by Quinn, Cari
The sky surely had to be falling. Or was that just her falling for Simon?
Two
Simon sat on the edge of his hospital bed, his feet swinging. He’d been waiting for his discharge papers for about four hours. And if they didn’t come soon he was going to start swinging with the IV pole in the corner.
For fuck’s sake, all he needed was a piece of paper or whatever it was they did in hospitals these days. Would it really matter if he just walked out? Not like they weren’t going to send him a fucking bill.
There was a knock on the doorjamb and he looked up, his shoulders sagging.
“Show a little excitement, Kagan.”
He gave Lila a half wave and pulled his marker board close to him. He scribbled I want to go home and held it up.
“And that’s what I’m here to do. Well, sort of. We have to meet up with the band first.”
He tipped his head back. All he wanted was a real shower, with his own soap and his own towels. He wanted his bed and his sheets.
Something of his own, for God’s sake.
He wanted his woman too and that made him even grouchier. Oh, she’d kept in contact, but she was still across the goddamn country. And for the last three hours, her one word replies were making him even pissier.
She couldn’t take a few minutes to actually converse with him?
And now he sounded like a needy teenage girl. Flipping terrific.
Simon hopped off the bed, swiped the board clean with his hand.
Can I get the hell out of here yet?
“Yes. I just spoke to the nurse.”
He mouthed, “Finally.” All the hospital did was bitch about needing beds and he’d been sitting around for the last two days. Just fucking kill him. He looked around her then back down at his board.
Where’s everyone else?
“They’re at the house.”
“Which one,” he mouthed.
“The Hollywood Hills one.”
Nurse Bust-His-Balls came in with a folder and a clipboard full of papers. “We need to go over a few things.”
Simon resisted the urge to cross his eyes as he got the same marching orders as he had from the doc. No talking, no grunting, no humming, nothing—oh and no booze. Couldn’t forget that part.
So he was supposed to be silent and fucking sober? Where was the justice?
He made an impatient, get-on-with-it gesture, and took the clipboard from her. He signed at all the red flags, handed it back to her, and scooped the yellow folder off his bed.
“Sorry about that,” Lila said.
She didn’t need to fucking apologize for him. Nurse Bust was just plain evil. There was no way he needed to be woken up at six in the morning for inedible food. Swallowing anything felt like he was chewing shards of glass with a side of battery acid.
When he got to the lobby, he finally slowed down. He’d escaped once to do a walkabout, but that had been a mistake. He was too well-known. People had come at him from every corner. Hospital staff, visitors, hell, even a doctor had cornered him and he couldn’t talk to any of them.
Couldn’t even escape.
It hadn’t been worth the drama so he’d stayed in his room.
Now he needed Lila to be his defense. As much as he hated it, he couldn’t go off on his own. And he’d left the damn marker board in the room. He was just going to need to get one and hang it around his neck.
Pathetic.
“If you think this rude shit is going to fly, you are sorely mistaken, Simon.”
He stuck out his lower lip.
“That might work on a groupie or even your…Margo, but not me.”
Ha. His Margo. He wasn’t so sure about that. He wasn’t entirely sure she was sticking around out of pity or because she cared about him. The thing that scared him was that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to tell.
She held shit really close to the vest. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking half the time. In fact, he was pretty sure she rivaled Nick on his ability to share feelings.
And fuck him, more teenage girl talk. Emo hipster bastard. When the hell had that happened?
He followed Lila onto the elevator. She hit the button for the sub basement parking. His eyebrow rose in question.
“I have a car waiting downstairs.” She folded her arms. “The front is mobbed with reporters and fans.”
Simon mirrored her stance, holding his folder tight to his chest. He hadn’t really thought about the fan angle. Before it had simply been to get away from them from a fame point of view, but he’d collapsed on stage. Of course the public wanted a juicy bite of his ass.
Once the elevator opened again, she hustled him across the parking garage. He held his hands up in question. Lila pointed to the half dozen people headed their way.
Well, shit.
She grabbed his arm and hauled him over to a black Escalade. Well, that wasn’t too showy or anything. No wonder everyone was after them. Of course they were outside of Los Angeles. Not like everyone and their driver didn’t have one.
The driver hopped out and opened the door. The half dozen turned into two dozen and Simon actually had to sprint to the SUV. The door was barely shut and three bodies hit the side of the car.
Microphones and cameras banged against window and flashbulbs tried to penetrate the tinted glass.
“Don’t run over any toes, Jeremy.”
“Of course not, sir.”
Simon whipped around at Donovan Lewis’s voice.
Donovan inclined his head. “I’m glad to see you up and around again, Simon. And since you’re a captive audience at the moment, I thought I could talk on the way over.”
Well, fuck.
That didn’t sound good. He began to cross his arms, but forced himself to keep them at his sides. He wasn’t going to be defensive about this. Donovan was a businessman. This wasn’t personal.
But Christ, it felt personal. Again, he had someone else controlling his life. Not that there was a difference between this and a tour, but with the tour at least he could give something back. He put asses in seats and made people buy tickets.
