by Quinn, Cari
It was muffled, indistinct. I could barely make out what I was hearing. It sounded like…background noise? I didn’t have time to replay it now in any case.
I didn’t recognize the number. I had both of Nash’s numbers already programmed into my phone.
Always went back to him. Except sometimes it didn’t.
I tucked it into my bag and shook off the distraction.
No time for that now. I had work to do.
Twenty
Fuck yeah, we were doing it.
As the lights went down, I unhooked from the platform and ran over to the god-mic, which had a direct link to the stage manager, to let the crew know we were going to go with the audible tonight. The show was going extra well and the new number Teagan and Oz had put together would be perfect for the mood of the night.
This crowd would appreciate the special flavor of the song. And by some miracle my voice was doing well through the show.
Teagan’s voice came through my monitors. “We’re doing this?”
“Yes, girl, you got this.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to play the lead?”
“Nope, it’s your idea and your composition. I’ll follow your lead.”
“Oh, God.”
I laughed. “You got this.”
Teagan was a natural born musician. She didn’t have the confidence quite yet, but she was already blasting past all the boundaries she’d had when we first added her to the band. Even Jamie had accepted her with little fanfare, and she was our biggest gatekeeper.
This was her family.
Just like family, we all fought sometimes. But once you were Jamie’s, you were hers for life. The strain of our little fight was still sitting on my chest. I’d have to clear it with her tonight after the show.
I would tell her about Nash.
I was almost positive.
The opening strains of the slowed down version of “Dream On” floated into the venue. Nash and this song would forever overlap. Even the slower version. The sweeter opening was gentle and airy.
My voice rose out of the night.
The arena was a mass of flashlights from cell phones, as well as a few old-school lighters. The stage was dark save for Teagan’s piano under an ethereal purple light.
I rose out of the stage from the trapdoor we used for encores.
The piano soared and my heart raced as the build of the song rose to a fevered pitch. Jamie came in with Zane in a guitar duel that buzzed through my body just like that night.
Memories of Nash’s dominant touch and discordant playing juxtaposed over the full accompaniment version of the song slaying the audience. It seemed like I was out of my own body. I belted out the last verse and somehow the extended version poured out of me.
My band knew just how to follow me. I layered in one of our songs—an old one that I ended up singing alone for a moment before Jamie joined in. As she always did. We were one during a show. Even in the middle of a fight, we always bonded again over the music.
I crossed to her side and draped my arm over her shoulder. We touched foreheads as “Stardust”, one of our first songs we wrote together, seamlessly flowed back into the end of “Dream On” with our voices carrying into the night together. Hers sultry and husky, and mine rising to an octave I hadn’t tried for in ages. I hit it and the crowd lost their mind. I leaned in and hugged Jamie and she crushed me hard to her chest. My back screamed from the sunburn, but it didn’t matter.
She was my best friend and I’d inadvertently hurt her. And now I was forgiven.
We both backed up to the middle of the stage and huddled with Zane and Oz.
“Got another in you?” I asked them.
“Always.” Zane’s blue eyes were bright with mischief. “What are you thinking?”
“Well, we are in Chicago.”
“Aww, shit.” Zane chest bumped with Oz, bouncing back a little simply with their size difference.
“Think the little one is ready for this?” Oz asked with a wicked grin.
Jamie laughed. “Probably not. We’ll tell Teagan last then.” She ran over to Cooper and hopped up on his drum riser. She whispered in his ear and he laughed, twirling his sticks into the air.
Guess that was a yes from him too.
I went to the god-mic again and heard Darcy swearing in my monitors. I didn’t wait for her to get pissy. I just wanted to rock the house and make them remember us. That was what this job was all about, goddammit. With all the shit going on in the world, we made sure our shows were even more immersive.
We all scattered. We hadn’t played the song in forever, but some things lived in your brain without needing a rehearsal. I just hoped Darcy would forgive us for going over by not only an eleven-minute extended version of “Dream On” but one of the most over the top and amazing songs that ever came out of the eighties.
