Staged (Exodus End World Tour, #3)

by Cunning, Olivia

  The crowd grew restless. Some idiot threw a water bottle on the stage, and it hit hard near Sage’s feet. The bottle’s contents splashed all over her lower legs. She hopped backwards a second too late.

  “Hey, knock it off!” Azura yelled angrily, crossing the stage to check on her friend. A stagehand crouched low and hurried to collect the bottle and mop up the potentially slippery situation with a towel.

  Roux noticed Iona waving at her and mouthing words she wished she didn’t understand: Talk to them. Oh fuck, she was going to puke. But she did have a working mic. One that hopefully wouldn’t sound like a hard-braking train when she spoke into it.

  “S-sorry to keep you waiting. Sometimes a mic and an instrument don’t play nice together.”

  But someone should have caught that during sound check. A technician was already unwinding the cord of a new microphone, to switch it out. Roux decided to introduce her band members while they waited. Her voice was surprisingly steady as long as she didn’t look at the crowd directly. Staring over their heads worked best. Imagining them all naked did nothing but nauseate her.

  “Playing for you today is Azura on guitar.” Azura played a long, loud note on her guitar and held her bright blue instrument up over her head as the note carried. “And Sage, also on guitar.” Sage had to one-up Azura by playing several notes of one of her fastest guitar solos. “Back on drums is Lily.” Who doubled down on a drum solo of her own. “On bass and lead vocals is Iona.” Iona played several rumbling bass chords. “And I’m Roux, keyboard.” She played a few measures of chopsticks as a joke.

  Some of the crowd laughed, but she very clearly heard someone yell, “Get off the stage!”

  “Not until we’re finished making your ears ring,” Iona said with a wry grin. Her mic didn’t screech this time. Roux felt like cheering.

  Iona continued speaking, every eye in the audience focused on her beautiful face displayed clearly on the big screen and every ear soothed by her hypnotic voice. “This afternoon we’re going to play a mix of our new album and some familiar songs by the legends of rock who inspired us. We are Baroquen.”

  Bright lights flickered overhead, signaling the start of their first single, “Starlight.” It was the song that the concertgoers at the gates had been playing while they’d waited to have their forearms tagged with the band’s name, so some of the audience recognized it. Roux played the intro, her keyboard sounding seamless with the two wailing guitars, heavy drums, and throbbing bass. Iona’s voice carried across the festival grounds like a siren’s call. And to Roux’s surprise, even more festivalgoers rushed toward their stage. Steve had been right about the rehearsing and muscle memory. Once they started, the music flowed from her with ease. She hit all her notes, sang all her backup lyrics, and even started to relax enough to dance around a little. Her string-playing sisters were really putting on a show at the front of the stage, and Lily was so into her drums that occasionally her arm would extend high enough into the air that she could be seen.

  A circle pit formed near the stage, and to Roux’s utter astonishment, she recognized several of the faces leading the ring of racing men and women waving their Baroquen-marked arms high in the air. Steve, Zach, and Logan worked the crowd into a frenzy from inside the pit. Security was having a hell of a time trying to keep order, but it didn’t seem like the rock stars in the crowd minded the jostling. Roux prayed none of them got hurt. At least Jack hadn’t joined in the chaos. What were those guys thinking? God, she loved them all for doing it.

  They played Heart’s “Barracuda” next, which had the crowd singing along, followed by two of Baroquen’s heavier songs, “Final Stand” and “Cross the Line,” before playing Rush’s “YYZ,” one of Roux’s all-time favorite instrumental pieces. They slowed their frantic pace for their ballad “Fuck You, My Love,” which Lily had written about Jack several years before. Roux sang more in that song than any other.

  Fuck you, for breaking my heart. Fuck you, for tearing me apart. Fuck me and take away my pain. Fuck you, you drive me insane.

  The crowd caught on to the “fuck you” part of the song quickly and were singing along at the top of their lungs, their cellphones lit up and swaying above their heads even though it was the middle of the afternoon and the effect wasn’t as breathtaking as it would have been as thousands of glimmering lights at night.

