by Reid, B. B.
“Relax, pops,” Loren replied. “We’re kind of pros. No big deal.”
“Your guitarist isn’t,” Xavier snapped while pointing at Braxton. She’d given up her search and was now pretending interest in her phone while her friends asked our busy crew a million questions. “She has no idea what she’s up against.”
Loren shrugged before leaning back to rest on his elbow on the step above him. “Not our problem.”
“And when the people who paid to see you perform start demanding their money back? Get your asses over there and make sure she doesn’t choke.” Shaking his head, Xavier cursed more before storming off to yell at someone else. It was why we paid him the big bucks—to worry so we didn’t have to.
Braxton had gravitated toward the stage with her friends huddled around her for support. Sighing, I ran my hand down my face. What the hell did Xavier expect from us? To lie and tell her everything would be okay? We did our part and taught her our music. The rest was up to her, and if she wasn’t ready by now, she never would be.
Feeling like I was on autopilot, I pushed to my feet anyway before making my way over. Closer now, I could see her shoulders trembling.
“Hey.” Braxton whirled at the sound of my voice, her brown eyes rounder and brighter than ever. She was like a goddamn vortex, pulling me in and swallowing me whole. “Ready?”
I could already read the lie on her lips, but then she surprised me when her shoulders slumped, and the truth came tumbling out.
“Honestly? I’m not sure.” Cringing, she looked ready to take it back and assure me that she could do this.
I knew she could, but clearly, she didn’t.
“Stop.”
I didn’t know what I would do if she lied to me. My hands found her shoulders, where I gripped her tightly. It started as an innocent gesture, but now I was just too tempted. Nevertheless, I forced my hands to stay where they were. I didn’t get many excuses to touch her.
“No one let you have this moment, Fawn. You took it. You showed us what you were made of, and we decided we wanted more. So will they,” I assured her, referring to the crowd screaming our name. “And so do you.”
As if I’d done it a million times, my hands gripped her waist. There was a sliver of bare skin between her top and her pants that burned hot underneath my hands. My thumb absently rubbed the soft skin near her belly button, and even if I wanted to stop, I couldn’t.
“You want this, Brax. I know you do.” It was questionable whether I meant her newfound career or me. “Forget how you got here. All that matters is why you stayed.”
As soon as the words left my lips, I wondered what that reason was. It sure as hell hadn’t been anything we did. Braxton wasn’t motivated by money or fame. Something else had put that determined look in her eyes.
“The rest is just noise,” Loren added as he closed in. I was pulled from my thoughts when Braxton shifted her gaze. “You don’t hear it.”
Straightening, she nodded at Loren and then returned Rich’s smile. When she looked up at me, Braxton no longer looked unsure. I didn’t want to admit what that did to me.
“Great! Braxton’s motivated,” her blonde friend with the big mouth piped in. Sighing, I forced myself to meet her gaze. What was her name again? Gretchen? “But were you giving my best friend a pep talk or copping a feel? I’m confused.” To make her point, Braxton’s friend fixed her gaze on my hands, still gripping Braxton’s waist. My thumb was even still sweeping back and forth.
Fuck.
I took a step back like a kid who’d just been caught stealing from the cookie jar. Loren lifted his chin arrogantly, even while his eyes flashed with jealousy. He was smug because he was right.
I wanted to fuck Braxton.
Loren’s anger was because he believed his childish claim would keep me from acting on it. Rich just looked resigned to breaking up a fight between us at any moment now.
“Let’s go.”
My order broke the tension as everyone shifted gears. The tour had sold out, and right now, they were waiting. We didn’t need any more publicity.
The opening act finished, and immediately, the stage crew began to reset for us. Someone handed me a mic, Loren his bass, Rich his drumsticks, and Braxton a headset since she was backup vocals in addition to playing lead and rhythm. It baffled me that anyone could question why I rode her so hard.
When Braxton checked her tuning and headset, even though we trusted our crew to get it right, I caught my smile before it could slip.
She wasn’t sloppy. I’d give her that.
Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, scattering my thoughts to the wind. It didn’t matter how many times I took the stage. Each time felt like the first. With a new member, it was more like I was fresh out of my grandmother’s basement.
The apocalyptic backdrop we’d chosen for our stage loomed ahead when the house lights went out, and the screams of eighteen thousand people welcomed Braxton, Loren, and Jericho. I hung back as rehearsed, and while I waited for my cue from Jericho, I watched Braxton closely. No one would ever know she hadn’t done this a million times before.
Wisely, I knew nothing with Braxton was ever that simple. The subtle cues she gave were only obvious to someone who watched her too closely and too often. Right now, she avoided looking at the crowd. It was for the best since picturing them in their underwear was a sham.
Jericho didn’t wait for the screams to die before he started on the drums. He was my timekeeper, telling me exactly when to start and how to end. All the anger he kept inside, desperate to be the nice guy, he always let loose when he was on stage. Gripping the mic, I closed my eyes and let the foundation he set become my atlas. Loren smoothly followed with the bass and Braxton…she blew my fucking mind. Thirty seconds in, once the rhythm was set, I emerged from the shadows and lifted my mic.
