Too Good at Goodbyes

by RC Boldt

  The hint of excitement in her voice and the brightness in her eyes make me wary as hell.

  “Okay…”

  She sets her phone on the table and places her palms flat on the surface, leaning in toward me. “I’d like to do an impromptu show at Edwards Air Force Base.” Simone holds up a hand and rushes on with, “Not a full-fledged show with pyrotechnics or anything. Just simple stuff. Me, my guitar, Owen with his, and Levi with bongos instead of his full drum kit. Low-key.”

  Her expression is hopeful, like a little kid asking Santa for a present they’d been dying for.

  Exhaling slowly, I lean back in my seat, my mind already racing with questions. “I’d need to know the layout, obviously. Need to know how many people are expected to attend. And the guys and I would have to take a walk-through beforehand.”

  She nods quickly. “Absolutely. I’ve got Rachel working on things, and my contact at the base is willing to work with you guys on everything.” Her phone lights up with a notification, and she swipes the screen. “Okay, Rach said specs have been emailed to you,” she reads, her eyes flicking over the message. “And it’ll be a hush-hush surprise kind of event so it doesn’t get out of hand.”

  I can’t help but ask, “Is that even possible?” and I know the doubt in my voice is evident.

  A little huff of laughter rushes past her lips, and the foreign sound surrounds me. There’s a glimpse of warmth in her brief reaction.

  Those eyes of hers, now an intriguing mix of green and gold, study me. Her voice is gentle yet pleading. “Please. This is important to me. These men and women are braver than I can even begin to imagine.” Her lips twist in a surprisingly self-deprecating manner. “Even with the chance that a bunch of them hate my music, I’d still like to sing for them.”

  I shake my head, and the words spill out before I can even consider their effect. “No way in hell they won’t be fans after you finish the show.”

  Her eyes widen a fraction, and I can tell my comment caught her by surprise. She averts her eyes and clears her throat before quickly muttering, “Rach is sending over Vance and Jed to discuss everything with you.”

  “Sounds good.” Narrowing my eyes, I study the woman across from me. Huh. Did I actually embarrass Simone King with a compliment?

  Nah, that can’t be it.

  But hours later, after we’ve pulled up the specs of the space allotted by the base authority for Simone’s show, the thought continues to prick at the back of my mind. We’ll have our own security team as well as personnel assigned by the base. Once I exhaust every possible risk from a security standpoint and we have a plan in place, Jed, Vance, and I agree to meet with the full team tomorrow once we arrive.

  “So, it’s a go?” Simone’s expression is hopeful as she glances back and forth between us.

  “It’s a go,” I answer.

  “Thanks, guys.” She exchanges fist bumps with Jed and Vance. They did that before the other shows. When she automatically turns to me with an outstretched fist, I tap my own against it.

  Her giddiness spreads throughout the bus as she grabs her phone and hurriedly types. Happiness lines her features, and the more I study her, the more I realize the stress and the rigid way she holds herself ninety-nine percent of the time are absent. It’s as though she’s peeled back one of those layers of armor, and the fact I had a part in doing that fills me with an odd sense of pride.

  It also has another foreign effect on me—one I haven’t experienced in far longer than I can recall. There’s a tug at the edges of my mouth. Muscles that haven’t moved in this way feel as though they’re protesting with the unusual movement, but the tugging is far too strong.

  For the first time in months, I find myself nearly smiling.

  EDWARDS AIR FORCE BASE

  IMPROMPTU CONCERT

  “You guys have been so amazing. I can’t thank you enough for letting me crash your Thursday night.”

  Simone stands in front of a microphone with her guitar strapped to her as she plays a few chords. Wearing a pair of well-worn jeans ripped at the knees and a wide-necked shirt that bares one shoulder, she looks ready for an open mic night at a coffee shop or small bar. Her long hair is in a loose braid, but it’s her goddamn bare shoulder that has me battling agitation.

