Zenith's Promise (The Zenith Series Book 7)

by Leanne Davis

  “I can walk,” she hissed grumpily.

  Ross set her down and nudged her sleeping brother to make enough room for her. He flashed a small smile before disappearing upstairs.

  Jody was in the sofabed, clothed properly when three hours later, her brother stirred. She rolled over as JayJay sat up and asked her, “Do you think Ross has any Pop-Tarts?”

  She smiled as her half-awakened brain tried to guess where they were. JayJay was already getting on with his life. He didn’t lounge in bed. Once he awoke, that was it.

  “He does. But remember, only after eating your eggs.”

  She turned around, fully sitting up when Ross’s voice answered JayJay. He appeared in his kitchen, clothed in a casual t-shirt and jeans, looking so yummy she wanted to take him upstairs again. Why couldn’t she seem to get enough of him? Physically, conversationally, and… (sigh) all the other ways. His smile just now. Knowing he had Pop-Tarts. Why would he have them? She spotted a fresh grocery bag on the counter.

  “Did you go shopping?”

  “I had no food in the house.”

  He bought the Pop-Tarts for her brother. And the eggs? Yes. Ross was pulling stuff out of the bag, having shopped while she slept with no idea he’d even left.

  JayJay went up the stairs to the bathroom. Jody got up too. “You went out shopping just for us?”

  “For JayJay, mostly. I wondered if food could be an issue.”

  “He’s very picky, yes. And he likes following his routine. Staying here was different. He liked it though because of the gaming and you, as it turns out. He really seems to like you.”

  He smiled. “Well, at least one of the Lassiter siblings does.”

  She loved hearing Ross say that. Sometimes people assumed she and her parents had it all: riches, fame, satisfying work, expensive toys, and even Jody was successful, so yes, they tended to assume that their life was awesome, except, but, discounting, their autistic son, her brother.

  “Some don’t consider him an asset in mine or my parents’ lives.”

  “What do you mean?” Puzzled, Ross was grabbing a frying pan from the overhead rack.

  “Meaning, people talk about his autism, not JayJay.”

  “Well, he’s often nicer to me than you are. So my vote might go to him,” Ross said with a shrug and a wink to her. God help her if his hotness didn’t start causing freaking butterflies to flitter in her stomach. She walked around and set a hand on his arm. He glanced down as if she just stung him before looking into her face. Wrapping him in her arms, she rested her head on his chest and said, “Thank you.”

  She didn’t elaborate. He hesitated as he usually did when he was touched and set his hands on her shoulders. Her shoulders. She suppressed an internal laugh. He couldn’t quite figure out the intimate gestures to show affection so he squeezed her close, albeit awkwardly. “You know after breakfast, he’ll want to game.”

  He released her when JayJay opened the bathroom door. Turning so she couldn’t see his face, Ross replied, “Thank God. I have to win back my self respect…”

  When she stared at his back, something odd filtered through her: nerves, awareness, and dread. She feared she was in danger of falling for this one.

  Shit.

  A musician. For Zenith, no less. Sighing, she chose to ignore it and instead listened to JayJay when he announced he would like to have two Pop-Tarts today. Just for today.

  They went on dates without calling them dates. Ross and Jody saw each other several times, alternating at their places, having sex, movies, meals and never even trying to define it. No reason to ask why. They didn’t voice any reasons. But everything was there.

  All the while, Ross practiced for the upcoming show. Eventually, the Saturday night arrived. The concert was sold out. It happened every time Zenith played locally, which they did quite often to the delight of the loyal fans in the area. The reduced prices and local access combined to guarantee a huge draw.

  Ross got some media coverage as their temporary drummer. Some called for interviews, but Zenith’s public relations agent spun that and Ross preferred to stay far away from it all.

  When the day finally dawned, Ross didn’t sleep at all the entire night before. Luckily, JayJay was online, playing Shield’s Combat. He wasn’t supposed to be but he’d snuck out to the living room and played Ross much later than the time he was allowed. Ross didn’t intend to break the rules that night, but he’d needed the distraction and competition that JayJay offered him. It worked too, and kept him completely distracted from his ragged nerves.

