The fact that relief warred with jealousy showed just how fucked up his life was. He was growing to hate interviews with his last breath, but now that he wasn’t included, he itched to sit in on them.
He’d be bored in about three minutes, but he still hated being excluded.
Margo stirred against his back. Sleeping with her was new. He liked how she sort of just dropped like a doll that had lost its animation. She wasn’t restless, wasn’t a snorer, wasn’t even overly clingy. She was just completely out.
She rubbed her cheek against his back and stretched then jumped a little.
He turned his head and gave her an easy smile. Her eyes were wary, but she relaxed against him again.
“Anything doing in Oblivion world?”
He flicked the screen so her itinerary got larger and passed his phone over to her. She groaned and slid off him.
He rolled until they were face to face.
“I’m going to be gone all day.”
He took his phone back and flicked to his note application.
She snorted. “Oh yeah, I bet you’re going to hate not being on the second student panel.”
Since the venue was on a college campus and they’d been on the front lines of using social media to build their image, they’d been asked to answer questions.
Pix and Nick would just love to be in the center of that. Well, Pix would, but Nick would probably rather scoop out his own eye.
She folded her hands under her cheek. “Are you going to be okay today?”
He nodded. It was going to suck, but he’d live through it.
Margo fluttered her fingers through his hair then climbed over him. He halted her escape, dragging her astride him. He pushed up her T-shirt—she’d lost the bra long ago—and tongued around her nipple, sucking it until he was sure her eyes were on the verge of rolling back in her head.
He smiled around her hot raspberry flesh and let it pop free. Then he dropped back onto the pillow and stacked his arms behind his head.
He wanted her to think about him, but he wasn’t going to give her a morning orgasm. He wanted her to remember how hard he’d sucked and plucked at her and when she moved, she’d remember.
And she’d want more later.
“That smug smile doesn’t impress me.”
He just smiled wider and waggled his eyebrows. She climbed off him with a disgusted grunt and let the curtain fall back.
Because the thought of being awake and alert with a side of quiet was questionable for his sanity, he plugged his phone into her charging station in the bunk, rolled over, and went back to sleep.
When he woke again, his stomach demanded food and his throat was dry as dust. With showtime less than an hour away, he wandered out to the trucks where Harper’s crew would be with his white board under his arm.
Annie was taking care of most of the cooking since Harper’s reach was similar to a turtle’s. She was all of the pregnant and cranky with it.
He waved at the redhead.
“Hey, Simon. Chicken, beef tips, or turkey burgers are on today’s menu.”
He walked over to the steno stations and filled a plate, plowed through it, then a pot of his tea and finally felt human.
Jazz and Gray laughed on their way into the eating area.
“Hey, Super Slut. You finally decided to join us?”
He made a fishing rod windup action with one hand and a slow middle finger raise with the other.
“Nice.”
He scribbled onto his marker board and flipped it around.
“Rehearsal went great. Gray knows all the songs. Tonight will be great.”
He nodded and tried not to let the fact that Gray was essentially replacing him tonight matter too much. He didn’t want it to be easy, dammit.
“All right, people. It’s time to get on stage. They’re ready for you.”
Jamie and Lindsey, from their opening band, came in looking like a couple of college girls themselves. Jamie in a ripped shirt and cutoffs that were an inch away from indecent, Lindsey in one of her girly dresses.
Lindsey hooked her arm through Jamie’s. “I don’t think we’ve ever played such a cool stage. You’re going to love it out there, Simon.”
Jamie elbowed her in the side and Lindsey’s huge blue eyes went even rounder. “Oh shit.”
Simon waved her off and gave her a thumbs up.
Fucking coolest venue ever and he was a mute. Fantastic.
He followed the sounds of the crowd, his gut clenching and unclenching in nerves he’d never had going on stage.
Excitement, sure—that was a given in his world. Nerves? No, there’d never been nerves in the mix.
He shook out his jangle of silver bracelets, cracked his neck, and tugged his Red Cross shirt into smooth lines. As he was going up the stairs, he stalled.
A roll of silver duct tape was on a trunk. Destination names were always marked on the equipment for protection.
Knowing he was about as likely to stay quiet now as he’d been while balls deep in Margo, he ripped off a strip and slapped it on his mouth.
Maybe that would help.
He charged onto the stage. Didn’t let himself think about the fact that he was just a face tonight. If he was going to be a clown or a fucking monkey, he was going to be an amazing one.
As he skidded into the center of the massive stage, he lost his breath. The crowd was like a neverending bowl of faces. The stage was endless and they were almost insignificant to the perfection of the treeline and tradition of the campus.
Holy shitballs.
Deacon, Nick, and Gray came forward and Simon grabbed his box mic. As they surrounded him, he let the cord out until his mic dangled down between his legs. He looked down at it as it swayed then looked at Deacon, then at Nick, then back at the mic.
The crowd laughed and screamed.
Simon tapped his throat, then his taped mouth.
“See, this is the only way we can make him keep his mouth shut. Simon’s lost his voice because he doesn’t know how to shut up.”
