by Livia Grant
“Yes, sir.” The young woman scrambled off.
“Now, to the really important question. Did you get your ink today?”
“Yeah, but I should have waited until after the show. It’s bugging me and I can’t very well go out there with my inner wrist bandaged looking like I tried to off myself before the show.”
“You know the rules. We’re doing this club right, so don’t bother complaining because the same rules you hate for yourself are going to keep your private life private.”
Cash knew his friend was right. Success came with a price. There was almost nowhere in the world Jonah could go where he wasn’t eventually recognized by someone. He’d become a magnet for crazies who saw either dollar signs or blackmail material by trapping the musician with a bad-boy reputation in situations he’d rather keep private.
“Save the lecture. I agreed to the rules. I even appreciate them because I know they’ll keep my sex life from being the center of a front-page exposé. It doesn’t mean I couldn’t have waited to get inked until after the show.”
Jaxson teased him. “Considering you have at least a quarter of your body covered in ink, I didn’t think you’d be such a pussy about it.”
“Fuck you,” Cash shot back, sitting back down and waving Sasha to come back over to finish his pre-show prep.
“No thanks. Chase and Emma are taking good care of me in that department.”
A pang of something close to jealously flitted through Jonah’s sub-conscious. Not quite a full-blown thought. More like a buried memory of something lost, which was ridiculous since he didn’t let any woman close enough to hurt him. Not anymore.
I’m done getting kicked in the balls.
He told himself he was perfectly happy being the one doing the hurting these days–both physically with like-minded play partners and emotionally with women who made the mistake of not believing him when he told them he didn’t do relationships.
One by one, anyone he let spend more than a few days around him had learned he truly meant it when he promised no one would ever get close enough to hurt him. He’d made the mistake of letting one woman in. Once. Even years later he could still taste the blood from the figurative ripping out of his heart. Nothing and no one would ever get close enough to fucking do that to him again.
“I can see you’re getting in the zone. I’ll let you do your thing. We have a few special VIPs I’ll be bringing backstage after the show. Until then… break a leg,” Jaxson ended their conversation with a good-natured slap on his back.
Frank said his good-byes next. “I’ll see you backstage. I’ll have an NDA ready in case you see your next lawsuit in the crowd tonight.” He turned and left before Jonah could get a parting shot.
Sasha, the petite woman who liked to wear more makeup than the whole rock band combined, was back to applying dark eye liner around Jonah’s emerald green eyes. River had wandered back to the exit where the rest of their band congregated, completing their pre-show rituals—working off nervous energy by pacing, stretching and warming up.
Despite how exhausted he was, Jonah was always relieved to feel the nugget of nerves take hold in his gut just before going on stage. He and the boys normally played to sold out auditoriums holding thousands of screaming fans. It wasn’t the volume of patrons that had him nervous tonight. Quite the contrary. There was safety in numbers. Standing on stage, looking out into the sea of adoring rock junkies felt like home to him. He belonged there.
Tonight would be different. The club was huge by dance club standards, but damn-near intimate for the popular rock band. The style of stage with the jutting runway into the crowd would bring him just feet from the crowd. Too close for comfort. The fact that the venue was full of D.C. VIPs who may not even like his hard-hitting style of music was like the bad-tasting frosting on top of a shitty cake.
Still, he’d made a promise and he kept his promises.
“Good enough, Sasha. Time to get this show over.” Jonah reached into the front pocket of his signature skin-tight black leather pants as soon as he was on his feet. He pulled out the thick wad of hundred dollar bills he never left his room without, pulled several crisp bills from the clip and held them out to Sasha.
“You do know I’m paid a salary through the management company, right, Mr. Carter?” The young woman always tried to decline his cash tip. He always insisted. It was part of their pre-show routine.
“Yep. And you know I got my nickname honestly. Take the cash. Buy yourself a new pair of shoes.”
She grinned. “You know all my secrets.”
He chuckled. “Naw. I just pay attention. I’ve never seen you in the same pair of shoes twice and considering I see you at least five days a week, that is a shit ton of shoes.”
The young woman blushed nicely, stirring something he didn’t like to admit.
Christ, I need to get laid.
For all the shit Frank gave him, Jonah found it ironic that he’d been celibate for close to a month since the last disastrous hook-up in Toronto ended up with half-naked pictures of him passed out in a post-concert party had ended up as the front story on Entertainment Tonight and the center of a skit of SNL the following week.
The second story dressing room was almost empty now. The stage manager was back, tears in her eyes. “Please, Mr. Carter. We are ten minutes late starting the show.”
He peeled a couple more hundreds off the stack of bills, holding them out to the stressed-out newbie as his way of apologizing. When she stood frozen, Cash reached out and slid the bills in the center of her deep v-line blouse, leaving cash sticking out between her pert boobs as if she were a whore dancing on a pole.
“You need to lighten up, baby. This job’ll kill you in a month if you don’t. I’m one of the easy ones.”
He moved towards the elevator that would take him down to stage level where he’d join the rest of the band. He shoved the still thick wad of cash back into his pocket, patting it self-consciously as he did dozens of times a day. The wad represented so many things to him. Freedom. Security. Success. But mostly vengeance.
