Steady Beat

by Lexxie Couper

  Noah lowered his stare to his phone again, Heather’s indignant tirade fading away. He let his thoughts turn to Pepper. Pictured himself sitting opposite her in a diner in New York, a piece of pie on a plate between them, their forks chinking together as they both dug into the dessert at the same time, their smiles crinkling the edges of their eyes, their feet touching under the table.

  How many times had he lived that fantastical moment in his mind since touching down in L.A.? A thousand times? How many times had he pulled up her number, the need to hear her voice so powerful he could barely draw breath?

  Once every half-hour at least. Probably more.

  He lifted his head and studied the afternoon light streaming through the waiting room window. It would be evening in New York. Where would she be? Not at work. He’d taken that away from her. He really needed to do something about his bar. Maybe give it to Frank. Perhaps he should call the guy, ask about Pepper?

  Ask if she was okay? If she ached for him as much as he did her?

  He returned his gaze to the text on his phone.

  Christ, he wanted pie. His mouth salivated at the thought. He wanted pie and he wanted—

  Heather’s palm slapped his forearm, knocking his phone from his hand. “Are you paying attention to me?” she whispered, glaring at him even as she raised the magazine high enough to hide her face from the curious glances of those waiting for their appointments. “Oh my God, Noah, I can’t believe you still can’t keep your mind on anything important. To think I’ve got a baby growing inside me right now, and you’ve still got the attention span of a child. How are you to going to support me if you can’t even keep your mind on anything but your—”

  “Why did you go to the media first about your pregnancy?” he asked, cutting her off. His heart pounded hard. Fast. “Why did you think I’d reject you if you called?”

  She pursed her lips, shifting on the seat. Lowering a hand to the tiny bulge of her belly, she rubbed it in slow circles. For the first time, Noah noticed the diamonds on her fingers—large, gaudy things he’d never purchased for her. “I told you,” she muttered, watching the movement of her hand. “I needed to get your attention.”

  He studied her, a strange calm falling over him. “My attention? Or just attention in general?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re being silly.”

  Picking the magazine up again, she made a show of opening it, darting a quick look at the silent mothers in the waiting room.

  Noah watched her. “How’s Ricardo?”

  She stiffened. He hadn’t asked her about their dog walker before now. Perhaps because he’d believed her grief sincere at the airport.

  “Is he well?”

  Contemptuous eyes clashed with his. “If you’re going to throw Ricardo in my face constantly—”

  “First time I’ve asked.” He cocked an eyebrow, a surreal calm enveloping him. “How much money does a celebrity dog walker make a year, by the way? On average? Enough to cover the costs of having a baby?”

  Heather ignored him. Kept reading the magazine. Noah couldn’t miss she gripped the cover with such force her fingers had smudged the ink, turning her smiling image to a blurred grimace.

  “What did your agent say about your pregnancy?”

  She didn’t acknowledge him. Her knuckles, however, grew whiter.

  He narrowed his eyes. “If you’re twelve weeks pregnant, why didn’t you call me when you missed your first period? Or announce it then? Why did it take seeing me with Pepper to make you realize you regretted leaving me for our dog walker?”

  She shifted on her seat again, trying to hide her fluster at his reference to the gossip magazine Samuel had shown him the day before. “Pepper. Pepper,” she muttered. “Is that who you want to have pie with? The little gold digger from the bar? The waitress?” She curled her lip and sniffed, snapping the magazine farther open before glaring across the waiting room. “Doesn’t the receptionist know who we are?”

  She jerked to her feet and stormed across to the counter, stilettos clicking on the marble floor like gunshots.

  Noah watched her, trying to find the love he’d once felt for her in his heart. It had to be there, right? If she was the mother of his child, surely there had to be a connection?

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  He swung his head toward the child’s voice at his elbow. A little girl no older than three stood at his knee, his phone in her chubby fingers. “Dropped this.”

  He smiled, taking his phone. “Ta muchly, gorgeous one.”