  For some crazy fucking reason, my eyes are drawn back to that shoulder, and every time she turns her head and that braid brushes her bare skin, an odd awareness washes over me.

  Damn, I need to get it together. I’m losing my shit over a shoulder, for Christ’s sake.

  “I wrote this next song when our drummer, Isaac, had to take a leave of absence after his daughter was diagnosed with cancer at the age of three.” Simone glances around the crowd. “Who in here has known someone who’s had cancer?”

  It’s jarring how many people raise their hands.

  “Cancer sucks, doesn’t it?” Cheers of affirmations sound in response. “Watching Isaac and his wife, Lauren, go through that nightmare was unimaginable. Doctors told them Zoe had roughly six months to live.”

  You could hear a pin drop in this place as immediate silence descends. Everyone’s attention is riveted on Simone as she speaks, her fingers continuing to strum her guitar. “Little Zoe ended up showing cancer who’s boss, and she’s now five.”

  Cheers and hollers sound from the crowd.

  Simone’s mouth twists as she speaks again. “Unfortunately, the cancer’s back, and Zoe’s got another battle on her hands, so if you’ve got any extra good vibes, positive thoughts, prayers—whatever the heck you’re able to offer up—God knows that little girl can use ’em.”

  She glances at Owen with a quick nod before murmuring softly into the mic, “This is for Zoe.”

  I hold your little hand

  You grasp my fingers so tight

  And I knew I’d never seen

  Something so beautiful that night

  Baby girl, don’t you worry ’bout a thing

  Don’t worry ’bout a thing

  No, nothin’s gonna hurt you

  Baby girl, don’t you worry ’bout a thing

  Don’t worry ’bout a thing

  I won’t let nothin’ hurt you

  You’re three years old and your smile’s got to be

  The most amazing thing

  I ever did see

  The day we got the news

  You reached up and wiped my tears

  Your eyes so clear and blue

  And told me not to fear

  Told me what I need to do

  You said,

  Oh, Daddy, don’t you worry ’bout a thing

  Don’t worry ’bout a thing

  ’Cause I’ll be okay

  Oh, Daddy, don’t you worry ’bout a thing

  Don’t worry ’bout a thing

  I love you and I’ll be okay

  You taught us all so much

  What it means to be fierce and brave

  Slayed that big bad monster

  Showed it who’s boss

  Gave that hospital a goodbye wave

  Then the call comes in

  With the news

  Another battle

  For you to fight and win

  Now you’re so tired and your body’s weak

  And the light in your eyes is dim

  Simone’s voice cracks, and even Owen’s eyes appear shiny. Shit. I pinch the bridge of my nose before forcing myself to survey the space again and stay vigilant even as her lyrics tug at my emotions.

  I curl up with you

  In your bed

  Ignore my heart aching

  With so much dread

  I rub your back

  And I sing softly

  Press sweet kisses to your head

  Simone’s voice is hushed, thick with tangible emotion.

  Oh, sweetie, don’t you dare give up

  Don’t you dare give up

  No, I won’t let you

  Oh, sweetie, don’t you dare give up

  Don’t you dare gi
ve up

  ’Cause you’re too special

  On the final note of the song, when she and Owen exchange a brief look, the silence hangs on for a beat before the entire crowd jumps to their feet with deafening applause.

  Witnessing Simone’s performance and the audience’s reaction, I can’t help but be impressed by her. Not only that, but when she ducks her chin and pinches her eyes closed for the briefest moment once the song ends, with the slightest hint of a smile on her lips that radiates both affection and sadness, it reaches out and grips me. Makes me want to protect her in every way; not just physically, but also emotionally.

  Simone raises her head, and for some unknown reason, her eyes lock with mine. And when I dip my chin in a nod, something shifts in her expression. Something that looks a lot like relieved pride.

  “This next song is…” she rasps into the microphone. Her voice fades from my awareness as I scan the area, but for the remainder of the night, my mind replays Simone’s expression when she saw me nod.

