Refrain & Reprise

by Sadie Grubor

  Following his gaze across the hotel lobby, I watch Jimmy give Kat a piggyback ride out the front doors.

  "Which one?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

  "Huh?" He doesn't take his eyes off the duo as I scan the rest of their group.

  Chris carries his wife Mia through the lobby, but they’re chest to chest. Her legs wrapped around his waist and his hands on her ass. Their mouths are fused together. Jackson follows them, his lady under his arm. And The Forgotten's drummer, Elliott, follows with his wife, Serena, at his side. As they pass, Jackson lifts a hand in greeting.

  I return the gesture and clarify my question to Zane. "Is it Kat or Jimmy?" Knowing Zane, it can go either way.

  "It's nothing." He pauses. "Yet."

  I sigh.

  "Man, you know those two are tight as hell," I tell him, knowing he already knows.

  "If you're getting attached to one of them, you better be sure as fuck you’re ready for the other one to be around," Gemma warns.

  I'd heard the rumors about Kat and Jimmy's relationship before I met them. Now, having spent more time around both bands, I've discovered some of the gossip isn't true. I've also concluded that if those two are a couple, they are the most open couple I've ever met. They own the “Tag Team” nickname the media gave them.

  "Maybe that's exactly what I want," he teases, waggling his eyebrows.

  Gemma and I both laugh.

  "You!" My sister's shout silences the lobby.

  Zane stiffens and turns to face her.

  "Good morning, my oh so beautiful goddess," Zane says in a deep voice, dropping to his knee.

  "I've had it, Zane." Zora tears right into him. "You don't follow the schedule. You don't answer my calls or messages," she growls. "Get another PA!"

  She tosses a lanyard at his chest.

  Moving to both knees, he walks over and grabs her hips. Planting his forehead on her stomach, he fake cries.

  "Please, don't leave me, Zora!" He throws in a loud, false sob. "I need you and your magical skills. Please," he dramatically begs.

  She slaps his shoulder. "Get up you lunatic. You're making a damn scene."

  Then, Zora's eyes find Gemma.

  "You better be sticking around," she says with an exasperated sigh. "I need another sane person in this group, and…" she waves back and forth between Zane and me, "these two are only half my problems."

  Grabbing Zane's wrists, she shoves his hands off her, then fists his hair and yanks his head away from her stomach.

  "Get in the car," she orders.

  "Not unless you take me back," he pleads, clasping his hands in front of him.

  "Fine," she growls. "Now, go!"

  Pushing up to his feet, he wraps his arms around her. Zora screeches when her feet come off the floor as Zane spins them in a circle.

  "Thank you, baby," he shouts. "You won't regret this!"

  "Put me down," she gasps.

  He doesn't. Instead, he carries her out to the car.

  Following them out the doors, we watch her kick and scream until he sets her by the car.

  When he plants a sloppy kiss on her forehead, she shoves at his chest.

  The smile on my face freezes, catching Kat's eyes on Zane. Her face doesn't give much away, but her eyes—fuck me—there's an intensity in them. One I wouldn't have recognized before, but now, with the woman I love next to me, I know that look.

  Voice filled with amusement, Gemma pulls my attention away from Kat.

  "I feel so bad for her."

  I scoff. "Why?"

  "It's like she has two older brothers who relentlessly make her life hell," she explains.

  With my hand on the small of her back, I guide her toward the waiting car.

  "That's crap. There are five of us. That makes four older brothers and a sister, though Sasha could probably count as a brother too."

  Shaking her head, Gemma disappears into the car.

  Inside, Zora is still giving Zane hell.

  "And, as you can see," I motion to my sister, "she makes our lives hell. Organized and perfectly planned hell, but it's hell all the same."

  The driver closes the door, sealing us inside.

  Exiting the car, we’re escorted to a waiting golf cart. The cart takes us through the backstage area. Trailers, buses, tents, and large trucks fill the space.

  "I'm gonna be sick," Gemma mumbles through the hand clasped on her mouth.

  "Pull over," I instruct the crazy driver who's been zipping around cones and corners.

