Consumed

by Taryn Elliott

  Once the elevator opened again, she hustled him across the parking garage. He held his hands up in question. Lila pointed to the half dozen people headed their way.

  Well, shit.

  She grabbed his arm and hauled him over to a black Escalade. Well, that wasn’t too showy or anything. No wonder everyone was after them. Of course they were outside of Los Angeles. Not like everyone and their driver didn’t have one.

  The driver hopped out and opened the door. The half dozen turned into two dozen and Simon actually had to sprint to the SUV. The door was barely shut and three bodies hit the side of the car.

  Microphones and cameras banged against window and flashbulbs tried to penetrate the tinted glass.

  “Don’t run over any toes, Jeremy.”

  “Of course not, sir.”

  Simon whipped around at Donovan Lewis’s voice.

  Donovan inclined his head. “I’m glad to see you up and around again, Simon. And since you’re a captive audience at the moment, I thought I could talk on the way over.”

  Well, fuck.

  That didn’t sound good. He began to cross his arms, but forced himself to keep them at his sides. He wasn’t going to be defensive about this. Donovan was a businessman. This wasn’t personal.

  But Christ, it felt personal. Again, he had someone else controlling his life. Not that there was a difference between this and a tour, but with the tour at least he could give something back. He put asses in seats and made people buy tickets.

  Silence was his only gift now and he wasn’t good at quiet. At all.

  Simon shrugged and shoved his shades up on top of his head. He met the intelligent dark blue eyes of their benefactor.

  “I didn’t want you to be surprised and overwhelmed when we sit down with the rest of the band. We’re on our way to meet everyone at the house.” He picked up the tablet and stylus beside him. “This is for you. Markers will get tedious.”

  Simon accepted the electronics. Touched his lips and pulled his hand away in an automatic thank you gesture. Lila had given them a packet with a few universal gestures in it for when they were cornered by people that didn’t speak English.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Evidently, Lewis had learned the same gestures. Of course he probably was fluent in sign language. Mr. Perfect did everything else.

  Donovan clasped his hands loosely. “Now, first of all—whatever you need for coaches, doctors, or therapists are at your disposal. We want you on the road to recovery as soon as possible. That being said, I understand it’s going to be a process to get you back in singing shape.”

  Simon scribbled the ominous number that the doc had given him and flipped it around.

  “Yes. So I’ve been advised.”

  What the hell was he supposed to to do with himself for six damn months? He didn’t even know how he was going to make it a week.

  “I didn’t want you to be surprised at the band meeting. Lila has been figuring out how to tell the rest of the band, but I don’t want this to impact your recovery.”

  Simon folded his arms over his chest. His shoulders felt like frozen blocks and there had to be a concrete slab on his chest. Fuck. Was it hot in the SUV?

  Tell them what?

  What a colossal fuckup he was?

  He already knew. If he’d just kept his mouth shut. Just swallowed down that need to show off onstage. Was he such an asshole that his ego couldn’t handle Gray singing for him?

  Yes.

  Obviously yes. He’d opened his mouth, hadn’t he? Even though he’d known that he shouldn’t have. The rules didn’t apply to him. Rules never applied to him. It was how he’d gotten out of the hovels of Carson and into Los Angeles. Breaking those rules had gotten him noticed on the boardwalk and helped transition onto the stage.

  He didn’t know how not to break rules.

  “Oblivion had five shows left on this leg of the tour. Thankfully, we hadn’t started selling tickets for the second leg. We weren’t sure how fast to proceed with Jasmine and the baby.”

  The slab got heavier.

  Hadn’t Lila said something about reneging on shows?

  This had to be extenuating circumstances. When he was fourteen, he’d had tickets for Jet and it had been cancelled for some reason or another. He’d just gotten his money back.

  Surely they didn’t get paid in advance for the show. Just based on the show itself. This wasn’t a flu or an Axl Rose tantrum. There had to be a clause about voice issues or something crazy.

  Death of a family member.

