by Cari Quinn
Simon nodded his head through the intro. The blast of drums and then him. The lyrics flowed off his lips. He leaned into the mic guard. He kicked it up another notch as the girls crashed in before the bridge.
His spine tensed. Verse, chorus, and now there it was…the build. He should have gone for it. Not enough.
He held his hand up. “From the bridge.”
Nick paced outside the main part of the studio. He had his headset on listening to him.
He couldn’t watch the pacing. Not if he wanted to climb up to the range that the song required. He punched it. There—nailed it. No cracks, no breaks, just smooth.
When the song ended he pulled off his headgear. He couldn’t hear what was going on at the board. “Nice, Simon. Take five.”
“Nice?” Simon stood and moved into the main part of the studio. Jazz was twirling her stick with one hand, nibbling on her thumb with the other. He leaped down the three steps to the alcove where Margo sat with her Starfish.
She gave him a bright smile.
Safe smile.
Fuck.
He put his hands on his hips and stared at the back of Nick’s head until he turned around.
“What the fuck does nice mean?” he asked.
Nick flicked the outside microphone on. “It means fucking nice. Boring. Fucking boring. When did you get neutered?”
“Fuck off.”
“Maybe you need to take Margo in the booth again, huh? Fuck out some of that passion you used to have.” Nick looked over at Margo. “Or is that gone too.”
Simon slapped the window. “Fuck you.”
Nick opened the door. “No, fuck you. I’m sick of everyone in this goddamn studio bowing to your shit problems. Sing. You can do it. I can hear it. It’s right there, but you won’t fucking grab the song and make it yours. You’re just petting it like a virgin that’s never seen a pussy.”
Simon staggered back a step. He’d done everything right. He’d dissected every song to find the perfect levels and pitch to use. “That was fucking flawless.”
“Sure, if you’re an American Idol contestant. It sounded technically flawless, except for the part where you’re a rock god who can blow the roof off of the Staples Center. Where the fuck’s that guy?”
On a bloody heap on the fucking floor, that’s where he was.
Where Nick was going to be.
He swung before he could think again.
Margo shot out of her chair and jumped on his shoulders. “Simon, no.”
“What the fuck, Margo?” he swung her down and around in front of him only to push her behind him as Nick came at him.
“Enough!”
Both of them were standing toe-to-toe with chests heaving as Lila’s voice resonated through the control room. Probably thanks to some engineering bull shit from Deacon the Diplomat’s camp.
Fuck.
Simon grit his teeth. He wasn’t some American Idol shitty pop singer. He so didn’t need this shit. He was trying to give them exactly what they needed. His head pounded as he whirled away from Nick and out the door.
“Simon! Wait.”
He ignored the chorus of voices. He couldn’t right now. He couldn’t stand there as they all stared at him and found him wanting.
Obviously he wasn’t good enough.
Nice.
Who the fuck wanted to hear that word when they were in the studio? Sweet Jesus, man. He slammed out the main doors and up the ramp to the rooftop access.
Flips slapped behind him.
Only one woman had those. “Not now, Jazz.”
“He didn’t mean it.”
He swung around, his hand on the door. “Of course he meant it.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “And you agree.”
“No, of course not.”
Fuck. “Don’t lie, Pix.”
She licked her lips, her huge blue eyes so earnest. “Your singing is better than I’ve ever heard—even back from the Fluff days.”
“But?”
“But it’s missing you.” She twisted her fingers together. “It’s too perfect.”
“And this is a bad thing?”
“We’re not Adele or Josh Groban or Barbara Streisand.”
He hung his head as he crossed his arms. “Jesus.”
“No, no. Wait, hear me out.” She rushed forward and patted his chest. “Those guys sing flawlessly. Just like you are—the problem is, we don’t want the adult contemporary flavor. We’re rockstars. You’re a rockstar. You’re supposed to be imperfect.”
He fisted his hands under his arms. “What if I fuck up?”