Fuck you Judge Stone.
Comforting words he muttered to himself more times than he liked to admit. Cursing his nemesis had become as much a part of his pre-show tradition as completing a sound check. Sometimes, like tonight, when he was exhausted, his vengeance kept him going.
The elevator doors opened to the sight of his band mates already gathered in their traditional pre-show huddle. As tight as they all were, he was always aware he wasn’t quite one of the guys. Not really. They let him in, physically, but he never let himself relax enough to let their relationship feel easy. He’d learned the hard way how that would bite him in the ass when the friendship ended.
Nico and Juice, his bass player and drummer, separated enough to let him into their circle. Like the athletes they had never been, they each reached an arm into the center of their pack. They were connected as one unit by the hands that would be making amazing music in just a few minutes.
They stood silent, each gathering their thoughts, focusing on the coming show. They waited for him. Cash alone decided when they were ready. Tonight, an odd uneasy feeling had settled into his gut. For a split second, the thought of calling the whole damn show off crossed his mind. He pushed the urge down, determined to see his obligation through.
“Ready?” He looked from man to man, looking for their unspoken commitment to him and his music. Every note. Every syllable. Everything they played had come from inside him. He was lucky to find men who appreciated that instead of resenting it.
Milo, lead guitarist nodded first. Nico, his bass guitar slung over his shoulder, nodded next. His closest friend, River followed.
Juice was always last. All eyes turned to him, waiting for their wiry drummer to be mentally ready to take the stage. Juice was one emotional dude. The drugs he insisted on living off of made him unpredictable. They all put up with his shit because he was one helluva drummer. His eventual grin finally came.
/> “Let’s go crush it, boys.” Five hands flew in unison to the ceiling with his bandmates moving to take their place on stage behind the drawn curtain that would hide them until ready.
This. Right here. It was what he lived for. What he’d dreamed of since he could remember dreaming. He’d willed himself to success through sheer determination. As he heard Jaxson speaking, welcoming the crowd to their grand opening, Cash tried to focus on the music he loved so much. The songs that were like his children. He’d birthed them as sure as any woman birthed a child. He’d put his own blood, sweat and tears into them. He’d sacrificed for his music, giving up a little bit of himself to each line of lyrics.
The pounding beat of their opening song roared through the space. He was close, just off-stage, letting the music seep into his veins, filling him with an energy he only got from the rush of performing. The riffs and beats to the long intro to their most popular song, Prove You Wrong, were the perfect intro for the larger-than-life rock star.
He’d been concerned the conservative crowd would be a downer of an audience, but was reassured by the roaring applause changing into a rhythmic chant. Cash… Cash… Cash… Over and over they cried out for him.
He clutched the wireless microphone and swept onto the stage to the welcoming roar of adoring fans. Grinding his hips to the heavy beat as he took his spot center stage, a familiar fury reared its head, until he poured it out it in the opening lyrics.
Look at me now, asshole. Guess I proved you wrong after all.
Chapter 2
The familiar strain of the Crushing Stone’s number one hit, Proving You Wrong, filled the crowded venue. The rather stuffy crowd that had just minutes before been sipping champagne in their evening wear seemed to shed their restraint. They pushed to their feet as the curtain opened, exposing the band to the cheering crowd.
Samantha had to resist the urge to follow several groups of scantily clad women who pressed past her to rush the runway jutting out into the dance floor. Within minutes the stage was surrounded, several layers deep, with raging fans jumping and shouting for the missing lead singer who had yet to grace the stage.
Her heart raced, anxious for her first glimpse of Jonah and dreading it at the same time. The second he burst out from backstage the spotlight shone on him, making him the center of attention. She had thought she was prepared, but in that moment Sam found herself fighting down the urge to cry.
What a fool she’d been. She’d come to get a glimpse of her old friend, Jonah, but one glance at the man center stage and Samantha knew she was too late. Jonah was gone, swallowed wholly and completely by his larger-than-life persona, Cash Carter.
And he was devastatingly perfect.
While the room clapped and sang along with the Grammy-Award-winning band, Samantha sat frozen in the shadows on her tall stool. She couldn’t take her eyes off the six-foot tall celebrity currently working the crowd with his sexy dance moves.
She struggled to reconcile the current version of the popular musician with the young man she’d felt so close to most of her life. His signature gravelly voice was deeper than she remembered. God, he’d filled out so much and in all the right places, flexing his muscular arms as he fist pumped to the beat of the angry song. His perfect body was encased in body-hugging black leather pants and a sleeveless shirt. Tattoos rippled across his biceps and his shoulder-length dark hair swayed as he moved with the beat of the song. It was when he moved out onto the long runway, getting closer and closer, that Samantha decided she’d got what she came for after all.
Closure.
Her Jonah was gone.
The reality almost crushed her. It was hard to catch her breath and it was in that moment she had to admit the ugly truth to herself. She’d really come with the hope of feeling a spark of their old connection. That invisible thread that had always bonded them together. Even as young kids, she’d felt connected to Jonah in a way that felt a bit like magic. She’d felt his presence before he became visible. He’d been able to read her mind, understanding her at times better than she understood herself.
