Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion #3)

by Taryn Elliott

  “You know what it also sparked?”

  “No, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

  “Don’t look so glum, Margo. This is a good thing. We’re releasing the video from the Los Angeles show this week as a fan club marketing tool. I have a feeling it’s going to go viral.”

  “And what does that have to do with me?” She set her mug down carefully.

  “Tell me, what exactly do you have planned for this summer?”

  “Studio work. I’ve gotten a lot of great offers because of the work I did with Oblivion.”

  “You should have. I put your name out there as the one to call for violin work.”

  Surprised, Margo gripped her knees. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. I wish I hadn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want there to be any reason for you to turn me down.”

  “I—what?”

  “The band is heading to Saratoga, New York to rehearse for their summer tour. I want you to go down and rehearse with them. See if that magic is still in effect.”

  Margo stood. She tapped her thumb with her middle finger as she paced the little square of shale patio. “Why?”

  “Would there be a personal issue as to why you wouldn’t want to go?”

  Margo stopped and met her gaze. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because you two are damn sexy and that usual translates to naked time.”

  “It’s not an issue.”

  “Now why don’t I believe you?”

  “That’s not my problem.”

  Lila groaned. “You fucked.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your face. There’s no love stuff but definitely sex stuff. I know the signs. It’s happened a lot recently.”

  Margo pushed her hair out of her face. “We have history,” she agreed.

  “Which means you’ve had sex a few times. How recently?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “So, at the bar?”

  “Ms. Shawcross—”

  “Wow. It must have been good.” She held up a hand. “Look, I know what Simon is. Don’t get your panties in a twist. Whatever you two do after the show is none of my concern. Unless it becomes trouble for the show.”

  “This is not a done deal, Lila. I’m not one of the members of the band that you can railroad into doing your bidding.”

  Lila snorted. “Keeping these guys in check requires a firm hand, but it also is about knowing what they need. They are an awesome unit already, but since adding you to the stage, they’ve reached another level.”

  “I’ve only played with them a handful of times.”

  “Which is exactly why I want you to go to the rehearsals.”

  “Have you talked to the band about this?”

  “No.”

  The decisive way she said it made Margo turn. “Why?”

  Lila sighed. “Because they don’t know what they need until they make the decisions for themselves.”

  “You know that doesn’t make any sense, right?”

  “It does for them. Nick would rather cut off his leg than bring a new person into the band, but even he was looking for ways to layer in the sound with his own. Deacon is our resident composer and he came to me asking if we could add you to the whole show for the Los Angeles performance, not just the three songs you were scheduled to do.”

  Margo lowered to a metal chair on the far side of the patio. “That was him?” She’d wondered why Deacon had been so adamant about getting her to learn the songs.

  Not that she had to do much.

  She’d been listening to them on a loop since she’d gotten an advanced copy of the album. She knew them all. “And Jazz and Gray?”

  “They’re mostly in the clutches of baby fever, but they are also most open to collaborations.”

  “Simon?”

  “I think you can answer that question.”

  Margo laced her fingers together and sat forward. “The summer is when I make most of my money. Now, more than ever, that’s an issue.” She met Lila’s direct gaze. “I’m not sure how you found out about the Philharmonic, but my current job situation also means that the studio work I’d miss out on would be detrimental to my livelihood.”

  Lila tipped her head and rattled off a number.

  It was only because of years of training that Margo’s jaw didn’t drop.

  “And that’s per show.”

  “Per show?”

  Lila nodded.

  “When do I leave?”

  Lila smiled. “Tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Simon dropped onto the carpet of green grass and rolled onto his back, his chest heaving.

  Deacon turned around, running in place. “C’mon, Simon. You’re never going to survive the summer if you don’t get some cardio training.”

  Simon waved him ahead. “I’m just gonna lay here and die. Nick can sing.”

  Deacon jogged over to where he was on the ground and ran circles around him. “You said you wanted to do this.”

  “Changed my mind.” He pressed a hand to his sweat-slick belly. “You’re a sadist.”

  “We’ve only done two miles.”

  Simon rolled onto his belly and buried his head in his stacked arms. “I’m good.”

  “You’re going to cramp.”

  Simon lifted his foot and grabbed his sneaker to stretch out the back of his legs. “There.”

  “Don’t come crying to me,” Deacon said and jogged back to the path.

  “Oh, I won’t,” Simon said more to himself than anything since Deacon was already gone.

  Saratoga State Park butted up to the parking lot of the Saratoga Performing Arts Center and Deacon had found every damn path there was.

  Just because Deacon felt the need to abuse his body with five to ten miles of running a day did not mean Simon did. Sure, he needed the cardio, but two fucking miles was more than anyone needed.

  Add that in with the resistance training Deacon was forcing on all of them, and Simon was ready to kill him. If only the bastard wasn’t so big, or so fast.

  Day one of the rehearsals had gone well. They had most of stage set up and the soundboard was a dream. Nick, Gray, and Deacon still had hard-ons from that little tour.

  Jazz and Harper were talking babies twenty-four-seven and he was fairly sure there would be a pair of really good wireless noise-canceling earbuds in his future.