“Then we do another take. Just like any other time we’ve ever done a record. Nick fucks up all the time, that’s why we have an endless stash of terabytes waiting for us to record onto.”
“We’ve been doing this for days. It doesn’t matter what song we work on, I’ve still got Nick staring at me.”
“Then, let’s go somewhere he can’t stare at you.”
Simon shot her a look and pushed through the door to the roof. The sun negated the usual January temperatures. He was more than ready to grab a six pack and hide out up there. Who would notice? “Oh, that’s good for band morale. Let’s cut out Nick again. Would you like me to slit my wrists now or later? Or perhaps wait until he finds me in a dark alley and cuts out my liver to have with some fava beans and a nice chianti?”
She laughed. “I don’t mean that. Gray and I are heading out to Logan King’s personal studio this weekend. We’ve been working on a charity album with him.”
“I don’t want to horn in on that.” The last thing he needed was to go to Logan’s infamous cabin and be a fifth wheel. For God’s sake, the guy was a fucking legend.
He didn’t need his fucked up ass taking up space there.
“Honestly, almost all of us have been out to Winchester Falls. He’s got an open invitation for everyone in Oblivion. Including,” she poked him, “you.”
“This sounds like a very bad idea. Can’t I just lounge on the couch with Margo this weekend? Come back fresh Monday?”
“No. Is it really going to be any different?”
He tipped his head back and stared up at the cloudless blue sky. “No, probably not.”
“And if it doesn’t work, we’ll just let you and Nick at each other with gloves in a boxing ring. Preferably with head guards and mouth guards. One of these times you guys are going to loosen a tooth.”
Simon rubbed his hand over his still sore rib. “Or break a bone.”
“Yes. So, come on. At the very least you’ll get to relax in the coolest cabin I’ve ever been in.”
“We’re not cabin people, Pix.”
“I know. But good things happen at cabins.” Her cheeks flushed. “Lots of good things.”
“Oy. I do not want details about you and Gray and that cabin, thanks.”
She grinned. “It’s already got great vibes, I can feel them.”
“It’s probably the baby kicking.”
She patted her little buddha belly. “Probably. Or gas.”
“Awesome.”
“It’s going to be awesome, just you wait.”
28
Simon
Simon twisted his ring as the SUV slowly climbed the winding road. At least he was relatively sure it was a road. Gray’s competent hands were curled around the steering wheel, his eyes squinting behind his aviators. The early morning sun bounced off the endless snow and streamed into the windshield with a blast of heat behind it.
The little speck of a town in upstate New York known as Winchester Falls was postcard worthy. Hearty pine trees bordered the road towering into the sky with an unrealistic amount of snow weighing down their branches. At least as far as Simon was concerned. That couldn’t be from one snowfall. He was waiting for one of the branches to snap and take them out with a Mother Nature sized snowball.
The rocky landscape gave way to huge trees with trunks as wide as the damn Jeep Cherokee they were driving. Their naked branches raised to t
he eye-searing blue sky like a supplicant.
He was used to the city, even got used to Lila’s family orchard a few weeks ago. This area was still different. Lila’s place was rolling hills and a gentle spread of endless apple trees waiting to wake from hibernation.
Nothing like this.
This was wilder and craggier. Rock and gravel seemed to bind with something akin to pavement the further they traveled into the canopy of trees. Now, without the sun, the cold permeated the front seat.
Gray flicked back on the heater and aimed the vents into the back. Jazz and Margo flanked a sleeping Dylan belted into a carseat that looked safe enough to launch into space. The small airport on the fringes of Winchester Falls had been snowed in, so they’d driven up from the city.
“Are you sure about this?”
“If you ask me one more time, I’m going to kick your ass.” Gray hit a button and the Jeep made a grinding noise.
Simon eyed the controls. Were they going to roll back down the fucking mountain? He held onto the “oh, shit” handle just in case. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“Logan is excited to work with you.”
Simon glanced out the window. “He’s just being polite.”
“More like he needs the work.”
“Gee, that’s so much better.”
