Heart's Desire_an Angel Fire Rock Romance

by Ellie Masters

  “I’ve got an electronic tuner around here somewhere,” Smiley offered.

  “No need,” Ryker said. He fingered a string, listened, then twisted the corresponding tuner, and adjusted the pitch. Testing again, he was satisfied with the tone. He thumbed through the next three strings, making minor adjustments until he was satisfied the entire instrument was in tune.

  “You’ve got a good ear,” Smiley said with surprise. “Not many can tune a guitar that fast, let alone using just their ears.”

  “I’ve always had a good sense with sound,” he said, not bragging, but stating a fact.

  “Rhythm?” Smiley’s question came with a direct challenge.

  “I’ll let you be the judge.” He glanced up at T and fixed her in his stare as he coaxed out the beginning bass beat to Deep Purple’s “Smoke on the Water.”

  All work halted in the hangar as airmen stopped to listen to the impromptu jam session.

  It took a moment to settle in, but he loved music, and his muscle memory rushed back. “Smoke on the Water” was an iconic piece of rock history and one of the first great riffs every boy who picked up a guitar learned. He’d been no exception, but he felt a bit rusty and ran through only the first few stanzas before switching to a few of his favorites.

  A bass riff wasn’t the first thing most people thought of when asked about their favorite songs. The majority of rock music centered on the lead guitar, not the bass, but there were a few bass riffs that served as the driving force of a song. He loved those the most.

  It didn’t escape his notice that these first few moments were his unofficial audition.

  He switched from Deep Purple and rolled right into one of his favorites from Rush. Geddy Lee wasn’t only the lead singer for Rush; he also played bass while singing and even hit the keys from time to time. Geddy had come up with a few intricate bass lines over the years. Ryker’s favorite was “YYZ.”

  He slid into the first few riffs, losing himself to the deep reverberations of the music. Again, he didn’t play the entire song but transitioned into one of Metallica’s classics—“Orion.” Cliff Burton, Metallica’s bassist, had done for bass guitar what Jimi Hendrix had done with the electric guitar—leading innovations from one song to the next. Ryker laid down the instrumental from “Master of Puppets.” This riff took bass playing and stood it on its head, turning the underlying supporting role of the bassist to leading the melody line. “Orion” might be one of his all-time favorites because it was one of the few songs a bassist could play and carry the entire song.

  T stared at him—not him really, but at his fingers gripping the neck and fingering the strings. Her exotic eyes went wide, and her mouth formed a tiny O of surprise. He let the music fill the hangar and watched with fascination as the sound captivated and enraptured her soul. Slowly, she clasped her hands, closed her eyes, and swayed on her feet. The movements of her body followed those of his music. He loved being the driving force behind even this small moment of happiness in her life.

  Forest folded his arms across his chest, tucking his chin down, as his gaze settled over Ryker and the guitar slowly coming to life in his hands. Ryker continued to play, not yet scratching the surface of what he could do.

  Red Hot Chili Peppers’ bassist, Flea, had a knack for melodic bass lines and a gift for adding his funky flare. Ryker ran through several lines of “Give It Away” and “Suck My Kiss” before laying into “Californication.” The distorted bass was true genius, hitting the listener with a punch to the gut. It was a fun track to play, and he went through several verses. It was better with the overlying vocal melody, but each time the riff came around, it altered with subtle changes, making it more interesting to the ear and just plain fun to play.

  “Shit,” Smiley said, “I don’t know if you’re playing the guitar or the guitar is playing you, but I can say for certain, you play like you’re fucking it. Raw. Powerful. Damn, what the hell are you doing in butt-fuck nowhere and not onstage?”

  Ryker glanced up, happy to see the respect building in the crew boss’s eyes. “Wasn’t in the cards for me,” he said. “How about a little Who?”

  Smiley jumped off the stage and leaned against it. “There’s nothing little about The Who. Lay it on me.”

  John Entwistle, known as Thunderfingers from The Who, had treated the bass as if it were the lead instrument. Playing any of their songs was a blast. Ryker launched into the bass solo from “My Generation,” a standard for bass playing that all up-and-coming bass players aspired to play with any skill.

