by Cari Quinn
“Fuck that.” Nick swiped his hand through the air. “I felt bad that we replaced him with Jazz, but last year we saw just how little he cared about the actual band. He wanted us to go back to the old days when we played clubs and partied, not the actual work that goes into this shit.”
Donovan’s eyebrow arched.
Simon swallowed a snort.
“Okay, it’s not shit, but you know what I mean.”
“Yes, Nick, I know what you mean,” Donovan said. “But even that statement right there could be twisted in a few different ways if he has a good lawyer. And he’s got a bit of a shark who’s always looking to make headlines.”
“Awesome,” Nick muttered and dropped back into his seat.
“We just have to be smart. Is it worth the legal fees and getting dragged through court or do we give him the seventy-five thousand dollars he’s asking for?”
“The—” Simon sat forward. “How much?”
“It’s not a lot of money compared to what you’re making on the tour and his lawyer knows this. Sales of the albums are pennies compared to what goes on here with the tour. And we’ve just added another ten dates.”
Simon swallowed down against the tickle that was forever plaguing him these days. He probably peed ginger and honey with how much he drank it, for fuck’s sake.
And now ten more dates?
He rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor as everyone started talking.
“There is no way in hell we’re settling or giving him a damn dime,” Nick said above everyone.
“Okay, okay. Just calm down. We were hoping to keep this from becoming any bigger, but I get it. We get it,” Lila said and waved a finger between herself and Donovan.
Nick doubled his fists. “If he had any part in writing it, I wouldn’t be such a dick, but he didn’t.”
“Then we’ll fight it,” Donovan said.
Nick’s shoulders and fingers relaxed. Simon sat back in his chair in reaction to his best friend calming down. The idea that everyone in this room had something to lose because of Snake—again—was just insane.
When was their past going to stop biting them on the ass?
“Now for the good news.” Donovan pulled envelopes out of his suit jacket.
“Pink slips?” Nick quipped.
“No. I think you’ll find that this is much more to your liking, Mr. Crandall.”
Donovan walked around the room and handed everyone a sealed envelope. “I don’t usually do this sort of thing with all this ceremony, but we’ve come a long way from that tense meeting a year ago.”
Understatement. Simon stared at the envelope, unsure if he really wanted to know what was inside. It felt bigger than just a check or a contract.
“Well, go on. Open it up.”
The sound of paper tearing and unfolding was the only noise for about three seconds.
“Holy shit,” Jazz shrieked and bounced to her feet for a step before plowing into Gray and strangling him.
“Okay, babe, one sec. I didn’t even—well, shit.” Gray’s voice was half whisper, half shout. Something that only he could pull off.
Simon flipped open the corner of his envelope and tore off the end. He pulled out two pieces of paper. The first one was a series of numbers with a fuckton of zeroes and then on page two they were all added together with a bank account number.
A metric fuckton of zeroes.
He was pretty sure his gut just liquefied.
“As you can see, the tour is going well, which is why we added the dates.” Donovan turned his attention to Jazz. “That’s if you can manage it, of course.”
Jazz patted her belly. “Is this extending the tour?”
“No, just within the end dates we’ve established.”
“Then it’s fine. I don’t need to rehearse as much as everyone else since Margo has taken the piano pieces this past week. And the kiddo loves when Mommy drums for two hours a night.”
“Excellent. Any of the video things you can’t handle just let Lila know and we’ll make other arrangements. Simon and Nick do well with the interviews.”
Simon drew in a slow breath and let it out. Awesome. Then he looked down at the bank statement in his hands and couldn’t even complain in his head.
Fuck. Ton. Of. Zeroes.
“I set up accounts for you and if you go the route of an accountant or financial advisor, which I recommend you look into, then it can be transferred anywhere you wish. But with that kind of money, it needs to be protected.”
That kind of money didn’t even compute. Being on tour they didn’t really worry about money. Harper took care of their feeding and the bus was for sleeping. Booze seemed to appear upon request.
It wasn’t real life, but he sure as shit had gotten used to it fast. Especially since he’d been used to having next to nothing all his life.
He looked over at Nick, who was the only one not chattering excitedly. He had the paper trapped against his chest with his arms folded.
Simon slapped him in the arm. “You know that piece of paper was good news, right? Not that you owed that total. Paid, son.”
Nick swallowed, and blew out a breath. His mouth tipped up at the corner. “Yeah. I can’t even…that number doesn’t even look real.” He stood up and slipped out the door as everyone else talked over one another.
Simon caught Lila’s worried gaze and he waved her off. He followed after him. “Nicky, don’t get all…Nicky.”
“I’m not. I just—it’s happening really fast, man.”
Simon leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Not really. We’ve been scrimping and hoping for a long time. This is a good thing.”
Nick tapped the paper. “I know. I know.”
“Then don’t get all upset about it. This is cause for a celebration. And a car.”
Nick laughed. “Two cars.”
“A house.”
“Fuck. I don’t even know what to think about that. I don’t want to leave the Hills, man.”
“So, don’t.”
“What are you going to do with your money?”
