We’d all entered this thing a little guarded, since it was for TV. But we were hopeful, too. Excited and optimistic about the talent we might discover. And there had been many talented guitarists who’d played for us. Some incredible stories from people who’d traveled halfway around the world to be here.
But no one who’d rocked all our socks off.
Everyone in the band was stressed out by now, frustrated over the failure to find a replacement for Seth, and it was coming out in tension between us.
The guys had continued bickering, but I’d managed to kinda tune them out. “American Woman” had just kicked in, and I’d started to zone right out to it when the music stopped and a voice said, “We’ve got one more.” It was Liv, over the sound system, like the voice of God.
Zane picked up his mic; it was still on. “Is she hot?” he asked into the ether.
Brody walked over, took Zane’s mic from him and spoke into it. “We’re done here.”
“Trust me,” Liv said, with her dry-as-hell tone. “You wanna hear this one.”
Zane’s blue eyes met mine and his pierced eyebrow went up; I could see the spark of interest in them. He mouthed, What the fuck? at me, but I just shrugged.
Next to me, Jesse dropped his head back on his chair, his dark curls spilling over the back; his hair was getting long. It looked good on him.
I looked away. We’d been broken up for well over a year, and it was still hard, most of the time, to look at him for more than a few seconds.
On my other side, I could feel Dylan’s inaudible sigh. His boots tapped a restless rhythm on the floor, his knees bouncing up and down, and it wasn’t just because the man had drums constantly playing in his head. I knew he was dying to get the fuck out of here, but he didn’t say anything.
Zane took the mic back from Brody and told him, “Sit your ass down, boss. I wanna hear this hot chick play.”
I rolled my eyes. We’d had every age, gender and body type play for us, but in Zane’s mind, they were all hot chicks. Until the screen swept aside and revealed that they weren’t.
Liv’s crew had discreetly materialized from the shadows and was firing up their equipment. I could see her Director of Photography, ready for action, and operators at all the cameras. Liv herself had reappeared and took her place at the row of monitors next to the DOP.
This had to be good, I supposed, or she wouldn’t have sent her guys back to work when they’d already headed out to eat before tearing down.
Brody faded back to his post by the wall, and Dylan managed to drag himself to a more-or-less upright position.
All the stage lights that had been dimmed lit up, and the house band got into place. Ash was at his mic, sleek and sexy in his tight black jeans and Ramones T-shirt, his black hair artfully mussed and his piercings sparking in the light. He had new ink on his arm; a white-blonde mermaid that he swore up and down had nothing to do with me.
When he looked at me, he licked his lip deliberately, his eyes holding on me too long, and I bristled a little. He was getting a little too familiar lately, and flirty, in front of my band. And now there were cameras on him, too.
No way Liv was gonna miss that lick.
The lights beyond the screen went up, and there was the mysterious blur that was our next, and last, audition.
At least I fucking hoped it was the last.
Liv cued the band as soon as we were rolling, and they kicked into a song. It was “Stone Cold Crazy.” And it was loud. Fast and tight, especially given the fact that the band probably hadn’t rehearsed it together lately—or at all.
But these guys were pros.
Impressively, our mystery guitarist held his, or her, own.
Within seconds, Zane was on his feet. Even Jesse twitched a little in his seat, leaning forward. He closed his eyes and listened.
The guitarist was good. Really good. Somehow, he or she was trading off solo riffs with Raf, without even being able to see him. You could just feel everyone—us, the band onstage, even the crew and security guys who were standing around watching from the shadows—getting sucked up into the vibe.
Toward the end, Zane leapt up onstage and started singing with Ash. The two of them totally slayed the end of the song, and when it finished, Zane crushed Ash in a big man hug, laughing. “Hells yeah,” he growled into the mic. “Nailed it.”
“Booooo,” Jesse taunted.
“Sit your ass down!” I called out. I knew from where he was standing Zane couldn’t see behind the screen, but it was probably killing him not to go barreling back there and see who it was.
