by Cherrie Lynn
“She’s not my nanny,” he grumbled, which was practically a yell over the noise. Russell had taken his place behind the drums and the cheering had swelled again, the stage lights going crazy as the audience did the same.
“Maybe she can be my nanny. She can spank me when I’m bad and send me to my room.”
“Christ, man.”
Quin, laughing, hit a soul-jarring note on the guitar strapped around his neck and swaggered out onto the stage.
Elijah cast a glance back at the trio standing in the shadows, Iris with her arms still protectively around Dylan, Seger standing by her side. He was almost as tall as she was. She gave Eli a weak smile.
He turned back and pinned his gaze to the spot he would soon occupy at the front of the stage. His blood roared in his ears, adrenaline cresting in his veins. This was his high now, after drugs and sex and everything else had failed him. This was all he had left. Besides his kids, all he had to live for. Music might have damned his soul long ago, but it had also saved it at the last possible minute. He would be forever grateful.
Eight
The boys wanted to be right up front so they could see their dad. Iris wasn’t about to let them stand alone, so that meant she had to be right up front too. Which was the last place she wanted to be.
Though the view stole her breath.
Elijah strode out under the lights, every step full of ferocious swagger. The answering roar from the crowd was the loudest of the night. Wasting no time, he grabbed the mic from the stand and launched into growling vocals she was always surprised to hear from him. To listen to his speaking voice, one would never believe this was the same person. Despite all the videos she’d watched, she had no idea how he pulled it off night after night without shredding his throat.
It became staggeringly clear as she watched the audience’s reaction, though, that she had the best seat in the house. The last place she should want to be was out there in that seething, shoving crush, everyone struggling and fighting to get closer to the stage, hundreds of recording cell phones getting jostled in the air. Incredible. Insane, really—they looked like a bed of angry ants. What was it about this music that whipped people into such a frenzy? All she heard over here behind the massive stack of speakers was a muddy churn of grinding nose, the bass rattling her ribcage. Eli’s lyrics were unclear to her, but every time he paused and thrust the mic out toward the crowd, they filled in without fail.
Seger and Dylan both bobbed their heads along with the deafening beat. They had surely seen and heard this a hundred times.
One thing was certain: Elijah owned this crowd. They were in the palm of his hand, every eye pinned on him . . . including hers. He was hard to look away from as he prowled the stage, and by the third song of their set, she found herself enjoying watching him. Every time she caught a glimpse of his face, he wore a sly little grin. By the fourth song, she caught a fleeting glimpse of a topless girl in the crowd—no wonder he was grinning, if that’s what he kept seeing. Oh, great. She hoped the kids weren’t watching too closely, especially Seger.
Halfway through the set, his own shirt came off; he wadded it and tossed it into the crowd. It disappeared in a furious flurry of hands, probably ripped to shreds. That body she had admired only yesterday was on display for thousands of screaming females, sweat-slick and gleaming under the lights. How had Heidi handled that, knowing that every female in the building wanted to bang her husband? If he were mine, I don’t know if . . .
She immediately forced her mind to clamp down on that thought and strangle it to death.
Heidi wouldn’t have worried about it. Heidi was twice as beautiful as any woman in this building. She had probably swelled with pride at knowing he was hers, that these women only had the fantasy and she had the real thing in her bed, had made supremely beautiful children with him.
And still, they didn’t make it.
Maybe this was an odd place to ponder over it, but it was sad to think about. Despite any laughs and smiles that had exchanged between them, a tension hung between these three, an almost imperceptible melancholy, an incompleteness tinging the space whenever they were all together. She might not notice it herself if she didn’t know these boys so well.
It wasn’t her place—at all—to try to fill it. But maybe for the first time, she was glad she was here.
If she got to watch a good-looking rock star saunter around shirtless almost every night, so much the better.
IT WAS WELL PAST MIDNIGHT before it was over, and Iris’s eyelids were heavy, but apparently the party was just getting started. The band members were riding high on a successful opening night, whooping and doling out back-slapping hugs to each other and key crew members. Elijah caught Dylan up in his arms and grabbed Seger in an affectionate headlock, the boy laughing as he fought him off. Iris, forgotten, fell in behind them as they headed backstage to Eli’s dressing room.
She doubted she was welcome there, so as they headed down the hallway, she steered herself toward the exit, where the buses were still outside. The kids would no doubt be okay with their dad for a little while.
“There she is,” a slimy voice said behind her just as she was reaching for the door to leave the building. “I was wondering where you’d gotten off to.”
Frowning, she turned around to see one the of the band members—one of the guitar players?—grinning at her. He had a black Mohawk, and his shirtless, tattooed torso shined with sweat. And at the wicked gleam in his eyes, Iris immediately regretted her decision not to follow Elijah and the boys. “Um, I’ve been right here.”
“Did you like the show?”
“It was loud.”
He laughed and wiped his face with the towel slung over one shoulder. “Fuck yeah, it was. I guess this is not really your scene, huh?”
“You guessed right.”