  “Fuck yeah!” Smiley’s eyes twinkled, and he lay down an accompanying beat with his hands, palming the hard floor of the stage. “You’ve got this!”

  “The man can play.” Forest’s deep growl rumbled through the hangar, bringing the airmen at work closer to the stage.

  Ryker glanced at the growing crowd. “How about a true classic?”

  “Whatcha have in mind?” Forest asked.

  He was going to have fun with this one. The intro and verses of the iconic classic rock band The Beatles were legendary. He hit the first few notes of “Come Together.” Forest gave a nod of appreciation, and Smiley’s grin nearly split his face in two. T’s eyes shimmered. As long as she was enjoying his playing, he would continue. Smiley kept up his beat on his makeshift drum, and they played that one together all the way through. As he wound that down, he glanced at T. A smile lit her face and brought an answering grin to his.

  “Toss me out a song, T,” he called. “Give me one of your favorites.”

  Her eyes widened, nearly popping with her surprise. “Oh, I don’t know. I barely know the songs I like, let alone their names.”

  Forest’s eyes narrowed, and he piped up, “How about Floyd? Can you play ‘Money’?”

  Could he? It’d taken some time to learn, and it was a brilliant piece of music. Roger Waters had created gold when he matched the bass riff with the coins and cash register sounds in the beginning of the song.

  “I fucking love that song,” he said.

  A difficult bass line, it was written in 7/4 time, but he’d conquered that challenge years ago.

  He and Smiley ran through the gamut of the great rock songs, playing “Sweet Emotion” by Aerosmith and even hitting on Hendrix’s “Fire.” The airmen tasked with setting up the hangar grabbed seats and formed a loose semicircle around the front of the stage. Ryker’s playing brought grins, smiles, laughs, hoots, and a generalized pump of energy to those gathered. All they were missing was a lead guitar, a keyboard, and a real set of drums. For himself, the music carried him away, taking his worries and concerns and pushing them to the fringes of his thoughts for a sliver of time. It was him, the music, and memories of an elusive dream he’d long since given up.

  Feeling emboldened, he launched into one of Angel Fire’s top hits. The bass riffs of “Heart’s Insanity” vibrated through the hangar. A few seconds later, a haunting guitar melody picked up mid-verse, coming in with perfect timing. Ryker glanced up, his brows drawing together, but he couldn’t see where the music was coming from.

  And then it began; the beat dropped on the drums. Not Smiley’s palms thudding on the stage floor, but the deep, throbbing power of the drum kit. He turned toward the stage, his mouth agape, as Angel Fire’s lead vocalist sauntered to the edge of the stage, guitar slung over his neck, fingers picking out the notes. With a cocky grin, Blaze joined Ryker in the song. Blazing green eyes gave a wink while the song came to life. Dressed in worn-out jeans and a simple black T-shirt, Blaze stood over Ryker while his gaze cut out over the small crowd.

  Ryker held down the bass riff while Blaze took over the lead of the song and circled them back to the beginning. He let the intro play out and then belted out the beginning lyrics of Angel Fire’s hit song.

  Ryker’s fingers never once stopped or faltered even though he’d been stunned into speechless awe. The part came for harmonizing, and Blaze arched a brow, silently asking Ryker if he was brave enough to jump in with vocals. He
needed no encouragement, took in a breath, and belted out the lines, melding his voice with a rock legend.

  The moment demanded no hesitation, and he was going to live every second as if it were his last.

  Ryker could hardly believe he was not only jamming with the band of Angel Fire, but also adding his vocals to their latest hit. He wanted to pinch himself, thinking it had to be a dream. At least, until he glanced at T.

  Her attention had been fixed on him while he played, but with the arrival of the band, her eyes strayed to the men onstage.

