His brother’s face sagged with relief. “‘Love Me Tender’ segues into ‘Happy Birthday’ after the second chorus. I’m thinking the Marilyn Monroe version, but replace the sex with gutsy blues.”

Devin nodded. Musically, they’d always been in perfect harmony.

Zander raised his voice. “We’ll start with a hit from the decade of your birth, Mom. Something from the King.” He nodded his cue; Devin struck the first note. Held it.

Beside Rachel, Mark twitched with barely suppressed excitement. “We’re gonna remember this our whole lives.”

She didn’t respond. Another note joined the first, resonating through the hot night. She closed her eyes. As yet, the melody sounded nothing like “Love Me Tender” except in the mood it evoked-slightly melancholic, heartfelt, deeply emotional. After first meeting Devin, she’d listened to one of Rage’s later albums, but was immediately alienated by the hard rock style. Now with this simple solo she understood. Devin didn’t play the guitar, he prayed with it.

The tune changed and became familiar. Rachel opened her eyes. Zander began to sing, his deep, powerful voice lifting and falling in a duet with the guitar. Elvis’s ballad drew to a close, and seamlessly, Devin changed instruments to a bass, seamlessly transitioned into “Happy Birthday.” Together, the brothers sang it like a spiritual, made the old familiar tune both new and extraordinarily moving. Rachel saw her own awe reflected in other people’s faces.

Her disappointment over Devin rejoining the band suddenly felt petty and trivial. Who was she to hold him back? She heard the answer in her father’s voice. Nobody.

The notes faded, the audience stirred. Then the applause started, rapturous. Wiping her eyes, Katherine stood and embraced her sons. As media and well-wishers swamped them, Devin glanced up, obviously searching for her. Rachel stepped deeper into the shadows. They were done.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

AT TEN O’CLOCK, when Mark found himself alone with Zander Freedman, he officially upgraded an amazing evening to the best night of his entire life.

It happened by accident. He’d been on his way back from the bathroom when he’d caught the glow of a cigarette, then spotted a shadowy figure alone on a terrace. “Hey, kid,” Zander called in his distinctive voice, “Do me a favor and bring me another bottle of Scotch.”

Mark didn’t need to be asked twice. “Sure.” Within a minute, he was back with a bottle. Propped against the glass-and-chrome railing, Zander held out his crystal tumbler and, as he started pouring, Mark registered two things simultaneously. Zander was drunk and the cigarette wasn’t tobacco.

“Whoa, careful there, you’re spilling it. You know how much this stuff costs?”

Embarrassed, Mark shook his head. At least the half-moon wasn’t bright enough to reveal his blush. Somewhere close, the sea hissed against the shoreline.

“Me, neither.” Zander’s laugh turned into a cough. “Jeez, this local weed is strong.” Blowing a smoke ring, he studied Mark through the fragrant cloud. “You’re the kid staying at Dev’s, aren’t you? What’s the deal again?”

Mark tried to answer without inhaling. “We’re classmates.”

Zander laughed until tears ran down his cheeks. “Yeah,” he gasped, “that still cracks me up… Hold this for a sec, will you?” Handing over the joint, he wiped his eyes on the tail of his black shirt, then took it back. “I thought the novelty would have worn off by now and he’d be back where he belongs.”

In his excitement, Mark forgot his shyness. “I knew that was why you’re here!”

“Right on the money,” said Zander. “You want some of this?” He held out the joint. Mark wavered, delighted to be asked and reluctant to offend. Having a cop as a dad gave him a healthy respect for consequences. As he hesitated, Zander peered at him through bleary eyes. “Oh, no, you’re a kid. Forget I said that.” He took a long drag, held it in his lungs. “So you and Dev are friends, huh?”

“I like to think so,” Mark said awkwardly. “I play bass and acoustic, too, and Devin’s kinda my mentor.”

“Yeah?” Exhaling, Zander looked at him with real interest. “You must be good then. Dev’s got a great track record of picking talent. In fact, the guy I replaced him with was once his protégé. I’d hoped it would make my little brother jealous but…” Frowning, he tapped the ash off the end of his joint.

“So…you did ask him back?” Mark ventured timidly.

Zander slugged some Scotch before answering. “Didn’t I say that? But on my terms. Devin seems to have forgotten who runs the show. No one has loyalty anymore, kid.” He held out his tumbler for a refill. “Exactly how old are you, anyway? You look about twelve.”

Mark tried not to look insulted as he refilled Zander’s glass. “Seventeen.”

“Older than Dev when we started.” Zander stared into his drink, silent for a moment. “I used to have to protect him, you know. He’s forgotten that.”

“No, I haven’t.” Devin climbed the two steps that separated the paved terrace from the garden. How long had he been there? “Which is why it hurts so much that you’ve been screwing me over. And you shouldn’t be smoking pot in front of a teenager.”

“It’s fine. I mean, he didn’t offer me any,” Mark lied. No, that sounded as if Zander was a tightwad. “Not like I’d ever accept.” He turned back to Zander. “I’m not trying to sound judgmental or anything,” he finished miserably.

The older man laughed. “I like you, kid. You ever need a start in the music business, you come to me. I’ll find something for you. Now scram while I talk sense into my little brother.”

Mark left, grinning from ear to ear.

God, thought Devin tiredly, what I’d give for that naïveté again, that faith. He frowned at his brother. “You’re damn lucky Matthew and Mom have left. The guy’s an ex-cop.”

“I might be reckless, but I’m not stupid.” Zander gestured after Mark. “You were like that kid, wet behind the ears…trying to be cool but so not. Jeez, I must’ve been crazy to let you into the band.”

“You were only twenty yourself,” said Devin, responding to the ache of nostalgia in his brother’s voice. “No more equipped to deal with what happened to us than I was.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Zander grinned with his old bravado. “I was born to be famous. Yeah. It’s all I ever wanted. And I knew how to brand before the cowboys.” Flinging back his head, he drained the liquor, then hurled the tumbler into the dark, where they heard it shatter against the rock wall. “Shame your alcoholism screwed everything up for us.”

“Drunk, stoned and talking shit as usual.” Devin took the joint from Zander’s nerveless fingers and ground it out under the heel of his boot. “You might have started by taking care of me, but the reins changed hands a long time ago and you know it. The only way my drinking affected the band was when I couldn’t be your buffer anymore, smooth things over with all the people you alienated. That’s the real reason you want me back. That and to bribe your way out of a lawsuit.”

As usual his brother tuned out what he didn’t want to hear. “And to add insult to injury you’re turning on me with this legal crap.” Patting his breast pocket, Zander produced another joint and a lighter. He lit it and the tip glowed red as he sucked on it angrily. “I made you and I made the band. Without me you’d all be nothing.”

Devin leaned against the handrail and folded his arms. “Yeah, so what’s happened since we all left, Zander? If you’re so pivotal, then why are you having to work so damn hard to sell Rage with new band members? But you made me believe that for a lot of years, the bullshit you spun. Like we’d be laughed out of the studios if they thought a sixteen-year-old had cowritten our songs.”

Zander waved a hand. “It was the only way I could force the record label to sit up and take notice. And dammit, you agreed I should take sole writing credit to help us get ahead-”