by B. B. Miller
“I love my job, but touring has a price,” Grant told me before Caroline arrived. “I miss being home. I miss her.” It made me think about the fact I don’t have anyone to miss. I don’t know what it feels like—that longing Grant and the rest of the guys in Redfall have for the women in their lives. Kennedy once said he breathes easier when Abby is around. Spending time with Cassidy today gave me a glimpse of that. She opens me up, makes me think about possibilities, about ways to get her to smile, about having a connection with someone that lasts beyond a few hours or a single night.
“Hey.” Sydney nudges me in the shoulder, grabbing my attention. She joined us an hour ago and has been avoiding the bowls of sweets the rest of the band is devouring. She spewed some nonsense about not wanting to gain weight before the wedding. I don’t know what she’s worried about. Syd and I share the same metabolism. We can eat like ravenous wolves and never have to worry.
Syd nods to the table in the far corner, lowering her voice. “You okay with all this?”
I glance over at Andrew who’s passing vodka to Blair. “Come on, Syd. You’ve been backstage a time or two. This is tame.” She laughs, but it sounds hollow. “All is good. Is it tempting? Sure. Do I know what I can and can’t handle now? Of course. Do I want to be caught up in chaos and tension again? Not in a million fucking years.” I suck back an energy drink, its stark, manufactured taste stinging my tongue. I kind of miss the fresh fruit displays and protein-rich smoothies Tucker now insists we have before a show. It’s a far cry from where we started out, when backstage was a hazy blur of excess and indulgence. Watching Andrew and Blair put a dent in the bottle gives me a flashback to those days gone by, but it doesn’t make me crave it. My indulgences now are much different, and I know that’s a good thing.
Syd gives my arm a squeeze. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” Her tone is soft, sincere.
“I know that, Syd. Thank you for caring enough to ask.”
“Of course I care. When I think about what you went through in rehab…” A shadow of worry hangs in the air, threatening to choke us. My stint in rehab was a fucking nightmare—for my family and for me. What I put Syd and my parents through is always going to burn.
“Try not to think about it. I surrendered to the process. I did all the steps and then some. I still go to meetings if I need to. And if I’m feeling the itch, I have my sponsor who will pick up any time of day or night.” Thank the Lord for Russell. He was on the receiving end of many a marathon phone call during the early days of my recovery. I haven’t needed to call him in a long time, thank Christ.
“I will too, you know.” Syd looks up at me, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about this right now when you’re about to go on stage.”
I sling my arm around her shoulder and ruffle her hair. “It’s okay, Syd. It’s never a bad time to remember that it’s easy to get lost in your own selfishness sometimes.”
She ducks away from me, trying to flatten down her hair. “You are not selfish, Sean.”
“About some things I am. It’s just not my center anymore.”
She smiles at me. “I know that too. What you’re doing tonight with these guys, how you insist on paying for everything for the wedding even though Philip isn’t your favorite person in the world.”
“Isn’t that the tru—” Her death glares shuts me up, and I mock zipping my lips. I still can’t quite wrap my head ’round what she sees in Philip. He’s the most straight-laced, buttoned-up bloke you’d ever come across. Simon loved to take risks and thrived off adrenaline. Philip would be quite content watching paint dry. Maybe that’s why she likes him—loves him. He’s the exact opposite of who Simon was.
“Who knows how much money you donate to the music academy back home, and now you’re starting one here.” She shakes her head. “You may have your moments now and again where I’d like to throttle you, but you’re one of the least selfish people I know.”
Damn twin making me all emotional. I set the rest of the energy drink down and pull her into a hug. “Thanks for not throttling me, Syd. Think of how boring your life would be without me in it.” Her laugh is muffled against my shirt, and she gives my chest a shove.
“Shouldn’t you be out there now? That crowd seems to think so.” Syd smiles at the impatient chants drifting to us. I see Grant push off the couch and move to the door, giving Caroline a kiss before he glances at me.
“You ready to do this, mate?” I give his shoulder a smack when I join him.
“Born ready, my friend. Born ready.”
