The Bassist and the Best Friend: The Rare Breed Series, #2

By M. B. Feeney

Christian Young often needs to escape.

He escapes into his friendships with his band, Rare Breed, he escapes into his own mind, and after he meets Leah Prince, he escapes into her.

Leah is living the student lifestyle and is enjoying every minute. Teaching a dorky bassist how to make coffee art shouldn't lead to more but it does. He understands she's not looking for anything serious, but does it stop him wanting more?

*Book can be read as a standalone but refers to characters and events from the first book.*

• Language: English
• Publisher: M. B. Feeney
• Release date: Jun 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223780373

Book preview

Prologue

Chris was woken by the sound of glass smashing against a wall. Within seconds, both of his parents’ voices were at full volume, filling the house with swearing and insults.

With a quiet groan, he grabbed at his phone to check the time. Not quite two a.m. Flopping back on his bed, Chris wondered how long it would take for the police to turn up this time. Not wanting to get the blame for calling 911, he crawled out of bed, pulled his clothes on, and grabbed his ‘go bag’ – the one he always had ready for moments such as these. Lastly, he picked up his bass and climbed out of his bedroom window.

Once he was on the ground, he looked back at the house just once before he began walking. It wasn’t far to Ash’s place and despite the early hour it wasn’t too cold. The walk was surprisingly pleasant, even if Chris was exhausted. He didn’t sleep very well at the best of times – hadn’t done for years – so being woken up so abruptly hadn’t helped.

When he got to Ash’s house, it was shrouded in darkness, but years of navigating the property made it easy for him to locate the right place so he could climb up to his friend’s unlocked window. He gave the glass a gentle tap and waited for his friend to open it so he could crawl inside.

Hey. Ash’s voice was quiet and croaky in the dark.

Hey. Sorry for waking you. Guilt flooded through Chris as it always did when he showed up in the middle of the night.

‘S’ok. Wasn’t sleeping much anyway.

Chris pulled out the airbed Mrs. Kane kept made up for him and Wes. With a sigh, he stripped back down to his boxers and climbed under the blanket that was always kept in Ash’s room along with pillows, ready for use at a moment’s notice.

Night, he called out to Ash softly. The response was a sleepy grunt which made him smile for the first time in the half hour since he’d woken up.

Letting himself back into his house a couple of days later, Chris kept as quiet as he could, so he wouldn’t disturb anyone – especially in case his dad had worked a night shift and was sleeping. He needn’t have bothered, neither of his parents were home. Making the most of having the house to himself, he went into the kitchen to cook himself something to eat while he shoved his dirty laundry into the washer. Bypassing the table and sitting at the breakfast bar, Chris scrolled through his social media while he waited.

Usually, Chris hated total silence. He was someone who found it oppressive and deafening, but for some reason, that afternoon, he didn’t flick the radio on. He put his phone back in his pocket and closed his eyes, relishing in the lack of screaming, arguing, and sounds of unwanted physical contact.

Ever since his brother, Ricky – Richard to their parents – had moved away for college, the atmosphere in the house changed. There was no longer anyone to protect him from the raised voices, even when they weren’t aimed at him. No one to cook for him when his parents ‘forgot’ they wouldn’t be home from work in time. No one to spend time with in the big and empty house. Ricky had abandoned him, and Chris hated him for it. Hated him for being the one who got out, for limiting all contact with his family to FaceTime calls or the odd email. There were no visits home for Ricky who now lived across the country in New York, living his best life without having to worry about saying the wrong thing or having to look after his little brother. Chris had been abandoned to learn how to cook, do laundry, and do what he needed to look after himself. It had taken him almost two years, but he’d managed it. He wasn’t the waste of space he was often referred to as by his dad.

The beep from the washer brought Chris out of his maudlin thoughts and gave him something to do to keep him occupied. Transferring the clothes from the washer to the dryer was done on autopilot and he was soon moving through the house, not seeing any evidence of his parents’ latest fight. They were good at that, hiding the truth. Yeah, the neighbors all heard what was happening in the Young house, but never saw the fallout from it.

Making his way into his bedroom, Chris finally put some background noise on before he fell onto his bed, exhaustion taking over him. Soft music from his stereo filtered into the room around him as he fell asleep on top of his bed, a rare moment of peace washing over him.

1

C hris, that bass line is epic, bro. Joey held his fist out for Chris to bump with his own – which he did. "This track is gonna sound lit!" Chris couldn’t help but notice the guitarist bounced on his feet, much in the way Ash often did. Joey did that a lot, emulated their lead singer in small ways. It was almost as if he hoped some of the attention from girls would transfer over to him, which didn’t often happen much to Joey’s disappointment.

Thanks, man. The four of them were in Joey’s garage – studio if you asked Ash – picking their way through a new riff that had been playing on Chris’ mind for almost a week. They had a big gig coming up at an open mic night that Ash had managed to score for them through some girl he’d met at Downtown Beans of all places. The only member of their band who had graduated high school spent his days busking, and for some reason, outside a coffee house was his new favorite spot.