Simon took off his hat and scrubbed at his hair. “I don’t even know what a financial advisor does besides gamble with your money.”
“We suck at gambling.”
Simon laughed. “No shit. But man, imagine going into some badass casino like Bond and putting down one of those million dollar chips?”
“Fuck yeah,” Nick said on a laugh.
Simon slapped him on the back of his neck and steered him down the hall. “This requires day drinking.”
“So much day drinking.”
Margo dragged her shredded bow over the strings of her Starfish. She had so much fiber blowing around her wrists, she was probably going to have to get it restrung.
But she didn’t let up. Her arm screamed and her fingers were numb from trying to keep up with Nick’s guitar. Bent at the waist and as tense as her strings, she spit out heat and passion from every note.
She stared him down as he lowered to meet her gaze. The crowd was screaming and the sweat coated her from neck to ankle in the Georgia heat.
Simon skidded onto his knees between them and bowed back, his chest slick with sweat. His abs quivered with each bounce.
Jesus.
He held the note. The long cry of “Torn to Pieces” last verse emptied her out and his vibrato was flawless. Her eyes widened and then he popped up, his chest heaving.
She blinked out of the surprise and shredded another length of her bow as Nick waggled his eyebrows and stood tall.
Out of breath and so turned on she couldn’t even stand herself, she staggered back and caught her heel on the cord behind her.
Simon rose off his knees and scooped her up. He dropped the mic into her lap and she juggled it with her violin and bow as he brought her to the front of the stage. He lowered his mouth to her chest. “And I rescue damsels, too.”
“You wish.”
Delighted, she clapped as the deafening roar
of the crowd surged and the people on the lawn stood. Okay, so it was cute, but not that funny. She looked over her shoulder and Deacon stood behind her.
“Is this man bothering you?”
She laughed and wrapped her arm around Simon’s neck in a mock clingy damsel reaction. “He’s my hero,” she said in her best Marilyn voice.
Jazz beat the shit out of her skins and Nick picked out the first notes of “Holding Out For a Hero.”
Gray leaned into the mic and sang the opening verse in a surprisingly husky, deep voice.
Simon put her down and turned around with his hands on his hips. “Hold up, hold up.” He waved. “Excuse me, sir.” The crowd screamed from behind him.
Gray cleared his throat. “Yes?”
“I don’t believe we allowed such nonsense. I’m the singer, boyo.”
Gray peered around Simon. “Is it okay if I sing?” He looked back at Simon. “I think they like it.”
Suddenly the piano tones of the song started. Margo twisted around and Lindsey York from Brooklyn Dawn was on the keys.
Simon stalked around the stage in a fake temper and the crowd went insane. Margo fit her violin to chin and twisted her pins to loosen the strings slightly. She bounced her bow against the strings until it made a similar sound to an old eighties tone.
By the end of the song, they’d all dissolved into a fit of hysterics and Simon was hanging off the archway by the knees with his arms crossed, fake sleeping.
Lindsey waved as the song ended and she ran backstage. Simon snorted into the mic. “Oh, are you done now? Do I get to sing again?”
The crowd screamed back a resounding yes, and they finished the show with every single person in the pavilion on their feet and half the lawn crowding the railing.
The reaction was so strong that they actually ended up doing a second encore. By the third song in the encore, Simon was pulling away from the microphone and coughing into his elbow.
He covered it up as laughter at Nick climbing all over Jazz’s drum kit to get to the ramp behind her.
But she saw his eyes.
The flash of pain and the crack at the end of “Summer of ’69” made even her throat hurt. They finally took their bows and all hugged like drunk puppies.
Simon slid his forefinger through the frown of her brows and hung his arm around her neck as he dragged her off the stage with the rest of the band.
The backstage was in an uproar and Lila was fielding a phone call and shaking her head at them as they all filed into the after show room that Harper had set up.
She went right for the watermelon, completely a convert of Harper’s hydration system. She was dizzy from exhaustion and sweating out eighteen buckets of fluid.
The whole band fell on the melon and water like wolves, moving onto food as they excitedly recapped the show.
“Good thing the ticket sales were good enough to cover that fine I just had to pay,” Lila said loudly.
Nick had switched out from water to beer. “Oops?”
“Yeah, oops. You went well over the midnight curfew for the park, kids.”
Gray looked down at his phone. “Shit, three hours?”
“Yes, three hours.”
No wonder she was still sucking down bottles of water to recover. Margo held a hand over her middle and laughed with everyone.
Poor Simon had dealt with three nights of long shows. By some slice of a miracle he’d still sounded good—well, until the very end.
She looked around, but he was gone. He’d been quiet, but after the shows he tended to be. Not because he was depressed, but lately Simon had turned into a watcher after the main event was over.
Watching everyone, taking everything in. Watching her. Always watching her.
She tried to ignore it. Ignore him. Some nights she had to disappear for her own general well-being. Because when they got into the same sphere, there was too much between them. They required the buffer of the rest of the band. Or she required it.
She just wasn’t sure anymore.
But he was hurting tonight. She could feel it in her bones like she felt a song, like she lived a melody on stage.
