Catch Me When I Fall

by Jackson, A. L.

  I made it to the back room. The seating area was a horseshoe leather couch that ran along both sides and the back. The sitting surface was wider, big enough for someone to lounge and curl up or even sleep on when there was a need.

  The curtains were drawn back, filling the space with natural light, the country going by in a blur of greens and browns and peace.

  I went for my guitar case where it was always waiting for me in the closet. I took it out, flicked through the latches, and pulled out my baby. Climbing onto the couch in the corner, I drew up my legs and rested her across my lap.

  Strummed my fingers over the strings and felt the chord resonate to my soul.

  I listened for the words. For something to speak to me. Come to me. For my spirit to get lost in sound and feeling.

  Strumming softly, I closed my eyes and drifted a bit.

  Waiting on the piece that had always been most important to my soul to make itself known.

  The music that lived inside of me.

  I was hit with a line, and I thought it was shock that had me scrambling to grab my pen. I leaned over the top of my guitar so I could reach my notebook that was open on the seat in front of me, teeth tugging at my lip as I scratched out the messy words.

  Come to me

  I’ve been waiting for a break

  Looking for something to save me from myself

  My mouth hung open on a silent gasp. Caught in a stupor. Stunned by the impact.

  It wasn’t much, but they were the first words I’d gotten onto a page in three months.

  I froze when I sensed the movement.

  That energy blasted through the atmosphere even though it was coming at slow speed. Warily, I peeled my attention from the scribbled words and dared to look up, hugging my guitar to me as if it were a lifeline.

  Royce stood in the doorway.

  My mouth went dry, and a shiver raced across my flesh.

  He’d lost his suit jacket, and his hands were planted on either side of the doorframe. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up his forearms the way they’d been last night, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, giving a better glimpse of all that cryptic ink.

  Black hair unruly, eyes hard and mouth soft.

  Completely controlled and looking like he might bust apart.

  “What are you doing back here?” I asked, hoping it came off as a demand, but it came out way too curious for that.

  And maybe that was the problem.

  He left me compelled.

  He cocked his head, arrogant and sure. “I heard you playing.”

  I turned my attention out the window, trying to figure out how I was supposed to handle this man. “That’s what I do. I play.” I shifted my gaze back to him. “Isn’t that why you want me? Because I play?”

  I was referring to the contract, the deal, the band.

  But the second I said it, I knew it’d come out all wrong.

  His nostrils flared, the man a picture of power and sex, and he eased forward, sliding the door back into place, closing us in.

  “I think you already know the answer to that.”

  Disbelief huffed from my nose, and I tried to turn away from him, but he just came closer. Closer and closer until he was leaning over me, one hand planted on the back of the couch as he angled down to get in my face. I tried to withdraw, to hide my face, to tamp down this craziness that I was feeling at his proximity.

  He hooked my chin with a tatted knuckle, and I sucked in a staggered breath.

  “Yes,” he murmured, so low, so rough. “I want you because you play. I want you because you write the type of songs that have never been sung, and you sing them better than anyone else could.”

  Onyx eyes blazed that icy fire.

  Chills and flames.

  I didn’t know which one I was feeling most.

  “I want you because when you stand on a stage with the rest of your band, you become something that no one else can replace. You become brilliant. A fucking star.” The last he grated up close to my ear.

  Trembles rolled, and I struggled to keep myself from reaching for him. From caressing the curve of his powerful jaw and from touching my fingertips to the thunder raging in his chest. Cautiously, I looked up to meet the brunt force of his gaze. “And what if I don’t want to be a star?”

  His teeth clenched. “Bullshit. You were made for this.”

  “And what if I don’t want it anymore?” It came out softer than I wanted it to.

  “Is that what you really believe? That you don’t want it anymore? Or are you letting fear stand in your way?”

  It felt like he was sifting around in my heart and mind. Searching through the rubble and debris.

  “You don’t know me.”

  He edged back, staring me down. “Don’t I? You think it’s not written on you? Fear? I’m here to take that away.”

  My frown was instant, a pulse of panic drumming at my ribs.

  Apparently, he knew I’d gone running off that stage last night, the first mistake in a line of them that had sent me running to him.

  “I wasn’t feeling well last night . . . that was all.”

  A skeptical smirk pulled at one side of his mouth. “And your first thought was to drown your sickness in tequila?”

  “Isn’t that everyone’s first thought?” I tried to go for light. That was a mistake, too.

  Because he hit me with an offhanded smile. Oh, I really wished that he wouldn’t, because it was all kinds of pretty, as if maybe he had a sliver of nice guy buried underneath.

  “Only when what you’re nursing is a sick heart.” He said it as if he got me in a way he shouldn’t.

  Our gazes tangled, awareness thrumming between us as strong as the rhythm of a guitar.

  I thought maybe he couldn’t handle the force of the connection, either, the feeling too intense, and he ripped his eyes from mine.

  His attention drifted to my notebook as if it were safer.

  “What are you working on?”