Simon gave Nick a side eye glance and put his mic into the stand before setting his hands on his hips with a huge sigh.
“So, do you think it would be all right if this guy sang tonight?” Deacon asked in his super deep voice.
Gray stepped forward and zipped his fingertips along the brim of the Fedora he wore most nights—at least for the first few songs until it grew too fucking hot. He peered up from the shadows of the hat and gave a shy smile.
The crowd lost it.
Simon’s belly jittered at the reaction. Jealousy gurgled like a geyser ready to blow. Forcing it down, he went behind Gray and clamped his hands on his shoulders, giving him a shake.
Jazz jumped off her kit, ran forward and gave Gray a kiss on the cheek, then handed Simon his marker board.
Simon looked down at the board and scrawled out three words. He looked around for the camera that followed them around for the big screens and held it up for the lens.
Don’t fuck up.
The words filled the screen and the crowd ate it up. Gray bent at the waist and curled his fingers around the head of a regular mic. Not Simon’s mic. That one thing would not be allowed.
“No pressure,” Gray said in a low voice.
Simon shrugged and leaped into the archway above them as they went into the opening song. He climbed, he ran, he sweated under the lights.
He played the monkey.
He played the clown.
He died a little inside as Gray handled song after song.
Natural talent shone through the long, lean lines of him. Gray didn’t quite know how to handle singing instead of playing lead guitar. Nick had to pull extra solos and Margo was all over the stage with her cello or her violin.
She even pulled out her acoustic violin for the ballad “Finally” that suited Gray’s smooth voice. The utter quiet of the crowd as Gray sang his words, the ones he’d written and molded to fit Margo’s strings, drove him mad.
>
When they started the Renegade and Monster combo piece, Simon lost it. He launched himself into the general admission pit in the front.
The leap of faith left his heart exploding in his chest. They passed him back and forth from one end to the other. Security scrambled and he caught Lila’s shriek of outrage as she came off the side stage.
He waved at the band on stage. Jazz was standing at her kit, her eyes huge. Margo’s hand fell to her side with her bow dangling from her fingertips.
Then she lifted her violin and slid back into the song, but her eyes never left him. Three burly security guys came to the edge of the pit and helped him down. Simon ran up the stairs and waved at Lila as he bulleted to the middle of the stage and back up on his perch.
He shaded his eyes and looked out on all the perfection, hating that he couldn’t add his voice to the slice of history.
This place that showed just how far they’d come from the tiny clubs on The Strip to sold-out shows. This venue should be in the palm of his hand. Not Gray’s. It was his job to bring this all home.
The lights went down as everyone scrambled for instruments and towels, water and sports drinks. Anything to soak up energy for the encore.
They didn’t bother going down off the stage. Instead they all congregated into the center around him and dragged him into their circle.
This band.
This moment.
His life.
His dreams right here.
They waved and the night curled around him as they all went back to their stations. Simon ripped off his tape and switched on his mic.
Deacon’s moody bass flowed out and the cue taunted him. His cue.
The song that had been his since the studio. The one that had given him Margo.
The one that had taken her away.
Now, here in this perfect night, he opened his mouth and let instinct take him.
Gray and Nick looked between them. Nick ran to the side and snagged his other guitar. The layered and guitar-heavy song sounded exactly the way it was supposed to.
Nick and Gray passing back and forth between rhythm and lead, Deacon’s bass, Margo’s strings, and Jazz’s beat.
And his voice.
He kept it steady and didn’t go for the high notes, controlled it and felt his way through the verses and chorus, fought his way through the bridge, but he owned it.
As the epic end rushed forward, he followed it. And then something burst.
His throat. Everything going tight. The pain. Jesus Christ.
The flood of blood choked him and he hit his knees.
He tried to breathe, tried to find his way through it as the silence descended and the crowd surged forward. He coughed and the splatter down his white shirt made him waver. Was that his blood? So much.
And then the stage came rushing for him.
His cheek hit the floor and he jerked as everything fuzzed out at the corners and came into a narrow path.
A girl in the front with her hands up over her eyes, the horrified screams. And then the whole stage went black, the shriek of his name the last thing he heard.
20
Margo rushed forward. Had she shouted his name? Was she shouting or was it everyone else? When he’d started to sing, she wanted to shut him down, but he’d sounded fine.
Until he didn’t.
The blood. God. Someone pulled her back and she fought.
“They’re helping him.”
Security surrounded him. And because it was a general admission show, there was a paramedic on the campus.
Thank God.
He handled Simon. The white latex scarlet-tipped as the paramedic rolled him and cleared his airway. Blood puddled on the stage, splashed over Simon’s shirt, and streaked across his cheek.
She swayed.
“No you don’t. C’mon, you’re not that girl, right?”
Margo looked over her shoulder at Jamie DuCaine from Brooklyn Dawn. They were eye to eye, both of them tall compared to the other women on the tour.
Margo shook her head and swiveled to watch them again. A plastic tube flashed and she watched in horror as the medic forced it down his throat.