  Death to his voice should count, shouldn’t it?

  “Okay, dial it back. I can see the wheels spinning. Lila has told you guys about what happens if you don’t make a show.”

  Simon scribbled on his tablet and showed him.

  “Right. Refunds. The problem is that three of the venues are making noise that they are going to bring suit.” He held up his hand.

  Crap, was the guy a damn mind reader, too? Tycoon dude didn’t know what he was thinking. How could he? The fear and loathing of having music stuck in your damaged throat wasn’t exactly something just anyone could empathize with.

  The one job he had in this band.

  And he couldn’t fucking keep it together for one full goddamn year. How was he supposed to make a career out of this? Was he really washed up at twenty-five goddamn years old?

  “I don’t want you to stress about the suits. We need you to heal up and then we’ll work on getting you back on the stage.”

  Simon scribbled a question on his tablet. Just how much money were they talking?

  Donovan read it and met his gaze. “One hundred thousand per venue.”

  Simon tipped his head back. Well, there were worse things. With the amount of money they’d each gotten as a bonus, that was easy enough to deal with.

  “One point five million isn’t anything to sneeze at, but it could have been far worse.”

  Simon’s head snapped forward. He held his hand up, scribbled then raised his tablet.

  “Yes, I said one hundred thousand. That’s each of you, Simon.”

  Holy fuck.

  Five hundred thousand a venue? Was he fucking serious?

  “Lila can show you a breakdown of what you guys earn from each of the larger venues, but suffice it to say, it’s good that they are only asking for five hundred grand each.”

  The oddly silent Lila tapped on her phone and his phone vibrated. He opened his phone and the spreadsheet that came through his email was endless. Checks and balances didn’t even cover it.

  There were lines and lines of things that needed to be covered for each tour date. Payments made to the crew, the management, even covering the cost of a damn ticket. All of it was factored into the revenue they brought in with ticket sales and merchandise.

  All of it was staggering.

  And his busted voice had taken the whole thing down like the Hulk smashed a building.

  Not to mention the fans that he’d let down.

  He scrubbed his hands over his face.

  “I didn’t show you that to make you feel bad, Simon. I just need you to understand why this isn’t a small matter.”

  I’ll pay it back.

  Donovan read the tablet. “That’s not what I’m looking for. Every business venture is a risk. Oblivion has paid that dividend again and again. This is just a bump in the road. I need to you realize that.”

  Simon gave a silent, “ha.”

  “People in the industry told me to run for the hills when I mentioned just how excited I was to work with your band.”

  Why didn’t you?

  “Because I saw a band exactly like mine when I used to play in London.”

  Simon’s eyes widened. He was trying to picture Donovan at the mic, or with an instrument. The suave dude just didn’t fit in any of the scenarios in his head.

  Donovan’s lips quirked. “In the end, I wasn’t talented enough to make it, but I’ve loved music ever since. And now I get to be pa
rt of the growth of a band and use some of my money to make dreams come true.”

  Sounds like a bullshit line to get laid to me.

  Donovan roared out a laugh and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Oh, Simon. One of the best things about you, and Nick for that matter, is the lack of bullshit. Yeah, I’ve said that line a few times—not to get laid—but to people who want to get in on the ground floor of Ripper Records.”

  Simon gave him a bland stare.

  “I don’t need to tell you that story, because you lived the story. You’re hungry. And the only people that will ever go the distance in this business are the hungry ones.”

  Simon lifted an eyebrow in challenge. There were plenty of talentless hacks that made it because of a right-time-right-place scenario. Hell, that’s how they’d started out.

  “One-hit-wonders can only ride the wave for so long. If that’s all Oblivion was, you’d have been over before the ink dried on your papers with us.”

  Simon fisted his hands under his arms. And what now? They were going to lose every ounce of momentum they’d had. Oh, and couldn’t forget the shot to the bank account that was a very definite possibility.