  She giggled, her cheeks growing pink, and then she rushed back to her mother, who smoothed a calm hand over her deep auburn curls.

  Noah’s gut clenched. His chest constricted.

  “The service here is as bad as Doctor Carr’s,” Heather snarled, lowering back into her seat, blocking Noah’s view of the little girl and her mother. “I would have thought two famous people like us about to become parents would have been granted special treatment, what with how much they charge. I bet Brad and Angelina never have to wait like this. It’s disgusting.” She flicked him a sideways glare. “And you don’t seem to be doing anything about it? Where’s the bad-boy rocker when I need him?”

  He leant forward, removed the magazine from her hands and gazed straight into her eyes. “I’ve asked you a lot of questions since I touched down, Heather, but I just realized I haven’t asked the most important one.”

  She huffed, squirming in her seat. “And what’s that?”

  Noah drew his head closer to hers, the calm he’d felt earlier growing more focused. “Who is the father of your baby?”

  Chapter Ten

  Pepper watched Voodude run through the sound check with Jax. She’d called in the young technician that morning, remembering how brilliantly he’d helped set up every Black Toad Dare gig while she’d been their manager. He had a real ear for the acoustics of any space and knew how to tweak the sound deck to bring out the maximum quality of the band’s music. She’d expected him to be still employed by her former band, possibly even in the role of head sound tech. When he’d leapt at the chance, thrilled to hear from her again, she’d been both angry and happy. Angry that the douchebag who’d snatched Black Toad Dare away from her hadn’t kept Voodude on as the band’s tech, and at the same time happy he’d been too stupid and arrogant to do so. His loss, her gain.

  Voodude had met her at Henry’s bar an hour before it opened, his black hair shorn into a lopsided Mohawk, five new studs in his left ear, grimy jeans hanging halfway down his backside to reveal a pair of satin Incredible Hulk boxer shorts. He’d bumped her fist, told her he’d missed her and couldn’t wait to see who he was setting up for.

  “Just a small band called The Han Solos,” she’d answered, her cheeks flooding with heat. Thank God, the bar—empty of patrons and dimly lit—hid her blush.

  Twenty-five minutes later, thirty minutes before Henry would open the doors to the cue of patrons already waiting outside the popular bar, Pepper had needed to hide another one. “Holy fuck, Miss Kerrigan,” Voodude had whispered at her side when Jax, Samuel and Levi sauntered into the bar from the alley entrance. “Look who just came in!”

  When the three rock gods had headed to where Pepper stood with Voodude at the sound deck, the young technician had damn near fallen off his seat. “You know who these guys used to play for, right?” he’d muttered from the side of his mouth, his stare locked on them. “Fuck, all we need is the drummer and Nick Blackthorne and…” He’d stopped talking. Probably because Samuel had leant over the sound deck, snagged his hand in a firm grip and, grin wide, told him Pepper was going to be singing, not Nick.

  Once again, Pepper had thanked God the empty bar was dimly lit. She didn’t think her face could get any redder.

  Now, ten minutes before Henry opened the bar, watching Voodude working with Levi to adjust the bass levels, she found her smile fading. This should be fun. Exhilarating. Instead, she was one part terrified, a gazillion parts missing Noah.
r />   “Your dad would be proud of you, Baby K.”

  She turned to Henry, finding the bar owner standing beside her, arms folded over his sizeable chest. “He always told me you had the making of an amazing manager. Said it was your calling.” He held out a glass of water. “But singing with Nick Blackthorne’s old band as well as managing it? That’s more than amazing.”

  She took the offered glass and gulped down a quick mouthful. Her throat and mouth were so dry, it was like she’d spent the day chewing chalk.

  “It’s been a long time since we’ve set up gear like this,” Samuel called, shifting an amp a few inches to the right with the toe of his boot. “I forgot what it was like.”

  Levi flipped the cord connecting his bass to another amp out of the way. “Kinda humbling, isn’t it.”

  Jax grunted, maneuvering his keyboard farther to the left of the bar’s small stage. “Kinda sweaty, if you ask me.”

