With Skye monopolizing the docs, Ryker found himself sitting across from T, watching every flicker of her eyes. The raucous antics of the men of Angel Fire riveted her attention, and he hated the thoughts he saw swirling in the depths of her eyes.
When Forest had led Angel Fire inside the chow hall, the entire room descended into stunned silence, followed by excited shouts. The band moved through the chow line, mostly unmolested, and then broke apart to sit at separate tables, taking time to introduce themselves to the men and few women gathered. He watched in awe how easily they played the crowd. The men were natural performers. Many asked the band to play, but they didn’t have their instruments.
Forest’s deep bass carried across the room, announcing various jam sessions the band had lined up for the next day as well as the concert planned for the following evening. He gave Ryker a wink when he mentioned a special surprise. That made Ryker’s stomach churn and his heart leap.
“They’re incredible,” T said after a particularly long silence.
“The band?”
“Yes. It’s so easy for them. I couldn’t do it.”
“Do what?”
“Talk to that many people.”
“I never took you to be one who hated crowds.”
“Oh, I’m fine with crowds,” she said. “It’s the people in them I have problems with.”
“I never took you for being shy either.”
“Seriously? You know me better than most. When have you ever seen me be the life of the party?” She gnawed at her lower lip. “I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
Ryker followed the bouncing of her eyes and then realized something he’d missed before. T wasn’t checking out the band. She was watching the few women in the crowd, taking note of her competition. He was cool with that. The more competition she faced, the lower the likelihood of her following through with her plan.
“How are you holding up?”
He was honestly concerned about her. Relationship killers messed with the mind, and if she needed to work through shit to stay at the top of her game, then he would be her sounding board. Not that he cared anything about Scott, but he needed to be there for T. His biggest problem was how he managed that role. So far, he was a teammate, and there might be a bit of heat simmering between them. That had been confirmed when the shooter targeted their team. Those few moments when he’d covered her with his body confirmed what he knew to be there. The biggest issue he faced was T’s need to talk. What he wouldn’t do was sink into the abysmal depths of the friend zone. If he let that happen, there would be no coming back.
“You mean about Scott?”
“Who else would I be talking about?”
“I thought we’d agreed not to talk about him.”
“No. You decided you were going to fuck the first man you came across, and I disagreed.”
“You mean, you stuck your nose in where it didn’t belong.”
“Whatever. We agreed we weren’t discussing your sex life, but that’s not what I’m asking now.”
“I’m fine, Lyons. It sucks, but I’ll be fine.”
T stood and worked her way free of the table, tapping Skye on the shoulder and whispering into her ear.
Skye gave a nod and then picked up her conversation with Collins. “And you recommend trauma, emergency, and ortho for a team? This works well for you?”
“Our needs might be different from yours,” Collins said. “We fly into hot zones; combat injuries are what we see, projectile weapons, limb wound salvage, and debridement. It depends on what you think you’ll face.”
“We plan on having a tactical team. Ex-special ops will be on that team. We’re looking at rescues mostly but high-risk scenarios. Most of the situations we envision will be against armed forces. I’m thinking it will be similar to what you see.”
Collins shook his head. “Sounds tough. I like to think we’re the only people with this type of job, but I forget what is happening on the non-military front.”
“Trust me, I’m not looking forward to it, but our medical team would, of course, come in after the scene is secured. I envision much of what you’ve mentioned. Projectile wounds. I doubt we’ll be faced with field amputations, like your team.”
Drummond piped in, “We really don’t do many of those anymore. We’ve learned a lot about limb salvage over the years. Mostly, we debride and stabilize.”
“I’d love to learn more about that,” Skye said.
Ryker listened to their conversation with half an ear. Forest’s comments about the special surprise had turned his stomach into knots, but that wasn’t what had his blood boiling. Of all the members of the band, why had T chosen Bent? With growing anger, he watched her close in on the table Bent had enraptured with whatever story he seemed to be telling. T didn’t waste a second. Despite what she’d said about hating crowds and people, she honed right in on Bent, thrust her hand forward, and said something. Whatever it was, it had Bent’s head swiveling to where Ryker sat.
Great, she was using her association with him to get close to Bent. Well, that simply wasn’t going to fly.
Bent scooted over and made room for T. The table was crowded with excited airmen, but they made room. The look T gave Bent went on for far too many seconds, and Ryker wasn’t a fan of the look Bent returned. It was vital he put an end to this now.
He unfolded himself from the bench. “Sir,” he said to Collins, “excuse me.”
Collins waved him away, too engrossed in his conversation with Skye to say anything. Without another thought, Ryker headed straight over to T.
“Hey there,” he said, interrupting the conversation. He placed a hand on T’s shoulder and another on Bent’s. “Whatcha doing with my girl?”
T’s head snapped up, and she gave him a vicious stare. Bent turned to see who’d approached, and his face widened in a grin. He scooted over, making room for Ryker. He slid himself into the narrow space, wedging himself in exactly where he wanted to be—between T and Bent.
