Merry Oblivion

by Cari Quinn

  He drew her up off the counter and into his arms. Legs, arms, mouth, nothing went untouched as they clashed together. He swallowed her screams, shared his own, and they blended into a perfect harmony.

  A song he’d been missing in the daily grind of life and the tour.

  The song of them, the scent of home.

  Harper.

  His Harper.

  He reached blindly for the wide-open cliff-edge and threw his head back as he came hard enough to lose sight of the fluorescent lights of the ceiling, the metal surroundings, even the sound of her heavy breathing. He collapsed against her as any energy he had was sucked out and infused into his wife.

  The nails she’d slashed into his skin slid into his hair to soothe. He didn’t know if was her shuddering or him. Maybe it was both. He was finally cognizant enough to realize how much he was leaning into her, but she closed her legs around his hips when he tried to back up.

  “Not yet,” she whispered against his neck.

  He folded his arms around her back and brought her flush against his chest. His cock pulsed lightly, still lodged inside her pussy. She shuddered against him and they held each other like that for a few minutes.

  He cupped the back of her head. “So, that happened.”

  “Yeah it did,” she said with a deep sigh. “Pretty sure it happened a few times.”

  He pressed his lips into her temple and slowly eased back.

  She winced. “I’m too old for—”

  He laid a finger over her mouth. “If you’re too old, then what am I?”

  “Ancient?” she said around his finger.

  He shifted his half-hard dick against her clit. “Oh yeah?”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “How are you still hard?”

  “Not so old, huh?”

  “Did you sneak into Simon’s stash of Viagra?”

  Deacon shook his head. “What does he need that for? Wait,” he held his hand up, “I don’t want to know.”

  She laughed. “Said it was awesome.”

  “I don’t need any help fucking.”

  She patted his shoulder. “Of course not.”

  He slid his hand around her backside between her cheeks and eased his middle finger past her pucker, pulsing inside her lightly. “Really?”

  Her blue eyes widened as he stuffed his cock deep into her pussy again. His body cooperated with him by sheer will. He was wrung out, but the look on her face, even from a joke—nope, not tonight.

  Maybe the bit of wild she’d showed him earlier had been infectious.

  He invaded her, loved her, owned her body.

  The quick trip from teasing to overcome was a welcome balm to his overworked brain. Between insane recording schedules, the tour, his family—someone always needed something from him.

  This?

  This was pure brain-emptying pleasure. This little space when she let go, and he allowed himself to bliss out and lose himself for a few moments. This was his peace.

  She was his peace.

  She always would be.

  Chapter 3

  “Where the hell were you?”

  Deacon lifted his sweaty hair from the nape of his neck. “Nice to see you too, Simon.”

  “You’re missing an epic show, dude.”

  “I caught the beginning. They’re killing it out there.”

  Simon jumped in place, cracking his neck. Some things never changed. He used to do that before every one of their shows. It had been a long time since Deacon had seen pure excitement on his friend’s face.

  For a long time, it had been replaced with wariness and nerves.

  None of that was showing tonight. Deacon almost rubbed his hands in glee. They’d set up their equipment behind the curtain to keep the time between shows to a minimum.

  For once, Deacon was glad. He usually liked to give the crowd a little break between opening and the main act, but Oblivion would feed off that energy. It was too good to waste.

  “You ready for this shit?”

  Simon shook out his fingers. “Fuck yes.”

  Warning Sign ran off the side stage to a flood of screams for an encore. Deacon slapped Michael’s back as he flew by him. Elle—or Ricki as he’d first known her—was bounding between West and Molly like an excited puppy. He’d never seen Nick’s sister so wound up about anything in his life.

  A far cry from the woman he’d known a few short years ago.

  Jazz raced over to West and they both did this hopping thing. If it was at all possible, West was even more wound up than Jazz as they babbled about the ball.

  She definitely wasn’t letting that go.

  Juliet, Margo’s sister, paced up and down the side stage as the crowd chanted. She seemed to be looking for someone.