  Roux searched the crowd for Steve, knowing this was his favorite Baroquen song—apparently because she sang so much of it, not because one of his favorite words was repeated so often. She located him easily, as if her eyes were primed to focus only on him. He had one arm looped around Zach’s neck, and a beer dangling from his hand, but he was staring at her as if he’d been blind his entire life and had just been gifted with vision. She put a little extra soul into her voice just for him, and he lifted his glass of beer toward her before nearly strangling Zach as he drew it to his mouth for a drink.

  A flash went off near him, temporarily drawing her attention from the man she’d never grow tired of staring at, and her heart thudded as she recognized Tamara. Fucking hell. What was she doing in the crowd? And why was she taking pictures of Steve? He either didn’t notice or didn’t care, but Roux could only guess how Tamara would twist a picture of Steve and Zach so close together into something perverse. Roux supposed the two men were used to that kind of fabrication. The lies the tabloids spread didn’t make them keep their distance from each other. Roux thought it was nice that a man was comfortable enough in his sexuality to be affectionate with a gay friend. And Zach never showed the least bit of sexual interest in Steve as far as she could tell, so that was refreshing as well. She hated that the public tried to twist their friendship into something it wasn’t and never had been.

  Tamara followed Steve’s gaze to the stage, and maybe she recognized the obvious adoration for what it was, because she snapped several pictures of Roux before slinking off into the crowd.

  Just as Zach had predicted, their performance ended before it had even settled into Roux’s mind that it was happening. They performed Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” as their encore, which sent the audience into a rapturous round of karaoke, and then it was over.

  Roux took her bows, holding Azura’s hand at the end of her line of sisters. She’d never been prouder to be considered one of them. They were hugging each other and laughing and crying in a big huddle as they shuffled sideways off the stage. When they had almost reached the wings, Raven launched herself onto their ecstatic mass of joy and relief. She was crying so hard, she was gasping.

  And when she showed them why, they waved at the rest of their sisters and Mama Ramona, who’d attended the show via the FaceTime app on Raven’s phone.

  “You were spectacular!” Mama said, clutching her hands together tightly in front of her chest. “I’m so proud of you all. So proud.” She wiped at her tears. “I knew they would love you. My girls, all so special. So unique. So beautiful. So talented. So, so talented.”

  She’d been telling each of them that from the moment they entered her house, until every one of her girls believed it of themselves and of each other. The woman was a rare treasure, a born mother, a true mentor. Roux was so lucky to have been found and rescued by her patchwork family.

  “We love you, Mama!” Iona shouted, waving just as Kyle peeled her away from the group to kiss her passionately right there in front of everyone. Iona went limp and then threw her arms around him to kiss him back with palpable hunger.

  Her five sisters exchanged looks of shock—Iona and Kyle kept their relationship under very tight wraps—and then squealed excitedly before crushing the typically private couple in a group hug. The only thing that could possibly make the moment more special was if Steve were there to share it with Roux.

  A shadow settled behind her shoulder, and she knew her wish had been granted. She turned and reached for him. He was so gorgeous, smiling at her with love and pride in his expression. But the sneering face of Tamara, who was standing directly behind him, shatter
ed Roux’s moment. She lifted her knuckles and fist bumped the love of her life, hoping he recognized how much it meant to her that he was there. Roux glanced pointedly to Steve’s left, and he turned his head.

  Surprisingly, it was Reagan who went off on Tamara. “I am fucking sick of you showing up and ruining everyone’s good time.”

  Tamara grinned and waved her press pass as if it were God’s key to the universe.

  “Haven’t you caused enough problems for this band?”

  “Don’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she bothers you,” Steve said, but he didn’t reach for Roux, and she knew he would have if Tamara hadn’t been there. “She’s a nonentity. Let her take her pictures and fabricate her lies.”

  “Is your own life so boring that you have to make up shit about other people?” Reagan asked.

  “Don’t talk to the ghost, Reagan,” Steve said. “Maybe it will go away.”

  “You wish,” Tamara said. “My life’s mission is to make your life as miserable as you’ve made mine, Steve Aimes.”

