by Jayne Frost
And then it was over.
The last note died on Cam’s strings, and the stage went black.
A sonic boom of applause erupted from the abyss, quickly followed by shuffling feet as the mad dash for the exits began.
Roadies scampered onto the stage, grabbing instruments and handing out water, while I sat anonymously on my perch, waiting for the feeling to return to my legs.
The kid tasked with tearing down my kit approached cautiously, tools in one hand, a Pale Ale in the other.
“Great show, man,” he said, holding out the beer.
The burning in my lungs prevented me from offering more than a tip of my chin and a smile as I took the bottle.
His eyes immediately darted away.
Fucking promoters and their damn riders. Since Caged was currently without management, I’m sure the SXSW organizers threw together a standard list of “dos” and “don’ts,” including the super douchey “never look the ‘talent’ in the eye,” and “speak only when spoken to” clause.
But that wasn’t me. Or us. Caged was born right here in Austin—Sixth Street bred, and the kid probably played in a band himself.
“What’s your name?” I asked after catching my breath.
His hand froze on the nut holding my cymbal in place. “Um . . . Zach.”
I smiled because his voice rose at the end like it was a question.
“What do you play, Zach?”
From the expert way the kid was tearing down my kit, I’d say drums. But you never knew. I was proficient on guitar and bass guitar, not to mention the violin. But few people knew that.
“Drums,” he confirmed. “Bass now and then.”
I nodded into my next drink. “Why the skins?”
Zach’s eyes lit up, but he played it off with a shrug. “Dunno.”
Now, I flat out laughed. “Own it, son.” I pushed to my feet and shook the cramps out of my legs. “Nobody purposely sits back here and abuses the shit out of their body unless they’ve got a beat in their head.” I took out one of my lucky sticks from my back pocket and gave it a twirl. “If you don’t have the beat, go back to playing the bass. Or better yet take some voice lessons.” Zach’s gaze followed mine to Logan standing at the side of the stage, surrounded by his usual flock of female admirers. “Lead singers get the most pussy anyway.”
Zach let out a nervous laugh. “I’m not worried about that. I got a girl.”
Reflexively, my thumb skated over the A I’d carved into the oak base of the stick a million years ago. The smooth initial that I felt regardless of the wear.
“Really?” I forced a laugh. “How’s your girl feel about all the late nights?” Again, my eyes wandered to the group of females waiting in the wings. Once the band took our pick of the girls for the after party, the roadies could usually score a little action with the ones who didn’t make the cut. “And, you know, all the other perks?”
Zach barely spared the fangirls a glance as he tried desperately to hide the small smile curving his mouth. “It’s all about the music. I’m not here for any of that.”
The conviction in his voice struck a familiar chord in my chest. “Good on you.” I patted his shoulder. “Keep it that way.”
I meant it sincerely, but I wasn’t about to share my own experiences, so I shoved my sticks back into my pocket and took off. Pushing aside the curtain, I bypassed Logan, who looked like he had his shit under control, and took my place next to Cameron.
Ever since Lily had entered the picture, Cameron kept a safe distance from the fangirls and groupies. Easy to do at the Parish, where we performed a semi-monthly gig in front of a crowd of about four hundred. But this was an arena show, and the mob mentality had set in. It didn’t help that Cam was bare chested, having shed his vintage Damaged T-shirt sometime during the show.
He practically jumped out of his skin when one of the bolder girls placed a hand on his chest.
“No touching,” he said, the strain in his voice evident through the smile.
I felt a little sympathy for Cam’s predicament, but hell, he’d cultivated this persona for years.
“Keep your shirt on, and this wouldn’t happen,” I said as I took a concert bill from a petite blonde. “Nobody wants to see your scrawny ass anyway.” Winking at blondie, I flexed my bicep. “Ain’t that right, sugar?” When she nodded vigorously, I raised a brow at Cameron. “See?”
Just having me here, running interference, loosened up Cameron enough to coax a smile from his lips. “Don’t be hating.” He pointed to his six-pack abs. “We can’t all be built like this.”