“I think we’ll corrupt you before it’s over.” The way he looked up and down her body made her think his idea of corruption had nothing to do with what kind of music she listened to. She was dressed in layers, but he made her feel as if she were stark naked. People were all around, but she felt completely alone. He was the rock star. He was the boss, or one of them, at least. Even if she had warning bells going off in her head, would anyone come to her aid if she needed help?
“What was your name again?” he asked, stepping closer.
“Iris.”
“That’s pretty. I’m Quin. What are you doing right now?”
“Well, um, the kids are with Eli and so I was heading to the bus.”
“Why go to his when you can come to mine?” The corner of his mouth came up in a smirk. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy; many of those female screams tonight had most certainly been for him. But her type he definitely was not. Did she even have a type, though? It had been so long. She didn’t know anymore. “Since you have a break.”
“I’m tired, actually.” The smell of his sweat swirled into her head, turning her stomach. She wanted to go, wanted to flee, but didn’t necessarily want to end up somewhere alone with him. Maybe she was safer in here. “But I just remembered I need to ask Eli something. Excuse me.”
“See you around,” he said, watching her go. Even as she walked away, even when she could no longer see him, she felt his eyes on her, like insects under her skin. She rubbed her arms as she walked rapidly in the direction the kids and their dad had headed.
The AAA pass was definitely a golden ticket. No one even bothered to stop her as she slipped inside the band frontman’s dressing room, quickly closing the door behind her. The boys were seated on a black leather couch, Nintendo Switches in hand. Her heart swelled with relief to see them. “Where’s your dad?” she asked.
“In the shower,” Seger said, not taking his eyes off the game.
The lighting was turned down low and ambient, and she recalled some articles she’d read in the past about tour riders, weird requests that musicians made of the venues where they performed. Eli’s dressing room looked pretty normal, though. His trun
ks were open, wardrobe on display . . . she couldn’t tell much about what was inside except that there was an awful lot of black. She perched on a love seat, chewing her thumb nail and feeling unsure of what she should say, or if she should say anything.
That guy out there had made her feel uncomfortable, but this was someone Elijah had known for years. He would most assuredly take his side over hers. He didn’t want her here anyway. Besides that, what had the man done except make a pass? It happened all the time. She might very well be the only woman in the building who wouldn’t take him up on it.
Immaculate Iris, she thought grudgingly. Truth was, she had no idea what constituted normal and what didn’t. Nothing in her life had been normal. She could only trust her gut instincts.
The bathroom door opened, jarring her from her thoughts, and Elijah came out with only a white towel wrapped low around his waist, his black hair wet and mussed. Iris’s spine shot ramrod straight, heat flooding her face, but he barely even glanced at her as he walked over to one of his cases, the split in his towel riding high up one tattooed thigh. It wasn’t much more than she’d seen in the pool yesterday, but it was enough to set the blood pounding in her ears. Only when he’d selected a shirt and a pair of jeans did he turn to her and lift an eyebrow.
“Thought you were going to the bus.”
“I was,” she said, glancing at the kids.
“They’re fine, you know. An earthquake wouldn’t get them away from their games.” He scrutinized her closer and, alarmed, she cast her gaze at the floor. “What’s the matter?”
If she was going to tell him, this wasn’t the place to do it. “Later,” she said.
“If someone hassled you, there’s plenty of security around here. Say the word and I’ll have someone walk you.” The clean scent of his soap reached her just then, and she inhaled it deeply. It cleansed Quin’s lingering stench from her sinuses.
“Can I just wait for you guys?”
With a shrug, he walked back toward the bathroom. “Suit yourself.” The door closed behind him, and Iris let out a breath, putting a hand to her cheek. She had to stop blushing so wildly around him. It wasn’t appropriate, and sooner or later he was going to notice, if he hadn’t already. But the afterimage of him damn near naked burned behind her eyelids every time she closed her eyes.
Nope, nothing in her life could be normal.
Nine
The buses didn’t pull out until after three a.m. Iris, yawning and bleary-eyed, came to him after she’d talked Dylan and Seger into their bunks. She looked exhausted as she sat across the table from him. He glanced at her over the open lid of his Macbook and pulled the headphones from his ears. He was used to these hours. “You should get some sleep.”
“I guess I need to adapt to the crazy schedule at some point,” she said, scratching at something invisible on the table in front of her. “Better to do it now.”
Yeah, used to these hours or not, he was tired too. Eli imagined he would pass out himself if he got still for two minutes. The hum of the engines was like a lullaby. He sometimes thought he never slept as soundly as when he was on the road, though he imagined most of the people he worked with would call him insane if he said it out loud.
“Can I talk to you about something?” she asked.
Sighing, he shut the Mac’s lid and sat back. What was it now? A new order from Heidi? The boys playing too many video games? It was fucking summer. This was their vacation. “Yeah, shoot.”
“I think one of your band members made a pass at me tonight,” she said tentatively. “It made me very uncomfortable.”
Of course. Fuck. “Quin?” he asked, biting the name out. Motherfucker moved fast.
“Yes, that’s what he said.”
Elijah digested this in silence, chewing the inside of his jaw as she watched him, something like dread in her eyes. “He shouldn’t have done that.”
