by Cari Quinn
Then came a dry voice from the iPad propped on the small table in the corner. “So this is my competition. Gotta say I never predicted this one.”
“Nah. He kisses like a boy.” Nick hopped down and climbed up on the table to grab the iPad. “Guess where you’re sitting right now?”
“Someplace that won’t see any action if you keep talking?” Lila responded sweetly, reaching down to paint hot pink nail polish on her toenails.
“Cruel, cruel woman.”
Nick looked up to see his band grinning at him. Every one of them, the love-drunk jerks.
Or maybe that was him.
“Gimme that iPad,” Simon said, making a c’mere gesture with his fingers. “I have something to say to your woman.”
“If you intend to complain about his tongue action, he was broken before I met him.”
Simon’s brows rose. “We’ll save that kind of kiss for when we nail the rooftop concert.”
“You do that. We’ll be married by then. Might as well make sure the tabloid story gets maximum juice.” On screen, she set down her nail polish bottle and rubbed her hands together. “I can see it now. ‘Lead singer of Oblivion absconds with lead guitarist for night of sweet, sweet love.’”
“Night? Dude lasts like ten seconds. I’ve had more sweet love with a sock.” Nick laughed and darted away from Simon’s shove.
“Get out of here. I want a private moment with Lila.”
“Oh really.”
“Yeah, really. You know what? Never mind. You can stay. You can all stay. You’d find out soon enough if she agrees to my plan anyway.”
“Simon plans?” Jazz wondered.
“News to me too,” Margo said. “Do tell.”
“So the wedding’s next week. And we’re all going back to New York, and you and your mom have probably set up something fabulous, but I did something too. With your dad.”
Nick didn’t know whose frown was bigger—his or Lila’s.
“With my dad?” she asked. “When?”
“Those first couple days you were still in the hospital, once we knew you were going to be okay, I took off.”
“You said you had to finish some big deal magazine spread. That there was a mistake, and you had to redo some of the shots. That you had no choice.” Nick gripped the edge of the table. “You lied.”
“Do you really think I would’ve split over something so trivial when Lila was in the hospital?” Simon nodded, inhaling. “Yeah. You did really think that. Guess I deserve it, after this year.”
“We’ve had our issues too,” Lila said quietly from the screen. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you chose to be somewhere else.”
“I did, but not for fucking modeling. I went to help your dad rebuild the chapel.”
A wrinkle formed between Lila’s brows. “The chapel at Happy Acres?”
“Yeah. It’s where Nick and I got into it a few times, and it just seemed right. Fitting, I guess. I knew he’d want to move up the wedding once he found out about the girls, so I had to do something. Not just stand around and scratch my balls.”
Yeah, the babies that Lila was carrying were both female, because the higher power and possibly Mother Nature had wanted to have a nice, long chuckle at his expense. He’d requested a single male child, so he’d gotten two girls.
Two so far very healthy girls with perfectly strong heartbeats that were due in August, but would be induced in July if not sooner. And he couldn’t have been happier.
Granted, he hadn’t been kept up all night yet due to feedings and diapering, but between him and Lila, they could each take one. It was doable.
Besides, they’d go to college in eighteen years. Assuming he ever let them out of the house.
She still felt guilty about everything that had led up to her collapse. She’d apologized over and over for “underestimating” him and not telling him as soon as she’d begun to wonder if she was pregnant. But as he’d reasoned, he’d said all manner of obnoxious things to make her wonder and worry how he’d react to a kid, like that dumbass “hexed” comment to Michael. And that wasn’t even considering all the bullshit she’d gone through with her ex-husband.
As far as Nick was concerned, he’d happily spend the rest of his life convincing her exactly how much she—and their babies, Nicola and Simona—were loved.
He was just kidding about the Nicola and Simona thing. Probably.
“So you fixed up the chapel with my dad. It only took you a couple days? How?”