He hopped down from the stage, swaggered on over, high-fived Dylan, and dropped back into his seat.
“So at least we’re sure Zane’s in the band,” I said dryly.
“Like what you heard, Elle?” Zane asked, panting from the exertion of his performance. He was gleaming with sweat as he swiped his blond hair out of his eye; Zane went straight to eleven anytime he took a stage.
And, yeah. Obviously I liked it. We all did.
We all just kinda stared at each other. Zane grinned, but no one said a thing. Pretty sure at this point we were communicating telepathically. It happened, now and then, after playing and creating and touring together for so long.
Synchronicity.
We’d all liked this one. Even Jesse didn’t have a critical word to say. Yet.
Shit… Had we just found our guy at the eleventh hour?
“Remind you of anyone?” Woo put in. Our record producer, on the other side of Zane, had been sitting back, pretty quiet most of the time, laughing more than talking. His name was David Worster, but everyone since the beginning of time had called him Woo. He’d been like a fifth member of our band in the recording studio, even playing some guitar on certain songs when we needed it over the years. He’d been with us since the beginning, and we’d recorded three of our four albums with him—our best albums. So his voice, when he used it, carried weight.
“Shit, yeah,” Zane said, breaking the loaded silence. “Reminds me of Seth.”
No one else seemed to want to say it.
“So, now may be a good time to ask yourselves,” Woo said. “Do you want a Seth Brothers fanboy?”
“Could be a fanwoman,” I said. Why did they always just assume the best guitarists were guys?
“Could be,” Woo agreed.
“It’s a dude,” Zane said. “He’s got broad shoulders.”
“You can’t see shit through that screen,” Jesse pointed out.
“And maybe she has broad shoulders,” I said.
“And who the fuck cares if he’s a fanboy?” Zane added. “He’s hired.”
“He’s as good as Seth,” I agreed, “why wouldn’t we want him? Or her?”
“Unless he’s fugly or something,” Zane amended, “he’s hired.
“Whoever he is, he’s good,” Jesse said mildly. He’d been mild about this whole process, reserving his enthusiasm. Maybe because he was our lead guitarist, Jesse had been the hardest one to win over.
But this guy—or girl—was good.
Better than good.
Dylan still had his jaw on the floor, so I gave him a jab. “Pick it up, baby, you’re drawing flies.”
“Say something!” Zane produced a drumstick out of nowhere and threw it at him.
Dylan caught the drumstick without even looking. He shut his mouth, slowly. Then he said, “Think I’m having a ‘Devil Went Down to Georgia’ moment.”
Zane whooped with laughter, elated.
“You have any questions for our mystery guitarist?” Liv prompted us. She was holding a mic of her own. She hadn’t appeared on-camera, but she spoke to us sometimes, prompting our conversations. “You know he can hear you right now.”
“Yeah,” Zane growled into his mic, addressing the guitarist. “Dylan wants to know if you sold your soul to the devil, or what?”
“Not that I recall,” a male voice said.
And we all went still.
Be
cause we all knew that voice.
I knew, when I looked around at my band, that we all recognized it. We all heard him.
Liv gave the cue for the screen to move, and as it slid aside, we all saw him, too.
Seth Brothers.
My heart skipped a beat.
Chapter Four
Elle
Seth stood onstage with a white Gibson Les Paul slung over his shoulders, one hand resting on the guitar neck, the other one twiddling with his pick.
He looked… different.
He had a short beard, but I’d seen him with a beard earlier this year. It was his hair; it took me a moment to realize it. His trademark wavy, sun-bleached brown hair had been chopped off, and what was left behind was darker. I’d never seen Seth with short hair. It made his handsome features more prominent, especially his cheekbones and full lips. He was wearing mirrored aviator sunglasses, and I could not read the expression on his face, but his shoulders looked loose; you couldn’t play guitar like that if you were a ball of nerves.