Jamie moved from our drummer back to a perplexed Teagan. She bent down to her and Teagan swirled on her bench. “Are you shitting me?”
“Know it?”
“Of course I know it,” Teagan said through my monitors.
Jamie gave her a whack on the back before she ran over to me. We both climbed onto the mini stage and each hooked a bungie-layered chain to the back of our belts from the safety bar bolted to the floor. The hum of the long crane-like arm that would send the stage over the crowd only added to the pump of adrenaline as Cooper provided the iconic drum intro and Zane started us off.
I needed Jamie’s deeper voice for this song. Oz jumped up on the platform with us and the crowd went wild.
Oh, shit, I was going to catch hell for this. There were only two safety chains per stage. But right now, it didn’t make a difference. Oz was born for these mechanical arms that flew out into the night. The awe and screams heightened the badassery of our display.
The three of us sang together into the mic, Oz’s deeper register blending with Jamie’s husky tones and my higher ones.
It didn’t matter how old you were. The fans knew this song. Especially the Chicago natives. There was a point of pride to it, regardless of the age group. Survivor’s “Eye of the Tiger” rose out of the crowd mixed with laughter and screams as the three of us soared over twenty-thousand elated fans.
All the house lights were up and I tilted my head back as I held the microphone out for the sing-along.
We wound the end of the song into our biggest hit and started the encore from where we were.
Darcy screeched in my ear since Oz wasn’t hooked up to the safety rig. Whoops.
We glided above the crowd as we sang “Wanderlust”. It was a slow build song with a blast of home movies that filled the screens on the four walls of the arena. The frames around the screens ran with little trailing lights glowing in and out to draw the eye. Backstage clips and montages of vacation days from the last two tours were mashed up with memories and the best parts of touring. The people we met, the love we felt each night from the fans who believed in us, the staff and crew who helped make each concert happen.
The emotion rose in the music until the stadium was vibrating with it.
The slow-moving platform finally made its way back to the stage, and our tech people flew out to unhook us. Oz was already crossing the stage to a thunderous applause.
Now it was time to play our final number of the show.
We left them on a high. Me, in the center, as I made eye contact with as many faces as I could from the first few rows. We crisscrossed the stage, waving to the audience, getting everyone on their feet.
“I want to hear every voice, every scream.” I pulled out my monitors and shook my hair back as I stood with my legs braced to sing the shit out of “Unspoken”.
By the end of the song, my legs were jelly and my heart was racing. The adrenaline coursing inside me wanted more, craved another fix of the exhilaration fueled by the crowd, but I knew I was beyond empty. We’d given them two and a half hours and we were well beyond curfew.
Which of course meant we wo
uld be paying for it if they enforced it.
But it didn’t matter. Not when we saw the faces on our fans. As I locked hands with Jamie on one side and Teagan on the other, and we did our final bows, I knew it was going to take forever to come down from this night no matter how tired I was.
We all stood on the flooring that slid into the underbelly of the stage and waved our goodbyes.
“Holy fuck.” Jamie was still in the zone. “I need a fucking drink. I need a fucking fuck. My fucking skin is still vibrating.”
Oz scooped her up off her feet and swung her around. “Calm down, you freak.”
Jamie pounded on his shoulder. “Put me down, Tarzan.”
He laughed and set her down. “Christ, we need to find somewhere to go. I can’t just go to the hotel.”
“It has a bar.” Teagan’s voice was still a bit timid. She wasn’t quite there yet when it came to voicing her opinions, although she was getting better at it.
“Yeah, little one?” Oz grinned down at her. “How many people are we going to have to fight to enjoy it?”
She pushed her bright strawberry curls out of her face, her bluebell eyes so damn earnest. “No, it’s a separate bar in the penthouse.”
