That was true, but they were airmen and warriors. The job demanded a minimum level of fitness and endurance. The days were long and boring. Bash had that right.
Bash continued, “And, if it’s not epic, we’ve totally blown it. Our fans come to our concerts and return home to their families. Sleep in comfortable beds. They might even hit the bars afterward and tie on a few drinks before heading home to their very safe and normal jobs. What they don’t do is watch our concert and then pick up a gun and go out on patrol.”
Not everyone on base went on patrol. They had medics and cooks, people who worked postal duties, mechanics and engineers, and a whole host of other jobs that needed to get done, but he didn’t want to contradict Bash. Those who headed outside, like him and T, willingly went into danger. He hadn’t really thought of it that way. His job was the only normal he’d ever known.
“I don’t think you need to worry about being second choice. The USO does a fabulous job of bringing in entertainers. I’m not a country fan, but bring one in, and I’m right there. The boredom of this job makes things like what you do special. And everyone out there knows you’re doing this on your dime. We know it’s a choice you make to come to us.”
“I suppose,” Bash said. “How are you holding up?”
“I’d be a mess, to be honest, except I’m remembering what Timmy used to always say.”
“Who’s Timmy?” Bent leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. Like Spike, he’d been strangely quiet.
Spike hadn’t said a word. He sat back in his chair and played his version of air guitar. Ryker watched the dancing of his fingers and recognized the frets and chords. He was playing the opening of “Heart’s Insanity,” his own private rehearsal. Even his lips moved, mouthing the words to his part of the song.
“He was the drummer of my band back in high school,” Ryker explained.
“And what did he say?” Bash stopped tapping the table and returned to twirling the sticks.
Spike looked up, but his fingers kept moving. Ash kicked back, tossing his arms out wide to rest on the armrests of the chair. Noodles stared at his hands.
“He said, ‘Fuck them. Play for yourself.’” He smiled, remembering his friend.
Timmy had gone into law and decided to run for some local political office. They’d never made their dream of making it big, but their band had rocked the local scene for a small slice of time.
“Sounds like great advice,” Ash said. He slapped his knees and stood. “You guys ready to rock this?”
Ryker wasn’t the least bit ready, but with Timmy Saunder’s words in his head, he rose with the rest of the band. They closed around the small center table in a circle and wrapped their arms around each other’s shoulders. They brought it in close, bowing their heads until they touched.
Ash began a low hum. The power of his voice filled the air. It stood on its own, becoming a creative force, rushing in and around every person in the room. Ryker stood in awe as Bash lay in a beat with the tapping of his foot. The hum increased in tempo as Bent and Spike joined in. A crescendo built until Noodles added the rasp of his voice, laying down an otherworldly sound. Notes filled the air, a rising power surging back and forth until it encapsulated them into a unified whole.
Ryker barely dared to breathe. To his left, Bent wrapped his arm across Ryker’s shoulders. Spike stood to his right. Directly across from him, Ash quieted suddenly. Then, he bowed his head and said a prayer, stunning Ryker.
He said, “Amen,” with the others and then broke apart, finding himself the only one standing still.
The others adjusted their wireless headsets and headed for the stage.
Forest and Smiley, who’d stood apart from the band’s preshow ritual, gave him a thumbs-up.
When he came over to them, Smiley said, “Break a leg.”
“Thanks.” He wouldn’t be going on with the band.
They would play the first three songs off their set list and then break to talk to the troops. Ash would tell them about the surprise and then introduce Ryker.
He glanced at the small flight of stairs leading to the stage and cursed the jangle of nerves rattling in his body.
This was really happening.
Chapter Thirteen
Beat
Ryker never considered himself an adrenaline junky, but he jumped out of airplanes, headed into danger, and lived life on the edge every day. He lived for moments like this, his heart racing as it drove blood screaming through his veins. Standing at the foot of those stairs, he felt like he was getting ready to step off a cliff or dive out of an airplane rather than take six steps up onto a stage. Swallowing down the thickness in his throat, he took a few calming breaths and tilted his head back to stare at the curved dome of the aircraft hangar far above. He swept his arms out wide and readied himself for the experience of a lifetime.
Until this moment, free-falling through space had been his most exhilarating moment, but there was no doubt in his mind that taking those few steps would eclipse anything to follow.
He’d dreamed of playing onstage and listening to the roar of the crowd while he thrummed out the beat of rebellion that was rock music.
That sound washed over him now. Angel Fire took the stage with power, possession, and a holy-fuck attitude that heated his blood. There were no hellos and welcomes from the band. They hit the stage with hellfire, lighting up the intro to “Heart’s Insanity” and brought the troops to their feet with a roar. That sound rolled over Ryker as he waited for his entrance. The troops went bananas, screaming as Ash belted out the lead lyrics. Meanwhile, Ryker remembered how to breathe. Beneath his skin, tingles of electricity crawled along his nerves, and a fever spread through him.
Rock lived in the soul, and Angel Fire stroked the deepest part of his being, stirring up passions and dreams he’d long thought buried. Their songs were more than music, and they were more than a band playing to a crowd. Rebellion edged their words. Power threaded throughout the songs. Strength of purpose tied it all together.