He’d kept it close to his chest which was weird for him. If there was one thing Ash Kane was famous for, it was talking about things that excited him or he was passionate about. The only thing he tended to share was how much money he made to put back into the band. The four of them had a ‘band fund’ that was stored in a lock box in the bottom of Ash’s closet that paid for gas, merch, and anything else they needed. More than once, Joey needed to raid it as he had a habit of snapping his strings with an annoying regularity.

Yeah, bro. It’s sick. Ash walked over to the bassist and wrapped a sweaty arm around his shoulder. I don’t think it’ll be ready for the open mic night, but we will be using it, and soon.

Well, if anyone can come up with anything for it, you can. He grinned at Ash. He wasn’t lying either. Ash seemed to be like a word wizard when it came to writing lyrics and melodies for Rare Breed. If Chris was honest, and he always was – it was almost a curse at times – he was jealous of Ash for that. He’d tried to write his own songs and had never been able to recreate the magic his best friend always managed to. It was one of the few things he kept from his friends. Maybe he’d one day have the courage to show them some of his songs. The Cowboy Blues didn’t count. Chris loved his attempt at a country track though, even he didn’t take it seriously enough to share it.

Thanks, Chris. After giving his shoulder a squeeze, Ash moved back over to his spot and put his guitar on its stand. We need to work out a playlist so we can get it as tight as possible.

Immediately, Wes jumped up from behind his drums and joined the rest of them on the couch. At some point in the past few months, after getting fed up with trying to decipher Ash’s scrawl, he’d appointed himself the official scribe of Rare Breed. Chris could admit that out of the four of them Wes did have the best handwriting. His own was like a drunk spider fell into an ink pot and stumbled over the paper, but at least it was legible most of the time.

It’s a one song performance. I don’t think that constitutes needing a set list, do you? Joey asked, a bit of a sneer on his face. "Surely, we’ll do Lost in Translation and rock that room out."

Never assume, Joseph. It only makes an ass out of you and me, Chris commented as he popped open a can of soda and took a drink of it.

Bite me, Young, Joey snapped back.

Pack it in, boys. Wes, ever the peacekeeper, spoke softly. "So, Lost in Translation then?"

Ash spoke up. It’s the best one to show off our skills to a brand-new crowd. It’s our strongest track and always draws in new fans. He turned to Joey. Think you can stop being a dick long enough for us to run through it?

Joey didn’t say anything. He just turned away, picked his guitar back up, and began to strum. Ash rolled his eyes at Chris and Wes before the three of them returned to their own instruments.

Chris sat in the back seat of Ash’s beat-up old Chevy, watching the world go by as Ash drove through the Los Angeles suburbs they lived in. The closer they got to his house, the quieter he became, and he knew his best friends had noticed.

You okay, buddy? Wes’ voice sounded muffled until Chris shook his head and concentrated on what his friend was saying.

Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit tired. He saw the look that passed between them and frowned slightly. Chris appreciated their support and concern, but he didn’t want their pity; Christian Young hated being the object of people’s pity. So many people had it worse than him: people like Wes thanks to his douchebag parents. So, what’s the plan this evening? He asked, trying to inject some life into his voice.

I’ve got a ton of homework to catch up on. Wes sighed. Ash, you’re so lucky you’ve graduated, man. The eldest of the three of them chuckled, keeping his eyes on the road. Ash had hated school, even though he was good at it, surprising people who didn’t know him very well.

Oh… yeah. That. Chris had forgotten about the increasing amount of schoolwork he had sitting on his desk in his bedroom. Ash laughed again, comfortable in the knowledge he could go home and chill out.

Don’t you dare laugh, Kane. Wes almost growled, making Ash snicker even more. Asshole. He grumbled as Ash pulled up outside his house. He shared a fist bump with Chris before climbing out and approaching the building.

Are you gonna be okay? Chris called out as he clambered into the passenger seat, almost kicking Ash in the face. As their designated driver moaned, Chris flipped him off. Payback for laughing at our homework, asshole.

Yeah, my dad’s away with work, so things should be quiet for the next couple of days. I’ll just study with Lizzie and beat the hell out of my drum machine. Wes smiled at the mention of his younger sister as he called back before letting himself in the house. Chris and Ash watched the empty porch for a couple of minutes, just in case their friend came back out, needing the escape.

As Ash pulled away, Chris could feel his friend watching him out of the corner of his eyes.

What? he asked, a hint of a smile playing on his mouth.

Nothing.

Spill it, Kane.

I was just wondering if you needed to crash at mine again.

It’s cool. Been quiet the past few days because Dad’s on nights again. I really need to sit and catch up with my homework. Thanks anyway.

No worries.

It didn’t take long for Ash to drive to Chris’ place. With a wide smile that was only a little forced, Chris got out and watched Ash pull away before approaching the house he’d grown up in. As he placed his foot on the first step, he could hear the raised voices coming from inside. Turning on his heel, he walked away from the porch and along the sidewalk.

Less than a mile from where he