Bent slung an arm around Ryker’s shoulders and raised his voice to carry. “I don’t know if we’re supposed to say anything, but this dude here…this dude is going to be rocking it onstage with me.”
Bent’s announcement was met with a chorus of, “No way!” and, “Cool!” and, “Righteous!”
Forest approached, his massive size bringing the ambient noise down half a notch. The man simply had a presence about him that couldn’t be ignored. “Wasn’t that supposed to be a surprise, Bent?”
“Ah, you know better than to trust me with surprises.” Bent cocked a thumb at Ryker and leaned in toward the table. This resulted in everyone at the table and those standing around it to lean in close. “This dude is a hidden wonder. And you won’t believe what he can do with the bass.”
Eyes widened, and mouths gaped. Another chorus of “No way!” and, “Cool!” ricocheted around the table.
The only one who kept silent was T, who crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him.
He ignored T and gave a nod. “Well, that’s the plan, and I have to tell you, I’m pretty pumped.” He gave Bent a manly shoulder bump. “I can’t believe it either.”
Forest gave a soft laugh. “No wonder Tuttle didn’t fight when I took over. You’re unmanageable.”
“I don’t remember him having a choice,” Bent said. “I think you were quite persuasive.”
“I asked,” he corrected.
“You mean, you moved in to protect your sis from Ash.”
Forest waved a dismissive hand. “That was then. I’m speaking of now and how you’re incapable of keeping surprises.”
Bent slapped Ryker on the back. “This dude is epically talented, and I can’t wait to share the stage with him.” He pointed around the table. “Who all is going to make it to the concert tomorrow?”
Every arm lifted.
“Good,” Forest rumbled. “Hope to see all of you there. And we’ll be making our rounds through the shops, too. The band is pumped to see what
all of you are doing to keep our country free. Thank you all for your service.” With that, Forest left the table and headed off to where Noodles was entertaining another group of airmen.
T unfolded her arms and pressed her palms against the table. “I can’t wait. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
She extricated herself from the table and left Ryker sputtering. With Bent going on and on about playing with him, he wasn’t in a position to follow T. And she headed directly to Noodles’s table. As she wrapped an arm around Forest, Ryker watched with alarm as she yet again worked her way to a position directly beside one of the men of Angel Fire.
It was a struggle to keep his frustration in check, but there was nothing more to do about it. While continuing the conversation with Bent and those gathered at the table, he never once let his attention waver from the one person he most wanted to spend the evening with. As the night progressed, he felt her slipping further and further away.
Chapter Twelve
Hum
Ryker lost T through the night. When he and Bent left the cafeteria, she’d already made her exit. Either she’d taken an early night or found success in her crackpot scheme. No doubt he’d find out later. He found himself taken under Bent’s wing where they returned to the hangar and had an impromptu jam session until the late hours of the night. Bent seemed to be enjoying himself, but Ryker knew there was a purpose behind the playing.
While Angel Fire wanted to showcase one of the troops, the band needed to know Ryker could hold his own onstage. His playing wasn’t perfect, but it was damn good. It took time for his brain to switch from left to right where he could access his more creative side. By the end of the evening, he was pretty damn flawless. It felt good to sink into a more creative place, and he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. Given a choice, he’d leave his job behind and hook up with his pals from high school, reform the old band, and give the playing thing a go. He’d do all of that, except he truly loved his career.
His days were full of physical conditioning, stress, and mental demands, which would challenge the sanest person on the planet. In medicine, there was no room for error. As a member of a special ops surgical team, there wasn’t even room for hesitation. Every decision had to be spot-on. Mistakes meant the difference between life and death. The same wasn’t true of music. Even with a bass riff laid down, there was room to play with it, mold it, and turn it into something different. That was what he did as the evening wore on.
He and Bent sat at the edge of the stage, balancing their guitars on their knees, and played one classic to the next, tossing in variations while challenging the other to keep up. He loved that freedom of movement.
While they played, Smiley and the rest of the roadies continued setting up the stage, checking out lighting, sound, and even a few pyrotechnics. Unlike most other singers and bands who toured with only the bare-bones necessities, Angel Fire had brought the whole shebang. They had the clout and money to bring whatever the hell they wanted. It hadn’t escaped his notice that they’d brought two commercial jets to Bagram.
The evening wound down, and Ryker retreated to his bunk until morning found him far too early. He skipped breakfast and opted instead for another shower. After changing into a clean set of fatigues, he met up with his team at the medical center. They unpacked their rucks together and inventoried them in pairs. He and T sat together while Warren and Drummond, and Collins and Marks formed their pairs. The next two hours were spent in relative silence, checking and double-checking supplies.
Once everyone had their rucks repacked, Collins gathered them around for a debrief. They discussed the mission—from insertion through delivery of their patients to the medical center, looking for opportunities to improve. Collins seemed most concerned about how they’d strayed off course. All they could come up with was their insertion had to be off. After the meeting, Collins dismissed everyone for the day. Their time was their own.