  Gemma steps out before he comes to a complete stop, placing a hand on her head and taking deep breaths.

  "Can I get bagels, or toast, and crackers delivered to The VOD bus?"

  At her question, I turn to my sister and find her on the phone.

  "I'll also need a ginger ale, bottled water, and orange juice." She pauses, nodding. "Great, thank you."

  "I think I'll just stay here," Gemma says, her voice full of apology.

  "Come here." I climb from the cart and hold my arm out.

  She shakes her head. "I can't get back on that thing."

  "Trust me." I wiggle my fingers.

  Slipping her hand in mine, I help her back onto the cart.

  "Lay on your back, feet pulled up, and head on the seat," I instruct.

  She does as I say.

  "Okay?" I ask.

  She nods.

  I return the nod and sit down next to Zane in the rear facing seats at the back.

  Twisting at the waist, I reach over the low partition between us and place a hand on her knee.

  "Let's go," I tell the driver. "But take it easy."

  Thankfully, he complies, bringing his speed down considerably. It's slow enough that I get to greet fellow performers along the way. I catch sight of a few tour buses, and make a mental note to make the rounds and say hello.

  When we reach our tour bus, I hop out of my seat and move to Gemma's prone body.

  "She okay?" Sasha asks from over my shoulder. "Holy shit! Is that Gemma Harper?"

  "Hi," Gemma groans, sitting up.

  "Did you finally kidnap her?" Sasha teases, lightly punching my arm. "I didn't think you had the balls."

  Rolling my eyes, I help Gemma out of the cart.

  "You okay?" I ask, noticing the paleness of her face.

  "I'll be fine. Thank you." Embarrassment seeps into her words.

  "I've got some food coming," Zora calls out, entering the bus.

  "Hey," Sasha yells at my sister. "You're famous today! Check out TMZ," she tells her with a laugh.

  Putting an arm around Gemma's shoulders, I guide us into the madness of The VOD tour bus.

  "Damn it, Zane," Zora grumbles, staring at the phone Kyle's holding up. On it is a bystander's recording of Zane's hotel lobby performance.

  "Yes!" He pumps his fist in the air. "That's got to be worth five points at least," he says, moving to the scoreboard we keep posted on the wall.

  "What is that?" Gemma asks, looking from the poster to me.

  Rubbing the back of my neck, I try to find the best way to explain it. Because no matter how I do it, she's going to jump to a conclusion I don't want her to.

  "We got tired of the media bullshit and decided to take charge," Matt says, matter of fact. "Now we purposely do shit to get them chomping at the bit. The more outlandish and attention-grabbing, the better. The faster it makes it online and viral, the higher the points," he finishes.

  Gemma stiffens, then turns, facing me. "You do it all for stupid points?" A shriek develops at the end of her question.

  "No? Yes?" I rub my hands over my face. "Look, sometimes, yes. It kills the boredom when touring, and it's funny," I justify, motioning to the scoreboard.

  "The stage orgasm still hasn't been topped," Kyle adds.

  Snapping my head to him, I glare. "Thanks for that."

  "Oh my God," Gemma moans. "And how many points was your declaration that we're only fucking?"

  Tension and awkwardness flood the small
space.

  "None. I didn't do it for points."

  "You didn't?" Zane asks. "Then I should probably erase these."

  With a marker, he scratches out one point.

  "You guys are fucking killing me here," I shout.

  "Gemma," Sasha draws everyone's attention. "Look, we know it's a childish game, but we are all immature and get bored." She gives a shrug. "Listen," Sasha sits forward, placing her elbows on the small table between her and Matt, "when it comes to you, Zarek isn't doing shit for points. And I'll be the first to say, if you leave him again, I'll personally hunt you down and drag you back," she teases. "I'm not dealing with his lovesick ass any longer."

  "I second that," Zane raises his hand. "You both need to express your feelings and nurture the relationship. Ignoring things isn't healthy."

  Gemma's wide eyes move from Zane to me.

  "His father's a relationship therapist," I explain, rolling my eyes.

  "If you don't put the bastard out of his misery, I may have to do it," Matt chimes in. "But my way will put me in prison. Don't put me in prison, Gemma."