Gray laughed. “His wife, Izzy, is a few weeks away from popping and he won’t leave her alone.”
Awesome. More pregnancy hormones. As if Jazz wasn’t enough. Baby number one had been filled with a frenetic Pixie, this time around she alternated between two extremes—exuberant and psycho. He didn’t envy Gray in the least.
The gears made another terrifying noise and Gray shifted. The Jeep inched forward until Simon was sure they were going to flip over backwards and tumble to a fiery death. Suddenly the terrain opened up and a huge stone wall border came into view. A massive wrought iron gate bisected the smoothly paved road.
Gray rolled down the window and hit the intercom.
“Pregnancy Palace Studios, how may I help you?”
“Izzy, how’s it going?”
“Grayson?”
“And entourage.”
“Oh, sweet merciful heaven. Get in here before I kill Logan.”
“Who’s that?” came a tinny voice. “And why are you out of bed?”
“See? Come on in. Take a chill—” the woman cut off the conversation through the intercom. A buzzer sounded and the huge gate slowly swung open.
Gray parked and Simon got out. Icy gravel shifted under his boots as he took a look around. Snow—everywhere. How on earth could there be this much snow? Did they transport to Colorado when he wasn’t paying attention? A deep bark dragged his attention into the woods that lined the house. A massive gray and white dog leaped and tackled someone in a blue ski suit.
Before he could open his mouth, the human came up and pounced on the dog. The barks turned to yips of glee and Simon’s shoulders relaxed. Not getting mauled—that was a good thing.
Gray and Jazz did the parental unpacking thing, Jazz cooing in her mom-voice. Margo came up beside him and twined her fingers in his.
“Incredible place.”
He looked down at her. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ve ever been in an actual cabin.” He pulled her in front of him. “Our apartment is huge, but this?”
She patted his arm. “It’s a house. I know you remember what one of those is.”
“Wise ass.”
She slid said ass across the front of his jeans. “You like my ass.”
He tucked his chin into the layer of scarves until her honeysuckle scent and warmth teased nose. “No, I love your ass. Everything about it.”
“Charmer.”
He nipped her neck, pulling back slightly when the front door opened.
Jazz blazed by them, her hiking boots tromping through the snow and shifting ground with ease. “Iz! Oh my God, look at you!”
Gray came up with Dylan on his hip. “It’s the pregnancy brigade.”
Margo shivered. “I’m not drinking any water around those two.”
Simon swallowed tightly. “We’re contemplating a second cat and it seems like a huge undertaking. I don’t know how you keep birthing humans.”
Gray bounced Dylan who was curled into his shoulder. “Best thing I’ve ever done.”
“Including music?” Simon asked.
“Yeah. It’s me and Jazz in a full fledged song right here.” He brushed a kiss over the wisps of hair that stuck to Dylan’s cheek. He tugged down the little knit hat. “Ready to say hi to Nicki?”
Simon’s brows snapped down. “I thought he wasn’t coming.”
Gray shook his head. “Nichole. Their little girl’s name is Nichole.”
“Oh.” Simon turned to find a young girl with her fingers clutching a very pregnant woman’s thigh. Jazz was already crouched in front of the little girl and they were deep in conversation.
Earth Mother to the rescue as always. Jazz hoisted the little girl into her arms and she twined herself around Jazz’s neck and waist.
The man behind Izzy patted her shoulders. “Back on the couch with you. It’s icy.” He moved her gently over and came down the stairs. The only outward sign that he was older than Simon were the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. Otherwise, the dude was muscular as hell. Don’t get on his bad side—check. “Welcome. I’m Logan King.”
Simon shook his hand. As if he didn’t know who the guy was. Please. “Simon. Thanks for letting us crash the party. We didn’t realize how close your wife was to…”
“Popping?” Logan grinned.
Simon laughed. “Yeah.” He dragged Margo up beside him. “This is my…Margo.” The stutter didn’t phase her. He didn’t know what the hell to call her. He thought of her as his wife, but it never quite sat right on his shoulders. Especially when Margo shied away from ever using the words.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. King.”