  As if my opinion mattered.

  8

  Simone

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Late May

  It’s not yet five thirty in the morning when I hear the obnoxious banging on the hotel room door.

  “Let me in, you hussy!”

  More hammering of a fist on the door. Jesus. He’s such a damn asshole.

  “I’m prepared to fight for your heart! I WILL WIN YOU BACK!”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter. Thank God we’re the only ones on this level. Somehow, I manage to drag myself off the couch from where I’d fallen asleep. I stayed out on the balcony pretty late last night with my guitar, trying to find my muse. So frustrated and disappointed with my fruitless efforts, I’d collapsed on one end of the enormous couch, too lazy to make it to my bed.

  Kane’s door flies open, and the speed with which he moves to the entrance of the suite catches me by surprise. He flings open the door, and the next thing I know, I hear the telltale scuffle of Matty being shoved against the hotel wall.

  Oh, shit.

  “Wait!” I sprint over to them, and I’m pretty sure I rival the speed of light. “He’s with me! Don’t hurt him!”

  Simultaneously, I hear Jed and Vance.

  “Windham, he’s—”

  “He’s not a—”

  The scene I come upon would be laughable at any other time—if it didn’t involve a man who looks like he could snap my best friend’s body in half with his freaking pinky. Matty’s against the wall, feet dangling a few inches off the floor, while Kane’s forearm holds him in place at his upper chest. His other hand pats him down, apparently in search of weapons. Matty’s eyes are wide, but otherwise, he looks unharmed.

  Kane’s head whips around, and he pins me with a stare that nearly makes me backstep. “You know him?” he demands.

  I nod quickly. “Yeshe’smybestfriend.” My words are rushed, tumbling from my lips with urgency. “Matthias Tobin.”

  Kane’s blue gaze holds mine for a beat before he directs a glare to Matty. “You should rethink your greetin’ at five eighteen in the fuckin’ mornin’,” he growls. A second later, he removes his arm from Matty, and my best friend slumps to his feet. Kane doesn’t make any move to step away.

  I reach between the two men, grab my friend by the wrist, and give him a strong tug inside the suite. “Get in here, you asshat.” Then to Kane, I offer an apologetic, “Sorry about that. He’s not good with impulse control.”

  Kane stares down at me for a long moment before his eyes cast over my shoulder. From behind me, Matty croons in a sad excuse for a country twang, “Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be big-burly-security-guards-who-pin-you-to-the-walllll.”

  “You sure about him?”

  A tiny laugh bubbles free. “Not really. But if you’re asking if I’m safe with him, then yes, I’m sure.”

  His eyes suddenly veer back to lock on my mouth, and it’s as though all the oxygen is robbed from my lungs. I place my hand to my lips because, shit, I have wicked morning breath, and I’m sure the short space separating us can’t mask that, and—

  “You smiled.” He lifts his gaze to mine. “You hardly ever smile.” His voice is low and deep with a tinge of hoarseness.

  Defensiveness prickles at my spine as I stiffen in response to his remark. “I smile.”

  He studies me, eyes boring into mine, before giving a slight shake of his head. “Not a real one like that.”

  I don’t know what to say. He noticed? I tip my head to the side and wonder what else this man has picked up on. No one else has ever mentioned that to me before. And maybe it’s unsettling me more than necessary. After all, it’s the man’s job to be more astute than the average person.

  “Now you’re frownin’.” He takes a sudden step back and scrubs a hand over his jaw. That same hand whose fingers touched my hand when we sat across from each other on my bus.

  God, the gentle way his callused fingertips grazed over the top of my hand; my entire body responded so viscerally, with prickles of awareness shimmering through me. I still wonder if my reaction was simply because I’m starved for a man’s touch, because…well, any other explanation just isn’t wise.

  It suddenly dawns on me that Kane jumped right out of bed. He stands in front of me in a simple pair of pajama pants that hang low on his hips. I feel my eyes widen as I take in the expanse of his broad chest, the curves of his biceps, and then trace a path down to his flat abdominals.