  I flipped it shut. “Nothin’.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Just a song that won’t come.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Because sometimes life isn’t fair and it steals the things that are most important to us.”

  His lips pressed into a thin line of regret, and he huffed a heavy breath as he turned away, as if he were warring with something inside himself.

  Two seconds later, he quickly swiveled back, standing like a towering fortress in the middle of the small space.

  A whole new intensity lit a fire in those eyes. A writhing of the blackest kind of storm.

  Hatred and hostility and compassion.

  “I want you to know I’m doing everything I can to make this right for you. That I want the best for you and for your band. I need you to know that. To remember that.”

  “I get you’re doing your job, but don’t you dare stand there and tell me it’s not about the money. I’ll be the first to admit it’s a whole lot about that for us, too.”

  Weren’t most people’s dreams paved in gold?

  My spirit rumbled in protest, knowing it was so much more than that. That we wanted our music to mean something. To touch people. To somehow let them know they weren’t alone in this great big world.

  My focus moved to the door where I knew the rest of my band was, their lives so committed to what we did, one-hundred-percent in. “If I do it, it will be for them.”

  “And what about you?”

  “Maybe I just want something simpler. A home and a family.”

  “You think you’re not made of song? You think your spirit doesn’t ring with beauty? I can feel it, Emily, the burn of it coming from you. Don’t sell yourself short.”

  “Sometimes the only path to peace is to settle.” The words were frail wisps.

  He dipped down so close I could taste the words that rolled from his tongue. “Don’t settle for anything less than everything. I will die before I watch you do that.”


  I felt his promise like an earthquake.

  It rocked me.

  Body and soul.

  “Like this isn’t about the money for you?”

  I refused to believe it was anything else.

  I had to remember the reason he was here. His cruel intentions from last night.

  His jaw clenched, and he set both hands on the back of the couch on either side of me. It angled me back, the man hovering an inch away. “No, Emily. It’s not. Not for a second.”

  Then he straightened and walked out, leaving me sitting there gasping for breath.

  Eight

  Royce

  “Did you get them to agree?” I pressed my phone tight to my ear where I paced just offstage in the wings, voice lifted only high enough over the roar of the club for Pete to hear my growl.

  “One, and we’re making progress with the other.”

  Frustration squeezed my lungs, and I paced some more, trying not to yank out all my hair. “Goddamn it.”

  “Calm down, man, this shit takes time, and you have to know how delicate the situation is.”

  I blew out a breath. “I know. Fuck, I know. I just don’t know how much time we have.” My gaze moved out to the stage where the roadies were rushing to finish setting up for Carolina George. A DJ was playing old country music from the overhead speakers, and white strobes flashed over the crowd, rowdy and anxious for them to take to the stage after the local band had opened up.

  “We’re working as quickly as we can, and it’s coming together as planned.”

  “It’d better.”

  Dry laughter rolled from him. “Dude, I am doing everything I can. If this backfires, whose ass do you think is on the line?”

  “All of our asses are on the line,” I grunted low, glancing around, making sure I was out of earshot. We were all riding a very thin line. Risking it all. “But I’m not letting that motherfucker get away with this for any longer. Not either of them.”

  “I know, man, I know,” he conceded.

  I blew out a breath. “No matter what happens, I’ve got you, Pete. You aren’t going to take the fall for this. It’s on me.”

  “However it goes down, I’ll be standing beside you. I want this just as bad as you.”

  A sigh filtered out. “Thanks, brother. Keep me posted.”

  “You know I will.”

  He killed the call, and I immediately tapped out a text.

  Me: Hey Mag-Pie, thinking about you. What are you up to tonight? Staying out of trouble?

  I capped it with a winky face. You know, going for the cool big brother rather than the overprotective one that was itching to rip out a motherfucker’s throat.

  Two seconds later, my phone blipped with a response.

  It was a picture of her smiling face in her room, hugging a stuffed animal to her chest.

  My heart clutched.

  Fuck, I loved this kid.

  Maggie: Just hanging out.

  Me: You’re nineteen. You should be out.

  Maggie: Thought you’d rather know that I’m safe at home.

  Me: All I care about is that you are safe. And HAPPY.

  Maggie: Hmm . . . funny how I feel the same way about you.

  I rolled my eyes.

  Me: I’m not the concern here. I’m good.

  Maggie: Isn’t that what all the girls say about you?

  Light laughter seeped out.

  Me: You’re a pain in my ass, do you know that?

  Maggie hit me up with a slew of kissing hearts.

  I sent a text back with a bunch of alternating birds and pizzas.

  She sent me a row of middle fingers.

  Another text came in a second later.

  Maggie: Seriously, Royce. I want you to be happy. Maybe it’s time to let go and move on.

  Images flashed, the memory of her face hitting me like a bulldozer.

  In an instant, I was consumed by excruciating pain. Chest so goddamn tight I thought I would implode.

  I just swallowed it down and let it fuel me. Used it as a reminder that I couldn’t fail. That I couldn’t get distracted by this insanity I was feeling.