I rolled my eyes. Cameron and I were about the same height, but I had twenty pounds of muscle on the dude and I was rocking an eight pack.
Logan finally managed to tear himself away from his harem, and I was surprised to see that he hadn’t picked out a girl for some limo action. He slipped between Cameron and me, snaking an arm around each of our shoulders.
“Listen,” he said, his tone low with a hint of urgency. “We’ve got to wrap this up. I just got a text. We’re heading to the Four Seasons.”
“What’s at the Four Seasons?” I asked, distracted by a willowy brunette propping up the wall a few feet away.
It wasn’t Beth, but she had the same glossy brown hair, olive skin, and a body that wouldn’t quit. She gave me a brilliant smile when she caught me staring.
Logan tightened his vise-like grip on my shoulder. “Pay attention,” he snapped. “The text was from some guy in Benny Conner’s camp.”
All the white noise faded as I blinked at my best friend. Benny Conner was the biggest concert promoter in the business. If Conner Productions tapped a band for one of their globe spanning extravaganzas, you could write your own ticket when it was said and done. Benny turned nobodies into stars. Or in our case, stars into megastars.
I peeled my tongue off the roof of my mouth. “What did he want?”
Logan grinned. “Us . . . at the Conner hospitality suite.”
I knew there was a catch.
Turning my attention back to the brunette, I muttered. “I’m not really into a dog and pony show tonight.”
Cameron jerked a nod, concurring. “Me either.”
There was a multitude of parties going on to cap off the SXSW festivities, and Caged scored an invite to every one of them. The same assholes that had been avoiding our calls for months would surely be at Conner’s party, maybe even a rep from our label, and I wasn’t on board with being anyone’s window dressing.
Logan heaved a sigh. “It’s not like that. The head of Conner’s acquisition team wants to have a chat.” He lifted a pale brow. “Plus, they’ve got a shitload of press over there.”
Cameron’s back stiffened, his easy grin long gone. “We’ve got a press junket to do at the Parish. And don’t even think about bailing.”
It was my turn to concur. Leaving Chase to deal with a mob of angry reporters wasn’t an option. We owed him more than that. He’d been propping up the band for the last year, keeping us in the public eye with our gig at the Parish. And that wasn’t just because he was Cameron’s brother. He was family.
Logan thought for a moment before sliding his gaze to Cameron. “Call Chase and tell him there’s been a change of plans. Re-route everyone to the Four Seasons.”
Cameron pulled a face. “You sure about that?”
“Why not? Have him book us some suites. If worse comes to worse, we’ll hold a few interviews there.”
Cameron glanced at me, and I shrugged. If Conner was interested, he’d welcome the extra hype. And if he wasn’t, it didn’t matter anyway. Our reputation was shit; blowing the dude off wouldn’t hurt us any.
“Yeah, okay,” Cameron finally said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I’ll shoot y’all a text when I get the details. Someone needs to find Christian.”
Logan glanced around as if he’d just noticed our bassist had gone missing. “Where is the little dweeb?”
Cameron snorted as his fingers flew
across the screen on his phone. “He took off with Melody as soon as the curtain dropped. I’d say he’s balls deep in a broom closet somewhere.”
Logan barked out a laugh. “Nerd sex doesn’t take that long. I’ll go find him.”
With his long hair and a full sleeve of tats, Christian could hardly be labeled a nerd. But he did have an IQ that rivaled Einstein, making him the resident brainiac of our group.
Logan gave a quick nod, then took off with a security guard to search for Christian.
Hearing our fans’ disgruntled sighs, I decided to sign a few more autographs.
The brunette I’d spied earlier muscled her way to the front of the group. Bold little thing, and down to fuck from the look in her eyes.
“Hey, sugar,” I said, giving her my full attention. “Did you enjoy the show?”
Her gaze flicked to Cameron who was now beating a path to the dressing room. “Yeah, I did.” When our eyes met, a coy grin curved her lips. “But if you take me to wherever he’s going, I’ll make it worth your while. And his too.” Her fingers trailed up my forearm. “If you know what I mean.”