How do I silence these whispers
How do I face what I’ve become
Castrated by your whims
I drown in my aspiration
Led astray by beautiful lies
You took my blood, sweat, and tears
Trapped in these walls I built
You filled your rivers raging
I’m so tired of feeding my enemies
I’m numb watching them grow
Why do I continue to kneel
No one’s keeping me down
Taking all of the good
You left me nothing but hate
You want all I have
Watch me start a revolution
We’ve waited (So broken)
To find change (Evoked it)
Do you feel it? (Emotion)
After three months of rehearsing, I thought I’d be used to the chemistry between Braxton’s voice and mine. I realized now how irrational that was—about as insane as being struck by lightning and expecting it not to hurt twice.
It was no wonder she ran her mouth all the time.
She was impossible to ignore.
Calvin had been good, but Braxton’s vocals were infinitely stronger. She had the rare ability to deliver both transparency and power. Our pithy guitarist wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable. After seeing her perform at that festival, I knew she was holding back so as not to drown my own.
As soon as we finished the first song, we launched into the next. The adrenaline had set in, and none of us were willing to lose this rush. No matter how many times my gaze strayed toward Braxton, she never looked out of her element. Eventually, duty was no longer why I couldn’t keep my attention where it should have been.
She had me under her spell.
Our gazes met and held as she played, and I sang along to her rhythm. When it was time to deliver one of our harder riffs, she did this thing with her hair, whipping it before dropping into a crouch and letting the crowd have it.
I preferred to think it was all for me.
Hell yeah.
Usually, I didn’t approve of the showboating, especially from an amateur since it made room for errors, but at
this moment, I could deny Braxton whatever she wanted about as well as I could deny my heart its next beat.
I wondered if she’d feel the same if I dropped my mic and hauled her someplace secluded.
Would she deny me?
I wanted it so much that I convinced myself the look in her eyes was daring me to do just that.
Before I did something stupid, I shifted my focus to the crowd and getting through the set. Nothing else mattered except giving these people the show they came for. Screwing my guitarist was a non-fucking-factor.
We blew through our setlist, and the moment we cleared the stage, Loren swooped Braxton into his arms and twirled her around like a lunatic. For once, I wasn’t annoyed by his antics. That show had been one for the record books. Flawless. If anyone had been in danger of screwing it up, it was me.
Her friends stood to the side, impatiently waiting to congratulate her for that perfect performance.
“Braxton whatever-your-middle-name-is Fawn, will you marry me?” Loren shouted after setting her on her feet. To make an even bigger scene, he’d gotten on one knee.
My heart stopped as a frown marred my brow.
I could almost swear Loren was serious. I’d caught the look in his eyes before he remembered he was only joking.
Since we were playing here again tomorrow night, the crew mostly had their hands free to stop and watch if this was real.
“Francesca,” she answered. Or rather didn’t.
“Huh?”
“My middle name,” she clarified. “It’s Francesca.”
That only made Loren’s brows dip further. “Your initials are B.F.F.?”
“Yup.”
Loren stood, signaling that the proposal wasn’t real, which prompted the crew to get back to work. “That’s too bad because I have no interest in being your friend,” he announced, sounding a little too serious for my liking. He looked a second away from defying my decree that Braxton was off-limits and making his move.
Xavier appeared before I could remind him that it wasn’t going to happen. All it did was delay the inevitable since there was always later.
“What the hell are you still doing here?” he shouted. “You only have a short window before that crowd you just finished riling finds you. Get moving unless you want to be followed home.”
With that, he was gone again, and so were we.
We made our way through the tunnels that led to a secret exit where two Suburbans were already idling and waiting. I grabbed Braxton’s elbow just as she started for one of the cars and held her hostage while her friends climbed inside. I had no doubt they were off to celebrate and envied the days when we were that carefree.
“Something wrong?” she asked me with a deep frown.
“You did great tonight.”
Even though I meant it, I could barely form the words. I didn’t want her to get comfortable. When she beamed at me, I briefly lost my train of thought. Could she hear my heart beating out of control? Could she feel my palms sweat from the effort not to break my own rules? If she looked down, she’d definitely see a bulge.
“Thanks. That was…surreal.”
Her brown eyes brightened even further as she waited for my response. None came to mind that wouldn’t jeopardize more than I already had, so I carefully chose my next words. “Same time tomorrow. Don’t be late.”
I’d already turned away, so I didn’t see her glare, but I felt it. I wasn’t the least bit sorry, either. If she knew better, she would be thanking me right now instead of thinking of ways to murder me.
This dynamic we set was better for her too.
I’d been looking at this whole thing all wrong. I’d envisioned myself alone on the road with Houston, Loren, and Jericho—a recurring plot in all my nightmares. I didn’t consider the ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine people who would be tagging along.
It was the morning after our third show. Ten black sleeper buses were waiting for us in San Jose, where we’d spent the night in a hotel. The crew was busy loading them with our bags and equipment too precious for the one hundred and twenty cargo trucks carrying our stage, screens, lights, and speakers from venue to venue.