I watched as he took off his sunglasses and slipped them onto the neckline of his T-shirt. Then he looked out at us, waiting.
And it struck me when I saw the look in his eyes: he still wanted us.
And I could not get over the shock of it.
He still wanted to play with us. He still wanted to be in the band.
He’d just come to audition for us, and for some reason, someone had let him in and let him audition.
And all I could think as I stared at him was: Why?
But even through the shock of it, I felt… relieved?
Confused, yes.
And angry.
I felt a whole torrent of unpleasant emotions broiling to the surface.
I looked around at the guys; Brody and Jesse were definitely angry.
Leave it to Zane, though, to look fucking thrilled.
Dylan just looked uncomfortable, like he had throughout the entire Seth ordeal.
It was the look on Jesse’s face, though, that bothered me the most. “Jesse?” I asked quietly. I did not say it into my mic; I had the thing gripped in my lap.
Jesse just stared at Seth and said, “Get him out of here.” He didn’t raise his mic, either. But it was all Brody needed to hear.
I didn’t even want to look at Brody’s face. One glance was enough.
I heard him coming, storming over. “Where the fuck is Jude?” Jude was standing back against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, where he’d been listening to everything. When Brody saw him there, he growled, “Get him off the fucking property.”
Jude nodded his dark head at Brody, then looked at the rest of us. At Jesse. When none of us spoke, Jude’s shoulders dropped a bit. He uncrossed his arms and headed up the stairs to the stage. Seth didn’t even look at him. He was still looking at us.
His eyes locked with mine, and my stomach clenched.
He was a good distance from me, but something changed in his eyes as he looked at me. As he scanned the expression on my face, processing it. I saw it; I felt it, as he looked back at me. Something there, some kind of spark, the adrenalin of rocking out that song… a gleam of something, maybe—hope?—snuffed out.
“It’s okay,” he said, clearing his throat a little and finally looking at Jude. “I’ll go.”
Then I had to look away. I couldn’t watch. I did not want to see Jude manhandling him out of here, though I doubted Seth would put up any kind of physical fight if he did. It just wasn’t his style.
I felt sick.
I heard them leave, Seth and Jude, through a rear door off the stage. The door shut, loud in the silence of the cavernous room.
“The prodigal son returns…”
It was Woo who broke the jagged silence. No one else seemed able to speak.
But Woo was the only one sitting here who didn’t know why Seth was kicked out of the band this year—what happened between Seth and Jesse’s sister, Jessa, years ago. What Brody said had happened.
“Whoever you choose,” Woo went on, quietly, when no one spoke up, “they’ve got to be on level with the four of you. They’ve got to be a rock star if they’re gonna hold permanent residence in this band. They’ve gotta have that thing you’ve all got. That thing you just saw up onstage. That thing you felt when Seth played. Seth Brothers has that thing.” He paused, looking at each of us, then sighed in resignation when we still didn’t speak. “Just too bad his star burned out so soon,” he finished.
And that was when Brody said, “We need to stop filming.”
So they stopped.
Jude had reappeared, and on Brody’s orders, he and his guys cleared absolutely everyone out of the bar—leaving no one but Dirty, Brody and Maggie.
When we were alone, I said, “You know everyone’s going to think we set that up.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jesse said. “It’s not going in the show anyway. Seth’s not part of this.”
“No,” Brody said. “But we should keep it. It’s gotta be addressed somehow, and now Woo has done that for us, so the rest of you don’t have to. Seth had his audition; he didn’t make the cut. This is closure for the fans. He’s never coming back. ”
“Or we could just give him a chance,” Zane said.
Brody’s reaction was almost painful to watch. He stiffened, his jaw turned to granite, and I didn’t think I’d ever seen him look at Zane like that—like he wanted to bitch slap the words right out of his mouth.
“Does anyone actually want Seth here?” Brody ground out, in a tight, scary-low voice. I’d only heard him take that tone once before, many years ago; when he’d informed us that Jessa wasn’t coming on the first world tour, that she was leaving the band. Unforgettable, since it sent shivers down my spine, just like it did now.