  He might have slept two hours max.

  Now that he was up, Ross’s stomach roiled in knots and he tried to eat, but nothing appealed and he feared it would not stay down. He purposely avoided Jody’s calls. He fought the urge to go to her and completely pussy out, clinging to her and admitting all the things he knew he’d regret later. So no. He stayed home alone and online although it was probably not healthy, but it got him through.

  What the fuck is going on? Answer me.

  Jody texted the message. He smiled. Girl refused to be ignored or put off or blown off. A minute later. Last chance. You don’t answer me and I won’t come tonight and I’ll tell Rob to fire you…

  She just might have done it too. His smile at her threatening messages was the first he’d had in more than a day.

  He called her back.

  “Why the fuck are you ignoring me?”

  “Nerves.”

  “So you blow me off? That’s real mature. What did you do? Get drunk? Find some woman to take your mind off it?”

  “Actually, I played games with your brother all night. He wasn’t supposed to but he snuck out and did it.”

  She didn’t answer him at first. Her anger simmered down. “They know. They let him do it sometimes.”

  “Why did you accuse me of seeing another woman? I never did that.”

  “I was annoyed mostly. I do not deserve the radio silence. You were the one who asked me to come and support you. Or don’t you remember that? That’s the same night that led to us spending all this fucking time together and why I expect a freaking answer to my messages. Not only from the respect I deserve in my position as your liaison, but also as the woman you have frequently been—”

  “You’re right,” he interrupted her. When Jody got mad, she liked to throw out crude references to whatever body parts she felt like maligning: she wanted to refresh the images in his brain and remind him of all the places he’d touched, sucked, kissed or played with. And vice versa.

  “Of course, I am,” she huffed. “Why the silent treatment?”

  “I get weird. Remember how I used to piss you off? It was not so long ago. The old Ross was about to emerge. I was just sparing you.”

  She snorted. “Well, duh. Don’t do that anymore. Don’t censor what I can or can’t deal with. I don’t need your mercy. And here’s the other thing, control it. Don’t lash out at people who are helping you ultimately. So are you doing this thing today or not?”

  “Yes. I guess so. I’ve puked twice already. I feel like doing it again right now.”

  “I’ll pick you up in half an hour. Get showered and gorgeous.”

  “In half an hour?”

  “Be ready. Trust me.” She hung up and Ross stared at the silent phone. Recalling her orders, he hopped to. Sometimes, she annoyed him. Today, it was something to focus on besides his stage fright. He showered and put it out of his mind. He tried not to think about where he was going, or what he’d be doing in eight hours. He didn’t imagine all the things that could go wrong. He didn’t picture himself puking on stage and the mess that would make, fearing a viral video when a couple of thousand phones aimed at him would be recording it. He didn’t think about that… but the more he tried not to, the more it was happening. Stepping out of the shower, he puked his guts out again.

  Ross had no one to call. No parents or family or friends, and shady as hell, he was playing with Zenith. Zenith. Tonight. At a live performance
. With thousands of fans. He, Ross Karahan, was about to be in the spotlight of fame for a split second.

  The only people who cared he would be there were Jody and JayJay Lassiter. JayJay wished him good luck since he didn’t go to concerts. They were too loud and usually upset him. “But you’ll be great,” JayJay assured Ross. “Can you drum like you game?”

  “I sure can,” Ross answered over the headphones.

  “Then it’ll be awesome.”

  That’s all Ross kept inside his brain. JayJay’s words and his unflagging belief in him. His opinion meant more than anyone else’s. Even Rob’s.

  Ross felt better understood by JayJay than he did with most of humanity. He found that interesting. Being able to finally connect with someone else. It was nice to know he could still do that.

  Right?

  And Jody. But that was sexual, which made it more complicated and unpredictable.

  She knocked on the door and he answered. She came to see him play with his band. His band? Such a dizzying thought.

  She looked adorable in a new dress. Hair curled, it fell thick and heavy down her back. She looked like the most gorgeous groupie if ever there was one.