  All he needed to do was nod and smile, anyway. He might as well listen to good tunes while he was doing it.

  “Fucking baby fever.” Simon pushed himself up off the grass and stood. It was going to be a damn long walk back to the venue.

  Or, he could run.

  Because he was alone, he let himself whine a little before he picked up the pace. It was a gorgeous late May day. He brushed off the stray bits of grass from his chest and waved at the two girls playing golf.

  He grinned when one completely missed her ball before twisting around to watch him run by. Okay, so the workouts for the last few weeks weren’t all of the suck. He’d never work out like Deacon, but he had to admit he liked the six-pack he had going.

  He was prone to skinny and only ripped because he was usually climbing on something. But he’d always been the skinny kind of ripped. Thanks to Deacon, he had a little more meat on his arms and shoulders.

  And the fact that their bassist wouldn’t let him sleep in anymore. Which sucked. But Simon needed to be in fighting shape for this tour. They weren’t just doing a forty-five minute opening act anymore. The current setlist was reaching for two hours.

  Slowing to a jog, Simon resisted the urge to grab his knees and pant like the bitch he was. He’d wait to do that on his bunk in the bus.

  In privacy.

  Where he could cry.

  He didn’t even know the name of the muscles that hurt. All of them?

  He slowed to a walk as the huge gold and black bus came into view. “Home sweet home,” he pa
nted and grabbed the handle for the door.

  He landed facedown on the loveseat at the front of the bus.

  “You are a schmuck.”

  “Fuck off, Nicky.”

  The offending asshole dropped onto the longer couch next to him. “You’re the one who decided it was a good idea to go running with marathon man.”

  “You did it yesterday.”

  “Yeah. But so did you. No need to run every day, idiot.”

  Actually, he did need to. Running on that stage and singing was going to kill him if he didn’t find some way to train. Deacon had warned him earlier, but he’d never been the type that needed to exercise. When he was a kid, food wasn’t exactly a commodity in his house.

  He’d learned to go without a long time ago.

  Nick moved over. “You smell like a fucking vodka bottle.”

  “Sweating out my sins, my friend.”

  “Lots of sins.”

  Simon grinned unrepentantly. “I believe you tried to hang with me last night, buddy boy. You didn’t make it to midnight.”

  “That’s because you’re pickled.” Nick rose and grabbed two bottles of water out of the fridge. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” Simon took one and sucked it down. He rose to refill it from the filtered tap on the front of the fridge. The cold water felt awesome on his abused throat.

  Landing facefirst in the grass wasn’t his best move. He didn’t have allergies like some people did, but he was a cement jungle guy—grass wasn’t one of the staples in his life. The back of his throat was tickling like crazy.

  “Lila’s here with Donovan.”

  “Oh yeah?” Simon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Did he see our sweet setup yet?”

  “She’s showing him around now. She wants us to meet her down there in an hour.”

  “Cool.” He moved to the back of the bus for a shower. Now that it was just him and Nick on the bus, it was a helluva lot easier to take a shower. And the upgrade of the bus meant it didn’t stink like chemicals.

  He washed up and stepped into a pair of faded jeans. And because the big boss man of the label was there, he tugged on a Rebel Rage t-shirt instead of one with rude sayings.

  He jammed his feet into socks and his motorcycle boots, and then grabbed a pair of sunglasses from his stash. A half-dozen brand name companies still sent freebies to him.

  God bless America.

  Nick had already left. The boy didn’t know how to relax. The couch looked mighty comfortable, but he knew if he tried for a nap, he’d end up sleeping for four hours.

  Even with enough vodka in his system to make his liver weep, he hadn’t been able to sleep much more than a handful of hours.

  They’d be officially doing their first rehearsal tonight. And of course Donovan had to be there. How the hell was he supposed to figure shit out if Mr. Suave was there to judge?

  As if he hadn’t been nervous enough.

  He trudged through the gravel pit outside the bus to the stairs that lead to the underbelly of the stage. Half a dozen roadies were running around with huge trunks on wheels, unloading from the semi parked behind the building.

  He climbed the back stairs to the stage and froze. Two forklifts with human sized baskets were on either end of the stage. A huge steel arch was being reinforced by two guys in welder faceplates.

  Sparks spit and sprayed at each end.

  “Holy shit.”

  “Impressive, huh?” Lila asked as she and Donovan came out from the side stage.

  “Yeah. I didn’t see this in the drawings.”

  “Well, since you continue to give me and my insurance people heart attacks during the shows, we figured we should give you something to climb on.”

  “Were you a gymnast in a former life, Simon?” Donovan asked.

  Simon folded his arms, gripping his forearms, his eyes never leaving the archway. “I never knew when my old man was going to take a swing, so I got good at ducking and rolling. Just seemed to grow from there.”

  At Lila’s shocked silence, Simon cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m totally psyched to have something to climb on.”

  “Just don’t split your head open, all right?”

  He rubbed his hands together and finally looked away from the set-up. “Nice to see you again, Donovan.”

  The Englishman held his hand out. “I had to come out and see the build. It’s impressive.”