  Margo launched herself at her sister and they both were laughing and…crying?

  Oh, fuck.

  No crying, man.

  Molly, the lead singer of Warning Sign, ran from each member of her band, corralling them all to the curtain. They made a wall of solidarity. Each of them staring out into the darkened crowd and swirling lights keeping the crowd stirred.

  Only Mal, their drummer, seemed at all reserved.

  God, had Oblivion ever been that young? Falling all over each other like puppies.

  Deacon glanced at Simon vibrating beside him. Okay, maybe there was still some of that youth locked inside them. For him, some of it may have been crowded out by responsibilities, but he couldn’t deny the urge to follow them out onto the stage and show them how it was done.

  Warning Sign was on the cusp of greatness. They were gelling more each time he saw them perform. But there were still kinks.

  Ones he was so glad were gone from Oblivion.

  Finally, Warning Sign poured back onto the stage and the lights blasted as bright as daylight. Deacon caught the starry shock of pleasure in Molly’s eyes before she stepped into the forefront of the stage and grabbed the crowd by the neck with her powerhouse voice.

  Three songs and an epic guitar solo from Elle brought the crowd into a frenzy.

  Simon mouthed a lot of the words as he bounced on his toes next to Deacon.

  The stage went dark and the roadies scattered onto the stage. Deacon almost stepped forward to help them. To get the equipment off the stage faster so they could get out there.

  He didn’t want to lose the energy. It was so hard to build sometimes.

  Less than ten minutes later, Jazz pushed by him to get onto the stage. Simon usually went last, but he was far too wound up to stay on the sidelines.

  Deacon laughed and finally spotted Nick. He clamped a hand onto his friend’s shoulder. “Good?”

  Nick nodded sagely, his eyes a little glassy as he stared out at the crowd. It didn’t matter that they’d played hundreds of shows. Nick always looked like a deer in headlights for a few minutes. Deacon frowned as Nick floundered a little longer than usual.

  Simon whipped the crowd into a fucking froth, and Nick was just staring out into the crowd, his brain somewhere else as he played. It wasn’t like his playing was bad. Nick wouldn’t allow that—ever. But it didn’t have the unquestionable passion he had most nights.

  Deacon glanced up at the huge carousel of Christmas images dancing across the screen. When he glanced back out to the crowd, Simon had leaned down and stole a Santa hat from someone in the front row as part of his extended opening greeting. Deacon gave an extra laugh as Simon got the audience even more amped.

  That was Simon’s specialty for sure.

  “We’ve got an old friend in the crowd tonight. Well, make that my buddy Nicky has an old friend in the crowd.” Simon swung his guitar Cherry behind his back and pointed to Nick.

  Deacon tipped his head to the side, his bass hanging from his neck as he tried to figure out where this was going. Simon paced across the stage and teased the crowd, riling them up good and proper before he hauled his guitar back around and ran back to the drum riser.

  Jazz stood up behind her kit and laughed at somet
hing he said off mic then slammed on the skins. She started a chanting string of na-na-nahs and Simon played the opening bars of an old Bon Jovi song.

  His husky voice filled the outdoor arena. It took a moment for the crowd to catch up, but “Born to Be My Baby” was one of those infectious songs you couldn’t help but remember.

  Nick floundered for a minute, but then laughed and clicked in. For the first time in a million years, Simon was playing lead guitar. It was crazy what songs stuck in his friend’s brain.

  It was easy enough to find the bass line in the song and Deacon joined in. The crowd was screaming back the lyrics in no time. They shot off from Bon Jovi into a cover of “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey.

  Jazz leaped off her kit to the keyboards and stood shoulder to shoulder with Margo as she added strings to the pianos. She raced back off to the drum kit and Simon leaped onto the scaffolding on the side of the stage to get the crowd to sing with him.

  It was a wild ride of fast songs and old favorites as the crowd reactions detoured the show into a greatest hits collaboration. They didn’t want to lose the crowd. Not when they were this out of control.

