by Anthology
He’d shot up from a scrawny kid to almost a man’s body, with the growing pains to boot. It felt like he’d been angry forever until that damn dog. For three months he’d been happier than any other time he could remember.
Not until the band.
And now Harper.
And that was way too hot a topic to handle tonight with his bruised body and pummeled pride. Needing someone that wasn’t connected to his music was new. The fact that he’d only known her for that long didn’t seem to make a difference.
The kitten moved around, kneading into his belly, then back up to his chest and finally up to his shoulder before it was happy. It...hell, it was totally a she. No cat could be that beautiful and be a boy. She tucked herself into the hair that lay against his neck and shoulder.
Oddly comforted by her light purr, Deacon drifted off.
~
“George?”
Simon’s version of a whisper dented his perfectly happy cloud of sleep. Deacon pulled his pillow over his head. Who the fuck was George? And why the hell was Simon up so fucking early? Deacon peeked at his watch and groaned as they hit another bump. They were going to lose a day to travel. He’d hoped to sleep the day away, but evidently that wasn’t going to happen.
“Where did you go, you little shit?”
The little furball leaped off Deacon’s back and stuck her head out.
“There you are.”
Deacon rolled over. Yep. Sleeping was over. At least for now. He snapped his curtain open and caught the kitten before she went ass over whiskers onto the floor. “She’s yours?”
Simon took the kitten and perched her on his shoulder. She draped herself across the space between his shoulder and neck, burying her face into Simon’s black hair until all Deacon could see were huge gold eyes peeking out. Simon rolled his shoulder until the kitten bumped his jaw. Her motorboat purr of contentment filled the space.
“This is George.”
Deacon yawned and flopped down on his back. “You named that beautiful kitten, George?”
Simon rubbed under her chin. “He looked like a George to me.”
“I'm pretty sure it's a girl.”
“Are you sure?”
“She looks like a girl to me. Way too pretty. And she’s purring all over you, so it’s gotta be a chick.”
Simon smirked. “Too true.”
A female voice came from Simon’s bunk.
Deacon sighed. Simon had another stowaway. He didn’t get it. Didn’t these women have lives to get back to? Jobs?
It wasn’t like they had headed to the next town over. They’d hopped two states into Colorado for the summer festival at Red Rocks. The most famous outdoor venue for music, and Oblivion got to tag along with Rebel Rage for the show thanks to their stellar ticket sales.
One more thing that would make Johnny Cage hate them. Just fucking wonderful.
But Deacon couldn’t pretend to be upset about it. Not when it was Red Rocks that they got to play. He couldn’t count how many bootlegs he had from that venue. From the Stones to Rush to Grateful Dead, he’d loved them all.
It didn’t matter that they were playing five songs. They were actually going to be on the same stage as some of the greatest musicians of all damn time. And the acoustics were supposed to be amazing. This was above and beyond.
How the hell was he supposed to get them ready for this? They had decent equipment, but nothing that could withstand this place. He rolled out of his bunk and unearthed his phone to do some research. One of the dozen message boards he visited had to have some information about the infamous amphitheater.
When Deacon stood, he caught a flash of purple from Nick’s bunk and frowned. Christ, Nick didn’t usually have overnight guests.
But when Jazz slipped out of Nick’s bunk, Deacon stalled with his phone in his hand.
Her hair was mussed and her eyes barely cracked open. “What?”
Deacon snapped his jaw shut. Damn, were the two of them at it again? The last time Jazz and Nick had gone at each other, they’d nearly torn their fledgling band apart. “Nothing.”
A blonde with smudged blue eyes stuck her head out of Simon’s bunk. “Way to go, honey. I knew you guys had something going.”
Jazz’s eyebrows flew up. “We were watching a movie together last night and I fell asleep. That’s all.”
The woman smiled. “Sure.”