  Simon shook his hand. “Yeah, I thought the ramps around the entire stage were rad, but that?” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I want to get on it now.”

  “Wait until the welder is done with it, please.”

  Jazz and Gray walked up the front steps to the side of the stage. “Oh my God.” She bounced with her arm hooked in Gray’s. “This is ours?”

  “Isn’t it amazing?” Simon rushed forward and helped her up the last stair.

  She tipped her head back and her dark hair flowed down her back with an arrow of blue at the tips. “Did they build us a jungle gym?”

  “Looks like it, doesn’t it?”

  She dragged Gray to the back of the stage to the riser that was set up for her kit. Pipes were built out around the edges of the structure.

  Lila moved around to the back and hit a switch.

  Jazz yelped and hopped up and down. “I have my own neon?”

  “LED actually, but the same effect without any of the chemicals.”

  Jazz cupped her growing bump and looked down at it. “Look at that, Aunt Lila taking care of you, kiddo.”

  Lila flushed and cleared her throat. “Yes, well, it’s just good business.”

  “Of course,” Jazz said solemnly and curled her fingers around Gray’s.

  Deacon and Harper came down from the back of the amphitheater and Nick met them halfway down. He’d been sitting in the middle of the second section of seats.

  Hell, Simon hadn’t even seen him.

  Deacon helped Harper up the stairs, after Nick stopped at the bottom to let them go first. When he got on the stage, he crossed his arms and looked around, not saying a word.

  He finally came to stand beside Simon. He nodded to Donovan, then Lila. “Nice.”

  Deacon tipped his head incredulously, then stepped forward. “It’s amazing, Mr. Lewis. Thanks so much for taking such a chance on us.”

  Simon caught Nick making a face behind Deacon and practically sawed through his bottom lip so he wouldn’t laugh.

  If anyone could be a spokesperson for the band, it would be Deacon. He knew just what to say and how to play the game.

  Simon didn’t give two shits about games. He just wanted to play music.

  Nick wanted not to give a shit, but was actually the worst offender. He cared far too much about every little aspect of the band. And the fact that Lila was the coordinator in almost every regard made him nuts.

  Simon spotted his guitar in one of the open guitar trunks. “Man, I haven’t seen Cherry in ages.” He crossed to the tall trunk and unhooked his white Les Paul.

  “With the expanded setlist, we figured you might want to play her now and again.”

  Simon smiled at Lila. “Yeah, you thought right.”

  “Donovan and I also had another idea.”

  Simon grinned. “Lay it on me. It’s been a good day so far.”

  “Hey, everyone.”

  Simon turned to the voice and his shoes cemented to the stage for the second time that day.

  12

  Margo twisted her fingers together as everyone stared at her.

  The quick flash of pleasure in Simon’s eyes melted away. His silvery blue eyes shuttered before he focused on the floor and dug his hands into his pockets.

  “What the hell is this?” Nick asked.

  Margo’s gaze snapped to Lila. Yeah, this wasn’t a good idea. What had she been thinking?

  Lila folded her arms. “Have you checked your social media pages lately?”

  Nick shrugged. “Me and Pix haven’t been doing as many videos since the Baby
Brigade has taken over all conversations.”

  “Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean we can’t do our videos,” Jazz said with a sniff.

  “I just said we haven’t. Otherwise, why would I want to watch myself?”

  “To see what’s working and what isn’t?” Lila pulled her iPad from her bag. She rattled off some numbers from the videos at the bar, from the release party, from some of the live radio spots.

  “So, what, we’re not good enough on our own? We need a violin addition to the band?” Nick glanced at Margo. “No offense.”

  She tucked her hands into her sleeves, but didn’t say a word. What the hell could she say? There was no rhyme or reason to why they sounded so good together, but they did.

  Lila lifted a slim brow. “Of course not. I’m thinking strictly from a business sense.”

  “You can take your business and sti—”

  Donovan Lewis stood straighter and his shoulders stiffened.

  Deacon held a hand up. “I think what she’s saying is that it’s just like any other tour that brings on another guitarist to layer in sound.”

  “We have two guitarists. For fuck’s sake, we had three until we neutered Simon.”

  “Nick,” Lila said in a warning tone.

  “What? I don’t give a shit if God himself is here.” He glanced at Donovan. “I’ll say what needs to be said.”

  Margo stepped forward, hiding her fisted hands in her sweater. “I can play a standup bass, a fiddle, the violin obviously, some piano, and the cello. I’m more than just a background player. It doesn’t take away from your sound, just enhances it. You can’t deny it, Nick.”

  “For a one-off special gig, sure. But every night?” He crossed his arms. “Why the hell do we need to change?”

  “Why does it have to be one or the other?” Simon asked quietly.

  Finally, he said something. She’d been wondering if he was actually going to talk or just walk.

  “Are you so set to get in this chick’s pants that you want her on tour with us?”

  “Enough.” Simon’s eyes flashed. “You can be pissed off as much as you want about this, but for fuck’s sake, she’s standing right there. Don’t be that much of a dick. She’s a fucking artist same as we are.”