This worked well for Ryker, who found himself corralled by Forest and escorted back to the hangar. The band had spent the morning visiting the units on base for PR photo ops to meet and greet the troops. They were now gathered back at the hangar for lunch and a light rehearsal.
He wasn’t certain what he’d expected, but some manner of running through the set list had gone through his mind. Instead, it was organized chaos with Forest and Ash running the show. Ash spent most of his time with an arm wrapped around his wife, Skye. The pair seemed inseparable, leaving Ryker to wonder how Ash would handle what Skye had planned with the medical insurgent team she was trying to build.
Bent, Bash, Noodles, and Spike kicked back, individually picking up instruments to check on the sound. Sometimes, two of them would play together, laying down pieces of songs. Not once did the band all get up onstage and play one song from beginning to end.
Ryker followed Smiley around, getting an up-front tour of what went into putting a show of this magnitude on. Computers controlled the entire stage—from lighting to sound and even to the smoke and pyro they had planned. Smiley ran the lights, showing Ryker how he could make the stage look like anything he wanted. In the background, the crew worked furiously to fine-tune everything, checking and double-checking connections. He was tripping, being as close to the action as he was, and then realized he would be sharing the stage with the band.
Smiley took him to a spot with an X on it. “This is yours.”
“X marks the spot?”
“Yeah. Try to stick to it as much as possible. The guys get wild onstage and will be running and jumping and ripping it up. Your job is to look pretty. Don’t get in the way, and don’t fuck anything up.”
Ryker laughed. Smiley’s grumpy face told more about his frustration with the band than anything else but also his clear and undying loyalty to them.
“This show is going to be unlike anything in the world,” Ryker said. “I think the troops are going to lose their minds.” He pointed to the front of the stage. “Why isn’t there a barrier?”
“Ash doesn’t want one. He’s looking for close and intimate.”
This venue would be tiny compared to the sold-out stadiums the band normally played, and the audience was much different. Angel Fire brought in the crowds, male and female. This crowd would be predominantly male, although as a group, they knew how to follow rules. If the base commander, group, squadron, and unit COs told them to stand behind the line, then it was a given that no line would be crossed.
“You think you’re ready to share that stage?”
“I’ll do my best. Won’t pretend I’m not a little bit nervous.”
He’d had plenty of time to get to know the band. He wasn’t nervous around them—at least, not anymore. What bothered him was something else entirely. In all his years playing, he’d never been on the inside, looking out. Now that he was, all he wanted was to be on the outside with T by his side and not at odds with him. She’d been polite earlier, but it was clear she’d been peeved by what he’d done the night before.
When Forest had brought him to the hangar, she had followed along and sat with Skye as the band did their version of a sound check and warm-up. He hadn’t seen T in over an hour but wasn’t worried. All the members of the band were with him, and he’d decided T was smart enough not to go chasing another active duty member. She was probably in her barracks, reading a book, or out jogging around the perimeter of the base. Time was winding down to showtime, and he expected to see her soon.
Forest eventually gathered everyone and brought them backstage to an area out of sight where they could relax until showtime. There were microphone stands onstage, but Smiley handed out wireless headsets to the band, even one to him.
“What’s this for?” He had no intention of singing.
Ash kicked back and crossed his ankle over his opposite knee. “You’ve got a good set of pipes, dude. Didn’t think you’d get away with just playing bass, did you?”
He cocked his head. “That’s exactly what I thought.”
Noodles
’s laughter bounced around the group. “Yeah, that ain’t happening.”
He pulled his long hair back tight and gathered it at his nape with a leather wrap. Ryker wondered if the black tribal tattoos coiling up and around his muscled arms held any significance but didn’t want to ask. He was treading a fine line with the band between being a fan and whatever this special backstage access granted him.
“Nobody needs to hear me sing,” Ryker asserted. “I can play, but—”
“Hey,” Bent said, “we all heard you.”
Bash twirled his drumsticks in his hands. Then, he leaned forward and tapped out a beat on the metal table. “Just suck it up. You’re not getting out of it.”
He gave Ash a long look, and something silent was communicated between them. Out of the five members of the band, he and Ash had a unique connection.
“Decision’s been made, dude,” Ash said. “It’s just a song.”
Ryker narrowed his eyes, realizing he was losing a battle, but they couldn’t force him to add his voice to this madness. Or could they? He’d never done well with peer pressure.
“Ten minutes,” Forest bellowed.
The guys sat back and quieted down.
“Do any of you still get nervous before a show?” Ryker asked. He might be sharing the stage with them sooner than he’d like, but he couldn’t silence the fan inside. He was dying for an insider’s look into one of the most epic bands in recent history.
Bash shrugged. “I used to. Now, I get amped, like a nervous energy running through my body. Today is a little different. Different crowd. Different expectations. More pressure.”
“Different expectations?” Ryker asked. “How so?”
Bash tapped a simple beat, and his leg bounced in time. “No one here paid to see us. We’re like interlopers, bringing our sound to them. They don’t really have a choice. They can watch us or go work out. I’ve never seen so many people working out. It’s like that’s all you folks do.”
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