  Ryker turned—in part to continue his jam with Blaze, but also to take in the band members. He knew them all by heart. Hidden behind the drums, all he could see of Bash was the energy of his arms banging out the beat. Big and brawny with dark, curly hair, the bassist, Bent, gave a nod to Ryker’s playing. Noodles, tall and lanky with dirty-blond surfer hair and his array of tribal tattoos curving around his arms, stepped up to the keyboard. His fingers pressed on the keys, but no sound came out. The roadies hadn’t yet connected his instrument. Spike, with his multiple piercings, stood left of stage center. Like Blaze, he’d picked up his electric guitar and slung it around his neck. Without missing a beat, he joined in, layering more complexity on top of the growing music. Bent clasped his hands behind his back. He was the only one of the band who hadn’t checked out his equipment, but then Ryker was playing Bent’s instrument.

  A feeling of unease came over Ryker, unsure of what the man would think of having someone else play his part, but Bent merely stretched out his neck and opened his mouth. Liquid silk flowed out from his vocal cords, harmonizing with Blaze. Ryker fell silent, stopped his singing, and soaked in the magic of the moment.

  Blaze continued until the last of the lyrics and the song ended with the resonating chords that never failed to bring a chill to Ryker’s spine. He pressed his palm over the strings, quieting their deep notes. Blaze lifted his guitar over his head and gently placed it down. Then, he vaulted off the stage.

  “Holy fuck, but you’ve got some skills.” He thrust out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Ryker started to put the bass guitar down, but Smiley took it, freeing him to return Blaze’s greeting. “Blaze! Wow, it’s an honor.”

  Bash extricated himself from the drums. Spike and Bent came to the front of the stage, both hopping down to the hangar floor. Noodles remained onstage, fiddling with the keyboard.

  “Call me Ash,” Blaze said. “That’s what my friends call me.” He hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his faded denim jeans and glanced at Forest. “Hey, bro.”

  “Where’s my sis?” Forest demanded with a deep rumble.

  “Cool your heels. She’ll be here soon.” Ash’s eyes cut to T, and Ryker knew exactly what was going through his head.

  “She’d better be,” Forest asserted. He walked over and clapped Ryker on the back. “This is Tech Sergeant Ryker Lyons. You said you wanted to do something special. Well, I found something pretty special.”

  The other members of the band introduced themselves.

  Bent was the last to greet him. “You’ve got some skills with the bass and not a bad set of pipes.”

  “Thanks. I’m kind of in awe right now.” The smile on his face had to be huge because his cheeks hurt from his grin. “Just feeling humbled.”

  Ash rocked back on his heels. “I think we should have a bass-off. Pit you and Bent up against each other, like a battle of the bands but a battle of the bassists.”

  Ryker took a step back and raised both hands. “Oh, hell no. I know my limits.”

  Bent squinted and considered the idea. “Now, that could work. It would be a shit-ton of fun.”

  “Wait. What?” Ryker looked between Bent and Blaze—Ash—wondering what they were thinking.

  “That was my thought,” Forest said, “and in this case, the dude has real talent. You wouldn’t have to carry him. Not to mention, it would be great PR. Get him onstage with the band, and put him in a head-to-head with Bent. The troops would go crazy.”

  Ash rubbed at his neck, drawing Ryker’s attention to the intricate spiderweb and dragon tattoo. Unlike most active duty, Ryker was one of the few who remained tattoo free. A result of his upbringing, he’d never been rebellious enough to go against the strict teachings of his minister father. However, if he ever inked a tattoo, it would be something like the one Ash had. The dragon perched in the middle of the web had been drawn in three-dimensional relief. The black bird it gripped in its claw was so intricate, the feathers shimmered in the light. And he loved the blood dripping from the strands. Yeah, when he got inked, it would have to be something like that. Except he couldn’t think of any one thing he wanted permanently placed on his body. Until he decided, he’d stay in the minority—a tat-free freak.

  “I love it. I really love it,” Ash said. “Did you speak to the USO about our other idea?”

  “We’ve tossed it about.” Forest swept his arm out and walked over to T. “Actually, this little lady might have a solution to several problems.”

  Problems? What problems? Ryker was eager to ask, not really clear on how T fit into Angel Fire’s tour plans.

  Whatever Forest was about to say was cut off by a high-pitched female squeal shooting through the hangar. “Tia!”

  T turned toward the sound, and her hands flew to her cheeks. “Skye? Oh my God, you did come.” T’s comment placed a frown on Forest’s face, confusing Ryker.