Everyone in the vicinity knew what she meant. But threesomes were never really my thing, and a three-way with one of my bros was a definite no go. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t take her for a solo ride, though, if she were willing.
I dropped my gaze to her tits, sitting somewhere just south of her chin. The chick either had an amazing push-up bra or those babies were fake as hell.
“Don’t you read the papers, sugar?” I kept my eyes on hers as I signed a playbill someone shoved in front of me. “Cam’s gone and got himself domesticated.”
“Well, that sounds boring.” Her hand slid farther up my arm. “What about you, Sean,” she peered up at me through her lashes, coquettish pout firmly in place, “are you domesticated?”
I leaned in close. “Nope. There’s not a domestic bone in my—”
The sentence died when I felt the pull, the jolt that came when I thought of her. My Anna. It was happening more and more lately, likely a result of being here, home, where memories hung as thick and deadly as the ball moss coating the trees by the lake where I lived.
Regrouping, I twined a lock of the brunette’s hair around my finger while my free hand slid to the swath of bare skin above the waistband of her low-slung jeans. “There’s this after party at the Four Seasons.” I smiled against the shell of her ear, and she shivered. “What do you say? You wanna go?”
Over the din, I heard a soft, melodic voice call my name, drifting over me like a warm breeze. And though I was sure I’d imagined it, when I turned to the sound, she was there, five feet away, nervously tugging the bottom of her blouse.
A hint of bronzed thigh peeked from the high slit on her black skirt, and I had to look away for a second because I knew what those legs felt like wrapped around my waist. I could practically feel the contours of her body, smell her sweet peach scent, and damned if I didn’t get hard.
Regaining my composure, my gaze darted to her face, to those emerald green eyes that sliced through all my defenses. Because I had no defense for Annabelle Dresden.
And despite everything, I smiled at her.
“Annabelle.” Her name dripped off my tongue, sweet like honey and just as thick. “What are you doing here?”
Chapter Six
Anna
I’d planned to offer Sean the note it took me all day to write. A small thanks—not from me, but from Gran. I figured with a hundred people around I could find someone to give it to him. But then I’d managed to make my way backstage, and now he was in front of me, mere feet away, enigmatic smile and piercing azure eyes locked on me like a heat-seeking missile.
Whatever he’d just said, I didn’t hear. I was too lost in the past, in that place I’d avoided for years.
Sean took a blind step toward me and almost got mowed down by a parade of roadies hauling equipment.
“Anna?” His voice was urgent, demanding. But I heard disbelief as well. Like maybe he wasn’t sure it was me.
I should’ve slipped away. Fallen into step beside the worker bees and headed for the door.
But Sean muscled his way through before I had the chance.
“Hey, Sean.” It was all I could manage, and my smile wobbled when the brunette found her way to his side. “I just wanted to…um…” I swallowed hard when her hand curled around his arm, right below the tattoo of the willow tree on his bicep that matched my own. “I wanted to thank you for the roses. For Gran.”
That knocked Sean out of his haze. “Yeah, I’m so sorry about that.” His hand went to the back of his neck, and then he smiled. “I just can’t believe you’re here.”
The brunette scowled, expelling a small snort.
I shook my head, more for her benefit than Sean’s. “Oh, no, I’m not staying.” My attention shifted to the thank you note twisted in my hand, the ink blurred from the sweat on my palm. “Here.” I shoved the card at him, my smile thin and tight lipped. “I’ll let you get back to your plans. It was a great show, by the way.”
Sean took the card, his fingers latching onto mine. And he didn’t let go. “You can’t stay for a minute?”
The brunette huffed in earnest this time, catching Sean’s attention. He gave her a sidelong glance, annoyed, then shrugged off her hand.
“I’m busy here,” he said to her, curt and dismissive. “Do you mind?”
She blinked at him, big brown eyes clouded with confusion. “I thought you were taking me to a party at the Four Seasons?”
