young man was the spitting image of his father.

  Chuckles rang out amongst the crowd as the breeze picked up, carrying the sweet aroma of peaches around with it. The season was close at hand, apparent with the trees beginning to slouch under the abundant weight of the ripening fruit.

  “Nope. Just the amount needed to open the account,” Jewels answered while slipping Jen’s little guy another bite of her cake, but Jen caught her and shot a warning look at her. Casio had already eaten his and most of Jen’s slice, but Jewels couldn’t resist his plea for more.

  “One hundred bucks?” he read from the paperwork before looking up in question in the direction of his parents.

  “You gotta start earning your own cash, kid. Maybe a summer job can help fatten it up.” Dillon added along with a wry grin he shared with his bandmates.

  “Here, open mine. It’s much cooler than that.” Mave tossed Will a long box.

  Will reverently pulled out a set of custom drumsticks from the case as a gasp escaped his stunned lips. “Dude… These are killer.” The first thing he noticed was the Bleu Streak band logo embossed on the ends. Then his eyes zoned in on his very own signature engraved in the wood with a deep-blue hue coloring it in. He held the sticks high, showing them off to everyone.

  Grace leaned close to inspect them. “Wow, those are so pretty.”

  Will cut his eyes to his younger sister. “Wrong word. So not pretty. They are bad with a capital A.”

  “Son!” Jewels scolded, then cut her eyes to Max.

  “What?” he garbled out around a mouthful of cake,
his third piece. “It’s not saying the curse.”

  “You know good and darn well that still implies it,” Jen piped in.

  “And what does darn imply, Henny?” he asked, using her nickname. The guys had declared her the mother hen of them a long time ago, especially concerning the rowdy King twins. He swatted the fork in the air, dismissing her glare, before pointing to another box. “Dude, open mine next.”

  Will tore open the music themed wrapping paper and pried the lid off a small silver case. “Guitar picks with the year and Bleu Streak Logo.” The grin on Will’s face said he loved them, but he couldn’t help but poke fun at the group. “What? Did some logo company give y’all a discount for all this loot?”

  “You’d think,” Logan piped in as he tossed Will another gift box.

  He pulled out a black T-shirt with the Bleu Streak logo on the front and Summer Tour Dates listed on the back—all the lettering was vibrant in electric blue and metallic silver. “Cool…” The young man’s voice trailed off as his eyes landed on the gift tucked in the midst of the list of band member’s names—Will Bleu. The hodgepodge of gifts finally made sense. “Dude!” He hopped up so fast the sparkly graduation cap flew off.

  Dillon wrapped him in a manly hug with the rest of the band members circling around them. “You ready to become official? The pay’s okay, but the hours can sometimes be lousy.”

  The guys roared in laughter. Will had played with them for years, but this was them finally announcing him as their bandmate to the world.

  Will looked over his shoulder toward the twins. “Which one of you old farts is retiring?” This earned another round of unruly laughs and howls.

  “We ain’t that old,” Mave answered for them both.

  Will glanced at Trace and Logan. “I’m not the strongest on bass or the keys, but I guess I can hold up lead vocals.” He gave his dad a sly look.

  “I’m not old either, kid. You gonna rock out wherever we feel like putting you.”