Within seconds, it was gone, up in a rank cloud of smoke.

“Out with the old, in with the new,” said Jason.

We headed back inside.

Sitting around, I picked up an acoustic Jason had brought and strummed. None of us said anything, but I could tell they were gearing up for a huge speech.

“Just say it,” I said, not looking at any of them.

“Say what?” piped Flipper.

“Whatever the fuck it is y’all are needin’ to tell me.”

“Okay. What do we do now?” asked Jason.

“What do you mean?”

“About…us. Is…we can’t be done, man.”

“What? The band?” I asked.

“Yeah, the fuckin’ band!” he snapped.

With X gone, it would never be the same.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I mean, I haven’t thought much about makin’ music at all. It’s like it left me.”

“You don’t mean that,” said Connor. “It’s always in you. It’s in all of us. It makes us who we are.”

“It doesn’t seem right though, NOLA’s Junk goin’ on. Don’t you guys feel that way, too? Think about it—holdin’ auditions for a new bass player—”

“Fuck no,” snapped Jason, pointing to Connor. “We have the greatest bass player who ever lived sittin’ right here, Phil. No matter how much we love X, compared to fuckin’ Connor, he was mediocre. This cat’s been wasted on second guitar. He wrote almost all of X’s parts for the last album. He’s the bass player.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. Connor could more than step into X’s shoes in that respect.

“What? We hold second guitar auditions instead?” I asked.

Just as I asked that, a soft knock came from the front door, and Flipper got up and opened it. We all got a shock at who it was.

Devon Gian-fuckin’-Franco.

Jason’s face split into a huge happy grin. “Naw, man. We get him.”

Devon stared at me, his jaw slack, his turquoise eyes huge.

It wasn’t just the missing hair that threw him. I looked like a fuckin’ beanpole with all the weight I’d dropped after the accident. I was freakish and maybe a little on the sick side. But I was feeling better ever since I’d gotten out of the hospital and stopped drinking whiskey like water.

Struggling to my feet, I grabbed my crutches and hobbled over to him where we gave each other a huge fuckin’ man-hug.

“What brings you here, man?” I asked.

“I ran into Kenna at the airport,” he replied.

My heart tripped. “How was she? She look all right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, man,” he said, taking in my appearance up close. “You both look like you haven’t eaten in months. She looked good. Hungry but good. Alys, too. What…what the fuck, man?”

“Yeah, I know. What did Kenna tell you?”

“That she was forced to leave you…and about X.” He swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry about that, man. Real sorry. For all of you.”

“Did she…” I just wanted to see her, hear her sexy husky voice so bad. My soul hurt, just knowing Devon had gotten to look at her, seen her gorgeous green eyes, maybe even a smile.

“She’s all right, man. She misses you.”

“Let the man in, Phil!” called Jason. “You didn’t shrink that much. You’re blockin’ the entrance.”

Once we were all seated again, Devon told us about his Tibetan pilgrimage and the shit he’d been up to for the last few months.

Then, Jason got right to it. “It’s a fuckin’ sign you’re here.”

“You think so?” asked Devon. His snarkiness reminded me of Pygmy.

“Yeah. We were just talkin’ about what to do now as a band. And then you just show up out of the blue.”

“I tried to call—”

“They took our phones!” snapped Flipper. “Some sort of privacy bullshit. No phones, no computers, no cameras. If someone has to contact us, they have to go through the head office. Such bullshit.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t easy, getting them to let me in. I got searched and had to sign a waiver. I told them you guys were expecting me, so if anyone asks…”

“Where are you stayin’?” I asked him.

“I haven’t made any arrangements yet.”

“There’s extra space at our place,” said Flipper. “If you want to join us in our self-imposed exile and sobriety.”

Devon nodded. “Sure. If you fuckers end up driving me nuts, I’ll just leave.”

I was dying to ask him if his cell phone had been taken. If he still had it, then maybe I could talk to my Baby Girl. I wasn’t gonna bring it up in front of Connor though.

“Okay! Enough of the stupid shit! Let’s talk music,” said Jason, getting fired up. “Devon, you want to be in the band?”

“Damn, don’t you think we should talk about it together first?” demanded Flipper. “He just got here. You don’t spring that sort of shit on a man after travelin’!”

“Phil and I were talking about collaborating after I got back,” said Devon.

The guys all looked at me.

“Say what?” asked Jason. “You were just gonna go off and make music with someone else?”

“Why would that have been a problem?” I asked, feeling defensive.

“Because, man! We make music together!”

“You just asked him to join our fuckin’ band!” I shouted.

“Because he’s perfect for us!” Jason shouted back.

“Oh, well, thanks for that,” said Devon.

“We have no idea what direction we’re supposed to go in now! No clue! We haven’t even figured out if we need a second guitar—” I was saying.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t do rhythm,” Devon drawled.

“No, man. Two leads!” cried Jason. “Can you imagine? Fuck, we’d super group the fuck out of this shit! People’s heads would explode in the audience! And with Connor on bass—”

“Connor on bass?” Devon asked.

“It’s my instrument, yeah,” said Connor. “I played rhythm because…well, why not?”

“It all makes fuckin’ sense!” said Jason. “I’ve never met anyone more talented on bass than this cat right here—don’t fuckin’ look at me like that, Phil. X said the same fuckin’ thing. We wanted to do somethin’ better, somethin’ more, somethin’ that blows our audience to hell and back. Between Devon and me, we’d fuckin’ make demons weep! X wanted this—”

“X didn’t want to die!” I snarled, my temper rising. “He didn’t want to leave us in this fuckin’ mess!”

“He wanted us to move on from what we’d been doin’, Phil. He was all for makin’ some primo-awesome music. He wanted to push the boundaries. Now…NOLA’s Junk has the potential to annihilate every other fuckin’ heavy metal band out there.”

“We ain’t NOLA’s Junk no more!” I cried. “X gave us that! We can’t—”

“NOLA’s Own,” said Connor quietly.

Somehow, his voice was louder in its gentle tone than Jason’s and my shoutin’ combined. The room rang with it.

“What’s that?” asked Flipper.

“NOLA’s Own,” he repeated. “That’s who we really are. We aren’t junk. We’re a clan. A tribe.”

Flipper got a bright, crazy look in his eyes. “Holy shit, man. Yeah. Yeah!”

“Um…I’m not from NOLA,” said Devon.

“So?” asked Jason, looking at Connor like he’d just handed his ass Christmas. “You’re an adopted son.”

My eyes widened, and my breath caught in my chest.

When Jason had said that, everything clicked into place inside my head, and by all of Kenna’s and Connor’s gods…I heard the music again. My soul lifted, cocking an ear to it, and fuck me, it was the second most beautiful thing I’d ever experienced.

Because, well, Kenna was the most beautiful experience.

“Yes,” I whispered.

My eyes met Connor’s, and he knew I’d heard it. He had the same weird-ass ability that Kenna had—looking into my eyes and seeing my soul.

What is it with these hippie fuckin’ MacGregors?

Jason’s eyes snapped back to mine. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

We all looked at Devon, who sat up straighter.

He took a minute to look us all in the eyes before saying, “Well, you guys can’t be worse than Cornered Cannibal.”