by Quinn, Cari
Dr. West set a bag on the table and pulled out a thin, bendy tool with a light at the end and something that looked like a dentist’s mirror.
“Now relax. I know you want to cough. I can see how irritated your throat is already. I’m not going to go all the way down with the guide, just shine a light into your vocal chords.”
Simon hid his hands under the table and fisted them on his lap as he opened his mouth. The guy mumbled a few things into his cell phone and then wrote down a few other things.
He put the instruments into a plastic bag and tucked them all back into his case. “Not awful. You’re young and fit and you don’t smoke, right?”
Simon shook his head. That had never been one of his vices.
“You’ve strained your chords and the tissues are definitely engorged. You need full vocal rest for a minimum of three days. I’d be more comfortable with two weeks to be honest, but I know you’re on tour.”
Lila leaned forward. “What are we talking here, Doctor?”
“I’ll need to do a more thorough exam, but you mentioned you’re heading to California, so I’ll give you some names of specialists there.”
“Thank you.” She stood and put her hand on Simon’s shoulder. “Three days?”
“Yes. No talking, no singing, obviously no shouting.”
Simon’s shoulders tensed. They only had two days off. The third day was The Greek in Berkley. It was in their backyard, goddammit.
“The ginger tea is good to keep the irritation down so you don’t cough, but it also can numb it so you think you can push harder than you should. That’s why they’re so inflamed.” The doctor held up his two forefingers and moved them close together, but not quite touching. “When you sing, they move closer together to make the individual sounds you need. Yours are so big that they’re vibrating against each other and making little inflammation pockets. Could be nodes or cysts forming. I won’t know without a full exam.”
Simon tipped back his head. Those were words he didn’t want to hear. He’d seen them when he’d gone online.
“Does that mean he’s a surgical candidate?”
Evidently, Lila had gone onto the same scary sites.
“I’m not sure it’s that far, but again, this is just a visual. He’s too swollen right now to get a good read on it. I need them to shrink down a bit.”
“Okay. Thanks for coming out tonight. I know it’s late.”
“I’d rather come out late than find out he had a hemorrhage.” He shook Lila’s hand then turned back to Simon. “No talking. Use your phone or a whiteboard to communicate, all right?”
Simon put his hand out for a shake and nodded. As soon as the doctor left the bus he dropped his forehead to the table with two bounces for good measure.
When he raised his head, the front of the bus was full of the band. Jazz was cradling her stomach as she did nearly all the time now, her other arm wrapped around Gray’s bicep. Harper stood with Deacon behind her, hands on her shoulders, but it was Nick that had on the blank mask. Everyone else just looked worried.
Margo peeked from the stairs, her teeth buried in her lower lip.
“Well, I guess this means I don’t have to call a band meeting,” Lila said, all business as usual. If he didn’t look too closely at the lines of tension shadowing her eyes.
Simon raked his fingers through his hair and stared at the ceiling.
“How bad is it?” Nick asked.
“Not that bad. Simon needs three days of vocal rest and then we’ll see what’s what. He’s just strained it, so you’ll have to take the interviews, Nicholas, and—”
“I can do interviews.” Jazz bounced a little, her eyelashes starred with wetness.
Fuck.
He didn’t want Pix upset. Of course at this point, she just needed to get pancakes instead of waffles on a breakfast order and the waterworks could start.
“Thank you, Jasmine. Do what you can. I don’t want you to overdo, either. I don’t want two of you to be on bed rest.”
Simon scribbled in the notebook in front of him and slapped the table. When Lila turned around, he held it up.
“I know you’re not an invalid. You just have to rest. I know it’s a new and outrageous topic, but that’s what we need to do.”
“We have a show in two days. What are we going to do with that?”
“I’m going to look into rescheduling, but our timeline is very tight. I don’t know if we’ll have time to swing around before you finish the first leg.”
“Then we cancel.” Nick folded his arms.
“I don’t advise cancelling. The tickets have been bought and returns are a nightmare. Not to mention the contract with the venue. They can sue you for lost revenue.”
“What?” Jazz let go of Gray and came forward. “They can’t do that.”
“Sure they can.”
“But I’ve heard of shows getting cancelled.”
Lila nodded. “And they pay through the nose for that. Do you all want to pay about, oh…one hundred grand each?”
“What?” Jazz’s eyes went huge.
“It’s an expensive endeavor, Jasmine. If we could reschedule it, that would be one thing. But with you and Harper ready to pop in the next few months, we’re kind of in a bind.”
“I’m sorry.”
Lila sighed. “Do not start with the waterworks, I’m just saying this plain. It’s no one’s fault. It’s not even Simon’s fault. This happens to singers and this is as much my fault as anyone.”
“What can we do?” Deacon asked in his reasonable voice. The voice that made Simon want to walk over there and deck him for being so calm.
Harper twisted her fingers. “I know I’m not in the band, but…”
“You’re part of the family,” Jazz said. She moved over to her and tipped her head against her shoulder. “What’s your idea?”
“Well, when you guys were fooling around the other night, Gray sang.”
“Wait,” Gray began.
“Oh.” Jazz turned around to face everyone. “That’s a great idea. Gray has fronted groups before.”