Spike’s guitar solo, for example, drove into Ryker’s body, grabbed his heart, and pumped him full of a sense of becoming something larger than himself. It was pure emotion, built from the bones of Bash’s drums and fleshed out by Noodles’s keyboarding skill. Bent’s underlying bass only amped up the power, and it chased Spike’s electric guitar as he hammered out the body of the song. Ash played, too. His guitar melded with Spike’s demanding rhythm, and all of it came together with the haunting sound of Ash’s signature voice.
Goose bumps prickled on Ryker’s skin as adrenaline raced through his veins. There was no other place he wanted to be other than standing right where he was, but then a massive hand pushed between his shoulder blades.
“You’re up, lover boy,” Forest said. His deep baritone carried easily over the thunderous sound.
Ryker hadn’t decided what to think about Forest’s nickname. He’d heard the giant use it with Ash. It meant something, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure it out. Not that there was time right now.
Smiley shoved a bass guitar into his hands and, with Forest, propelled Ryker up the stairs.
For the first time since meeting the crew boss, a smile split Smiley’s face. “You’re going to rock it,” he said over the din of the music.
As he climbed up the steps, the last song ended, and Ash waited for the roaring of the crowd to die down. He approached the front of the stage and peered out.
“Hello, Bagram Airfield!” Ash’s shout brought the troops to their feet.
A rolling roar rose in crescendo and raced across the hangar floor.
“Are you enjoying yourselves?”
While Ash spoke to the crowd, Ryker worked his way over to the X Smiley had placed on the stage. Do not move. Don’t fuck it up. Well, he was certain he could make one of those things happen. The other would have to wait.
There was no lighting shining down on his position, but then Ash hadn’t finished his tease of what was comi
ng next. Beside him, Bent dropped into the bass riff, and the guitar growled out its song. The thick notes hovered in the air and brought silence to the crowd. Bent chopped downward on his bass. This time, Bash joined him on the drums, slamming into the kit with an energy that pounded out the heart-devouring rhythm. The stage came alive as Spike took lead with the melody. Noodles made the keyboard sing, joining in the frenetic energy. Ash took a step back, a big grin on his face. His guitar hung loose around his neck. With his next step, it occurred to Ryker what he was doing.
One more step.
Another.
Ash closed the distance.
A spotlight blinded Ryker as it locked on him, firing up his pulse. There’d been no real warm-up, no practice of the set list. All Ryker had done to prepare was the playing with Bent the night before. But he knew every chord of Angel Fire’s songs and didn’t need any further introduction. He dropped into the mix and added the growl from his bass to that of Bent’s guitar. Then, he took a step off that damn X and met Ash at stage center. The troops went wild, seeing one of their own onstage, and Ryker didn’t let them down. Ash wrapped an arm around Ryker’s shoulders and sang his heart out to the fans while Ryker played for his brothers in arms.
He was center stage with legends, standing beside their lead singer, and he was giving it everything he had. Ash’s voice carried over the roar of the crowd, enrapturing everyone present. Bent came to stand beside Ryker, and they tore up the bass riffs. The entire band was synchronized perfection, and Ryker didn’t miss one beat, melding seamlessly with the men of Angel Fire. To the side, Spike slashed into his strings, beginning the next song on the set list.
Ash released Ryker and took to the front of the stage, his arms going out wide and his voice lifting to meet the music. Bent stayed beside Ryker, two dueling bassists lighting the stage on fire. Bent added in a mean double rhythm, and Ryker followed along, sinking into the music until it became his very breath.
Then, for the first time since coming onstage, he glanced out at the crowd. Standing front and center with her friend Skye, T swayed on her feet, her eyes bright and alight with a look he could only take one way. Her arms were clasped over her breasts and hands folded and tucked beneath her chin. Her eyes were focused firmly on him, and not once did her attention stray to any other member of the band.
The place came unglued as Angel Fire finished their set. Ryker was only supposed to play the one song, but Bent refused to let him leave, challenging him to play harder, stronger, and with more passion than he’d ever thought possible.
He’d lived his entire life for this one moment, but he set his sights on another more promising prize.
Part Three
Bagram
Tia & Ryker
Chapter Fourteen
News
Tia
Tia couldn’t believe her eyes. Lyons rocked it beside the men of Angel Fire and tore up the stage. Skye bounced next to her, eyes alight and fixed on her husband, Angel Fire’s lead singer and guitarist. Tia listened to the haunting melody of Ash Dean’s voice but couldn’t take her eyes off Lyons playing the bass guitar. There was something sexy and erotic as sin, watching him play that thing, and she couldn’t peel her eyes away from him stroking the long neck of the guitar. Powerful and sensual, it did strange things to her insides. She bit at her lower lip and struggled to push needy thoughts from her mind. In that task, she failed miserably.
Lyons was having a blast. She could see it in his eyes and in how he breathed in the energy of the music. He looked out onto the crowd, as if only just realizing there were hundreds watching him. It took a moment, but then those vibrant forest-green eyes of his locked on her. The power of his gaze hitched her breath, accelerated the beat of her heart, and licked fire across her skin. After their fight earlier and his interference between her and the band members, she wanted to hate him but couldn’t ignore a brimming curiosity coiling in her gut.