  “No idea what you’re talking about,” he said.

  “You know exactly what I’m fucking talking about. And how did you manage to snag the keyboardist of Baroquen as your ‘assistant’?” She finger-quoted assistant. “Or is she fucking her way to the top?”

  Roux was too stunned to respond. Steve looked puzzled. “My assistant?”

  “That’s who Toni said she was this morning at breakfast.”

  “Are you talking about Katie?” Steve said.

  Azura and Raven burst out laughing. “She thinks you’re Katie!” Azura yelled at Roux, slapping her hard on the back and drawing her out of her stunned silence. “Like you and that dork have anything in common.”

  Dork?

  “That’s rich,” Raven said. “I can’t wait to tell Katie that someone thinks she looks like you.”

  “She wishes,” Roux said, rounding up a bit of attitude, but feeling like a transparent moron.

  “I can’t stand this woman,” Steve said, pointing at Roux.

  “I saw the way you were looking at her onstage,” Tamara spat at him. “I’m not blind.”

  “Well, I must admit I think she’s hot.”

  “Even I think she’s hot,” Zach blurted.

  “But we do not get along,” Steve said. “Not even a little.”

  God, Roux fucking hated this farce. If it had been any person on the planet except Tamara, she would have come clean right then, but she wouldn’t give this woman the satisfaction of knowing she’d figured out their stupid sham so easily.

  “We need to set up for the next band,” a stagehand interrupted.

  That was their cue to stop clogging up the wings.

  “What now?” Azura asked, deliberately turning her back to Tamara and effectively ejecting her from the conversation. “Do we get an after-party?”

  Tamara huffed and crossed her arms, but the attention she’d once had, had shifted to Azura and plans for better times. Roux avoided looking at Steve so Tamara couldn’t read the heartache that was surely displayed in her eyes.

  “We have a few hours before Sinners takes the main stage,” Reagan said. “You have to watch them perform. They’re amazing!”

  Exodus End didn’t play until the next night, but they all wanted to support the other headliner of their tour.

  “I think someone is a bit partial because her husband plays guitar in Sinners,” Max said.

  “Guilty of being in love,” Reagan said, “but I’m not partial. They really do rock. But you all definitely need to celebrate. You were awesome! Like, I wanted to be you awesome.”

  Azura laughed. “Right . . . You want to be us, when you get to be part of Exodus End.”

  Roux chanced a glance at Tamara and was relieved to note she had vanished. She turned her gaze on Steve, who was staring at the ground, his jaw flexing as he clenched his teeth. Roux hadn’t been oblivious to Tamara’s tirade about making Steve’s life miserable in retaliation for whatever he’d done to her; there had been something between them that Roux didn’t know about. He needed to come completely clean about his involvement with Tamara.

  “There’s this electrifying connection between you all,” Reagan gushed on. “It’s hard to describe and impossible to replicate.”

  “I’ll trade you,” Azura said, but Roux knew she was only teasing. For one thing, Azura wouldn’t be able to survive without Sage by her side.

  Reagan squeezed Azura’s arm. “I wouldn’t let you.”

  Roux wondered what it must be like to be an outsider in a band with a long history. Reagan must feel isolated, and not just because she was a woman in a male-dominated profession, but because she had no history with her band. It hadn’t occurred to Roux until that moment that the insanely talented guitarist might be experiencing something besides utter jubilation as a temporary member of a band as famous and successful as Exodus End.

  “I’m insanely jealous,” Reagan added. “Baroquen is going to be huge. As much as I despise Sam, I have to admit he was right.” She stuck her tongue out and gagged. “Never thought those words would cross my lips.”

  Another non-fan of Sam’s. They were sure adding up. Did anyone like him?

  “Uh,” the stagehand interrupted again. “I really need you to clear the area.”

  “Sorry!” Reagan said, looping one arm through Azura’s and the other through Sage’s. “I was so busy fangirling, I forgot we were heading to a party.”

  “What party?” Azura asked.

  “The first one we can crash,” Reagan said.