She passed the lockers, but the room was empty. Sometimes he escaped to steam his vocal chords. She knew he didn’t want her to know that. Didn’t want anyone to know it.
Everyone was still too euphoric about the success of the tour to notice the little flubs here and there. But she saw the signs. Hell, she knew them better than anyone. Her friend Siobhan was a jazz singer and had been through three bouts of complete vocal rest when she’d toured too hard.
“Margo?”
She jumped. “Geeze.” For someone who habitually wore stilettos, Lila could be surprisingly stealthy. “Don’t sneak up on a girl.”
Lila leaned against the wall in the hallway. “I didn’t realize we were being sneaky.”
“No. I’m not.”
“Is it booty time?”
Margo scrunched her eyes closed. “Really?”
“Am I lying?”
Margo crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. “No.”
“About which?”
“I’m not being sneaky and I’m not looking to bag some naked Simon time.”
Lila’s eyebrows shot up. “You have been hanging out with these guys too much. You’re starting to sound like them.”
She straightened. “I do?”
“Yeah, you do.”
“That’s bad.”
“Eh. Depends on your point of view. You smile and laugh a lot more these days.”
“Oh.”
Lila smirked and rolled her eyes. “What are you doing?”
“I’m looking for Simon.” She held up her hand. “Not for what you think.” At her skeptical look, Margo rushed on. “He pushed it tonight and after two long shows, I think he’s…”
Lila stood up straight and her blue eyes went laser-sharp. “He’s what?”
Margo tapped her middle finger to her thumbnail. “His voice cracked.”
“Is that all? That happens all the time with singers.”
“Not Simon.”
“What makes him so special?” Lila asked with a bored look.
“Look, I work with the orchestra and a lot of different vocalists. Simon’s a natural. No training, at least I’m pretty sure no training.”
“Not that I know of.”
“Instinctively, he just finds the right notes to any song. It’s pretty genius, actually.” Margo held up a finger. “If you tell him that, I’ll break the heel off your pink Jimmy Choos.”
“Wow. Don’t hate on my Jimmys.”
“Anyway. He’s definitely straining. He rocked out tonight. Totally rocked out. I’ve never heard his vibrato so well-timed since the first week of the tour.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“Yeah, it is. But he got a little cocky on stage when they were having so much fun. We all did. I swear my triceps are still crying from all the high speed playing I did tonight.” She rubbed her arm as the ache came to the surface at the mention.
“So, he needs to relax tonight.”
“No. I think he needs more than that.”
“We have a show in Indianapolis tomorrow.”
“Right, but maybe you should let him sit out on interviews tomorrow.”
Lila sighed and pulled out her phone. “I don’t know if I can. The radio stations want him and they have an acoustic set in the park.”
Margo shut her eyes.
“I’m fine, Violin Girl.”
Margo’s shoulders instantly tightened. “Simon, I…”
“I appreciate it. I do. It’s been a big week, but I’ll be fine.” His voice was as rough as sandpaper and he barely spoke above a whisper.
Lila frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I asked Harper to steep me a pot of my tea and I’m going to go back to the bus and sleep.”
“I can shuffle a few things—”
“No. It’s fine. I’m fine.” He swung his gaze
to Margo. “I just won’t be talking tonight or tomorrow until the radio show.”
Lila nodded. “Right. Okay. I’m going to…go.”
Margo folded her arms. “I’m sorry.”
Simon seemed relaxed and tired, but he wouldn’t look at her. And she was learning he was a better actor than she thought.
He shrugged. “Just watching out for me.”
She stepped forward and curled her fingers around his hand. “You were amazing tonight. You didn’t hear me say that part.”
“No, just the part where I sucked.”
She jammed her molars together and forced down a growl. “Nothing about your performance tonight sucked.”
“Except that last part, right?” he whispered. He cleared his throat and swallowed, his eyes still not meeting hers.
She lifted her hand to his chest and he held up his hands. “Not now.” He headed down the hall.
She stomped her foot, unable to help her reaction. God, he frustrated her. “Simon, wait.”
He looked at his feet, but he stopped.
She hurried after him and stood in front of him, lowering her knees until she could catch his gaze, but he wouldn’t look at her. “I just don’t want you to overdo it.” She cupped his jaw and shook him a little.
His fierce winter blue gaze crashed into hers.
“I care, Simon.” She tipped her head up and rose onto her toes. He didn’t close his eyes as she brushed her lips over his. His fingers tightened on her hip, but he simply watched her as she lightly touched his mouth. She stroked his lower lip with the tip of her tongue, and then nipped his upper lip lightly.
“I wouldn’t have told Lila except she’s overscheduling you to compensate for Jazz. But no one’s thinking about you,” she said lightly against his mouth.
“And you are?”
She nodded and swiped her tongue in between his lips until he sucked her deeper, until his arms came up around her and squashed her against his chest.
He went from stillness to intense in the space of a heartbeat. He pushed her down the hallway and across the hall to the lockers.
He slammed the door and snicked the lock closed. No corridor this time, just tiles and the echo of their harsh breathing as he attacked her neck, his teeth clicking against the rose and filigree leaves of her ear cuff.
