Read A Bleu Streak Summer (The Bleu Series Book 3) for Free Online Page B

he had told her enough that he thought she finally got it.
    The limo pulled up to the black carpet that had silver music notes dancing along in a pattern all the way to the entrance of the substantial music hall. Max was livid with himself for casting such a dark mood on them only seconds before arriving. He grabbed the fedora and shoved it low on his head, wanting to hide from the undeserving sympathy she continued to offer him, even after what he had done.
    Failure.
    All I am is a failure…
    The words had been on repeat in the back of his mind for the past year and revved back up as he trained his attention on the sea of people undulating with excitement.
    “After tonight, baby, I promise you’ll be free from all my madness.” His words were muttered in defeat as Joe opened the door.
    “Your guitar,” Joe reminded as Max emerged from the backseat.
    “Nah, man. It’s all electric tonight. That’s for later. Will ya keep an eye on it for me?”
    “Sure,” Joe responded, moving out of the way so Max could offer his hand to Mona as she stepped out of the back of the limo. “Always the gentleman your momma raised you to be.” Joe smiled.
    Max could barely muster a smile in response, knowing good and well his momma would knock him upside the head if she knew the mess he had made. Brushing the remorse off like a nagging fly that refused to completely go away, he eased a relaxed smirk on his face, knowing that’s what the public expected from him. He lazily wrapped his arm around Mona’s waist—a waist he just realized had withered to way too thin. The billowy layers of the dress had hid that tidbit well.
    The onslaught of fans screaming out and the flashes of cameras engulfed them before they took a few steps. A few more steps and the barrage of questions began in a staccato chant to Max’s ears.
    “When’s the wedding?”
    A wry smile is all he offered in response as he ushered Mona forward. He paused to sign a few autographs for the fans enthusiastically reaching over the partition before moving on. The carpet felt miles long instead of yards.
    “Are you taking home the Golden Guitar this year?”
    “Straight up,” he said over his shoulder to the reporter, the shelf back in Georgia flinted through his head. It held five of the gaudy trophies already.
    “Is it true that the two of you are already married?” another reported shouted out.
    He gave the guy a shoulder shrug and smirk, knowing the media would draw their own conclusion on that one soon enough.
    The questions continued, and Max continued to be blasé about it until one hit him like a hot skillet, searing every part of him.
    “How do you feel about your estranged father checking back into rehab?”
    Max froze for a split second, but felt Mona tighten her hold on his back, reminding him to keep moving. The lump lodged into the back of his throat, knowing he was freeing his anchor after tonight, and not knowing how he was going to survive without her. Thankful for just one more night, he brushed a kiss against her temple as they walked past the slanderous questions.
    Ignore, ignore, ignore. He kept chanting this silently to himself until they finally reached the doors. Sweat trickled down his back, making him feel he had just crossed a firing line, barely dodging the bullets aimed right at his heart.
    The cool, dark space of the building was such a vast contrast to the tempest just outside. Max blinked several times, trying to adjust to it. He felt Mona move away from his grasp, but he instinctively clung tighter to her. Her stiff back relented, shoulders slumping just enough for only him to catch, as she allowed him to keep them tethered for a little longer.
    An usher guided them past the marble lobby and on into the grand hall where everything was dripping in swankiness, from the crystal chandeliers to the fancy china dressing the tables. Max’s stomach growled with remembering the main perk of the evening was they actually lavished decadent