  Simon pushed for songs that would normally tax his voice, but he seemed stronger than ever. He hit notes Deacon hadn’t ever heard out of him. He relaxed into the show in a way Deacon had never seen. He owned the crowd, dragging the rest of the band with him on the wild ride as one hour, then two went by.

  Finally, Simon fell to his knees and slowed it down. The spotlight shown on his sweaty head and shirtless form. All of the guys had lost their shirts by mid-set. Jazz was down to a sports bra, shorts, and gloves. The only one who didn’t seem fazed by the heat was Margo, and even she had curls forming at her temples from exertion.

  Simon sat back on his feet, his chest heaving. Deacon started the bass line for “The Becoming” but Simon held a hand up.

  Not yet.

  The crowd surged at the well-known opening, screaming and booing when Simon struggled to his feet. “Not yet. We’re not ready to go yet. You don’t want that, right?”

  The fans screamed back their unwavering agreement.

  They roared through the set and ignored Lance as he made a signal to wrap it up. They were going well beyond the curfew tonight and none of them gave a good goddamn. Deacon saw it on their faces. The laughter between Jazz and Margo as she came up behind her to play. Nick and Gray invading each other’s space to outgun the other.

  There was no stopping this train.

  The house lights went down as they finished bleeding their way through “Return to Oblivion” their last hit single before their forced hiatus a couple of years ago.

  Screams followed them to the sidelines as Deacon dragged in lungfuls of oxygen. He didn’t think he had anything left to give. His jeans were soaked to his thighs and he’d lost his shirt long ago.

  Then he saw her.

  A halo of free-flowing blond hair tumbled over her shoulders. She’d swapped out her work clothes for a clingy Christmas red dress. Harper, his favorite part of the night. The fans and fame, screams and adulation had nothing on the love that poured out of this woman’s blue eyes.

  Before he could reach for her, he was being swept back onstage by Jazz and Gray with their effusive happiness and Simon’s unflappable drive to lead the band once more. Even Nick and Margo had dropped their guards. There was nothing but the camaraderie of his band right now.

  He took his place on the left of the stage and took in the chanting cries for Oblivion, a smattering of lights from flashbulbs, and the perfect star strewn sky of The Greek.

  Simon cupped his hands around the boxy microphone on his stand. “I want to try a new song. You guys cool with that?”

  The crowd surged like a wave. Deacon backed up and slapped his foot pedals. It hadn’t been on the setlist to play this song, but he knew where Simon was going.

  He swapped out his bass for an electric acoustic in the guitar stand behind him. Gray and Nick rushed to switch out guitars.

  Nick came back on stage with a double neck in a gleaming mahogany finish. The bottom was acoustic, with an electric on top. He strummed over the lower half of the guitar, and the sad tones floated out into the hushed crowd.

  “I need you get out those phones and lighters. Come on, everyone.” Simon’s voice was rough with emotion. The sea of darkness became little points of light everywhere.

  The song was a sad one. It was all of their struggles wrapped up in one shredding tangle of lyrics. Simon had written most of it with a little input from Nick and Gray. When they’d brought it to Deacon, he’d immediately connected with the lyrics.

  He’d stayed up for a dozen nights with Simon to get it down on his portable recording studio.

  It was the kind of song that would live on well beyond their time in the spotlight. The kind of song that had been waiting for them as a band.

  * * *

  She’s the mistress who never leaves

  She’s the solace in my loneliness

  The healing water of my sobriety

  My hope when I’m hanging by a thread

  * * *

  Even when she digs so deep there’s scars on my scars

  These chords are the light in my darkness

  She’s always there to lift me up

  My lifeline in a melody

  * * *

  Our song

  Your song

  She never falters

  Today, tomorrow, forever

  Our song

  * * *

  The guitars and strings were soaring and Simon’s voice was so full of emotion it reverberated around the outdoor arena and landed back on the stage. A moment in time that might never be duplicated.