The urge to cry was almost too much. Sam swallowed hard, trying to press down the lump in her throat. As the rest of the huge club pressed in around her, she’d never felt as alone as she did watching Jonah reaching down to accept flowers and small gifts from his adoring fans, making tangible connections with strangers he now cared about more than he did her.
He was so close.
An irrational thought took hold. What might he do if she approached the runway? What could she offer him as her gift? She’d already given him her heart and he’d trampled it.
Her fingers flew to the golden heart locket she’d worn around her neck every day since the day he’d given it to her. It had been the day he’d asked her to his senior prom. The day he’d literally swept her off her feet, kissing her until she’d been out of breath. He’d told her it was to be their promise charm to each other. How many nights had she fallen asleep holding that small locket, filled with a lock of his thick hair, feeling closer, if just for a minute, to her lost friend?
He won’t remember me. He’s moved on. And even if he does recognize me, he couldn’t care less.
Insanity. Unwanted tears finally fell as she sat frozen to her spot, unable to move. She should leave, but instead she felt trapped, there to witness Jonah in all of his perfection as he gyrated his sexy hips like the consummate showman he’d become. She could barely make out the lyrics to the next song, Betrayal, for all the screaming fans. It didn’t matter. She had every note, every syllable, every melody memorized.
By the time the song was winding down, Samantha knew she had to leave. Instead of feeling better, being so close to Jonah had her on the verge of a full-out panic attack, something she hadn’t suffered for years. She was glad now that she hadn’t gone too far into the club. She pushed to her wobbly feet, anxious to get outside to the frigid December air in hopes it would revive her.
She crossed in front of several tables of VIPs and patrons sporting press passes. She’d have to weave through a screaming crowd of fans to make it to the exit. The pounding music started to be drowned out by the pounding in her ears as she grew more and more light-headed. Panic and the compressed space were closing in faster than she could escape.
The music grew softer, almost subdued. Sam glanced back towards the stage as the band began to play their one and only number one ballad from the year before. The lights that had been trained only on Jonah and the band were now scanning the crowd in a haphazard way as the first chords of Forever began, only bringing her tears harder. She’d always hoped he’d been thinking of her as he’d penned the lyrics, so now, seeing him walking out onto the runway to touch the dozens of screaming women as the love poured out of him—well it made her feel foolish.
So foolish she was paralyzed as she stood grounded at the end of the runway as Jonah made his way closer with each step he took. Twenty feet. Ten feet.
What she’d give to touch him again, just once. She was as bad as the screaming fans, desperate for any scrap of the famous musician’s attention and it made her sick to her stomach to admit how much she’d let his desertion hurt her. He’d never hidden his dreams of being a star from her. She had no right to feel the red-hot anger bubbling up. A true friend would be happy for his success. The fact that she resented having lost Jonah to his Cash Carter guise only made her feel guilty.
He was a mere half-dozen feet away from her now as she stood frozen. Unable to go to him. Unable to leave.
She’d never know if it was fate or weird luck that trained the spotlight from above directly on her. It lasted only for a second, but in that moment he turned her way and their eyes met. His eyes widened slightly as his brow furrowed with recognition. Her brain shouted at her to turn and run away before he shunned her publicly, completing her heartbreaking humiliation, but her feet stood planted in her fashion boots.
How much time passed, she’d never know. What she did know was that the crowd was yell
ing and the musicians were playing the accompaniment to the song Jonah had stopped singing. Groupies pressed closer to the frozen singer, reaching up to the stage to touch his stationary boots while his glare penetrated her to her core.
He sees me. Really sees me.
The thought thrilled and frightened her. She held her breath until she was light-headed. She was in uncharted territory, unsure if she should turn and retreat or advance on the stage. The roving spotlight was back on her, throwing her into the middle of the show whether she liked it or not. She felt all eyes in the three-story club on her as everyone in the room collectively tried to figure out why the lead singer had suddenly stopped singing one of his most popular songs as if he’d forgotten the lyrics he’d written.
She never took her eyes off his, waiting for his expression to give her a hint of what he was thinking, hopeful she’d see her old Jonah crawl out from behind Cash’s polished exterior. She might have been able to handle a nonchalant brush off, but with each second that passed, an angry hatred changed the handsome musician into a frightening adversary.
That’s when she realized there had been one outcome she hadn’t even considered.
He sees me… and he cares, alright.
He hates me.
* * *
She’d finally come.
The sudden appearance of the only woman he’d ever allowed to hurt him rocked Jonah to the core. For the first few years of Crushing Stone concerts, he’d scanned the crowds endlessly, waiting for the day she’d realize she’d screwed up and come back to him. As each year had passed, he’d looked less and less until her absence had become his new normal.
Christ, she looked good. Amazing even. She’d somehow maintained her innocent girl-next-door look while still maturing into the gorgeous woman he’d always known she’d be. Her long, thick brunette hair accented her caramel brown eyes. The same eyes that were staring back at him now with uncertainty.
He’d stopped singing mid-sentence. He vaguely realized the band was still playing the accompaniment, doing their best to cover up his gaff as if this were all a planned part of the show, which was utter bullshit.