I took a step back, trying to detach myself from his grip and their conversation, but Sean tightened his hold, long fingers sliding to my wrist.
“Plans change.” He cut his gaze to mine for a second, and even though I didn’t make any gesture of agreement, he turned back to the brunette. “You should run along now.”
The girl appraised me, then turned a coy smile on Sean. “I told you I don’t mind sharing.”
My stomach hit the floor with a loud thump, and I was surprised no one heard it.
Adrenaline surged, and I freed myself with one tug. “It was nice seeing you, Sean.” Painful is what it was, and I only hoped my voice didn’t betray me as I spun on my heel. “Thanks again for the flowers.”
I shot him a smile over my shoulder before ducking in between a group of fans heading for the red exit sign. My breathing came in labored spurts as I rounded the corner into another hallway.
“Anna!” Hearing Sean’s voice behind me like a doorway to the past and all the pain, I picked up speed. “Anna-baby, stop!”
Anna-baby . . .
Two words. That’s all it took. My steps faltered, time collapsing around me.
Why did I think I could do this?
Determined to try, I turned to face Sean’s devastating smile. “Yeah?”
His breathing was as labored as mine, probably the unspent energy from the show. He ripped a hand through his long hair, staring at me.
Shifting under his intense scrutiny as his eyes continued their trek from my face to my body, I wrapped my arms around my middle and went for casual. “Someone’s going to scoop Veronica up if you don’t get back there.”
Sean blinked and then barked out a laugh. “You remember that, huh? Logan still does that you know? All blondes are Betty and all brunettes are Veronica.”
My heart squeezed at the mention of Logan. I’d seen him for a split second when he’d come off stage, and it had been nearly as bad as seeing Sean.
I coaxed out a laugh. “Well, I’m sure no one’s complaining.”
Hell, nobody complained in high school, and Logan wasn’t even a star back then.
Glancing Sean over, I wondered what his term of choice was for the groupies and fangirls.
Sugar.
Somehow, I knew that was it. He was fond of the phrase but had never once used it on me.
Sean’s chuckle died, and his smile lost its luster. “I’m not . . . you know, with that girl. I just met her
.”
As if he knew that was worse, his gaze dropped to his boots, giving me time to take a step backward.
“I figured,” I said. “Anyway, I should go.”
He looked up, his face unguarded. “Don’t. I mean, unless you have to.” After a beat of silence, he asked, “Are you here alone?”
Lie.
My brain issued the command, but before I could follow it, I nodded. “Yeah. Flying solo tonight.”
Every night.
But Sean didn’t need to know that. In fact, I’d gone to great lengths to ensure that he wouldn’t. I felt the weight of the gold band on my ring finger, fraudulent since I hadn’t worn it in months.
Sean’s eyes narrowed as he looked past me, biting his lip. Then, out of nowhere, he took my elbow. “Good. Let’s go get a drink somewhere.”
Without waiting for an answer, he guided us further into the depths of the arena. It took me a few seconds to pump the breaks. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Running small circles on the inside of my arm with his thumb, Sean gave me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Why? You got a curfew or something?”
His gaze slipped to my left hand, gripping the strap of my purse so tight I could feel the leather digging into my palm. After a pointed look at my wedding band, Sean dragged his eyes to mine and waited for an answer.
My shoulders sagged in defeat. “No . . . I don’t have a curfew.”
Sean’s lips turned up at the corners. “Alrighty then. Drinks it is.”
“I can’t believe you’re rewriting history this way,” I protested with a snort, sloshing Jack and Dr. Pepper over the rim of my glass and onto the plush leather seat in the limo. “You were the one who stalked me. I didn’t show up at any of your classes.”
Maybe it was the booze. I was three drinks in, not a lot in the old days, but right now my entire body was tingling with awareness. With nostalgia. And a hundred other things I didn’t expect and couldn’t name. All I knew was that I was having a good time, and none of our baggage followed us when we’d stepped into the limo. It was like we took the best parts of what we were and left the rest on the curb.