“I know you have this dare going on that I won’t make it two weeks,” she said timidly, “but please don’t let this happen.”
He sat up again, his brows knitted together. “Iris, no matter what, I wouldn’t let someone harass you. I’ll have a talk with him. What did he do exactly?”
“Invited me on his bus. I have an idea that meant more than just going on his bus, though.”
“You’d be right. I don’t doubt the women you saw earlier had been ‘on the bus’ too, and since you turned him down, someone else took your place. He’s the one I mentioned who recently got divorced, not that it was much different when he was married.” It was ten times worse now, though.
Nervously, Iris fiddled with the thin gold band she wore on her right ring finger, twirling it around and around. “Listen, I don’t do well with stuff like this. I’ve . . . had bad experiences. But I don’t want to cause any problems.”
Bad experiences? Eli narrowed his eyes and watched her closely, feeling his lungs seize up. This woman, who so far had been doing a stellar job of putting her obstinate little chin in the air and standing up to him, looked . . . frightened. Here he’d practically been hoping to pawn her off on someone for the duration of the tour, and she was obviously suffering from some past trauma. Jesus Christ. He was going to hell.
He didn’t know where it came from, but something primal, protective, and seething twisted in his chest. “I’ll handle it,” he said firmly. “Don’t worry.”
The relief that crossed her face broke his fucking heart, the realization that she had thought he wouldn’t believe her, or that he would laugh it off. He would’ve thought twenty minutes ago that he didn’t give a damn what she thought about him. But that was unacceptable. He had to do better. He should’ve said something the first time Quin opened his big fucking mouth.
“Thank you,” Iris said, tugging her cardigan tighter around her slim shoulders. “Seriously, thank you so much.” He gave her a nod, and her gaze drifted to his computer. “Are you working on something? Did I interrupt a masterpiece in the making?”
He allowed a crooked grin. “I’m always working on something. But you’re fine. I should get to bed myself. We have to do it all again tomorrow.” The words were absent, his mind churning around other things. Bad experiences. I’ve had bad experiences.
All at once he wanted to put his fucking fist through something. Someone.
Quin might do.
Every guy in the band had knocked the hell out of one of the others at some point in their career. He was getting too old for that shit now, so he couldn’t let it get that far.
“I’m . . . did I upset you?” she asked timidly, and he realized his gaze must be boring a hole through her. He blinked and tore it away. She was so small. So delicate. What sick motherfucker could hurt her?
He wanted to know, but he’d given her absolutely zero fucking reasons to trust him with any of the pain in her history. That she’d had to come to him and admit this much of it must have taken a lot of courage after the way he’d been treating her so far. He looked her in the eyes again. “I’m sorry, Iris.”
Her wing-like brows rose slightly in her pale forehead. “For what?”
“You shouldn’t have to tell me about anything you’ve been through for me to act. I know how Quin is and I should’ve seen this coming.”
She laced her fingers together on the table top, not meeting his eyes. “Like I said, I don’t want to cause problems.”
“You’re not the one causing the problem. He is.” She looked up at him then with so much surprise that he wondered if this had never occurred to her before. Or maybe she was shocked to learn he didn’t harbor as much loyalty for his longtime bandmate as one might think he should. “Have you ever had that friend you just sort of tolerated, but you groan whenever they show up? That’s him. We’ve never been close. The rest of us were friends from high school, but we found him through an ad for a guitarist when we first started jamming in Russell’s garage. He was older than us, and a talented motherfucker. We needed him, but no one ever really liked him. If you want to ask why we pus
hed for separate buses as soon as we were raking in enough cash, he’s the main reason.”
“But you let him stay in?”
He shrugged, having argued this question with himself and Heidi and others countless times. “He’s a coworker, and you don’t always like your coworkers. We pride ourselves on having stayed together this long with all original members, so as long as he doesn’t fuck up too bad, we don’t rock the boat. And he’s too much of an arrogant asshole to realize not everyone loves him, so he’s not going anywhere himself.”
“What will he do if you confront him, then?”
“Pout about it. It’s happened enough by now for me to know.”
“But he’ll listen?”
“He usually does. To me, anyway.” Another reason he was still around.
She continued to look troubled, her mouth downturned, her lashes low. Below them, the tires continued to hum on the highway. Streetlight swept intermittently through the slats in the blinds, crossing her face. Light and shadow, light and shadow. “That’s good,” she said quietly.
“You don’t have anything to be worried about. Don’t even feel like you have to be around him or be nice to him. Fuck him. Figuratively, of course.” She laughed a little at that, and he felt better hearing the sound. Because he wanted her to feel better; he wanted her to feel safe. At the moment he couldn’t be bothered to investigate that realization to closely. It was just that Quin pissed him off.
That was all.
HE’D BEEN NICE TO HER. She couldn’t believe it.
In every scenario Iris had played out in her head, Elijah had been dismissive, sarcastic, or downright hostile when she approached him about Quin’s behavior. In not a single one of those imagined encounters had he looked at her the way he had in reality, a look she was still trying to figure out as she snuggled down for her first night in a tour bus bunk.