“I swear. Nick’s my friend. We don’t—not anymore—” She huffed and her cheeks pinked. “It’s not like that.” Jazz crossed to the ladder to her bunk, climbed inside, and snapped her purple curtain closed.
Simon pulled George off his shoulder. “Did I miss something?”
Deacon shrugged. There had been a time when he’d thought Nick and Jazz were heading toward being an item, but then they’d stopped dancing around each other and gone straight to being platonic.
However, the fandom was very vocal that they thought Nick and Jazz were together. The way they played off each other during the YouTube videos and interviews fueled the chatter. When in fact Jazz had been placed firmly in little sister territory for all of them.
Or at least she was now for Nick. A few months ago, not so much.
Simon rolled his eyes and boosted himself back into his bunk.
“I’m not getting naked with that thing in here,” the woman said shrilly. “It thinks I’m a scratching post.”
Simon held George out. “Uncle Deacon, want to play with my pussy?”
Deacon sighed, ignoring the first of what would probably be many pussy jokes. “You know pets are a responsibility, right?”
Simon peeked his head out. “Fuck off, Dad.”
Deacon transferred George into his palm and headed into the front of the bus. He lifted her up to his face and nuzzled her. “You can hang with me. We’ll play a little music. How’s that sound?”
George blinked at him, her huge, all-knowing eyes completely steady.
“You know your owner is a jackass, right?”
She opened her mouth and meowed loudly before crawling up his forearm to nuzzle against his chest. Deacon sprawled onto the couch, let George settle herself, and since no one else was using it, he grabbed the bus iPad and lost himself in research for a few hours.
He dozed in between making notes and saving sites. Once everyone got moving, or at least looking for food, he’d see about getting them to play around on acoustics. The amphitheater would be a great place to take “The Becoming” back to its acoustic roots. It was how he and Gray had written the thing. And it was too perfect a place not to do something special for the fans.
If it came out as good as he thought it would, they might just be able to get Gordo to videotape it.
With a plan hatching, he and George took a nap in the late morning sun.
The next time he woke, it was to a cooing Jazz, who was coaxing George out of her nest in between him and the couch. His chest and back were slick with sweat from the sun that had hit its zenith, and he was covered in caramel colored fuzz. He scooped up George and handed her over to a delighted Jazz.
“Where did we get her?”
“You’ll have to ask Simon. She’s his.”
“What’s her name?”
“George.”
“This beautiful little girl’s name is George? Are you sure it’s a girl?” Jazz held her up then turned her around. “Okay, definitely girl.”
Deacon laughed. “Yeah, that’s her name.” He stretched and twisted his back. The last of his tattoo was healing, and his back itched like fire ants were crawling under his skin. He turned to Joe. “When are we stopping?”
“I saw signs for a diner in about ten miles.”
“Good. I’m starving,” Jazz said with exaggerated syllables.
“I’m going to take a quick shower.”
Jazz waved him off with a delighted laugh at the cat, who found a new toy—her hair trinkets.
He took a quick shower and put on clothes fit for public consumption. By the time the bus
pulled off into the diner’s parking lot, everyone was waiting impatiently at the door.
“No more than thirty minutes, heathens. We have many hours to go, and rain is in the forecast,” Joe warned in his booming voice.
Jazz was the first one off. Deacon took a look around at the wide open skies of Colorado. Last night they’d been in northern Texas. He couldn’t even remember the name of the city or the venue. Things were starting to blend together.
He shoved sunglasses on his face and wandered to the road. There wasn’t a damn thing for miles, just rocks and the endless sky with the grasping fingers of clouds rolling in.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he dug out his phone and took a picture, then opened a picture text to Harper. He didn’t want to pressure her, but he didn’t want her shutting him out either.
Think the storms are following us?
Before he could put his phone away he saw her text bubble of reply started.
Think we can outrun them?
He thumbed back: Do you want to?
The bubble came up again and kept blinking. He was expecting a long reply, but only three words came through.
