“He’ll be along,” Billy said casually, not giving anything away.
Kev looked at me inquiringly, but I wasn’t saying anything. If Max wanted people to know he was in therapy, that was his business. It wasn’t anything he needed to be ashamed of, but it was up to him if he wanted it to be public knowledge. It was no secret that Dr. Carmichael had joined the tour, but we hadn’t made it public knowledge as to why.
“He’s not sick, too, is he?” Kev asked, looking concerned.
“No,” Billy said. “Just taking care of some personal business.”
“I’ll take the bass,” Will said, holding out his own guitar toward Kev with his left hand, his right open and outstretched to take Max’s. “I can play bass for sound check. I’m sure Max won’t mind.”
Of course, he can play bass, I thought, because nothing surprised me anymore when it came to Will and his seemingly endless musical talent. He could probably play pan flute and bassoon, too, I thought wryly.
I resisted the urge to look at Andres and give him an, ‘and that’s why he’s lead today’ look because it wasn’t necessary. Will proved again and again that he was a superlative musician; he didn’t need me shining a spotlight on him.
As I stood there, avoiding Andres’s eyes that felt like they were boring holes in me, Will said, “Or wait. You can take my guitar.”
It wasn’t until he held his instrument out toward me that I really clued in to what he’d said. My brain caught up, and I realized he’d been talking to me.
“What?”
His eyebrows went up as he cocked his head and said, “You can help us out, can’t you, Nessa?”
I blinked at him many times, crossing my arms and not moving to take the guitar as I tried to process what he was doing. Still not entirely sure what he was about, I said, “Uh, I think you have me mistaken for someone else.”
He smirked maddeningly as he shook his head and jerked the guitar a little, as though I’d forgotten he was holding it out to me. “Nope,” he said. “No mistake. You told me yourself that you play. And we all heard you can sing, so you can at least do backup. You owe me for that stunt you pulled in Portland, so...”
I opened my mouth and felt like a fish the way I just gaped at him, no words coming out.
“You’re a good singer,” Chris said then. I gave him my best Et tu? look while he just grinned at me.
“Forget it,” I finally managed to say. “I literally haven’t played in years.”
“Come on, Messa,” Darren said, sounding sterner than...well ever. Which was surprising because Darren was always joking. It was surprising enough that I gave him a look. “It’s just a sound check,” he added in a casual tone. And then he started a drum roll, which went a long way to diffuse my irritation with him.
Though it did nothing to diffuse my panic. I glanced back over at Chris, who still looked amused, his eyebrows up as he waited. I didn’t dare look at Andy, not even wanting to know what he was thinking.
Billy was smiling at me and shrugged, seeming to be on board with whatever I wanted to do.
The drumroll got faster, matching my racing heart. Were they seriously expecting me to play?
And then the drumroll got faster still, as everyone stared at me, waiting. My face heated like we were outside. Or inside a pressure-cooker.
Yes, it seemed they were expecting me to play. Or come up with a very good reason why I couldn’t
“Come on,” Chris prodded. “You can fill in for a simple sound check. Will needs to rehearse.”
I almost laughed at that but realized he was being serious because Will probably did feel like he needed to practice. He might have been the most skilled of our musicians, but he still worked hard at it.
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Ugh, you guys are all jerks,” I said as I reached for Will’s guitar—the one Emmie’d had custom made for him—and looped the strap over my head.
Darren finished up the drumroll and did a rim-shot, finishing with a big hit to his cymbal. Everyone laughed. Even me, which was pretty surprising, considering.
As the other guys prepared to play, I did the same and set my hands on the guitar. I was secretly both scared and delighted that Will had trusted me with it. Not because Emmie had given it to him, but because it was a legit kickass guitar. Definitely worthy of a rock star. It was like Emmie had known what fate had in mind for him and wanted to make sure he had the best instrument when he followed his destiny.
He plucked a few strings of Max’s bass and stepped up toward the center stage mic. He leaned in and spoke into it, “Test...One...Two...Three...” All worked as it should, so he nodded and looked over at Chris, indicating for him to go next.
As I waited for my turn, I inconspicuously wiped my sweaty palms on my shorts. How was I on stage, standing at a mic with a guitar in my hands? I looked out at the auditorium, at the empty seats that would be filled in just a matter of hours, suddenly feeling slightly dizzy with panic.
You won’t be playing to that full crowd, I reminded myself, feeling immediately better at that realization. Still, it felt odd; I’d never given much thought to the possibility of me ever standing on a stage like this. I was seeing it from a completely different perspective than how I usually saw it—from the safety and darkness of the wings.
It was sort of awe-inspiring. And very anxiety-inducing; I felt so vulnerable being up there on display for all to see.
How do these guys do this every night? looped through my head.
But it was no great mystery: they lived for it. Performing was in their blood, it was basically their food and air, the stuff they needed to survive.
“Nessa?”
My name brought me back to the here and now as I turned my head to see Will smirking at me from center stage.
