by Quinn, Cari
“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.
Twelve
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.”
Nick’s mouth flattened into a line. “She’s not the same.”
Simon slashed his hand through the air. “She’s exactly the same. Just because she uses a bow instead of a pick makes no difference. This isn’t a done deal, right?” He swiveled his head to Lila.
“No. It’s just an idea. Since you’re in rehearsal, I thought it might be something different to try. If it doesn’t work, then no harm.”
“Exactly.”
Surprised that Simon would go to bat for her, she relaxed her fingers.
Nick cracked his knuckles. “Are you thinking with your dick?”
Simon’s nostrils flared. “For fuck’s sake. Is that really all you think I am? A walking cock looking for pussy? This band is just as important to me as it is to everyone standing here.” Simon glanced at Donovan. “Sorry.”
“I’m not the English Rose you people think I am,” Donovan said. “Look, take a few minutes and get acquainted with the sound system. Try it out with Margo. If it doesn’t work, then all we’ve lost is a few hours.”
“And what? She’s free?” Nick tucked his thumb into the belt loop of his jeans.
“No. I’m a hired musician,” Margo said.
“So now we’re cutting into the money end.”
Jazz stuck her hands on her hips. “Here we go with the money again.”
“I get paid for each day I’m on the tour,” Margo said. “Not a percentage. I’m not a member of the band.”
“No fucking shit.” Nick’s voice was low and dangerous.
Margo stalked forward. “I can rip apart a song and learn it as fast as you can.” She tilted her head. “Faster, I’d wager. I’m no amateur here. I’ve been playing the violin since before you got your first hair on your…” She looked down at him, then back to his arctic gaze. “Chin,” she finally said. “I don’t have to be here, but I thought we had something pretty amazing at the shows in New York and L.A. It’s different and stands out from the crowd. But if you’re too closed-minded to think out of the box when it comes to music, then you’re going to sink fast, Nick Crandall.”
He took a step back, his fists practically vibrating at his sides.
Margo’s chest heaved but she stood her ground. Christ, she’d never pushed like that in her life. But she wanted this. Wanted to be a par
t of that amazing sound that had lived in her since the studio.
It was the first time she’d felt any fire for music in so long, she just wanted a little more time with it. Before she had to find another audition for another symphony. Until she had to go back to what she’d been trained for.
She wanted to try something different, dammit.
Hadn’t known that was exactly what she wanted until it had been dangled in front of her.
Nick turned on his heel and tore down the stairs to the pavilion and to the back of the house before disappearing on the upper paths that led to the lawn seats.
Margo pushed her hair back and turned to the rest of the band. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Jazz came forward and grabbed her hand under the sleeve and twisted her fingers around Margo’s. “You really feel that way?”
Margo nodded.
Lila tucked her iPad back into her shoulder bag. “All right then. Get your gear situated. I need to go talk with Donovan for a few.”
“Well, I’m excited,” Jazz said. “This could be amazing.” She let Margo’s hand go and headed for her kit.
Gray smiled at Margo and hooked his arm around Jazz’s shoulder.
Deacon rubbed his huge hands together. “Did you bring all those instruments with you?”
“I did.”
“Awesome.” He linked his fingers with Harper. “I’m going to go do some research and be back in a few.”
And then there was Simon.
“Pretty passionate about joining a rock and roll band on tour there, Violin Girl.”
She stuffed down her pride and her instinct to hold things inside her. “I love this album. From the first song, I knew it was something special. And if it’s just those three songs that I’m a part of, I’m good with that. Disappointed at a lost opportunity, but proud of what I was a part of. But playing them live just…”
“I get it.”
“I never did until now. I love music, but I haven’t been in love with it for a very long time.”
Simon dragged his knuckle down her forearm before he stepped back. “Then what are we waiting for?”
She tucked her hands into the opposite opening of each sleeve and gripped her wrists. “I won’t stay if you’re not good with this.”
“Since when do you ask me?”
“Since this isn’t just a one-time thing.”
“Does that cover other aspects of what we do together?”
“Do you want it to?” God, her voice sounded shaky.
“Do we burn out or just fade away?” Simon asked with a smirk.
“I vote for burn out.”
His blue eyes widened. “Is that right?”
Margo looked around but they were as alone as they’d ever be. “What if I said I want the full tour experience?”
His eyebrow winged up. “What exactly does your backstage pass include?”
“Everything.”
“Oh, babe. You should never make that kind of blanket statement.”
Margo’s heart pounded in her ears, and in lower parts of her that only Simon seemed to engage. She swallowed. “An all-access pass. But when you’re with me, it’s just me, Simon.”
His gaze drifted to her mouth. “With that kind of bountiful offer, why would I want anyone else?”
“Good.”
His eyes bore into hers. “I hope you know what you’re in for.”
“No clue. That’s the best part.” She turned around before she could claw a new design into her forearms under her sweater. She had to go through her instruments and make sure they were tuned.
An hour later, she had a trunk for her gear set on the right side of the stage. Her latest acquisition, a Starfish cello, had been a gamble. As an instrument itself, it was gorgeous, but the electric cello wasn’t exactly huge in the studio. It would sound amazing onstage, though, and Lila’s advance had lured her into making a special request for it at one of the dealers she used.