Silence was his only gift now and he wasn’t good at quiet. At all.
Simon shrugged and shoved his shades up on top of his head. He met the intelligent dark blue eyes of their benefactor.
“I didn’t want you to be surprised and overwhelmed when we sit down with the rest of the band. We’re on our way to meet everyone at the house.” He picked up the tablet and stylus beside him. “This is for you. Markers will get tedious.”
Simon accepted the electronics. Touched his lips and pulled his hand away in an automatic thank you gesture. Lila had given them a packet with a few universal gestures in it for when they were cornered by people that didn’t speak English.
“You’re welcome.”
Evidently, Lewis had learned the same gestures. Of course he probably was fluent in sign language. Mr. Perfect did everything else.
Donovan clasped his hands loosely. “Now, first of all—whatever you need for coaches, doctors, or therapists are at your disposal. We want you on the road to recovery as soon as possible. That being said, I understand it’s going to be a process to get you back in singing shape.”
Simon scribbled the ominous number that the doc had given him and flipped it around.
“Yes. So I’ve been advised.”
What the hell was he supposed to to do with himself for six damn months? He didn’t even know how he was going to make it a week.
“I didn’t want you to be surprised at the band meeting. Lila has been figuring out how to tell the rest of the band, but I don’t want this to impact your recovery.”
Simon folded his arms over his chest. His shoulders felt like frozen blocks and there had to be a concrete slab on his chest. Fuck. Was it hot in the SUV?
Tell them what?
What a colossal fuckup he was?
He already knew. If he’d just kept his mouth shut. Just swallowed down that need to show off
onstage. Was he such an asshole that his ego couldn’t handle Gray singing for him?
Yes.
Obviously yes. He’d opened his mouth, hadn’t he? Even though he’d known that he shouldn’t have. The rules didn’t apply to him. Rules never applied to him. It was how he’d gotten out of the hovels of Carson and into Los Angeles. Breaking those rules had gotten him noticed on the boardwalk and helped transition onto the stage.
He didn’t know how not to break rules.
“Oblivion had five shows left on this leg of the tour. Thankfully, we hadn’t started selling tickets for the second leg. We weren’t sure how fast to proceed with Jasmine and the baby.”
The slab got heavier.
Hadn’t Lila said something about reneging on shows?
This had to be extenuating circumstances. When he was fourteen, he’d had tickets for Jet and it had been cancelled for some reason or another. He’d just gotten his money back.
Surely they didn’t get paid in advance for the show. Just based on the show itself. This wasn’t a flu or an Axl Rose tantrum. There had to be a clause about voice issues or something crazy.
Death of a family member.
Death to his voice should count, shouldn’t it?
“Okay, dial it back. I can see the wheels spinning. Lila has told you guys about what happens if you don’t make a show.”
Simon scribbled on his tablet and showed him.
“Right. Refunds. The problem is that three of the venues are making noise that they are going to bring suit.” He held up his hand.
Crap, was the guy a damn mind reader, too? Tycoon dude didn’t know what he was thinking. How could he? The fear and loathing of having music stuck in your damaged throat wasn’t exactly something just anyone could empathize with.
The one job he had in this band.
And he couldn’t fucking keep it together for one full goddamn year. How was he supposed to make a career out of this? Was he really washed up at twenty-five goddamn years old?
“I don’t want you to stress about the suits. We need you to heal up and then we’ll work on getting you back on the stage.”
Simon scribbled a question on his tablet.
Just how much money were they talking?
Donovan read it and met his gaze. “One hundred thousand per venue.”
Simon tipped his head back. Well, there were worse things. With the amount of money they’d each gotten as a bonus, that was easy enough to deal with.
“One point five million isn’t anything to sneeze at, but it could have been far worse.”
Simon’s head snapped forward. He held his hand up, scribbled then raised his tablet.
“Yes, I said one hundred thousand. That’s each of you, Simon.”
Holy fuck.
Five hundred thousand a venue? Was he fucking serious?
“Lila can show you a breakdown of what you guys earn from each of the larger venues, but suffice it to say, it’s good that they are only asking for five hundred grand each.”
The oddly silent Lila tapped on her phone and his phone vibrated. He opened his phone and the spreadsheet that came through his email was endless. Checks and balances didn’t even cover it.
There were lines and lines of things that needed to be covered for each tour date. Payments made to the crew, the management, even covering the cost of a damn ticket. All of it was factored into the revenue they brought in with ticket sales and merchandise.
All of it was staggering.
And his busted voice had taken the whole thing down like the Hulk smashed a building.
Not to mention the fans that he’d let down.
He scrubbed his hands over his face.
“I didn’t show you that to make you feel bad, Simon. I just need you to understand why this isn’t a small matter.”
I’ll pay it back.
Donovan read the tablet. “That’s not what I’m looking for. Every business venture is a risk. Oblivion has paid that dividend again and again. This is just a bump in the road. I need to you realize that.”