  Pepper tried to smile. A charged energy thrummed through her. She remembered the high from the times she’d organized Black Toad Dare at a successful gig. It was a deliciously addictive sensation, and yet tonight it was tainted.

  If only she wasn’t singing with the band.

  If only Noah was here.

  She didn’t know which she was more tormented by. Which made her tummy roll the most.

  Sliding her gaze to the empty drum kit shrouded in shadows at the back of the stage, her stomach twisted some more. Voodude had helped Samuel and Jax set up the kit on first arriving. Where it had come from, Pepper didn’t know. She should ask. A good manager would. But then, a good band manager wouldn’t have lost her heart and soul and fantasy to the missing drummer who played at the kit.

  And Noah was missing.

  It was ten minutes before the bar opened and Noah was not here.

  As far as Pepper knew, he was still in L.A. With Heather. That’s where all the gossip sites put him. Try as hard as she could, she hadn’t been able to stop herself checking each one, starving for any news of him, no matter how much it tore her apart.

  The last time she’d looked, two hours ago, one site had posted a particularly woeful photoshopped image of Heather in a wedding dress alongside an image of Noah wearing a tux Pepper knew had appeared in the Rolling Stone article her father had written years ago.

  With no drummer and a broken heart, Pepper had to question her father’s faith in her. It seemed, once again, she’d failed.

  On an up note, without a drummer she wouldn’t have to sing tonight.

  Her heart fluttered with an aching pressure. She honestly had no idea if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  “He’ll be here.”

  She started at Samuel’s deep voice beside her. “What?”

  Samuel chuckled beside her. “You’ve been staring at his kit for ten minutes. I figured I’d ease your mind and tell you he’ll be here.”

  Pepper drew a slow breath. “You know that for certain? He called you?”

  Samuel shook his head. “Nope. Haven’t heard boo.”

  She let out a ragged sigh, refusing to acknowledge the misery Samuel’s answer awoke in her. “Maybe I can find a replacement drummer for tonight? It would mean a late start, but better than nothing. I’m doing a piss-poor job of your first performance.”

  “You’re doing an incredible job,” Jax said at her right. He snaked an arm around her hip and gave her a squeeze. “Listen, I’ve been thinking—”

  “Jesus, that’s dangerous,” Samuel muttered.

  Jax spun a coaster at him, ninja-star style. “Shut up, Strings.” He grinned at Pepper. “What I’m trying to say is, I reckon you’d make a really good—”

  “Sorry,” a familiar voice called over Jax. “My flight was delayed.”

  Pepper’s heart stopped.

  Noah crossed the small dance floor to where they stood at the side of the stage, his smile calm. He leapt up onto the raised dais and slapped palms with Jax before doing the same with Levi. “And then I couldn’t hail a taxi.”

  “Knew you’d get here sooner or later,” Levi said with a grin.

  Samuel scowled. “Didn’t think it’d be later though.”

  Pepper stared at him. Her heart had started again, beating harder and faster than ever. Hot tears stung the back of her eyes. He looked exhausted. His hair stood in a harried mess, dark circles smudged under his eyes and a shadow way past five o’clock covered his jaw and chin. His clothes were equally disheveled, the jeans hugging his long legs torn at the knees and splattered with drops of what looked like white paint. The shirt he wore—a retro Star Wars T-shirt depicting Darth Vader declaring I am your father—was crumpled, as if yanked from a pile of clothes waiting to be ironed…or dragged out of the basket of clothes waiting to be washed.

  Pepper’s heart punished her, a brutal beat in her throat. She caught her bottom lip with her teeth, waiting for him to look at her.

  She let out a squeal as a warm hand fell over her shoulder. “The bar’s open, Baby K,” Henry said, his smile for them all. “It’ll be only a few minutes before the crowd filters in ready for tonight’s entertainment. Hey, I see your drummer finally got here.”

  Noah gave Henry a nod. “G’day. Thanks for having us.”