She unlocked the case and pulled out the fragile-looking instrument. The open curves of the tulipwood frame made it much easier to manage than an acoustic cello.
The vibrant green and purple color was as edgy as a cello could look. It had been ordered by a band in Germany, but they’d defaulted on the payments. Their loss was her gain.
“Sweet shit. What is that?”
She looked down at Gray as he crouched in front of her.
“Electric cello.”
“Seriously?”
“Same company that makes my violin. She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”
“Fuck yeah.” His storm cloud-colored eyes widened. “Sorry.”
“I said pretty much the same in my head when I saw it.”
He grinned. “That’s gonna be so cool. Can you give me a little taste of the sound?”
She shook out a cord and plugged it into the amp she’d been assigned. She pulled out her long bow and tucked the cello against her shoulder. After a quick tune, she drew her bow over the strings until the deep tones echoed into the amphitheater.
She didn’t look up. Didn’t want to see if it was boredom or indifference on their faces.
She closed her eyes and let the instrument breathe. The notes resonated with sadness for a turn through an adapted opening of “Finally” from the new album.
Gray came in on the song and his flawless playing layered over her own. Simon’s whisper-soft voice took up where the verse should go.
As the song built, so did their sound. Jazz brought in the piano accompaniment.
“Again.”
Margo opened her eyes. Nick was at the back of the bowl of seats, his arms crossed as he leaned against the railing that bisected the seats from the lawn.
She rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck. Taking it from the top, she put a little more grit into the song, shuttling her fingers down the neck of the bass.
Gray grinned and spun out the guitar so he matched. Deacon’s bass complemented hers until she felt the sound in the middle of her chest.
But Simon’s voice was the capper. The song was all longing and pain at the start until it built to anger and hopelessness, finally ending in a raging Foo Fighters-like climax. Everyone—including Jazz’s drums—pounding out the loss of the narrator’s last hope until it dialed down to the sad bassline, aching guitar, and her cello’s reverberating tones.
Nick clapped slowly as he walked down the middle aisle and around the sound board. He didn’t even look at Donovan and Lila. His eyes were for the stage.
He climbed the steps and reached for his Gibson. “Again,” he said.
And they did.
Four more times until the song was nailed. Nick didn’t say a damn word. He just moved on to another song.
With methodical calculation, he and Gray broke down guitar parts. Deacon did some rearrangements and she made a few suggestions.
The sun was low on the horizon line when Harper came onstage and demanded for them to eat and rest their throats.
Even without running around the stage, the guys’ sweaty shirts were sticking to them. Jazz had stripped down to a tank and shorts.
Margo had lost her sweater on the third song, glad that she’d worn layers in deference to the temperatures of New York. May could mean cool and windy, or high seventies. And being from New England, she was used to the seasons here.
The California types were a little confused. One minute they wanted to peel off their clothes, the next Jazz was asking for a hoodie.
Margo followed them into the backstage area that Harper had set up with food, a mountain of watermelon, and a table full of drinks.
Margo frowned when everyone went to the table of watermelon first. Simon and Nick mowed through three pieces right at the buffet table before going to the cold cuts and salads.
Lila came up to her with a plate of cubed watermelon.
“Is this an initiation thing?”
Lila laughed. “No. It’s a Harper thing.”
She took the plate and popped one
in her mouth. The sweet, juicy flavor flooded her tongue. Wasn’t a bad way to start off lunch.
“Cures dehydration,” Jazz said as she walked by with a bowl of melon and a plate of macaroni salad and two turkey sandwiches.
“Is that right?”
“Harper’s a genius when it comes to taking care of the band’s dietary needs.” Lila selected a blush red cube and took an elegant bite. “How’s it feel?”
“How does it sound?”
“You already know that, Margo.”
“It sounds like nothing that’s out there right now.”
Lila nodded. “In a good way.”
She chewed thoughtfully. “I think so. It’s not different enough to make people scratch their heads.”
“Good. I knew it was going to work.” Lila lowered her voice. “Nick just needed to hear it for himself.”
Her gaze found Simon at the edge of the group. She frowned. He was usually in the center of things. He drank a bottle of water between sandwiches and as soon as he’d cleared his plate, he thumbed off a candy or mint from a roll in his pocket.
Unsure if she should ask him if his throat was too raw, she stayed seated next to Jazz and Lila. Harper had finally joined the table to plow through her own plate of food.
Donovan came into the eating area. He held up his hand when Deacon started to stand. “Don’t mind me. I just wanted to let you know how amazing I think you’re sounding. These rehearsals were just what you needed to tighten up a few of the songs. Lila and I want you guys happy on this tour.”
“We’re getting an opener, aren’t we?” Simon asked.
“I’m glad you mentioned it.” Donovan dipped his hand into his pocket and checked his phone once before he settled it back without replying. “I’ve lined up two bands. One will follow you from the East Coast until Texas. About eight weeks, I’d say.”
Nick pushed his plate away and crossed his arms on the table. “Better not be a douche.”
“These ladies are not.”
“Ladies?” Nick’s head tipped back. “God.”
“Have a little faith, Nick.” Donovan opened his arms beseechingly. “I want this tour to be a success, remember?”