  “I can only imagine what’s going on in your head, but put that aside. We need you to focus on recovery, not the logistics of lawsuits and schedules.”

  Lila was suspiciously silent. That was the part that made him nervous. Donovan was a spin guy. For all intents and purposes, he was a salesman. He convinced schmucks to give him money all the damn time. The fact that Lila wasn’t chiming in with the company line was a helluva lot louder than her bossman’s spin.

  For the rest of the ride, Donovan talked about the reviews for the shows and the revenue they had pulled in for the two months they had been touring. Right now they were set. The money they’d brought in far exceeded what they were hemorrhaging out.

  Except for those fines that may or may not happen.

  By the time they’d pulled up to the Hollywood Hills house, his gut was still knotted but he didn’t quite feel strangled by it any longer. He got out of the truck before the driver could come around and open his door. He was sick and tired of people in his face.

  The house was normal. He hadn’t seen it in months. In fact, he’d been counting down the days to actually seeing his bed. And maybe talking Margo into spending some time in it.

  Ever since the bus things had been different. Before he could get a handle on what was really going between them—how to deal with the aftermath of actually spitting out, “I love you” to someone and shocking them into silence—he had to deal with this mess. And he really wasn’t sure what to do. According to Donovan, they were fine monetarily, at least for now.

  That was just as shocking as the love thing.

  He’d never not struggled. Even when they’d had the Los Angeles apartment, it hadn’t really been theirs. He’d had some pocket money, but nothing with as many zeroes as his current accounts.

  That didn’t even feel real.

  But at least it was a buffer. Right now that was all he could focus on. They’d been prepared to go on hiatus for a few months, but not to have him completely out of commission. He figured he’d keep busy with Nick. Do a few one-off shows that would keep them in the public eye while the baby makers were doing their thing.

  Now what?

  He got to the front door and couldn’t quite put his hand on the doorknob. Walking in there was suddenly bigger than he could handle. Would it be better to just disappear? Head out and lose himself for a month?

  Just buy a car and drive away? Even away from Margo?

  He curled his fingers into his palm but the door opened up anyway. Pix was standing in front of him. Her ridiculous overalls covering an eye searing green T-shirt that said Yes, I’m knocked up.

  Simon couldn’t stop the laugh as he ogled her rather huge breasts. Jeez. Pregnancy certainly enhanced the boobage.

  “Quit staring at my tits, Super Slut.”

  He smiled for the first time that day. How could he not? The outrage in her voice was exactly what he needed. She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and dragged him inside then went around to his back and pushed him through the foyer into the living room.

  “Everyone get down here!”

  Simon winced at her bellow. And because he didn’t have a choice but to follow the directive of the Greenasaurus Rex preggo lady, he landed on the couch. He pulled one of the half dozen throw pillows that were scattered over the huge brown couch in front of him and wrapped his arms around it.

  It was better than picking at his cuticles.

  Nick came bounding down the stairs with an ancient yellow towel around his neck, his hair still dripping from a shower. A fucking millionaire and he still kept the towels from the laundromat. That was Nicky. Never throw a damn thing away.

  Harper came out of the kitchen with Deacon trying to take a tray away from her.

  “Lawless, could you just let me—”

  “If you don’t back off, you’re going to lose an inch off an appendage,” Harper snarled.

  “Deak, you can’t handle a three-inch dick. Back up, bud.”

  “Fuck off, Nick.”

  Nick smirked and rubbed at his hair. “What, you couldn’t wait for me to come pick up your sorry ass?” he asked Simon.

  Simon waved at the doorway. Lila and Donovan had followed him in.

  A ball of orange and blond fur came racing down the stairs after Nick. Simon grinned as his cat jumped on the windowsill and stared at him with her huge golden eyes. She twitched her tail and wound it around her front paws.

  She was pissed at him for leaving her alone so long. He always won her over though. He dropped his hand arm down the side of the couch and made little c’mere gestures.

  She just swished her tail.

  “Oh. Nice to see you, Donovan,” Nick said. He lost all inflection and his smile fell away as he closed off.