  In her car, Ross stared out the window vacantly. It was time to go to the venue. They needed to prepare for a sound check with all the equipment and gear. Zenith had an elaborate set-up crew and coordinator that worked all the venues for their concerts. Ross doubted any difficulties would come from something technical. More likely, from his freaking nerves.

  The place was enormous. Ross walked in the unglamorous door that he was instructed to use. His credentials were checked and then he was admitted to the backstage labyrinth.

  “Let’s go see the main stage. Might as well get it over with,” Jody suggested. Wisely. She knew what she was doing. His gaze looked all around. His tendency to downplay everything, including his own reactions, was eclipsed by the sheer unreality of the moment. His head swiveled this way and that. He tried to take it all in. The vastness. A ceiling high overhead with bars for lighting and endless gizmos for the different functions the center regularly hosted.

  Countless seats encircled an enormous, flat, central area, rising up in tiers all the way to the roof. The stage was beneath all the lighting gear and the giant speakers of the sound system. Ross all but downright gulped. God. Damn. Why did he bother to answer the ad by Zenith’s Promise? Why? How did his life culminate to this moment? This moment when he stared at the best set of drums he was now used to playing, at the center back of the stage, underneath the huge sign, Zenith?

  “It’s bigger than you’re used to, but you can do this. Your playing is that loud, that hard, that controlled, and that praiseworthy. I know Rob and Spencer. You would not be here right now or playing with them if you weren’t. They don’t usually pick younger musicians for the band, at least from my experience over the years. They like people in their thirties and above. You had something they heard that made them trust you. So, if they believe in you, you can trust yourself.” Her voice was behind him but she didn’t touch him. She gave him the space he needed. She was good at reading that.

  His skin prickled with anxiety.

  His heart beat faster and his head slammed his brain. He wished a pair of headphones could drown out his thoughts and his fears. An image of this giant arena filled with writhing bodies and the sheer volume of their voices just as amplified as the music flashed in his mind. “What if I were just meant to play in my garage forever?”

  “Do you have a garage? I actually don’t know very much about where you come from.”

  “No. I rented a room. They let me play in a decrepit shop out back. I used to have an old drum set from the seventies and I banged away on that. I sold it when I came here. It was about as far from this as a model airplane is from the Blue Angels.” She grinned at his comparison.

  “Yet here you are,” she said softly.

  They were interrupted when a group of people swept in. Checking the equipment and talking loudly, they were obviously the crews from the stadium and Zenith. In the back stood Rob and Spencer. Something calmed inside Ross and a little bit of confidence started to grow when Rob spotted him and waved. Then he and Spencer made a beeline towards him. Ross Karahan had Rob Williams’ attention and was in his sights just then. Yeah, it morphed from just being at home. He had to freaking accept that.

  “Ready?”

  “No. Feeling kinda sick.”

  Rob grinned and slapped his chest. “I was never afflicted with stage fright. I guess I didn’t know enough to be nervous. Always a cocky, little shit. But you got this, Ross. I wouldn’t put you up here if I doubted it. Too many years of building our reputation to risk it. So I know you got this.”

  Wow. Okay. Okay. Ross nodded. “What do we do now?”

  “Sound check? Practice? Remind yourself what you’re doing here.”

  Rob glanced past him and blinked with surprise. “Jody? I haven’t seen you at one of our shows in years.” He passed Ross and swept her up in a warm, loose hug.

  “Hey, Uncle Rob.” She hugged him back and he set her on her feet.

  “You could be your mom standing there. It’s disconcerting.”

  “Luckily for me, I’m not.” She smiled cheekily and he grunted with a smile.

  “You never could keep from mouthing off.”

  “Just like my daddy.”

  He nodded. “You’ve got your mom’s looks, but definitely the bearing of your father. Luckily, the end package is far more likeable. Be sure to tell him I said so.” Rob winked, taking the rancor out of the words. “But honestly, why are you here?”

  “Ross. He’s my charge for Zenith’s Promise. Just checking out my investment,” she said coolly.

  Rob gave her and Ross a long look.

  He knew, of course.