The Gramercy is small in comparison to the stadiums Redfall typically plays, but the intimate atmosphere adds a dimension that hooks me. A crowd this size is easier to read, and Grant plays off them with his instinctive charisma only the best front men have.
It doesn’t take long for us to find our synergy, and soon, Grant drills the vocal, hitting the high notes that have become his trademark. He feeds off the crowd while I lead us into the haunting version of “Mistress Nine” we practiced this afternoon.
Blair falls into step easily, shooting me a grin halfway through. I’d like to say I told you so, but I don’t need to. The crowd says it all. Their pulsing, electric energy fills the theater and pushes us to give them more.
Nights like this are what it’s all about. That magic chemistry between musicians and the crowd is something I’m always seeking. I know how lucky I’ve been to share a stage with my own band when it happens. Tonight, I’m playing with an intensive authority that holds the audience captive, a passion that has every muscle in my body aching in the best way.
I feel like I’ve sprinted up Everest after we take our first standing ovation and head backstage to darkness. The crowd wants more, and we’re going to give it to them. I’m dripping with sweat and reach for a towel perched on one of the amp cases when familiar, frantic squealing pierces through the constant buzz in my ears.
Through the muted glow cast by the recessed floor lights, I see two girls fawning over Andrew and Blair. Ah, the groupies. They’re never far off. Caroline watches and ignores the random women who want a piece of her man. Grant is oblivious to the small group scratching and clawing their way to us. He’s only got eyes for his wife, pulling her into his arms despite the fawning groupies.
I’ve never complained about women who can’t get enough of musicians—bless them a thousand times over—but the arm snaking around my waist feels wrong. Glancing down, her eyes aren’t that fascinating gray-blue I’ve started to crave. Her hair isn’t soft or blond; it’s ebony and rough against my exposed chest.
Grant leans away from Caroline, shouting so I can hear above the roar of the crowd. “You’re on fire, Sean. Seriously. Thank you for doing this, man.”
“You don’t need to thank me.” I can feel the hand at my waist drift down to the back of my jeans, into the pocket. I take a step to the side, knocking into a stack of equipment cases, but damn, if she isn’t persistent.
“I’d like to thank you.” The woman has a twangy voice. She won’t let go as if she wants to climb my torso. This is all wrong. She’s not Cassidy. It hits me; I want Cassidy here, and it burns to know she’s out with another man. “Want me to show you how much?”
Gently, I pry Little Miss Determined’s hand out of my back pocket. “Darling, you’re lovely, but I’ve got an encore to perform.” She gives me a little pout, pushing her tits forward. I do hate disappointing women. Leaning forward, I whisper next to her ear, motioning over to Andrew and Blair who have their hands full of their own distractions. “See these two over here?” She glances over in their direction. “They’re the ones who could use a thank-you.”
“But they’re not you.” She blinks at me all eager and ready to do whatever the fuck I want. I appreciate the enthusiasm even if it is shallow.
“Few men are, darling. Few men are.” She huffs and then plants a kiss on my cheek and saunters her sweet ass over to join Andrew and Blair, preening her hair on the way. They can thank
me later.
Satisfied I’ve done my good deed for the night, I turn to go in search for an ocean or two of water before we take the stage for the encore. I look over my shoulder to be wary of more groupies when I collide straightaway into curves I recognize easily. My hands itch to touch, to claim, to pull her against me, but she’s not having it. Even in the muted light, those eyes of hers tell me everything I need to know. Cassidy’s seen me with another woman, and she’s not amused.
Cassidy
Those green eyes that have haunted my dreams since I met him widen in shock. I’m the last person he expected to see here tonight, especially considering his little black-haired friend over there. Ass.
“You came!” His grin could light up the city, and I can’t help but smile in return. But then his eyes move past me to land on Jack’s outstretched hand.
“Great set, man.” Jack’s excited voice matches his eyes. “That was fantastic.” When Sean leaves his hand hanging in the air and narrows his eyes to slits, Jack places his hand on my shoulder instead. “You never said you knew any musicians, Cass,” he says, seeming to ignore the snub, but his voice carries a slight edge.