“Sorry,” I muttered and then leaned into my own mic. “Testing...one, two, three.” My voice sounded strangled, but I was more concerned with trying to stay upright. Do not faint, I repeated in my head over and over, reminding myself to breathe, but not so much that I’d pass out from hyperventilating. Messing up would be embarrassing. Fainting would be unthinkable.
“All right,” Will said once all the mics were tested and adjusted by the techs in the booth. “Let’s do Brooklyn Girl first, I want to practice the bridge.” Then he counted us in, and we began to play.
I’d only intended to play one song. Actually, I hadn’t intended to play any songs, but when we got to the end of the first one, I felt a lot less rusty. I also felt something else unexpected: good.
Like, way better than I would have dreamed, considering it had been forever since I’d played, not to mention how nervous I was. I’d thought I would fumble around, trying to play along and simply keep up. Not completely messing up the rehearsal was the best I thought I could hope for.
But I wasn’t messing up. Sure, I stumbled a few times, but I was hardly ruining the song. I guess I’d watched them play enough that my hands knew what to do.
How had Will known? He’d never seen me play, had only just learned that I could play. So how could he have known I’d be able to keep up?
I sort of wanted to kill him for putting me on the spot. But at the same time, I also wanted to kiss him stupid because while I never would have thought I’d enjoy myself on stage, nor would I ever have volunteered for it, now that I was here, I was really digging it.
So when Brooklyn Girl ended and I glanced over at Will to see him watching me with a question in his eyes, I nodded.
He gave me a wide smile and a return nod of acknowledgment before he announced the next song into the mic. The guys took their cues, and we launched into Pieces of You.
Four songs later, my nerves had mostly disappeared, and I was caught up in the music, amazed at myself because without consciously knowing the notes, once I started to play, I found I knew nearly every note to every song.
And though I was shocked at my own skill,
I couldn’t deny for a second that I was loving playing with the guys. I felt every bit the rock star myself as I sang backup, my female voice adding a new dimension the harmony.
As the last note faded, I stilled, needing a moment to take a breath. I barely had that moment before applause broke out, which was weird because this was just a sound check; no one ever applauded at rehearsal.
Then I realized, as I looked around at the guys, the applause was for me.
“Shut up,” I said, even though no one had said anything unless you count a whoop from Darren and a wolf whistle from Chris. But there was no doubt it was all for me. And while my skills didn’t come close to any of theirs, I was still pretty darn proud of myself for doing as well as I had. And completely cold, too.
I chanced a look over at Will and was rewarded with a sweet smile that melted my heart in an instant. He’d done this not because they needed me for the rehearsal. He’d done it for me. He’d known I’d rise to the challenge and took the risk that I’d enjoy myself.
It was in that moment I realized I loved him.
For a fraction of a second, it was the most amazing feeling in the world. My heart seemed to expand and fill with the emotion, now that I’d named it. But then, it felt like it was being punched when I remembered he was leaving.
The band.
Me.
I wanted to both run to him and from him at the same time as my heart fractured right there on the stage. I literally felt heartbroken, the pain a physical thing in my chest.
I wanted to buckle, roll into a ball, make the world go away. But that’s when I remembered it wasn’t just him and me on that stage. We stood there in front of a ton of people. People that we shared a bus with. People that weren’t supposed to know about us—not that there would be anything between us anymore. Especially not now that he was leaving.
I quickly looked away from him. I’d probably already given away too much, even though this had all happened in the span of a few heartbeats when time seemed to have slowed as the applause went on.
My eyes landed on Andres. He wasn’t quite frowning, but he didn’t look exactly thrilled to be sharing a stage with me as he kept his hands still, resting on his guitar. Very obviously not clapping.
Whatever. I hardly needed his approval, I told myself, even as the hurt of it landed. I swung my gaze from him out toward where Billy sat in the audience, except he wasn’t sitting. He was on his feet, smiling and clapping. But he wasn’t alone.
Beside him, also on her feet, contributing to the smallest standing O ever, stood Linda alongside my two favorite people in the world: Sandy and my Dad. I smiled at them, the thing with Will quickly taking a back seat as the pride expanded within my chest, the thrill of recognition buzzing in my nerves, even over a meaningless performance. It felt good to play, but more surprisingly it felt even better to have been seen playing. What the guys did night after night, suddenly made total sense.
Until two seconds later when it registered that there was someone standing next to my father, also applauding and beaming a wide smile up at me.
I swallowed hard as our eyes met.
And here I had been worried I might not recognize my mother after all these years.
The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far, Unfortunately
For a long moment, I couldn’t drag my eyes from hers. It was like after everything that had happened and the five years away, my brain needed to confirm it was really her. Even though rationally I knew it was.
And in that second, as I took her in, examined her, even from afar, time seemed to slow until the seconds stretched, the moments between heartbeats expanding into super slo-mo.
She was immediately recognizable—but seemed different at the same time.
Even though Dad hadn’t ever been on stage, she had always looked the part of rock star trophy wife. Not only was she naturally tall and beautiful, but she’d always dressed for the role, taking great care with her appearance. She never left the house in anything less than full makeup, designer everything, and a diva attitude to match.