  Simon sighed and scrunched down on the couch. Here we go.

  “We thought we’d bring Simon home,” Lila said. She stood in the middle of their relatively large family room. Her red heels sunk into the plush carpeting. Even on a simple house call, she was dressed to the nines. Royal blue power suit with one, fat red button emphasizing the cinched-in jacket and her epic curves.

  Lila Shawcross was stupid hot. The kind of hot that actually subtracted IQ points from half the men that came in her sphere. Not him. She was probably one of the few women that he hadn’t wanted to bang. Not because she wasn’t hot—because, duh—but because she was too inside her head.

  He didn’t need that kind of challenge. Not after his first encounter with Margo. She was more puzzle than he was prepared for, and he didn’t need another woman with that kind of work. Besides, he was fairly certain Nick was into her and he valued his friendship—and his nuts—too much to even contemplate poaching…even if Nick was clueless about his thing for their manager.

  And now the shit was going to hit the fan and he didn’t have a thing to say about it. In fact, there wasn’t a thing he could do about it either.

  Harper set the tray next to him. “You’re probably starving. All of this is on the approved list.”

  Cheeseburgers and fries, probably not on the list just yet. He took her little cup of cottage cheese and thinly sliced melon. All perfectly healthy.

  All perfectly bland.

  More bland.

  He lived for bland. It was what he’d been eating for the last day and a half. When his throat wasn’t on fire anyway. Or feeling like he was swallowing pieces that were trying to heal—God, he didn’t want to think about it.

  Pieces of his career?

  Pieces of his future?

  Yeah, that was going to help. Nope. Positive thinking. He loved cottage cheese—said no one ever. He picked at the cup with the little dessert spoon. He really didn’t want to look like a bitch about it, but for fuck’s sake how was a man supposed to live on fruit and cottage cheese?

  He wanted a damn slab of meat the
size of his hand.

  George leaped onto the arm of the couch and bumped his arm. He scooped up a tiny bit of cottage cheese and held the spoon up to the cat. She lapped at it daintily then made a cute little face and tried to get the cheese off her tongue.

  Yeah, you don’t like it either, huh?

  He set the cup aside and curled the cat into his chest and under his chin. He so didn’t want to watch the rest of his band react to the news that he’d been given. But he was stuck in this shitty silence he had to live in.

  Running for the border was looking better every minute.

  Donovan stepped up beside Lila. “As you know, things are going to change a little with Simon’s recent prognosis.”

  Simon slumped lower in the couch. His belt was going to be in line with his nose if he kept going. George climbed onto his shoulder and curled into his neck, resting her little cat face under his hair.

  “And with our impending families,” he gestured to Harper then to Jazz, “I think if we simply extend the hiatus to after the holidays, then we will have a better handle on things.”

  Jazz let out a happy laugh. “I get more time with the kiddo?”

  Donovan gave her an indulgent smile. “I know you were willing to get right back on he road this fall—as soon as the doctor okayed it, of course—but now you’ll have your first Christmas at home with your children. Both of you.” Donovan nodded to Harper and Deacon.

  Simon wasn’t the big writer in the group like Gray and Deacon were becoming. Hell, they were probably already booking things to do around baby rattles.

  “Naturally the baby brigade will be happy to have the extra time. What the hell am I going to do for six goddamn months?”

  “Nick,” Lila said in a warning tone.

  “No, I think it’s a legitimate question.” Donovan held up his hand. “I would lose my mind if I didn’t have anything to do for six months.”

  Nick folded his arms. “Finally, someone sees my side of things.”

  “I have a few ideas for collaborations.”

  “Hell no. I only work with my band.”

  Donovan dipped his hands into his pockets and fiddled with his phone. “And I’d be more than happy if you wrote another album while you were waiting for Simon to be able to sing again. But can you write one without his voice? Without knowing just how he’ll be able to sing when he’s healed? He’ll have to learn all over again.”