URGENT (Book 2 of the Soundcrush Series)

Chapter 79: Nice Guys Get Prayers Answered

Ladies and gentlemen....welcome Matt del Marco to the stage.....from Adam's POV, of course!

Adam

Okay, in the last couple of years, living the rock star life, I've experienced a lot of crazy shit. Matt del Marco rifling through my suitcase, toeing off his Yeezy's and stripping off his jeans in my childhood bedroom is definitely top five.

"Jesus, you're thick, aren't ya?" he says as he puts on my athletic shorts and has to pull the drawstring tight to keep them hanging on his lean, muscular frame. Damn, for an old guy, he's in great shape. Much more muscular than in those those old Skid Marc's videos where he had big hair and wore a leather vest over his skinny, speed-wasted frame. Jesus, why the hell am I staring at Matt's cuts? I shudder and look away.

"Matt, uhhhm...look don't take this the wrong way, I got much respect, but...dude, what the fuck?"

He laughs. "First rule for Rock Star Daddies: a run or the gym is the only place you are gonna get any peace, ever again. Make it a habit or you'll be poppin' pills before the kid's first birthday. Go take a piss, find a goddamn hat 'cause there ain't no time to style that," he waves a hand at my longish-on-top, lightly highlighted hair, "and meet me in the kitchen in five. Let's go!" He throws clothes at me, and stalks out.

Ooooookaaaaay. I guess Matt del Marco and I are going for a run. I'm...fuck. I'm not even gonna question it. I get up and do exactly as I was told.

When I get down to the kitchen, to my utter shock, Matt has whole brought the whole damn family. Well, not the older kids, but Marianne is sitting at the table, a blanket thrown over her shoulder, and I assume, Alley under there, nursing, chatting with MacKenna like they are old friends.

Lane is sitting at the table in MacKenna's lap, determinedly drawing tattoos on a picture of Jesus. Ah, I guess that must be a coloring book my mom has for the grandkids. Wonder if she's going to put Lane's rendering on the fridge, too. I look over at her, trying to catch her eye and tease her about it, but she's busy.

My mom is tying a bandanna around Matt del Marco's head.

I do the only thing I can do. I discreetly snap a picture of that. I'll text it to Trace later.

"Thank you! You're a life saver! I sweat like a pig when I run!" Matt slings an arm around my mom, much to her surprise. "Damn, Heartley, you're a lucky SOB, aren't you? Growin' up with a mom like this, in a place like this?" He swoops an around around the cozy kitchen, and then he stuffs a slice of something my mom made into his mouth. "Christ, and with food like this?"

"Oh, I don't know if he thinks he was that lucky. I was pretty strict. Washed his mouth out with soap a dozen times for cussin' in this kitchen," she says dryly.

Matt laughs so hard he chokes. My mom pounds him on the back helpfully as he leans on the kitchen island and wags a finger at her. "Point taken," he finally croaks. "I though that was actually mild, but I apologize, ma'am," he says, in his best imitation of a Southern accent.

This is crazy. My life is crazy. My mother is chastising one of the biggest rock legends of all time for saying "damn" while she feeds him zucchini bread, and my wife—is she still my wife?—is snickering and helping Lane spell out "Skid Marcs" longways upon the arm of our Lord and Savior.

Matt washes down the zucchini bread with the last of his java and then washes the coffee cup, gingerly setting it in the dish drainer while my mother watches him with her head cocked. "See Adam? Even Matt del Marco can wash a dish. It's not that hard."

Okay, I'll admit it. I avoided my dishwashing chores like the plague when I was growing up. I didn't mind laundry, or dusting, or even washing windows, but the all the remnants of other people's food grossed me out. I would constantly barter with Brett to trade chores with me, and if I couldn't get her to, I would just cut out on the job and take the consequences.