“Now that is what I’m talking about.” Zane threw Teagan over his shoulder. He gave a wolf howl and ran down the ramp to the backstage.
Cooper stared after them, his eyes narrowed.
Huh.
He fisted his hand, his knuckles cracking. Which, hello, after all that drumming should be near impossible. Well, that was new.
Jamie glanced at me. “Do they really have a penthouse thing?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t even been to the hotel yet.”
“Oh, right. Miss solo artist.”
I rolled my eyes. “Go shower and I’ll remind you why you can’t get rid of me.”
Jamie’s dark eyes lit with glee. I was probably going to regret this, but it was better than her sulking.
Afterward, I’d most likely end up trying to match her shot for shot with something eighty-proof. God help me.
I avoided the chaos of backstage. Between the crew and our opening act, there were just so many people everywhere. I needed a second to quiet my brain. Everything was way too buzzy after a show like that.
After I closed myself into the closet-sized dressing room, I stripped out of my costume. I wanted a shower, but I still had a little bit of Nash on my skin. I wasn’t altogether sure I wanted to wash that away.
Hmm, now there was an idea.
I grabbed my phone, flipped my hair back, and raised it for a little risqué selfie. In fact, the little marks he’d left behind on my neck were in full view along my collarbone and shoulder. Our stage makeup was top of the line, but we’d put on quite the concert.
I wasn’t stupid enough to go full nude. I trusted Nash, but there were just too many ways that shit could go sideways. A lifetime of paparazzi trouble in my history could attest to that.
Before I could think too hard about it, I sent off the photo to him and shoved my phone back into my bag. I didn’t want to stare at it to see if he replied. Far better to be pleasantly surprised if he did.
I pulled on one of my ancient sweatshirts that fell off my shoulder and my comfortable jeans. And because I had a few too many physical reminders from my new…lover, I’d have to make some repairs. That was kind of a lame name for him, but we were so new and jagged. Lust and wild emotions tangled around us both like an overgrown bramble bush.
I pulled out my makeup bag and dabbed at the little bruises with my miracle foundation. It could cover up damn near anything. I patted a little pressed powder on the marks, and they became almost invisible. I still needed a damn shower, but again, I wasn’t ready to rid myself of all the reminders of such an intense day.
In all possible ways.
I stuffed my songbook into my bag and headed back into the hallway. Jamie was waiting for me with Molly, Denver, Elle, and Juliet.
Fuck, I was screwed.
This crew would get me into trouble tonight.
Twenty-One
When I saw the group of girls waiting in the hall outside my dressing room, I knew shenanigans were sure to follow.
I grinned at Denver. “How’s the ankle?”
Denver, Ryan’s wife and driver for Warning Sign, swung her big walking cast boot. “Better than my shoulder was for a week. Thanks for filling in for me on short notice.”
“No problem. Sorry you missed the wedding.”
“Ryan strapped me down. I didn’t have much choice.”
“I heard you like that kind of thing,” Molly quipped.
Denver flashed a wolfish grin. “Sometimes. However, missing Hawaii was pretty fucking rude.”
I pressed my lips together.
“Rock-climbing three days before you’re supposed to leave wasn’t the best idea, chick.”
Leave it to Jamie to tell it like it was. I shook my head.
“Your idea,” Denver muttered.
“Yeah, after the wedding, idiot.” But Jamie softened it by looping her arm around Denver’s shoulders.
Denver winced at the not-so-gentle squeeze, but she leaned into it. She and Jamie got along well since neither of them chased the glam and makeup part of girlhood like most of us on the tour. In fact, Jamie had given Denver the details on where to go climbing. Both of them lived for that adrenaline kick.
I patted Denver’s arm gently. “Well, we’re just glad you’re all right.”
“I did get to make Ry wear a nursemaid outfit for a week, so all wasn’t lost. And we found interesting ways to enjoy our time alone.”
“Ugh, please don’t put those thoughts in my head.” Molly flipped her phone back and forth by the finger loop on her case. “Can we please get out of this hallway? It smells like dirty socks.”