They shared a close working relationship, but that was where it ended. At least, that was what she’d always believed. After their argument in that alley, something had shifted between them, stirring up feelings she had no right to even consider.
A storm churned through his eyes, and his jaw became a stony block of determination. Something hardened in his face as he took her in. The world twisted and tilted, becoming something dangerously new and exciting under his scrutiny. His breaths huffed in and out while he jammed beside the Angel Fire bassist, Bent. The two of them dueled it out onstage, challenging the other to play harder and stronger until the crowd roared and nearly overpowered the music.
They were in the middle of “Hunting Waterfalls” when Ash pulled Lyons back to the center of front stage. Ash gave Lyons a signal and tapped the wireless mic. Lyons’s eyes widened.
The refrain came and went. Ash let the music play but dropped the vocals. He stepped to the very edge of the stage and called out to the crowd, “How’s he doing, Bagram Airfield? How’s Sergeant Lyons holding up?”
The rumble from the crowd crashed into her with all the power and subtlety of a freight train. Lyons stopped playing and waved to the troops, looking unsure for the first time that evening.
“He’s got some pipes, too,” Ash continued. “And I know you want to hear him sing.”
Tia caught the subtle clenching of Lyons’s jaw. She would’ve missed it, except she’d seen him under stress before. It took a lot to rattle Ryker Lyons, but he was in front of a large crowd of fellow airmen, soldiers, and Marines, and he’d never back down from that challenge. Perhaps Ash had known that, too.
Without waiting for Lyons to agree, Ash belted out the lyrics and led Lyons right into the harmonizing vocals. For a moment, she thought Lyons would choke, but he stepped up to the plate and struck her speechless with the rich timbre coming from his mouth.
Deep, soulful, magnetic, and raw, the man could sing! She didn’t think the energy surrounding her could build any higher, but Lyons singing with Ash blew the roof off the hangar. He had her heart thundering beneath the intensity of his gaze because his eyes never once left hers throughout that song, the next one, or the one that followed.
Angel Fire played several other songs. Each left her gasping for air and ramped up her pulse, sending her blood racing. Goose bumps shivered across her skin, and the hairs on her nape stood on end. It was electric, spellbinding, and left her speechless, gaping with awe.
“They’re pretty incredible,” Skye shouted over the din.
“Beyond incredible,” she said. “Is it always like this?”
“Most days,” Skye yelled into her ear to be heard over the crowd. “This feels different—more power, more energy. I can feel the electricity rolling off Ash and the boys.”
Tia could only shake her head, dumbfounded.
Skye tugged at Tia’s sleeve. “There’s only a couple of more songs before they’re done. I’m going to head back. I find, if I wait for the last song, I have to fight my way backstage, and I’ve gotten tired of having to do that.”
Tia wanted to listen to the last songs but could see what Skye was talking about. With a nod, she followed Skye. Her friend worked her way to the edge of the crowd and made her way to the back of the hangar. Angel Fire had removed much of the protective barriers they would normally have at a concert, but backstage, Skye had to show her credentials and vouch for Tia. They made it to the silence of the hangar’s break room, which had been turned into a backstage dressing room for Angel Fire.
Skye found a coffeemaker. “So, what’s going on, Tia?” After washing out the coffee pot, she searched through the cabinets and soon had a fresh pot simmering away.
Tia sat at the long break room table where she stared at the door, waiting for the band to come back and chill out after the show. “Nothing’s going on,” she said.
“Uh-huh,” Skye said.
“How long does it usually take them after the show ends?”
“To come backstage?”
“Yeah.”
Skye flip
ped her long brown hair. It settled in a gentle fall at her waist. Tia’s hair was slightly longer than Skye’s, but she never had the opportunity to wear it down. Every day, she twisted it up into a tight regulation bun secured at her nape. On deployment, even her off-duty time, her raven hair was locked up tight. It was simply easier to deal with and avoided unwanted attention from the men.
“It depends on the venue,” Skye explained. “Sometimes, they come straight back, especially when…” Her cheeks pinked. “Well, when they know groupies are waiting.”
“That must be hard for you, always worrying about Ash and those women.”
“You’d think so, but it’s not. Before I came along, Ash was just as bad as the rest of the band, but he said it left him feeling empty.”
“Empty?”
“Odd for a rock star, I know, when an easy lay is never far away, but I believe he’s wired for one woman. I think it has to do with his upbringing and his family.”
“I can’t imagine how that went, considering how you and Ash got hitched.”
“How what went?”
“You meeting his family.”
“Well, his father didn’t approve at first, but his mother was okay once she realized I was more than a groupie. I think they always worried their son would get snagged by a money-grabbing whore. They were surprised I was a doctor.”
“Isn’t his father a minister?”
“He is. A lot of his music came as a rebellion against his upbringing. Little did he know, it would turn into this.”
“I’m sure his parents worried, but I’m glad they accepted you.”
“It took some doing, but they accepted not just me, but also Ash back into the fold. But that’s not what we were talking about. I want to know what’s going on with you.”
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