Simon thrashed and she tried to go to him again.
No.
Simon.
Didn’t they know they could be doing more damage? But at that point it was only oxygen that mattered. Then he was on a stretcher and whisked across the stage.
Lila reached through the crowd and grabbed her hand.
Margo tried to turn around to thank Jamie, but the crowd on stage swallowed her and she was on the move. Lila dragged her over cords, through trunks, and to the backstage side door where a car was waiting.
“Get in.”
Lila’s assistant jumped out from the driver side. “Do you want me to drive so you can do the phone thing?”
Lila nodded. “Good thinking.”
Margo climbed into the back of the silver Camry and they spit gravel as they fishtailed out of the side parking lot.
Traffic was murder, but Lila’s assistant had to have been an Indy driver in a former life. He jumped the curb, sped along the sidewalk, and then out to the main road. “Find me a side street to go around this.”
Lila turned to Margo and she caught the cell phone that Lila shot back at her. With trembling fingers, she found the map program and directed.
The hospital felt like it was a million miles away. California traffic was cruel and capricious, but this was home turf for the band. Once they were off the campus, Lila’s assistant knew where to go and what streets to take.
Lila was talking so fast that Margo couldn’t keep up. A call to Donovan, the hospital, the specialist that they’d already looked into.
Everything went so fast.
They pulled up to the hospital. She and Lila jumped out and their driver peeled away from the curb before security shooed them away from the loading area.
They rushed the ER. They didn’t want to give Lila any information, but since Simon didn’t have any family and Lila pulled out some paper, they were pushed ahead.
“What was that?”
“What?”
Margo swallowed. “What was that magic piece of paper that let us in?”
“Power of attorney, baby. In an emergency, I have it for those who don’t have family.”
She didn’t want to examine why that hurt her on a basic level. All she could focus on was getting inside and getting to Simon’s bedside.
Lila swore at what awaited them. The waiting room was full of people. Some were for their own emergency needs, but the bulk of the crowd was clearly reporters.
Margo gasped as even Kim Forrester from Music Life was there. How the hell had they gotten there so fast?
Kim spotted Lila and advanced on them like a tsunami on the coast. Margo stumbled back as two other reporters with cameras zeroed in on them.
“Is it true Simon Kagan collapsed onstage at the end of a sold-out show?”
“We were advised that it was laryngitis, but it seems far more serious than that.”
“Was it drug related?”
“Was he stabbed?”
Margo pushed her way out of the crush. What the hell? She understood it was big news, but not to this level. Oblivion was one of the largest bands around right now, and especially here on their home turf, but they weren’t quite the Beatles.
Not yet.
“Did he collapse because of the news of Snake’s death?”
Margo whirled around. Kim’s intelligent and gleefully bright gaze met hers, then moved onto Lila.
Lila stopped moving. “What did you say?”
Kim Forrester was the center of attention now. “William Scotsman was found dead this afternoon, an apparent accidental drowning. Or suicide.”
The reporters doubled their efforts and Lila grabbed Margo’s hand again. A small anchor in the center of insanity.
Nick and Deacon pushed their way through. Seeing fresh blood, Kim arrowed her microphone and h
er camera at Nick.
“Did Simon collapse at the news of William Scotsman’s death?”
Nick’s gold eyes widened as he advanced on the reporter. “What did you say?”
“William Scotsman, otherwise known as Snake, was found dead at the Santa Monica Pier this morning. He’d washed up with the afternoon tide. It’s unclear if it was a suicide or accidental.”
At Nick’s horrified face, Kim’s gleeful eyes lost a little of their sparkle.
Deacon pushed Nick through the throng of reporters and gawkers. Lila hooked her arm through Nick’s and they powered their way to the back of the waiting room.
Security muscled into the room and shouts of first amendment rights were drowned out by the swift and precise orders of very large orderlies and three officers.
Margo was jostled into a hallway and an eerie silence fell around her. People were rushing around a glassed-in room. She couldn’t stop herself from walking toward it.
Somehow she knew it was him.
Three men in lab coats and a woman with red hair and surgical scrubs surrounded Simon. His concert clothes had been removed and the cotton johnny coat sagged around his shoulders.
The redheaded doctor was shouting, but Margo couldn’t hear her above the white noise filling her head. The woman jerked the gurney away from the wall and shoved at one of the men in the lab coats.
Two nurses and the doctor in scrubs wheeled him into the hallway and Margo finally snapped out of it.
“Move!” The redheaded doctor’s blue eyes blazed.
“Please, he’s my…” Margo swallowed. What was he to her?
Just hers.
Mine.
He was so pale and that tube down his throat made her ache. She reached over the side railing and ghosted her fingers through his dark hair.
“We have to go, Miss.”
Margo blew out a breath. “You take care of him.”
The doctor nodded. “I’m the best.”
Then they were gone and the elevator doors closed after him.
CONSUMED
Find out what happens to Simon—and the rest of Oblivion— in CONSUMED.
Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion #3) Page 27