I’d often wondered (especially in the years since she’d disappeared) if she’d hooked up with my father because he was the next best thing to a rock star. Actually, the last five years had galvanized my thought that she had probably hooked up with him to get access to famous musicians, from among whom she would then take her pick. Which was exactly what she had done when Nick Barrow came along.
It was totally cringe-worthy that my mother was an attention whore. Which probably explained why I worked so hard to be her opposite and did everything I could to stay out of the spotlight.
Although, look at me now, on a stage with a guitar in my hands, feeling the adrenaline rush of the applause. Loving the spotlight.
Me apple, her tree. Not fallen very far indeed.
So that was a sobering thought.
But what was more pressing in that second was her presence. That there she was in the flesh, standing beside my father, gazing up at me, looking different, like I’d never seen her. She was wearing a Wiretap hoodie—making me wonder if it was her first hoodie ever—over jeans. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and while she was obviously wearing makeup, it was natural, subdued. She was not camera-ready, which went against everything I’d ever known about her.
She looked like...well, damn, she looked like a mom. Not her version of a mom that I’d been used to but what TV moms look like. No cleavage, respectable, tidy. The kind of mom who drives a minivan to soccer and is ready to take on the PTA at any moment.
It was weird and unsettling, but also made me think something in her had changed. Had she dressed like that to impress me? To make me think she was ready to be a mom after all this time?
But then her smile faltered a little as she seemed unsure, and then her expression turned to one of hope, breaking the spell completely.
Everything I went through, no, everything my father and I both went through, came rushing back in a wave of hurt crashing over me, making my knees nearly buckle.
Nope, I thought. I’m done here.
I looked down and somehow calmly unplugged the guitar before, without a word or even another glance at the audience, I turned and headed toward the wings, handing off the guitar to Kev with a muttered thanks.
If he knew about the drama unfolding, he didn’t let on as he took the instrument and stepped aside so I could get past him. I walked calmly but quickly down the stairs to the hallway that would take me to the backstage door and outside as I hummed to block out the world around me, not wanting to know if anyone was calling out my name.
Head down, I was so focused on getting out of there before I totally lost it, that I rammed into a body. I nearly lost my balance, but firm hands came around my upper arms, steadying me.
I knew before even looking up (because I could identify them by scent, remember) that it was Max.
Damn. All I’d wanted was a clear path out.
“Nessa?” he asked, his hands not moving off my arms, which was probably a good thing. I definitely needed steadying. “You okay?”
Ugh, I was getting so tired of my own drama and that everyone got a turn to witness it.
“Yep, I’m good, I just need to...” my mouth hung open as the words ended abruptly. What did I need to do? Besides get away, of course. I mentally went through the day’s run sheet. Right. “I need to get back to the hotel.”
Which was as good an excuse as any. I slipped my phone out of my pocket and ignored the text coming in from my father to look at the time. “Emmie and the rest of the gang from back east should be landing soon and will be heading there, so...”
Max gave me a surveying look before he nodded and finally let me go. “The car’s out back. Kiki headed straight down to the green room to get wardrobe set up for later.”
I nodded like I cared where Kiki was at that moment and then squeezed past him toward the door.
“Nessa?�
� he called out just as I put my hand on the knob.
I looked over my shoulder, mentally begging him to hurry up because there was a good chance I was being followed and the point of running away is to not have to deal with who or what you’re running away from. “Yeah?”
“Dr. Carmichael’s in the hotel lobby. He said he was just going to hang out and catch up on email for the afternoon.”
I didn’t bother telling him I didn’t need a shrink because doing so would just slow me down. Also, I didn’t want to lie to Max when it was obvious he was just being a friend who could tell I was hurting.
I guess it takes one to know one.
I gave him a nod and hurried out of the building, cursing the blasted heat as I made my way toward the limo. It wasn’t until I was halfway to the car that I stopped in my tracks as it occurred to me that I should have told Max that Sandy was in the audience—a fact he’d want to know. For some reason, even though I knew it was too late, I looked over my shoulder back toward the door. Just in time to see Will through the heat waves rising off the asphalt, coming out after me.
I had suspected someone would come, but I figured it would be my father or maybe Sandy. Worst case: my mother.
But it made sense that Will would come. Sweet Will who always seemed to know exactly what I needed.
His head was cocked as he said my name.
My first instinct was to run back to him. I wanted nothing more than to let him wrap his arms around me so I could burrow into his chest. But for what? For him to comfort me just when he was getting ready to leave me?
No. My heart couldn’t take it. Life had been so much easier when my mother was dead and I was blissfully single with zero romantic prospects. Back then, my most complicated relationship was with the moody horse I rode back at Rosewood. Just the way I liked it.
It was time to distance myself. From Will. From my mother. From everything going on in my life since I’d left the school campus.
So with that in mind, I didn’t even allow myself to turn fully toward him, not wanting to meet his eyes, fearing if I did, I’d lose my resolve.
The Rosewoods Rock & Roll Box Set Page 77