Simon gave a silent, “ha.”
“People in the industry told me to run for the hills when I mentioned just how excited I was to work with your band.”
Why didn’t you?
“Because I saw a band exactly like mine when I used to play in London.”
Simon’s eyes widened. He was trying to picture Donovan at the mic, or with an instrument. The suave dude just didn’t fit in any of the scenarios in his head.
Donovan’s lips quirked. “In the end, I wasn’t talented enough to make it, but I’ve loved music ever since. And now I get to be part of the growth of a band and use some of my money to make dreams come true.”
Sounds like a bullshit line to get laid to me.
Donovan roared out a laugh and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Oh, Simon. One of the best things about you, and Nick for that matter, is the lack of bullshit. Yeah, I’ve said that line a few times—not to get laid—but to people who want to get in on the ground floor of Ripper Records.”
Simon gave him a bland stare.
“I don’t need to tell you that story, because you lived the story. You’re hungry. And the only people that will ever go the distance in this business are the hungry ones.”
Simon lifted an eyebrow in challenge. There were plenty of talentless hacks that made it because of a right-time-right-place scenario. Hell, that’s how they’d started out.
“One-hit-wonders can only ride the wave for so long. If that’s all Oblivion was, you’d have been over before the ink dried on your papers with us.”
Simon fisted his hands under his arms. And what now? They were going to lose every ounce of momentum they’d had. Oh, and couldn’t forget the shot to the bank account that was a very definite possibility.
“I can only imagine what’s going on in your head, but put that aside. We need you to focus on recovery, not the logistics of lawsuits and schedules.”
Lila was suspiciously silent. That was the part that made him nervous. Donovan was a spin guy. For all intents and purposes, he was a salesman. He convinced schmucks to give him money all the damn time. The fact that Lila wasn’t chiming in with the company line was a helluva lot louder than her bossman’s spin.
For the rest of the ride, Donovan talked about the reviews for the shows and the revenue they had pulled in for the two months they had been touring. Right now they were set. The money they’d brought in far exceeded what they were hemorrhaging out.
Except for those fines that may or may not happen.
By the time they’d pulled up to the Hollywood Hills house, his gut was still knotted but he didn’t quite feel strangled by it any longer. He got out of the truck before the driver could come around and open his door. He was sick and tired of people in his face.
The house was normal. He hadn’t seen it in months. In fact, he’d been counting down the days to actually seeing his bed. And maybe talking Margo into spending some time in it.
Ever since the bus things had been different. Before he could get a handle on what was really going between them—how to deal with the aftermath of actually spitting out, “I love you” to someone and shocking them into silence—he had to deal with this mess. And he really wasn’t sure what to do. According to Donovan, they were fine monetarily, at least for now.
That was just as shocking as the love thing.
He’d never not struggled. Even when they’d had the Los Angeles apartment, it hadn’t really been theirs. He’d had some pocket money, but nothing with as many zeroes as his current accounts.
That didn’t even feel real.
But at least it was a buffer. Right now that was all he could focus on. They’d been prepared to go on hiatus for a few months, but not to have him completely out of commission. He figured he’d keep busy with Nick. Do a few one-off shows that would keep them in the public eye while the baby makers were doing their thing.
Now what?
He got to the front door and c
ouldn’t quite put his hand on the doorknob. Walking in there was suddenly bigger than he could handle. Would it be better to just disappear? Head out and lose himself for a month?
Just buy a car and drive away? Even away from Margo?
He curled his fingers into his palm but the door opened up anyway. Pix was standing in front of him. Her ridiculous overalls covering an eye searing green T-shirt that said Yes, I’m knocked up.
Simon couldn’t stop the laugh as he ogled her rather huge breasts. Jeez. Pregnancy certainly enhanced the boobage.
“Quit staring at my tits, Super Slut.”
He smiled for the first time that day. How could he not? The outrage in her voice was exactly what he needed. She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him inside then went around to his back and pushed him through the foyer into the living room.
“Everyone get down here!”
Simon winced at her bellow. And because he didn’t have a choice but to follow the directive of the Greenasaurus Rex preggo lady, he landed on the couch. He pulled one of the half dozen throw pillows that were scattered over the huge brown couch in front of him and wrapped his arms around it.
It was better than picking at his cuticles.
Nick came bounding down the stairs with an ancient yellow towel around his neck, his hair still dripping from a shower. A fucking millionaire and he still kept the towels from the laundromat. That was Nicky. Never throw a damn thing away.
Harper came out of the kitchen with Deacon trying to take a tray away from her.
“Lawless, could you just let me—”
“If you don’t back off, you’re going to lose an inch off an appendage,” Harper snarled.
“Deak, you can’t handle a three-inch dick. Back up, bud.”
“Fuck off, Nick.”
Nick smirked and rubbed at his hair. “What, you couldn’t wait for me to come pick up your sorry ass?” he asked Simon.
Simon waved at the doorway. Lila and Donovan had followed him in.