“I hired people. A lot of people. I’d thought he would end up flying out to be with you, but he seemed confident your mother would handle things with you just fine.” Simon grinned. “He told me you’d grown from sturdy roots, and those kind of trees don’t topple in just any old wind.”
Lila sniffled. “That’s my Daddy.”
“Yeah, so the chapel’s ready to go now. I have pictures, if you don’t believe me.”
“Email them to me. Tonight.”
The directive was so Lila that Nick grinned. That was his girl.
Woman. She’d kill him if he called her a girl, even in his own head.
“Will do. I was thinking, since you guys have a chapel and all, and it looks great, maybe Margo and I could get married there too. If you didn’t mind.”
“Aww, Simon.” Margo came up behind him and looped her arms around his waist. “You’re just a big old softie.”
“Of course.” Lila’s eyes misted over as she smiled at her best friend. “I’d love it if you and Margo were married on my family’s property. You’re family too, so my family is yours.”
Nick pretended to knuckle his eyes, and Simon kicked out at him without taking his gaze off the iPad screen. “Really? You’re sure it’s okay?”
“I’m positive. We’d be honored.”
“So…how about we do it at the same time?”
Lila tilted her head. “Do what at the same time?”
“You know, get hitched. Same minister. Same ceremony. Same rice. Saves time and seems, I don’t know, expeditious.”
“Expeditious. The most romantic word in the English dictionary.” Margo poked Simon in the stomach but she was grinning.
Lila glanced in Nick’s direction. “All you, baby.”
“Sure, now she calls me baby.” Nick let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, okay, fine. Just as long as you realize we’re not sharing a honeymoon suite. Best friendship only goes so far.”
“So he says.” But Simon grinned and leaned around Margo to bump fists with Nick. “You won’t regret it, dude. We’re going to have the most kickass wedding in Oblivion history.” He cast a quick apologetic glance over his shoulder at Deacon, Gray and Jazz, who were watching with amusement. “I mean, yours were nice too.”
“Great save, man.” Laughing, Deacon came forward to slap his hand on Simon’s back as he pulled him into a one-armed hug. “Congratulations. All of you.”
“Thanks.” Nick did the fist bump routine with Deacon, then hugged Gray. Finally he picked up Jazz, only grimacing a little at her increasingly rounded shape. “Jasmine, you barely weigh an ounce.”
“Smart ass.” But she laughed as she pinched his biceps.
When she moved back, Nick stepped toward Margo and held out his arms. “Truce?”
She cocked her head, narrowing her eyes. “If you try to kiss me like you did Simon, I’ll slug you.”
“No kisses. Just nice friendly hugs.” Margo stepped in to hug him and Nick propped his chin on her shoulder, smacking his lips at his best friend. “Besides, I save my tongue for Simon.”
She stepped back and shook her head. “You never change.”
“You’d be surprised. Let’s do one more take.”
The collective groans made Nick grin as he checked his amp. “C’mon, one last time. Let’s make it perfect before it goes on the album. I have two college educations to pay for, you know.”
“Oh Christ.” Gray groaned. “Here we go.”
“Hush. If you’re good, we might name
one of the twins after you. We’ve already got a Simona.”
Laughter broke out until Lila’s voice sliced through the hilarity from the iPad.
“Over my dead body.”
Epilogue
Simon
Simon paced the length of the mini-backstage. Well, the closed off area with chairs. Not like they could have a real backstage when a rooftop in downtown Los Angeles was the venue.
Fuck.
Nothing like going big for his first show.
He twirled his ring with his thumb. It still felt a little weird on his finger, probably because it had only been on his left ring finger for two weeks.
He hadn’t even gotten to have a real honeymoon after the wedding. Not just a wedding, but a double ceremony. Christ—he’d gone from sharing absolutely nothing in common with his best friend, to sharing a wedding date with one Nick Crandall.
How the fuck had his life changed so drastically?