“Only one.” Sean’s eyes dart to mine at my flat tone, his jaw set. “Jack, this is Sean Murphy, usually the drummer for Redfall. Sean, Jack Coleman.”
“Redfall?” Jack’s eyes widen. “Holy shit. Why are you slumming it with these guys?”
“I don’t consider it slumming,” Sean shoots back, his eyes sparking green fire. “They’re talented musicians.”
Jack huffs a laugh and presses his free hand to his chest. “My mistake. It was a poor choice of words. So, are you the guest artist or something?” He slides his hand from my shoulder down to my waist, pulling me closer and out of the way of a stagehand who almost mows me down while carrying two mic stands past us. Jack’s just being polite, but Sean’s clenching his teeth so hard, the veins are popping on his neck.
“Just doing a friend a favor,” he grits out. He waves a hand at Jack, but keeps his gaze on me. “So, this is the sad Italian guy, huh? The boring git you just can’t say no to?”
Glaring at him, I take a step toward him and out of Jack’s protective hold. “I told you at lunch, he’s neither sad nor Italian. Stop being an ass.”
“Ah, but he is boring, right?” He waves a hand at Jack, who’s watching us with confusion and a touch of amusement. “I mean, just look at him. Christ. All buttoned up and not a hair out of place? You can’t be serious about this tosser.” He rakes a hand through his purple hair, looking skyward. “Jesus, what is it with the women in my life? First Syd falls in love with Philip-the-Damp-Squib, and now you show up with—”
“Would you shut up for five seconds?” I hiss, feeling my face heat in anger and embarrassment. Jesus, his lack of filter drives me nuts. And I hate that his possessive outrage is kinda hot. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Have you told him?” He steps closer, making me look up at him. The shirt he’s wearing is unbuttoned and looks like the sleeves were torn off, leaving jagged seams at the shoulders and exposing the swirling colors of ink that adorn his muscled arms and chest. Roses morph into musical notes, a lion is wrapped in the Union Jack, and a compass overshadows a map of Europe. He’s a work of art and my fingers itch to explore each and every design. At the moment, glaring up into his stubborn expression, all I want to do is slap him.
“I’m not talking about this now,” I grind out, mindful of the crush of bodies backstage. I don’t really want to yell about my sex life in a crowd of strangers.
Sean leans closer, and I’m instantly surrounded by his warm, spicy scent. “Why not? He needs to know.” He raises his chin in challenge. “Or didn’t you mean anything you said today?”
“Okay, that’s fucking it!” I shove at his chest, but it’s like shoving a wall. “How dare you! You were cozying up to little Miss Thing over there?” I fling an arm out, pointing toward the hussy who was rubbing against him like a cat in heat a minute ago. “Or are you going to try to tell me it wasn’t what it looked like?”
“Oh, it definitely was,” he growls, that cocky smirk I hate to love sliding on his lips. “But—”
“But nothing.” Propping my hands on my hips, I glare at him. “I was honest with you today, but all that crap you spewed about not wanting any other women?” I huff a scornful laugh. “You’re all hat and no cattle.”
Jack snickers behind me at my back-home comment as Sean looks like I’ve grown two heads. “All hat… what the fuck does that mean?” He reaches for my arm, but I jerk it out of his reach. “Fly-girl, I wasn’t lying today. If you’d stop and think about what you really saw—”
“Cassidy!” Sydney appears out of the murky darkness, a bright, surprised smile on her face, and gives me a quick hug. “I didn’t know you were coming! Sean didn’t say anything.”
“He didn’t know. A friend got us in. I didn’t know he was playing here,” I say and quickly introduce Sydney and Jack. She gives my date a once-over, and then her eyes dart to her twin, her lips quirking with humor.
“Jack, nice to meet you,” Sydney says over the noise of the chanting crowd. They’re demanding another encore. “Don’t mind my Neanderthal brother. He never was good at sharing his toys.”
“For fuck’s sake, Syd,” Sean begins, his cheeks turning red, even in the dim backstage light. Before he can say any more, a man with a blond crewcut and goatee slaps his hand on Sean’s shoulder.
“Come on, man, we need to get out there before they start pulling up the seats.” He gives Syd and me a rakish smile. “You can hobnob with your ladies later.”