I laughed. “You’re not wrong.”
“The guys keep sending me pictures of the penthouse bar.” Molly flicked through screens on her phone and showed off a picture of a sparkly chandelier and lush purple velvet booths. “It’s absolutely decadent.”
Jules did a little wiggle and bump against Molly. “I am so excited to have a night out. Tristan wanted to play with a new recipe so he was more than willing to chill with Josh tonight.”
Molly flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Well, you’ll be in trouble. Ethan’s playing mixologist, I hear.”
Jules moaned. “He makes the best drinks. And usually ones that make this mama a bit feisty. Maybe I’ll have to lure Tris out of the suite. Our nanny is always bitching we never go out together alone.” She dug out her phone.
I laughed. I really loved having these guys on the road with us.
Molly tugged down the little stretchy dress she was wearing. “I dressed to impress my boys. May this evening be as epic as the show was tonight.”
“Now who’s being braggy?” Denver stuck out her tongue.
Molly gave her a serene smile. “My boys like to indulge me, what can I say?”
Molly enjoyed the finer things attached to being a rockstar. I remembered when that kind of thing had mattered to me. But then again, it was still all fun and shiny for Warning Sign. They were more family than just a new band these days.
There had been a lot of trauma and heartache in their short time together, but things seemed to be really good between all of them now. Marriages, engagements, and even babies. They were a tight unit and I had no doubt they would be headlining on their own by their next album. It would definitely be our loss.
But for now, we had plenty of time to enjoy them. We had a few more months left on this leg of our tour and I’d spoken with Lila a few times about extending their contract as long as they were amenable.
Jamie and Denver were talking about some truly terrifying details of hand-gliding, so I hung back with Elle. “Where’s the rest of our idiots?”
“The rest of your guys already headed back to the swanky penthouse bar.”
Oz had kidnapped Teagan, but I’d as
sumed they would wait for me. Guess the lure had been way too appealing. “What did they do, sprint?”
“Just about.”
I peered around our group of revelers. “Where’s Mal? He doesn’t usually let you out of his sight.”
Elle twisted a lock of dark hair around her finger. She changed the color even more than Jamie did. “He and Michael had to do a video call to the farm in New York before it got too late. I told them I’d meet them after your show.”
“Everything all right?”
I was almost afraid to ask. Things had been going really well lately.
“Oh, yeah. Just Laverne’s birthday. Lila and Nicky are throwing her a party. Michael and Mal are the surprise.”
I was trying to picture the huge drummer singing happy birthday, but stranger things had happened since I’d gotten to know the band touring with us a little better.
It was hard to keep all of the connections straight when it came to Warning Sign. Especially when so much of it overlapped with Oblivion—coincidentally, the band who’d allowed our band to open for them so many years ago now—and the management team we all shared at Ripper Records. But everyone knew Lila’s mother, Laverne. She spoiled all of us when we came into New York. No matter what time of year it was, any and all of us had a free pass to visit Happy Acres Orchard.
I might need a little of that TLC soon.
I’d really enjoyed my little stop in Winchester Falls, and not just because of Nash. There was something about New York—even upstate—that kept me even. Maybe if things went well I could figure out a way to get a hit of both soon.
I knew he lived in the city, but he was damn secretive about his lair, which included the secret studio where he mixed most of the records he worked on. That was part of the package with Nash. He had complete control of the end product. Personally, I’d rather pull out my own molars than release that kind of control to anyone, but there were plenty of people who’d kill for the chance to have him attached to their work.
The fact that every single or album he’d worked on had reached the top twenty on the Billboard charts definitely didn’t hurt.
Even with the ever increasing amount of indie releases, Alexander Nash had some sort of magic mojo when it came to the studio. He was like Mutt Lange in his heyday. Except without the slick result. Nope, everything sounded individual when it came to Nash’s production.