They’d been too worried about finishing the album before babies were birthed. Babies—so many freaking babies. Not only Jazz who was waddling around with a basketball under her bright ass pink mumu, but their estimable manager Lila Crandall. And because Lila never did anything small, she decided a twofer was the way to go.
One and done?
If a person had to have two kids, he supposed it was easier to get it out of the way all together.
But that was the least of his worries right now. Uncle Simon was easy. It was Lead Singer Simon Kagan who was ready to burst out of his damn skin.
And now he was talking about himself in third person. Sweet bleeding Christ, he was losing it.
He rolled his neck and looked over the setlist one last time. It was a short one. The fact that Donovan had managed to get them the approval to sing on the top of his damn building to appease his tenant—some big photographer— in the middle of rush hour traffic was a testament to just how powerful he was.
“Five songs. You can do this.”
“Of course you can. You’re Simon Fucking Kagan.”
Simon whirled around at Nick’s voice. His heart was racing and he was pretty sure there were black dots forming in his periphery. Fuck.
“Breathe.” Nick clapped a hand onto Simon’s shoulder. “Breathe before you black out.”
“Christ, I can’t do this.”
“You can. You were born for this, Kagan. You know this.”
Simon shook out his fingers and scrubbed his palms over his faded jeans. Back to the beginning. It had been exactly what they needed. No artifice, no bells and whistles. Well, one whistle. Okay, two.
He glanced over Nick’s shoulder to the massive speakers that Donovan had choppered onto the rooftop as well as the bank of screens that flanked the “stage”. Seventy-five foot screens. No big deal.
Simon bent at the waist and put his head between his knees. “Whose idea was this?”
“Donovan’s,” Nick said dryly.
“Why did we say yes?”
“He’s my wife’s boss—kinda technically our boss.”
“Right.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Spots are bad, right?”
“Black ones?”
“Fuck off, Nick.”
He laughed and crouched in front of him. “Do you need me to find Margo? Blowjob, maybe?”
“I hate you.” Simon pushed his hair out of his face. “Why aren’t you blowing into a paper bag like usual?”
“I figure only one of us is allowed to have stage fright. Your turn, buddy.”
“Fucking awesome.” Simon crashed to a seated position on the patterned rug that had been set up for them. “Give me the sheet.”
“You know the songs, asshole.”
“I know. I need to change the order.”
Nick handed him the paper.
Facing the Edge
Heartbreak
Sugar Kiss
Return to Oblivion
The Becoming
Simon crossed out “The Becoming” and moved it to the top of the setlist, then moved “Facing the Edge” to the encore. “Only way this is going to happen.” He handed it back to Nick.
Nick whistled. “You want to start off the show with the hit? And fucking end it on an unknown song?”
If he didn’t get it out of the way he was going to throw up and possibly toss himself off the damn roof. The single, “Return to Oblivion” had been getting some serious airplay. Simon had even managed to do a few live radio spots during the week.
He’d thrown up until he was pretty sure he’d blown out a blood vessel in his right eye, but he did it.
This—so much worse.
“Simon we’ve got ten min—oh, my God are you all right?” Margo rushed over to him and dropped to her knees.
“I’m fine. Just freaking out a little.”
Nick smirked. “A little?”
“I don’t remember torturing you when you had these little freak outs.”
Nick crossed his arms. “I seem to remember a few put up or shut up conversations in the old days, pal.”
Simon heaved himself off the floor. It was too damn hot anyway. It was a perfect spring day in the heart of Los Angeles. So that meant seventy-two felt like a broiling eighty degrees, especially when they were trying to climb up to the sun.
Damn high rise building. Donovan Lewis couldn’t do anything small.
She nibbled her lip. “So, I probably shouldn’t tell you there’s four hundred people in front of the stage.”
He gave Margo a side-eye. “Thanks.”
She threw herself into his arms. “You’re going to be magnificent.”
No pressure.