I don’t know.
At least that was honest. He understood how she felt. They’d agreed to fun, and it had gotten heavy quickly. So he’d throttle back. No matter how badly he wanted to hold her close and learn everything, he’d back off a little.
It was better than having her cut him off completely. Because he had a bad feeling that was coming.
I like our storms, but sunshine and blue skies are definitely in the forecast. At least for me.
The comment bubble came back quickly. I miss you too, big guy.
He smiled at his phone and quickly tapped back. I miss your mouth. Even when you’re giving me nothing but sass.
Instead of a comment bubble a picture came through. Just her lips in full on pucker.
“Quick sexting with the cook, will ya?”
Deacon jammed his phone into his pocket and turned to Simon. “Fuck off.”
“I do believe that’s your problem, not me. Grouchy bear needs to get laid.”
“Not everyone needs it hourly like you do, Simon.”
“Well, they damn well should. I’m never in a bad mood now, am I?”
Deacon tried to keep a straight face, but Simon’s waggling eyebrows and shit-eating grin were too sincere. It was true. Simon didn’t get riled up about much. But then again, he didn’t get passionate about much offstage these days.
Road life suited their lead singer. He loved the bus, loved the venues, and even loved the fans that constantly vied for attention. Deacon needed to remember that this was the important part, not getting hung up on a girl.
Even if that girl was Harper Pruitt.
He needed to relax and have a good time. Tonight was as good a time as any to start.
Deacon slung an arm around Simon’s neck and pushed him toward the diner. “Did you order for me?”
“Maybe.”
“Pancakes?”
Simon’s smug smile widened. “Lumberjack breakfast, actually.”
“Excellent.”
“Now that’s my boy.” Simon slapped his back.
Deacon growled, “tattoo,” before putting Simon in a headlock on their way through the door.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
August 22, 7:48 PM - Red Rocks
Harper climbed the stone slab stairs to the top of the amphitheater seats. The day had been filled with amazing musical acts. The Summer at the Rock Festival boasted a roster of artists that would make even the most ambiguous music fan sit up and take notice.
Instead of starting off with no-name bands, the Red Hot Chili Peppers had opened the venue with an hour long set filled with new and old songs in the afternoon. And one after another, bands brought out their A-game.
Red Rocks was the ultimate musical challenge. This was the place that made some artists drool with anticipation and others quake at the thought of a fuck up. She’d watched radio favorites crash and burn while smaller Indie bands flourished in the perfection that were the acoustics.
Because it was a music festival, there was very little for her to do. The venue had way too many vendors, so they didn’t want the catering trucks taking away from the cash cow that was food service. She’d been happy to wander and soak up the music, for once.
Deacon had been swallowed by the press tents and his manager. This was far too good an opportunity for his band to miss. And that was more than fine with her.
She still didn’t know how to act around him. Skin to skin, she had a good handle on that part. Well, sort of. First times with a guy were supposed to be awkward and exciting, not arrest worthy.
Freaking crap. She swiped a hand through her hair before binding it back in a messy top knot. She’d actually been in handcuffs and a minute away from being arrested because he made her feel so reckless and wild again. Just the thought of Deacon in that storm tightened her nipples and made her far too aware of the short denim skirt she was wearing. She was truly pathetic.
She had to focus on her career, not banging the bassist for the opening band. And oh, sweet Pete, she wanted to bang him like Jazz’s kick drum during “Taste of Candy”. Hard and rough with a side of screaming.
She tucked her feet up on the seat and looped her arms around her knees, hugging herself tightly. Every muscle was sore and yet all she could think about was how to get him inside her again.
The dreams were the worst. She kept trying to hide in sleep, to avoid the bus full of chirpy, gossipy women. Instead he invaded her dreams and followed her right into her thoughts all damn day. Just to add insult to everything, her body still hadn’t recovered from the thorough way he’d touched her. So every twinge and sore muscle was exacerbated by memories and an ache that was driving her crazy.