“No. Fucking. Way.” Jesse was first to speak up.
“So it’s just up to you?” Zane said.
“No.” Jesse didn’t sound quite as livid as Brody, but he was definitely reigning back his agitation. “We’ve always operated democratically. If you want to formally vote him out, we will.”
“No,” I corrected Jesse, “we’ve always operated unanimously.”
“She’s right.” Dylan backed me up, which he often did when the other two were getting out of hand. “We’re all in or it’s not happening.”
“Who the hell is in, other than Zane?” Jesse looked around at us with dark, accusing eyes. I wanted to sink into my seat and disappear, but I stayed right where I was. It always made me uncomfortable when Jesse was mad at me, but I’d just have to deal with it; I was uncomfortable around him anyway.
“I didn’t say I’m in,” Zane said cooly. “I just said maybe—”
“I’m in,” I said.
I wasn’t sure exactly why I said it, other than the fact that I couldn’t quite stomach this particular ending to Seth’s story. I didn’t like the first ending, or the second one, but I’d accepted them. Just barely.
But both of those times, Seth had accepted them, too.
At least, I thought he did.
If that wasn’t true… the least we could do was listen to whatever he had to say.
The guys all turned to look at me. Brody, Jesse, Zane and Dylan. Jesse’s jaw flexed as he ground his teeth; he wasn’t happy about what I was about to say. But I was going to say it anyway.
“I’m in… for having the conversation.”
“Me too,” Zane said. No hesitation. I couldn’t really tell, though, if he was just “in” to irritate Jesse or if he really wanted Seth here.
Either way, the response was not good. Jesse glared at Zane like he was seriously considering throttling him. Brody turned and walked out.
He walked out.
Brody had never walked out on the band before. It was just a fucking conversation. Brody was our manager, and we counted on him for guidance.
But we all knew, when it came to anything to do with Jessa, Brody could be far less than reasonable.
“Anger management,” Maggi
e said softly in his wake, in the strained silence. “He’s… uh… working on it.” She was sitting off to the side, quietly, listening to all of this, iPad gripped in her lap. Her knuckles looked painfully white.
So maybe she’d had something to do with Seth getting in here? If so, she was probably shitting herself right now.
Poor girl.
Zane kicked Dylan’s boot. “Say something, man.”
“I don’t know.” Dylan looked as exhausted as he sounded. “The guy almost tore us apart before. If it’s already happening again, just over a conversation…”
“Seth Brothers is not tearing us apart,” Jesse said firmly. “We’re together on this. Aren’t we?”
“Brody just walked out,” Zane pointed out. He was poking the bear, probably still annoyed that Jesse wasn’t seeing eye-to-eye with him about that teen guitar wiz.
“So you’re gonna lose him to get Seth back?” Jesse accused Zane—and me. His dark gaze slammed into mine again.
“No one said that,” Zane said, lounging back in his seat. The more pissed off Jesse got, the cooler Zane would get. It was a recipe for a fucking disaster. “And we’re not losing Brody.”
“You bring Seth back in here,” Jesse retorted, “and we sure as fuck are.”
“Brody will cool off.” That was Maggie. She got to her feet. “And this doesn’t have to be decided today. If there’s a dialogue to be had about Seth—”
“If any of you actually think I’m ever getting in the same room with Seth Brothers again without talking to my sister first,” Jesse said, steam-rolling right over Maggie, “you’re dead fucking wrong. She should be here for this conversation.”
This time, when he glared at me, I agreed, “Yes, she should.”
Jesse stared at me for a beat, like maybe he’d expected me to argue. Then he got up and stalked out. As he went, his jeans brushed against mine, and I caught a whiff of his scent. Leather and cinnamon and gorgeous man, along with something that was vaguely Katie; sweet and vanilla.
Dirty Like Seth: A Dirty Rockstar Romance (Dirty, Book 3) Page 4