  Roux smiled, loving that her sisters had found a kindred guitar-chick spirit in Reagan Elliot.

  “If she figured out who Roux is . . .”

  Roux perked up her ears at Iona’s use of her name.

  “. . . it’s only a matter of time before she figures out who I am,” Iona said to Kyle.

  “I don’t care anymore,” Kyle said. “I’m tired of hiding. Besides, I’m no longer on the show, and it’s been three seasons since you competed. Everyone has forgotten the both of us.”

  Roux followed them away from the stage, very conscious that Steve wasn’t beside her. She wasn’t even sure that he was behind them.

  “Well, yeah,” Iona said, “until the entire scandal is revealed.”

  “No one will be scandalized.” Kyle turned to Roux. His blue eyes appeared strikingly bright in contrast to his jet-black hair. “Are you scandalized?”

  “Completely.” Roux grinned to let him know she was being sarcastic.

  Iona scratched beneath her ear. “I guess we could use the outing of our relationship to divert attention from Roux.”

  “I honestly don’t care if I’m found out,” Roux said. “And I don’t care if people think I had to screw some famous drummer to get my band its big break. It isn’t true, so I don’t care what they think!”

  Iona wrapped an arm around her shoulders and spoke to her in a low voice. “I know you’re upset by that reporter following you around today, but we threw her off your trail again. She won’t keep bothering you. You’ll get plenty of private time with the guy in question. Just be patient.”

  “You don’t get it at all,” Roux said. “I don’t want private time. I want blatant PDA. I want to hold his hand and kiss him and not have to worry if someone might be watching.”

  Iona glanced around. “Shh. Someone will hear you.”

  “Good!”

  “This could be bad for Steve too,” Kyle said. “In today’s climate, a lot of men in positions of power are getting into trouble for coercing women.”

  “He didn’t coerce me. He never coerced me.”

  “But if the tabloids take that particular slant—”

  “I’ll deny it all.”

  “Just think about what you are doing before you do something rash, Roux,” Iona advised. “Once you go public, you can’t take it back.”

  Roux rubbed her forehead. Was she being rash because she was fed up? She wasn’t sure. She di
dn’t want to regret any part of her relationship with Steve. But at that moment, her only regret was having to hide how she felt about him. She stopped and turned, scanning the crowd behind her, hoping that he’d heard her stand up for them. She smiled when she saw that he’d stopped quite a ways back. He was tall, so easy to spot in a crowd. For some reason he didn’t look too happy. Her smile faltered when she saw who he was scowling at. What the fuck was Sam Baily doing in England?

  Twenty-Seven

  “Christ on a cracker,” Steve grumbled under his breath. What was Sam Baily doing there? Their manager never followed them on European tours. It was too difficult for him to fuck up their lives if he was overseas and far from the security of his embezzled-funds-sponsored office.

  “Have you seen Max?” Sam asked, as if he had a right to talk to anyone in the band.

  Steve was ready to tell Sam to fuck himself with a rusty chainsaw, but he remembered just in time that Sam was clueless that they knew he’d been stealing from Exodus End for years. Not that Steve’s animosity was anything new. Sam probably expected such insults.

  “He was around here earlier,” Steve said, clenching his hands into fists.

  “I was right about Baroquen,” Sam said with a level of smugness only the most pompous of assholes could achieve. “Would you go round them up and tell them that a tent has been erected in front of the main stage entrance for them to sign more forearm autographs? Brilliant idea. Absolutely brilliant.”

  “Do I look like a fucking errand boy?”

  Sam smirked. “You look like a man who wouldn’t want Katherine Roux Williams to get hurt because she’s been sleeping with the likes of you.”

  Steve’s heart skipped a beat. How could Sam know . . . Steve mentally slapped his own forehead. How could Sam not know? He probably knew her social security number by heart and what her blood pressure had read at her last checkup.

  “You wouldn’t hurt her just to piss me off,” Steve said.

  “I wouldn’t?” Sam chuckled, and then a shrewd and uncompromising mask slid over his aging features. “Round them up. They have work to do. And if you see Max, tell him I’m looking for him.”