  They were not just working together. She wouldn’t be here if it were only that. But if she hadn’t brought him there, he wouldn’t have shown up so maybe today was more about work.

  “Well, then let’s do this. Your aunt is backstage if you want to visit her.”

  “Figured as much.” Jody gave him another smile and left Ross. Alone.

  In the massive, nearly empty stadium. Rob glanced his way. “Are you okay?”

  “Nerves are getting bad.”

  “Let’s undo those.”

  By rote, Ross followed Rob around the back of the stage through throngs of people. Ross ignored most of them as Rob was bombarded with questions, opinions, wants and asks. He handled the chaos and crowds well. Obviously from practice. Then they walked out and Ross sat at the drum set, lifting his gaze beyond. Wow. Surreal. Strange. The lights were mostly blacked out in the auditorium.

  Rob turned and instructed him and Spencer to start and they did. With a crash of drums, Ross began… and then it all came from him. Their playing flowed as smooth as honey. And Rob was so right: Ross forgot himself and played as natural and usual as they practiced.

  After a few songs, they stopped. Rob smiled and something warm filled Ross, making him very satisfied.

  Rob nodded to him as they met at the side of the stage, now filling up with people finding their seats. “You did it. I knew you had it somewhere inside all along.” The pride in his voice for Ross made something weird bloom in Ross’s gut. What did he care if some old singer was proud of him? He wouldn’t do this stint for that. No. He did it for money. And the hope of a career. For fame. For fucking fame. He hoped to be doing it long after the old guys here took a back seat to him and retired.

  That’s what he was doing. Not seeking praise from the elderly. God damn. If his face didn’t heat up and what? No. He turned to wipe the sweat off his head with his shirt and hide his blush.

  From there it was chaotic frenzy and confusion. They were taken to dressing rooms. Makeup and shit was applied for the stage. He hated that part. The outfits were too much. Just jeans for him.

  And the whole building felt like it was shaking from the crowd now. The opening band wa
s playing and the screaming, chanting, and stomping were overwhelming. Jesus. Ross’s stomach was in sync with all the cacophony. He stayed in a corner of a dressing room. Keeping to himself. Not talking to anyone. Shunning anyone who tried to speak. Only when they called his name did he finally react. He kept his brain as far from engaging as possible, trying to return to the safe sanctuary of apathy. The moments when his mother spewed out a rambling, long litany of reasons for her unforgiving hatred of him. When she got drunk and told him he should drop dead. Go die. Be gone. That place was the place he sought now. That level of mental absence where he could hide inside forever. He could, too.

  But then a hand slipped into his. Grasping his hand in her small hand, the tiny woman who was also the brightest and sharpest and biggest personality he ever encountered, pulled him from the place where he tried to desperately hide. “Ross?” She looked up at him and her other hand made him lean down. He did. Expecting to hear her say good luck, he was surprised when she said, “Later, I’m going to need this hand,” she lifted it up and continued, “because I’m going to…”

  His eyes rounded at the dirty thoughts, images and actions she filled his head with. Then. He lifted up and his freaking body heat rose from everything she said. Then she smiled sweetly. Sweetly. As if she were just being innocent and supportive. What the…?

  “Now, I wish you good luck.”

  He forgot to be nervous as he stumbled away from her, half horny and turned on and imagining all kinds of wonderfully dirty things. He was on the stairs, walking, and the sea of faces filled the space around him. Noises capitulated to his thoughts of her and he smiled. She deliberately dirtied his mind to keep him on track. He didn’t puke. She was good.

  The best.

  He entered the stage. Staring at his drum stool, he almost dived onto it. Turning with a deep breath, he faced the audience. The noise and lights were bright and overwhelming. But the cheering was all for one band, Zenith.

  For now, it was his band. He had complete control of this critical moment. One tap of his drumstick on the cymbal started the first song. At that moment, the heady sensation of having the spotlight zeroed in on him was euphoric. Indescribable. Perfectly satisfying. And suddenly, his nerves vanished and Ross became a fucking god up there, providing the entire screaming crowd with the one thing no one else could offer. He slammed his stick down… and there it went.