She sat at the top of the seats for so long that the sky blurred from blue to pink and gold. The mountains were achingly gorgeous. The stage seemed to be carved out of the rock. As if a big chisel had scooped out a place just to welcome the only thing that could be as majestic as the Colorado Rockies.
“Thanks so much for hanging with us on this gorgeous evening. We’ve got a special treat for you tonight. These guys were a late addition to the festival, but I bet you’ll give them a warm welcome. They’ve been chasing their own singles up the charts. Every song they put out is liquid gold on the radio these days. Please welcome Oblivion.”
Harper’s head snapped up and her eyes zeroed in on the stage. She hadn’t realized how long she’d been up in the stands. She was too far away to see them, so she turned her attention to the huge screens that flanked the stage.
Four stools and a stripped down drum set were huddled toward the front of the stage. First one out was Simon. The crowd whooped and catcalled, and Oblivion’s lead singer waved and made an exaggerated bow before settling in the center seat. Simon’s flashy leather and skin were curiously absent. Instead, he wore battered jeans and an ancient Chili Peppers t-shirt. His dark hair was a tousled mess around his shoulders, but the in-your-face rock star was replaced with a regular guy.
Nick followed him out wearing jeans that were probably black once upon a time, but now were gray as stone. He wore a black t-shirt that looked like he’d fished it out of the bottom of his laundry pile. He took the seat on Simon’s left.
Gray came up next with battered jeans and a black vest over a plain white t-shirt. A gray fedora sat low, shading his eyes. He went to the seat farthest to the right.
Her heart tried to punch out of her chest as Deacon’s wide shoulders came out of the dark. The faded Journey shirt he’d worn the first day she’d met him hugged his powerful chest and flirted with his low slung jeans. Tight notches of muscle along his hip bones peeked out, and the tips of her fingers buzzed in response.
She’d scraped her nails through the light thatch of hair there. She’d curled her fingers around the base of his cock and pulled him free from those same jeans.
Flashe
s of him inside her, over her, under her took her by surprise. Not because she had them, but because it felt just like he was there with her. His fingers digging inside her and hollowing out every nerve ending she owned.
And when he sat down on his stool and settled with his black acoustic, she had to close her eyes for a moment. Too much. She couldn’t possibly sit there and listen to him play. Not if she wanted to have a moment’s peace for the rest of the night.
But she did open her eyes. The five of them were clustered close together. Even Jazz was minus her usual glittery glow. Her tri-colored hair was loosely braided and she wore an off-the-shoulder shirt over simple cargo shorts. She’d pulled her stool away from her kit and sat between Gray and Simon on the left hand side of the stage. All of them with acoustic guitars and Jazz a tambourine.
The sweet tones of a band in perfect harmony filled the bowl and flowed out into the crowd. The murmurs softened, and Simon’s smoky voice gripped everyone by the throat. They’d slowed down their newest single until it was a whisper of sex over silk.
But Simon wasn’t the one that held her captive. He was a force and had the innate ability to hold the crowd, and still her eyes were drawn to Deacon. She knew just how soft those jeans were. She’d slid her palms over the stress lines at his pockets, along the zipper, she’d even pulled those jeans over his spectacular ass.
His wide shoulders were angled low as he curved around his black acoustic lovingly. Not a bass. She’d only ever seen him playing the bass, with a slap of fingers and almost spidery grace as he climbed his fret board. But this was different.
No pick. Just the tiny callouses at the ends of his fingers that she knew so well. He plucked out a layer of harmony to compliment Gray and Nick’s lead guitar. And then there was the voice. Husky and rough where Simon soared.
It was a short set, just a handful of songs, but the crowd paid attention. And as the sun blazed into the mountains, they played a cover song to show their love of music that had come before. “Simple Man” was so Deacon, it sliced into her like a scalpel. Before she realized it, she was bleeding out.