  I stuffed my phone into my pocket just as the stage manager was herding the band out from the back. Richard clapped me on the shoulder, dipped his head.

  “Kill it out there. Prove to me why I’m here,” I told him, attempting to cover the coarseness in my voice.

  Rhys answered for him, whirling around and pointing both fingers at me. “Oh, you know we will. You don’t have to worry about that. Watch how magic is made. Want to know the reason the place is packed?” He gestured around, his grin about as huge as his confidence. “Take a peek at us, and you’ve got your answer.”

  Leif tossed a drumstick high in the air, catching it without missing a beat as he casually passed by.

  The three of them strutted out onto the stage. That was all it took for the crowd to go wild, for anticipation to thunder and roar. Shouts and stamps of feet and a barrage of applause echoed through the music hall, excitement rising up from the bottom, billowing and blooming and filling the space.

  But it was the feeling that came over me from behind, crawling up my back and pricking like the delicious dig of fingernails into my flesh, that sent a clap of thunder rolling through my body.

  Slowly, I turned to glance over my shoulder. Emily was walking up, the stage manager on one side and a sound technician messing with the speaker in her ear on the other.

  Mel followed close behind, head dipped down as she quickly tapped something into the tablet that she carried.

  Energy flashed.

  A bolt of intensity.

  A burst of light.

  A fucking thunderstorm.

  I knew she felt it, too.

  Knew it in the way her footsteps faltered and her delicate shoulders stiffened, awareness riding over her silky flesh. Warily, she lifted her head to peek at me, like she thought she was going covert and I wouldn’t notice.

  Not even a chance.

  A chord strummed through the middle of me when that jade gaze met with mine. Confusion widened her eyes and attraction parted her lips.

  Tension swelled.

  Binding and tugging.

  God.

  This girl was going to do me in.

  I tried to shun it. To ignore the fact that she wielded this power. She’d already fucked it up once, the girl a roadblock that had thwarted my intentions.

  Course changed.

  Looking at this girl made it hard to remember the end game.

  I lifted my chin at her as she got closer.

  “Good luck,” I told her.

  Her face pinched, and she glanced out at the riot going down at the foot of the stage. The blip of the faces that flashed in the strobes of blinding light, the pound, pound, pound of need that clamored from her fans, each of them wanting to get closer, hungering to be a part of what she was.

  Of what she became when she stepped out on that stage.

  She returned the power of that gaze to me. Sheer terror lined her features. Nerves wringing her out.

  My guts clenched, tied in knots. I wanted to go for her. Wrap her up and hold her and tell her that it would be okay.

  That I would protect her.

  Whatever it took.

  Because I knew right then, that was exactly what she needed. For someone to see through the bullshit façade she wore like armor. Begging for someone to tear it down while holding onto it with all she had at the same time.

  She inhaled a shaky breath and started for the curtains so she could make her entrance. Our shoulders brushed as she passed. A bolt of desire streaked through my body, her sweet intensity so thick it surrounded me in a cloud of overwhelming need.

  Shocked, she jumped away.

  Affected.

  Prisoner to this craziness, too.

  I couldn’t give into it. Not again. It was wrong. Wrong on every level. But I was beginning to think there wasn’t a thing in this world that could make it go away.
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  My mouth moved with silent words. “You’re a star.”

  I wondered if it was possible for her to see herself the way the rest of the world did. If she had the first clue that everyone turned to face her when she walked in the room. The girl was allure and temptation.

  A snare.

  I thought maybe she was caught in one, too, because she seemed to have to rip herself away from our connection. Throwing back her shoulders and forcing on that brave exterior, Emily stepped out from the high, towering drapes. That was all it took for the zealous crowd to go mad, and screams filled the cavernous space.

  “Hello, hello,” Emily called through her mic as she slung her guitar strap over her shoulder. “We are Carolina George, and we are thrilled to be here in Alabama tonight.”

  A roar of energy exploded.

  Leif drummed his sticks in the air, and Richard drove into the chords of one of their most popular songs. Rhys stepped forward into a blue spotlight as he played the bassline, and Emily stood in the middle of it all.

  She wasn’t just standing in a spotlight.

  She was the light.

  A motherfucking star.

  This . . .

  This was where music came alive.

  Where it was breathed to life.

  Where everyday people got the chance to touch on something extraordinary.

  Where true talent was exposed.

  I stood there watching.

  Itching in belief and discomfort and the hatred that ran fast in my blood.

  Knowing exactly what it was that I was missing.

  Carolina George played. Their style was a cross of country and indie rock.

  Sweet.

  Sultry.

  Soulful.

  Richard, Rhys, and Leif entranced the audience.

  But it was Emily who owned them.

  Looking at her, it wasn’t hard to see how obsessions were born.

  Hatred bled free at the thought that anyone would seek to dim this light. Anger booming in my blood like a gunshot. Fast and furious. There before I knew what hit me.