The whomp-whomp of a chopper made him whimper. Maybe. Possibly he covered it up with the sheer blast of noise. He looked up and a pair of cameras glinted out of the body of the helicopter. Local news call letters were emblazoned along the side.
On the news too.
Yeah. Tossing himself off the roof was sounding like a better idea every second.
The Edge’s famous guitars slowly built over the noise. Simon laughed. He had to hand it to Lila and Donovan. When they went big, they went really big.
“Where the Streets Have No Name” broadcasted out over the city in bombastic clarity. Simon straightened up and cracked his neck. This is what rockstars did. They did crazy fucking shit.
They did it up right when it was time to have a coming out party.
And he was fucking back.
He stripped off the black shirt he wore over his black tank. He was wearing his lucky jeans, he had his friends with him. He glanced at Nick, who was giving him a half-smile. Then just as suddenly his face went white.
Simon frowned. “Nick?”
“Lila?”
“I know she’s the center of your world, buddy, but I’m not Lila. Definitely don’t have her rack.”
Margo whacked him in the gut.
He grunted. “What?”
“Watch it.” She nodded behind the curtained off area to a woman in a wheelchair. “She snuck in.”
Simon grinned. “Of course she did.”
Nick pushed roadies out of the way and a reporter who tried to stick a microphone in his face. He only had eyes for his wife.
Margo curled her fingers around Simon’s hand. “Ready to do this?”
“Yes.”
She tugged him after her until there was a circle of them, Lila in the center with Nick crouched by her chair. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m in a wheelchair, Nicholas. Which, I might add, I think is a little overkill at this stage of my pregnancy, but yes, better safe than sorry. And I promise, I’m going home right after the show.”
“You should leave now.” Nick’s eyebrows snapped together. “What if something happens?”
She nodded to a woman standing on the sidelines next to the man who was trying to take over the entertainment business one band at a time. “I even have a nurse here, thanks to Donovan. I’m in excellent hands.”
Donovan tapped two fingers to
his brow and gave them a little salute.
Nerves tried to crackle to life again, but Simon stuffed them down. Instead, he put a fisted hand in front of Lila. Margo placed her hand on his. Jazz bounced on her ballerina flats and slapped her hand over Margo’s. Gray followed suit, followed by Deacon and finally Nick.
Lila cupped all their hands together as a unit. Her big blue eyes shining as she sniffled. “I’m so very proud of you guys. Now, go kick some ass.”
They all laughed and broke apart and headed for the stage. The U2 song slowly faded into the opening strains of “The Becoming.”
Deacon McCoy’s larger than life bassline that started it all was exactly how they needed to start this show. Simon pulled the St. Christopher’s medal out of his shirt and kissed it before climbing the three stairs to the dais Donovan’s people had built.
So many people.
Four hundred had been a very low estimate. He looked out over the sea of people waiting to hear them—waiting to see them. And beyond that there was now a second helicopter. He turned around to the screens behind him and gaped.
Cameras from the street showed a river of people standing on either side of the street from the Lewis building. And the line snaked for at least a block.
He swallowed as the band looped the intro one more time. Simon waved them to a quiet. “Hi guys.”
The crowd roared.
“So, didja miss us?”
The crowd lost their collective shit.
“Hmm. I’m not sure you really mean it.” Simon cupped his hand around his ear and felt the familiar seductive pull of the stage. God, he’d missed it so fucking much.
He waved back to Deacon and his bass resonated out of the speakers and over his shoulders. “This is ‘The Becoming’,” Simon whispered into the microphone.
The pure joy of the song. The one that he’d missed for years now. It roared into him and out of his throat as he sung the familiar lyrics. He prowled the stage and crossed to his best friend. Nick’s face was stoic and full of that growling intensity.
He draped his arm over Nick’s shoulder and closed the distance until they were forehead to forehead. The words came easily this time, because the song was their hope that had returned.