  The ridges and slopes of his stomach send shivers of awareness skittering through me. The urge to touch him and experience just how smooth his skin may be, how much warmth he radiates, and if he’s as hard and firm as he appears is far too compelling.

  “Uh, I should get dressed.”

  And I should stop ogling you.

  Oh, shit. I jerk my eyes up only to find his own gaze averted, still glaring in the direction of where Matty is now singing, “Oops, you did it again. You crushed my windpipe. Oh, baby, baby.”

  I sidestep him with a quick, “Sorry again for that,” and rush inside to chase after my best friend and quarantine him in my room.

  And leave behind the man who’s become far too intriguing to me.

  Matty climbs up onto my bed, standing in his socked feet, and bounces twice. “Ooh, good. It’s firm.” Cocking his head to the side, he cups his ear, then gives another bounce. “Wait. There’s a little squeak.” He stops, eyes glued to my closed bedroom door. “How many squeaks will it take for the big burly security man to come rescue you?”

  I swat him with one of the pillows. “I might just bludgeon you to death yet, Tobin.” Another swat. “Now get down!” I hiss.

  He lets out a sound of utter exasperation. “Fine. Ruin all my fun.” He drops down and collapses onto the mattress. I scoot over and settle beside him.

  We lie in silence for a moment.

  “I missed you, dude.”

  “Even if I’m an asshat?”

  I turn my head and find him grinning at me. “Even if.” I grin back. And then I remember Kane’s remark. “Hey, Matty? Do I…smile?”

  His brow furrows. “Of course, you smile.”

  I turn my head and stare up at the ceiling. “I mean, really smile?”

  Silence greets my question—a long, awkward silence—and it’s only interrupted when he shifts. Moving to his side, he props himself up on an elbow to peer down at me.

  “Don’t answer.” I try to shrug it off as though it’s nothing. “It’s no biggie. I was just—”

  “Not really. I mean…sometimes.” There’s a pause, and I finally brave a glance at him. He appears thoughtful, though traces of sadness are evident in his features. “Back when I first met you, it used to be all the time. Then Will happened, and little by little, I guess the shit took its toll…”

  Well, hell. That’s just depressing. Even worse, I hadn’t noticed it myself.

  “What brought that up?”

  “Just wondered.”


  “I call bullshit.”

  I fix him with a hard glare, and he rears back in mock horror. “Nooo! He’s taught you his mystical glare!”

  I burst into laughter and shove at him playfully. “You’re awful.”

  “You love it.”

  I heave out a breath and drag myself off the bed. “I need to get dressed and work out. Might as well try to be productive since someone decided to wake me up so freaking early.”

  He slides his hands behind his head, looking like a man without a care in the world. “Your productivity is my primary concern, which is why I decided not to let it go to waste.”

  “Whatever,” I mutter, walking into my bathroom and shutting the door behind me.

  It closes, but not before I hear him softly singing, “Ev’rybodaaay! Yeeeaaah! Watch your burly bodyguard! Yeeeaaaah!”

  9

  Kane

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  “…And Levi on drums.” Roaring applause and screams from the fans. “Even though he’s not here, our other drummer, Isaac, is always with us in spirit. He and his wife, Lauren, are with their little girl, Zoe, while she battles cancer. They’re all the way in Nashville, Tennessee, but if you guys cheer loud enough, I bet Zoe’ll hear you and know we’re all rooting for her.”

  Fuck, if I ever thought I’d heard applause that could make the ground shake, this rivals that.

  It also makes me damn glad we’re all wearing protective earpieces.

  When Simone finishes introducing the band and her two backup singers, the bass guitarist goes into a flawless riff with the drummer while she strides across the stage with more grace than I could imagine anyone in stilettos as hers could. Between surveying and touching base with the security team in place, I realize I’m standing nearby the area she’s fast approaching.