Sean snorts out a laugh. “Right, mate. Let’s do this.” He turns and makes a grandiose bow to us. “Ladies. I’ll see you both later.” He jogs on stage, followed by a couple other guys who are slinging guitar straps over their heads.
“The guy with the goatee is Grant Bishop. It’s his band.” Syd leans closer so she can be heard over the roar of the crowd. “Their drummer is out for a couple gigs, so Sean is doing him a favor.”
I nod, indicating I heard her, but can’t take my eyes off the man settling behind the drum kit and twirling his sticks in his fingers like batons, much to the crowd’s delight. His head snaps toward me, his eyes boring into mine, and then a smile curls his lips I feel in my belly. Giving a howl, he counts them in, and then the band bursts into a version of “Walk this Way” that sends the crowd into a frenzy.
Sydney and I bop and sway to the beat; it’s impossible to stand still. “It’s been years since I heard him play with a band other than Redfall,” she yells in my ear. “They’re like his brothers, and they share a hive mind when they play. But he hasn’t missed a step with Grant’s crew.”
I let my eyes rove over the violet-haired maniac whose arms are flying with such skill and strength over his instrument. “He’s amazing,” I blurt. She shoots me a knowing grin.
“He is, isn’t he?”
I give her a grudging smile in response, and she laughs, ducking closer to say, “You know, he thinks you’re pretty amazing, too.”
Humph. Maybe, maybe not. I nod to let her know I heard her, but don’t reply. I can’t focus on anything besides the man pounding out a driving, rock-solid rhythm that’s propelling the band forward and thrilling the audience. A satisfied smile is never far from his lips, despite the intense look of concentration in his eyes. Based on the grins the guitarists throw each other across the stage, they look like they’re having the time of their lives.
A warm glow forms in my chest as I watch Sean work his magic. The sheer joy he exudes is contagious, and I find myself mirroring his grin. Seeing him in his natural habitat is both a privilege and an indescribable pleasure.
Aerosmith gives way to Nirvana, and then to one of Redfall’s biggest hits, making Sean howl like a fiend. The crowd is eating it up with a spoon, stomping and screaming and singing along for all their worth. Standing well out of sight of the audience, Sydney and I sway and
clap along. Just when they’ve almost reached the end, a hand squeezes my shoulder, making me jump. Oh, jeez; I’d completely forgotten about Jack.
“Hey, I’m sorry, but do you mind if we head out now?” He leans close to my ear to be heard over the crowd. “It’s almost midnight and I have some early meetings tomorrow.”
Reality crashes down around me. Sneaking a look out at the stage, just as the guys come to a crashing end, I feel a flutter of nerves. As much as I want to stay, I don’t really want a repeat of Sean being an ass to Jack. It feels like my worlds are colliding, and I can’t quite handle it right now. I especially can’t handle the pang of jealousy I feel when I see the herd of squealing groupies hovering offstage, ready to pounce. It makes my feelings for Sean all too real—more real than I want to think about now.
“Yes, let’s go.” I turn away from the lights as the guitarists onstage unplug, but Sydney grabs my arm. Jack pulls out his phone and mutters about texting his driver.
“You can’t leave yet! He’ll want to see you.” Sydney’s eyes implore me to wait, but I pat her hand and she releases me. The crowd roars for more even as the band saunters toward the front of the stage. Grant rises from behind the piano and waves at Sean, who nimbly jumps down from the raised drum platform; he joins the others and slings his arm around Grant’s shoulders. He’s giving the chanting crowd a cheeky salute when I look back at his sister.
“Tell him I’ll talk to him later. Have a great evening, Sydney.”
Sydney nods and gives me a resigned but understanding smile. “I will.”
The journey back to my shop is mostly silent. My ears still ring from the volume of the speakers on stage. My heart thrums from watching the mesmerizing British man in his element. It was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. Ever. The sight of his biceps bunching as he pounded away, the drops of sweat that looked like gems caught in the stage lights when he shook his head…I suck in a small breath and try not wriggle in my seat to relieve some tension. As much as I hate to admit it, I can’t really blame those damn groupies.