  Simon swayed at the mic stand and gave Deacon the sign for the song. The one where it all began.

  The bass line that had lived in Deacon’s chest for years before he’d had the balls to let it out. The song that had changed everything. The long, slow build, the ache of past hurts gave way to the animal who’d been sleeping inside Simon.

  He prowled the stage and hit every fucking note.

  When the end approached, Simon skidded onto his knees in the center of the stage with Margo at his back, her bow sizzling across the strings. They were one. A unit on stage as his voice soared into the sky, not a crack or a falter.

  They all laughed and huddled into the center of the stage with Simon as the crowd went wild.

  Jazz burrowed under Deacon’s arm and wrapped her arm around Gray as they took their bows as the family they’d been destined to become.

  Simon gave him a side-eye then waggled his brows. He turned back to the crowd. “I’m not ready to be done, are you?”

  “Oh, shit.” Deacon looked over his shoulder. Lance was losing his mind on the sidelines.

  “I think we need a little help from our friends.” Simon strutted over to Nick. “What do you say?”

  Nick took his mic. “I need my sister. It’s fucking Christmas!”

  Simon stole it back. “Oh hell yeah. What do you say we bring Warning Sign back out here?”

  The crowd yelled back their resounding yes.

  Jazz bounced up and down. “Awesome!” She raced back to her kit as Mal came out with his arms crossed. She stretched out her arm to her kit. She turned back to the crowd. “You good with Mal taking over?” She staggered back at their shouts and screams.

  She offered him a pair of her sticks, but he shook his head and pulled out his own from his back pocket. She ran over to him and snatched her tambourine off the rack behind her kit then jumped down and motioned for him to take her spot.

  Malachi slapped the skins so hard they shuddered. “With a Little Help From My Friends” shook the stands.

  Molly strutted out on the stage and followed Simon’s lead. They one-upped each other as the stage was overrun with guitarists. Jazz shimmied through them, shaking her ass and her tambourine to get everyone laughing.

  Nick and Elle were shoulder to shoulder as the
y inserted a guitar duel into the song. Simon and Molly both gave mock-shocked faces as the guitars wound higher and higher until the outdoor arena thundered with clapping and shouts.

  Molly and Simon jumped in and tried to out-sing each other until everyone dissolved into laughter and hugs.

  Deacon slung an arm around Jazz’s shoulders and they all stopped playing to sing the end of the song with the crowd. The ageless song that even the most uncouth bastard could learn by the end.

  Mal kept the beat as the oohs and lyrics tumbled over each other at the end. They linked hands and did their bows.

  Deacon dragged Simon’s mic stand in front of him. “Merry Christmas, everyone.”

  The screens behind them turned to a snowfall with a lone tree in the center that came alive with lights and ornaments. Jazz plucked the microphone out of Simon’s stand and started a soulful rendition of “O Holy Night”.

  Deacon’s eyebrows soared. He knew Jazz could sing. She just never chose to. Molly’s eyes widened as she joined in the song with her sister. There was obvious meaning in the song choice.

  They complemented one another in a way that could never be rehearsed. The crowd quieted and the meaning of the words echoed into the night.

  They waved to everyone as the rest of the band members waved their thanks too.

  Jazz hugged her sister in the dark before gravitating back to Gray. Everyone was talking, laughing, and hugging as a bottle of champagne made the rounds even before they made it backstage.

  A table of food was waiting for them in the back and the two bands fell on it like hungry wolves.

  Except for Deacon.

  Harper stood on the side of the room in mile-high heeled boots and her little red dress.

  His woman.

  No food could fill the hunger raging inside him now.

  Chapter 4

  Harper’s heart raced as he crossed the room to her husband. There was something so animalistic about him after a show. Sweat beaded up on his shoulders, slicked over his chest, and his hair was drenched. His eyes held a bit of that triumphant wildness she longed to see whenever he looked at her.