  "I say run while you can," Kyle chimes in. "You're way too good for him and should explore other opportunities. I'm free tonight," he offers with a grin.

  "Fuck you all," I blurt, making sure each one feels my glare.

  Gemma snorts, then bursts out laughing. Looking at Zora, she chokes out, "You weren't kidding." More laughter follows.

  "I told you," Zora confirms, giving a slow shake of her head.

  Early afternoon brings the sun and heat with it. Standing out on a temporary platform, not even the shade screen above can fight back the blistering rays. The outdoor fan on my far left only serves to push ground heat in our direction.

  "Thank fuck we're playing in the evening," Matt drawls, watching the choreographed movements of the stage crew.

  This is the third, and hopefully final, run-through of setting the stage for our performance. With so many bands moving on and off and stage to stage, we've cut back on the excessive pyrotechnics and props I like in our usual over the top performances.

  Instead of the heavy pyro, we're utilizing the three jumbo screens and a ton of flashy lighting. In place of the destructed vintage car, mannequins, and the deep purple velvet lounge chair I tend to favor, we are going with video clips synchronized to our performance.

  "Why can't you just share a drum set?" Sasha asks, knowing the reaction she's going to get.

  "What?" Zane gasps. "That's like sharing a condom," he chastises.

  Our drummer…well, most drummers, are very particular about their set, sticks, and the arrangement. Hence the reason the first run-through was a complete fucking disaster. When one of the crewmen just about dropped Zane's bass pedal, I thought he was going to jump off the platform and charge them.

  "You're disgusting," Kyle scoffs.

  Zane gives a sharp laugh. "Knowing your cheap ass, I'm sure you've considered this."

  Kyle flips him off.

  Never to be outdone, Zane leans down and sucks Kyle's finger.

  "Bastard!" Kyle jerks his hand away. "Keep your pervy shit to yourself."

  Zane flashes a toothy smile, wags his brows, and purposely flares his nostrils. Everyone witnessing the scene laughs, except Kyle. He mumbles profanities.

  "Come on," I order, waving them to the stairs leading down to the ground. "It's time for sound check and rehearsal."

  On our way toward the stage, a flash of bright pink catches my eye.

  Tilting my head, I watch my sister guide Gemma toward the stage.

  High-waisted blue and white checked shorts barely cover her ass, revealing the pink bows tattooed on the back of each thigh. Her loose yellow cropped shirt gives every man watching her the hope that one gust of wind will reveal what kind of bra she's wearing. From the white canvas shoes on her feet to the blue scarf holding the messy bun on her head, she is the definition of modern pinup hot. She is the epitome of my personal walking wet dream.

  "When's she due?" Matt asks in a low tone.

  I stop walking.

  "Look, I didn't grow up in a house full of whores without knowing the signs," he explains. "Are congratulations in order?"

  Turning to face him, our eyes lock.

  A flicker of panic hits me square in the chest. She hasn't told anyone, but if people figure it out, their first order of business will be to identify the father. The realization hits me like a fucking bus. I've spent our time together making it clear my intention is not to let her go. This means, if she keeps the baby, I'll be the first they label as the father.

  "Fuck," he curses on a whisper. "I'm sorry, man." Dropping his head, he rubs the back of his neck and gives his head a small shake.

  Matt keeps trying to backpedal, but I can't focus on that. Staying around means I will be doing so with a pregnant woman. That typically results in an actual fucking kid being in the picture.

  My moment of panic and realization are swept away at my mental picture of Gemma with a round belly, breastfeeding, and rocking our kid to sleep.

  Wait? Our kid?

  Like the click of Gemma's heels on my kitchen floor, before I bent her over the counter and fucked her while she only wore those, something snaps into place. My head sees my future, my heart feels my destiny, and my fucking soul fills to the brim of completion.

  Glancing to where Gemma and my sister now stand next to the stage, I lick my lips.

  "I didn't… I shouldn't have just assumed—"

  "Yes," I say, not taking my eyes off the tiny, bright-haired, fiery-spirited woman who stole my heart a year ago.

  "Y-Yes what?" Matt stutters.