Xavier had been kind enough to explain that we were leapfrogging it. We had two identical stages and two teams. While we performed in one city, one of those teams would be setting up in the next.
I shuddered to think of how much this all cost. It was nothing compared to the revenue Bound generated. Their last tour had brought in over three hundred million.
“You look like someone just told you you’re a lamb, and we’re the wolves come to devour you,” Loren greeted me. His hair was perfectly coiffed despite the early hour and his wardrobe impeccable. I had a witty retort in mind, but then he lifted a Starbucks coffee cup with my name scrawled on the side. “For you.”
I eagerly accepted it with hearts in my eyes and immediately took a sip, surprised to find that it was not only black—he’d remembered—but that it was piping hot. “I’m surprised,” I said instead of a thank-you. Loren seemed like the type to take a mile if I gave him an inch. “I didn’t know you made coffee runs.”
“That’s because I don’t. Rich does, apparently. I snagged yours when he wasn’t looking. Thought I’d take the credit.”
Figures.
I glared at Loren over the top of my cup, and he beamed at me in return. He was an ass, but man, he was gorgeous. It was hard to ignore when he flaunted it so shamelessly. As strong as this coffee was, the phantom taste of cherries easily overpowered it, so I started for the bus that I caught my bags being loaded onto moments ago. Two steps in, I felt someone following, so I peeked over my shoulder.
Loren was hot on my heels.
He was engrossed in his phone as he walked, so sure that water would part for him that he wasn’t at all worried about bumping into someone or something.
Climbing the steps onto the bus, I stopped when I came to a barrier separating the living area from the helm. It was a floor-to-ceiling glass door with blackout tint that slid open with the push of a button.
“Mi casa es su casa,” Loren said after reaching past me to push the button on the wall next to the door.
I wasn’t sure what I expected, but I knew this wasn’t it. Living on a bus for several months didn’t exactly sound like a day spa, but this was close to it. This bus was decked out better than my crappy apartment.
Upon entering, I was standing in a living room with a U-shaped sectional that could easily sleep three grown men comfortably. Hanging above the brown couch was a painting of what I guessed was downtown Portland near the riverfront. Directly across was a sixty-inch flat-screen built into the wall. A black rug even covered the wooden floor spanning most of the living room. It looked so plush that I fought the urge to lie across it. I bet I could sleep there all night and not feel a thing in the morning.
Next to the space was a kitchenette complete with a stove, microwave, sink, dishwasher, and…was that a goddamn full-sized fridge? I gaped at it, forgetting that I wasn’t alone.
Yup.
These boys had it made in the shade.
When I ventured deeper, I even found a little nook built into the bus’s side, between the sectional and the refrigerator, that could seat four people on the booth-like seats.
This might not be the nightmare I imagined.
The moment the thought entered my mind, the door in front of me slid open, revealing the rest of the bus and an angry-looking Houston. He wore a clean white T-shirt and dark-blue sweats as if he were relaxing at home. I guess, in a way, he was. This was only new to me.
“You’re late.”
His favorite goddamn phrase even when I wasn’t.
“I’ve been standing outside for twenty minutes. If you were so concerned, you would have looked for me yourself.”
Houston jerked his head over my shoulder. “Why do you think he found you?”
“Hey, I would have gone,” Loren objected. “Eventually.”
I rolled m
y eyes and tried to pass Houston, but the doorway was too narrow, and he filled it too easily. I didn’t even know where the hell I was going or what I would do once I got there. I just needed to be away from them.
“Excuse me,” I forced myself to say when he refused to move.
“Did Loren give you a tour?”
“He didn’t need to. It’s not like I could get lost walking a straight line. Excuse me,” I repeated when he continued to block my way.
Reaching past me, he wordlessly opened the door next to me, which forced me to back up or be hit. “This is the bathroom we use for guests.”
“Which we never have,” Loren added. Houston ignored him.
Barely sparing a glance inside, I found a clean half bath and nodded, prompting him to close the door and turn back the way he came.
“This is where you’ll be sleeping,” Houston said as I followed him.
There were four bunks built into the bus, two on each side, with curtains for privacy. Houston slid back the curtain of the top one perpendicular to my right shoulder. The bed was narrow but long, and the bunk tall enough to sit up fully without bumping my head. It was already covered with bedding even though I’d brought my own, and they looked way more expensive and comfortable than my ten-dollar sheets from Target. Though, what really sold me was the small TV built into the wall at the foot of the bed.
“It has Netflix,” Loren announced.
It didn’t escape my notice that he’d been quiet until now. Spending the last three months with them with another year to go, I’d already learned that Loren only felt the need to make his presence known when Houston was around. I wondered how much longer it would take me to grasp why. Perhaps it was because Loren didn’t like being told what to do, and Houston thrived on giving orders.
My attention shifted back and forth between Houston, who stared at Loren over my shoulder, and Loren silently daring Houston to do what was on his mind. My gut told me their little tiff was because of me, but my head wouldn’t allow me to care. I’d already done enough by getting myself trapped between them. The passageway was narrow, and I stood between two alpha males seconds away from ripping into each other. I was probably the only reason they hadn’t already come to blows.