  T met the lithe beauty, who separated from an escort consisting of the medical group commander and chief. Angel Fire was a band who came with more than a little bit of clout, it seemed. All the base commanders had come out to support them.

  He felt more than a little overwhelmed, surrounded not only by his favorite band, but also the big brass of the medical operations command. He grew silent as the brunette jogged up to greet T. The women hugged and squealed and jumped up and down. It was the first time he’d seen T act in such a feminine manner. The women looked like sorority girls reuniting and were completely oblivious to the score of men who watched in enraptured silence.

  “You,” Forest said with a huff, “were supposed to be a surprise for Tia.”

  “I,” Skye said firmly, “know how much Tia hates surprises.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Did you really think I wouldn’t email her?”

  Forest turned the gravity of his gaze on T. “You knew?”

  She flapped a hand at him. “Of course I did, but you were having too much fun, thinking you had something on me.”

  T pulled Skye to the side, and the rest of their conversation was lost to Ryker and the others. The women put their heads together and caught up on each other’s lives. After a moment, Skye pulled T over to the medical group commander where she made introductions.

  Ryker turned his attention back to Ash, whose brows pinched together, a brooding expression filling his face.

  Forest jabbed Ash in the ribs. “If you think you can stop her, go ahead and try, but with Tia doing what she does, you’re going to be hard-pressed to say no to Skye.”

  Ash frowned. “Saying no to Skye is impossible. Once she has it in her mind to do something, she’s unstoppable. I just wish you didn’t encourage her.”

  “Lover boy,” Forest said, “I am well aware of what Skye is capable of. She needs no encouragement. You forget, I grew up with her.”

  “I know.” With a deep sigh, Ash turned his attention back to Ryker. “So, you up for playing with us?”

  “I am,” Ryker said, surprised he sounded so calm. Thank fuck he hadn’t stammered like a damn fool.

  Like Ash, his attention followed the path of the women. T’s hungry perusal of the band members hadn’t escaped his attention. She was smart, and as stupid as her getting-laid plan was, he realized she’d already thought and decided on a path that would limit her risk.

  There was no way he would let her sleep with any of the airmen on base. Add Angel Fire into the mix, and he was in full-on protect mode. She’d regret that decis
ion for the rest of her life, and sleeping with a man she didn’t care about wasn’t going to ease the heartache of her breakup with douche-bag Scott.

  He’d protected her from bullets and sheltered her with his body. This would be no different.

  Ash rocked back on his heels. “We’d love to have you play with us.”

  He glanced at Bent. “Thanks. I’d be honored to stand with you for even one song.”

  Bent gave a shake of his head. “Hey, dude, you don’t get it. It’s our honor to share the stage with you.” When Ryker arched a brow, Bent asserted his statement. “I’m living my dream, but it’s because of people like you that I get that chance at all. Now, what do you say we take some guitars and jam for a bit?”

  “I don’t have a guitar of my own.”

  Forest laughed loud and hard. “Seriously, lover boy? We travel with extras. As hard as Bent is with his gear, I’ve got twenty bass guitars sitting in crates.”

  “I’m not that hard on them,” Bent said with a growl.

  “You don’t see the receipts,” Forest countered.

  “I don’t have to see the receipts,” Bent said. “That’s why we have you.”

  Ash rubbed his neck, his hand gliding over the spiderweb tattoo with the dragon clutching a black bird. “Hey, guys, I’ll catch you later.” He took off after T and Skye, jogging to catch up, as the girls exited the hangar with the medical group commander.

  Chapter Ten

  The Ritz

  Ryker found himself torn between staying with Bent and chasing after T in the same way Ash had pursued his wife. In the end, the decision was taken from him when Forest slung an arm around his shoulders and tugged him toward the band.

  “Sounds like you’re up for this.” It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact.

  No backing out now.

  “Maybe if I understood what I was volunteering for?”

  He had the same concerns T had raised previously. His team kept a heavy ops tempo. They supported a special ops unit operating far forward, doing things that didn’t exist. It wasn’t a job he could step away from. It wasn’t a job he wanted to step away from.