  Meeting his confused eyes with my determined ones, I explain, "Congratulations are in order." I cross my arms over my chest.

  "Wait, I—"

  "My fucking kid, man," I cut him off once more.

  The confusion wrinkling his face melts away. He grins and grabs my shoulder, giving it a shake.

  "People don't know what a great guy you are," he says.

  Pulling me to his chest, we do the one arm guy hug.

  "I don't think I've ever been prouder to call you my brother," he admits as we pull away from each other.

  I fake a gasp. "You should thank God every day that I'm your brother," I tease, then continue my path to Gemma.

  Chapter Nine

  Gemma

  Stepping out of the bathroom and towel drying my hair, two arms wrap around my waist.

  "I thought you were with the band?" I drop the pink stained towel.

  "Like I'm going to miss your show tonight," Zarek says, placing a kiss on my damp forehead.

  "You saw the show yesterday," I remind him, unable to keep the smile off my face.

  Maybe it was us being out in public together or being with his band all day, I'm not exactly sure, but he's different. In a good way.

  He's very clear about his feelings and desire where we're concerned, but now it feels like something's shifted. In the short span of a couple days, we've put ourselves back on track. The one we jumped off a year ago…or I did.

  "Matt and Sasha are coming this time," he informs, sliding his hands to my cotton-covered ass.

  "I have to get ready." I grab his wrists, moving his hands off my ass.

  "I am ready," he counters, pushing his hips forward.

  The hard outline of his cock presses into my belly, and I bite my lip.

  "You look stressed," he coos, fisting both hands in the lapel of my robe. "I can help with that," he finishes, sliding his hands down the closed seam.

  Reaching the cotton belt, he yanks it away. When the robe falls open, his eyes drop.

  "Fuck, G, you are so beautiful," he whispers.

  Slipping his hands under the material at my waist, his fingers dance over my hips to my lower back. With a rough tug, he presses me to his chest.

  The robe slips, catching at my bent elbows. His mouth descends to the inked stars decorating my shoulder.

  "Twinkle," he place
s a kiss to the one at my shoulder, "Twinkle," he moves his kiss to the one at my collarbone, "Little star." He licks the one above my breast. "How I wonder…" His mouth closes around my nipple and sucks—hard.

  Moaning, I arch my back and dig my fingertips into his biceps.

  Zarek's hands skim over my ass until he grips the backs of my thighs. He lifts me against his body, never releasing my nipple, and carries me to the bed.

  Laying me down, he peels away the open flaps of the robe.

  Gripping my knees, he shoves them apart and kneels between them. Zarek comes over me, taking his weight on one arm while his right hand slides up the outside of my thigh, over my hip, and stops at my belly.

  I suck in a breath.

  His eyes come to mine, searching.

  "G?"

  A lump forms in my throat. I try to swallow it down, but it's unmoving. When I don't respond, he sighs.

  Sliding down, he lays his body between my legs. My bare pussy pressed against his chest, thighs under his arms, his face hovering above my stomach. The warmth of his breath caresses my belly button before he presses his lips to my skin.

  Desire and happiness are drowned by the guilt assaulting me.

  I'm in love with him, he loves me, and I've gone and gotten myself knocked up. Pregnant with an egotistical, selfish asshole's baby. I close my eyes and try again to swallow the lump of emotion in my throat.

  Grabbing the robe at my sides, I pull the material over my exposed breasts.

  "I need to get ready," I choke out.

  "What's your plan, G?" Every word is spoken against my skin.

  "To get dressed." The words sound like a question.

  "G," he drawls my nickname, "look at me."

  Tilting my head, I look down my body and over my unchanged stomach to meet his eyes.

  "What's your plan?"

  "I have a doctor appointment in a few weeks, once I return to New York," I confess. "Mal helped me find a highly recommended gynecologist who is well respected and discreet."

  "Discreet?" His brows furrow.

  I nod. "Yeah, so my business isn't made public until I'm ready to take that step."

  "So," he pauses, licks his lips, and asks, "you're keeping the baby?"

  My vision blurs, and I clench my eyes shut, then choke out, "Yes."