“Logan.” He shook Margo’s hand. “We’re glad to have you guys. The house is made for a ton of people.”
“You filling it up with kids, man?” Simon asked.
Logan laughed. “No. Two is more than enough for me. Pretty sure Izzy feels the same especially with this last pregnancy. Come on in.” He nodded. “Grayson, good to see you.”
“I’ve got a notebook full of goods, man.”
Logan grinned. “You always do.”
Simon frowned. For the band, or one of their various projects? Gray and Jazz had been writing solo stuff for so long, he wasn’t sure if they even knew how to collaborate with the rest of them anymore.
Would Nick allow it?
He usually preferred to closet himself away to write lyrics, some jams, then dropped the bomb for the rest of them to deal with.
“Everything okay?”
He brought Margo’s cool fingers up to his lips. “Just nervy.”
She rubbed his arm, her dark eyes full of excitement and understanding. He wasn’t sure how she managed to do both, but the moment Gray had asked them to come up here both had been living in her gaze.
He followed everyone in. The little girl from the doorway was sitting between the massive paws of a dog that looked like it could eat them all for lunch. She was snuggled into the dog’s chest.
The dog watched everyone with icy blue eyes.
Scary as shit.
“That’s Fiona. She’s the Little Miss’s protector.” Izzy scratched between the dog’s eyes, then tugged on the little girl’s braid. “And this is Nichole. Say hi.”
The little girl looked up at him. The biggest green eyes he’d ever seen stared unblinkingly at Simon. “Hello.”
“Hi, Miss Nichole.”
She giggled. “I’m Nic, silly.”
Normally Simon didn’t have any trouble getting on the floor with kids, but the dog was intimidating as fuck.
Izzy curled her hand over the mound of her stomach. “Why don’t you take Fi out to play in the back?”
The little girl pop
ped up and rushed to the closet. “Yes!”
She held out her hand. “I’m Bella, though with this crew you can just call me Izzy. I’ve gotten used to it.” Her eyes were the color of the ocean in St. Bart’s, and her dark hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. Not a lick of makeup or jewelry on her, and gorgeous as hell. Even if she was smuggling a basketball under her sweater.
“Simon.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Oh, I know who you are. I think you’re the last holdout from the Oblivion guys. Everyone else has stayed under our roof a night or seven.”
He raked his hand through his hair. He’d missed so much. “Well, I’m glad I could round out the crew.”
“Logan’s excited to work with you.” She glanced over at Gray, Margo, and Jazz talking to Logan. They were talking about arrangements already. “He’s been driving me nuts. He needs a project.”
He didn’t exactly like those words. He hated being anyone’s charity, but at this point, that’s exactly what he was. The fuckup that didn’t know how to sing anymore. Oh, he had the technical chops. His voice was actually stronger than it had ever been.
It was the using it in conjunction with a band. With songs that held too much bad blood.
Izzy laid a hand on his arm. “Take off your coat. Stay awhile. No one bites in here.”
The dog brushed against Simon’s thigh and leaned in.
“See. You even got Fiona to come around. Usually takes her a few hours to interact with a stranger.”
Simon let the huge dog sniff his hand before he buried his fingers into her dense fur. “She’s beautiful.”
“She’s our not-so-little guard dog.”
“Come on Fi!”
The dog swung around immediately at Nic’s voice. Her tail wagged and her ears perked up.
Izzy tried to crouch to help the little girl with the zipper. She had purple mittens sticking out of the sleeves of her pink jacket.
Logan rushed over. “Would you sit down, please?”
“I’m not on bed rest, I’m just pregnant. You know, like women have been for centuries. Give it a rest, pal.”
Logan lead her over to the couch. “That’s exactly why you’re out of breath, right?”
She pushed at his helping hands and landed into the chair with a huff. “No, I’m out of breath because I tried to help Nic with her jacket.”