  Henry grinned back. “It’s my honour. It’s not every day I get The Han Solos playing in my joint.”

  Noah laughed. To Pepper’s mind, it sounded forced. Tired. He still didn’t look at her. Her heart broke all over again. Perhaps the T-shirt was his way of telling her he truly was the father’s baby?

  Or perhaps it was the first one he grabbed before leaving?

  The rumble of people entering the main area facing the stage stopped her stepping toward him.

  Instead, she pressed her palms to her elbows and studied her feet. God, she was a coward.

  “And on that note—” Noah’s deep voice played with her fraying nerves, “—I’m going to go check my kit. See how shoddy a job you lot did setting it up.”

  Pepper closed her eyes at his soft chuckle, wishing she had the courage to look at him again. To see his smile, despite the sadness she heard in it.

  But she didn’t have the courage. She was gutless.

  A failure.

  She let out a sigh. The growing noise of the bar rapidly filling with rowdy patrons behind her was the final nail in her coffin. It was too late to run away now. It was just a matter of sucking it up and getting it over and done with. With any luck, the twenty-twelve apocalypse would finally happen and the world would open up beneath her feet and swallow her whole.

  Then she wouldn’t be hurting for Noah anymore. Or have to worry about singing live in front of who knows how many people. God, why had she done this to herself again? Was it really just a way to meet the man in complete possession of her heart? Was the whole singing dream really just a bullshit fantasy she’d let herself believe so she had a reason to approach Noah all those days, hours and minutes ago?

  “Thank fucking God we’re only playing one set.”

  She raised her head, giving Samuel a curious frown. She agreed with him, but—by the exasperation on his face—not for the same reasons. “Why?”

  “Hard to play a second one without a drummer, and when we’re finished this one I’m holding Noah down so you can beat the shit out of him.”

  A weak laugh bubbled passed Pepper’s lips. She smiled at him, her stomach rolling.

  With a nod, he walked from the miniscule wing onto the dark stage, scooped his Strat from its stand and looped its strap over his neck. Jax followed with a wink, his steps springy.

  Pepper swallowed.

  Her blood roared in her ears.

  Her eyes stung.

  The soft sound of last-minute string testing came to her from the darkness, accompanied by a half-hearted drum roll, the softer tink of sticks tapping crash cymbals and hi-hats and the distinct electronic thud of a keyboard coming to life.

  The warmth of fingers brushing the back of her shoulder made her turn, glad to have something
other than the barely visible shape of Noah at his drums to focus on.

  Levi smiled at her. “Your heart is aching now, I can see that. I know what it feels like. The only thing I can say to try and make it better is to use that pain. Take every feeling you have right now, pour it into your soul and then pour your soul into the song. Doesn’t take the pain away, but it gives it purpose. Make sense?”

  She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

  He squeezed her hand. “See you on stage.”

  She stood motionless and watched him go.

  Watched him walk passed the microphone in the centre of the stage. Watched him cross to the dark shape that was Noah at his drums, lean forward and say something before straightening once more.

  The hum of the bar’s laughing, chatting patrons scraped at Pepper’s nerves.

  A single strike of a snare drum silenced the noise.

  A single spotlight pierced the darkness, illuminating the microphone awaiting Pepper.

  Another strike reverberated through the room. Louder. Stoking the crowd’s expectation. Their anticipation.

  An intricate roll blended into a double-kick drum rhythm, accompanied ten devastating beats later by the raw sound of a Strat wringing out an impossible riff.

  The opening instrumental of “Gotta Run”.

  The crowd cheered, impressed with the musicians still shrouded in darkness on the stage.

  Pepper stared at the microphone standing alone under a beam of white, inescapable light.

  Ten steps away. Just ten.

  Waiting for her.

  The intensely quick snare rolls of the opening drum intro continued, drawing closer to the first words of the song.

  Closer. Closer. A mere double kick away.

  Frozen to the spot, Pepper scrunched her eyes shut and whispered the opening line to herself. “You changed it all and I changed nothing.”