“Yeah, when I was a teenager, babe.”
“It’s okay for one night, right? Just to fill in? Then Super Slut will be back to his operatic self. We have another day between The Greek and The Hollywood Bowl. So that will give him almost four full days off.”
Simon crossed his arms over his chest, his phone in his hand. He thumbed out a text and sent it to Nick.
Nick’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out and read the message, then looked at him. “Are you sure?”
Simon shrugged. No, he wasn’t fucking sure, but it was the best option they had.
“It’s not like Simon can’t be on stage. He can run around and get everyone crazy.” Lila pulled out her iPad. “We’ll play it up that he needs a nurse to make him feel better, maybe?”
Awesome. He could just be the guy that was the mime cheerleader. That sounded like more fun than an acid wash for his nuts.
Fuck.
Nick cracked his first smile. “Do we know any strippers that could put on nurse outfits?”
Simon did a two thumbs up. There was nothing wrong with that scenario. He texted Nick.
Make sure he sings “Bad Medicine”.
Nick snorted and flashed his phone at Gray.
Gray swung his gaze to Simon. “Oh hell no. I’m not singing Bon Jovi.”
“C’mon,” Simon mouthed.
“Absolutely not.”
If he had to stay on the sidelines, at least he could have some damn fun with it.
“All right, everyone. Time to pack it in. Joe and Bobby have to take off with the busses to make it to California in a reasonable time. You have lots of press on your home turf.”
“Who the hell scheduled us in Indianapolis then to California?” Nick asked with a groan.
“We have to work around the venue schedules. You guys asked for The Greek, so we got you what you wanted.”
“My bad,” Nick said.<
br />
“Shoo, pregnant people and dads. Off we go.” Lila herded people off the bus.
Jazz ducked under Lila’s arm and came at him. Her sweet watermelon scent wrapped around him as she curled her arms around his neck. “Feel better, Super Slut.”
He rested his cheek against hers for a minute and swallowed down the lump.
Had to be bad if Jazz was voluntarily hugging him. He patted her ass to make sure she knew he was still the same old Simon. And when she punched him in the arm, he was able to find a smile.
It lasted until everyone left.
And then there were three.
Margo was quiet. She picked at the dark nail polish on her thumbnail. Nick sat next to her and neither of them would look at him.
It was going to be a long damn drive of silences.
Simon stood and stretched with a yawn. He texted to Nick that he was going to hit his bunk. He really couldn’t stand the stares, or in this case, the avoiding stares.
He was so very done with the day.
Maybe he could sleep twenty-four hours straight and save himself the muzzle.
Eighteen
“Up and at ‘em, Simon. We’re pulling in.” Nick’s voice boomed into the silence.
Or it had been silent.
Simon covered his eyes with his arm. His head was pounding. He’d watched Netflix on his tablet for about twelve hours straight. He just hadn’t been able to face anyone.
Margo left him a pot of tea every few hours. She’d attempted to pull back the curtain once, but then had let it swing closed again.
Her honeysuckle scent teased him every time she moved around the back of the bus, but neither of them seemed to know how to approach the other.
Sleep and nocturnal raids on their freezer when everyone else was sleeping covered the rest of the hours on the road. He knew it was cowardly, but he just didn’t give a shit.
If he wasn’t allowed to speak for three goddamn days, that was the perfect time to watch every episode of Daredevil.
Matt Murdock beating the ever-loving shit out of every bad guy in Hell’s Kitchen was enough to keep his rage in check.
He lived vicariously through the character.
And no one else had tried to bother him. The few times he’d pulled out his earbuds, he’d heard Margo and Nick working on a song or watching Charmed.
He didn’t have it in him to play nice. Not when he’d have to for the next thirty-six hours. He rolled out of his bunk and because he was rank, he closeted himself in the bathroom for a hot shower.
He knotted a towel at his waist and looked out the window. The spire of the University of California’s bell tower came into view as Bobby pulled around to The Greek Theater.
They’d played the smaller venue of the same name on the Rebel Rage tour. Los Angeles was, and would always be, home turf. That had given him a boner for days, but this park...
This was bigger and was fast becoming the place to play. The mere fact that Lila had gotten them in with only a request from him and Nick was just out of control.
And he couldn’t fucking sing.
He flattened his hand on the window. Before he could do something stupid like smash his fist into the glass, he stepped back. The overhead compartment came into his eyeline and he flipped it open.
Hello old friend.
He pulled down one of the Crystal Skull bottles. He downed a bottle of water, ripped off the label, and refilled it with the crystal clear vodka.
That would be one way to get through the day.
He took a hit from the eerily smiling skull and tucked it back on the shelf.
“You’re alive.”
Simon swallowed down a sound that was half groan and half seething sigh. He turned to her and lifted his eyebrows in answer. Christ, she was fresh-faced and beautiful.
Onstage, she had perfected the vamp look with her all black outfits and screaming-colored electric violin and cello. She’d taken to the rockstar skin as if she’d been born for it.
But here, she was short white shorts and tanned legs. A striped T-shirt showcased her tiny waist and amazing tits.
All he wanted to do was haul her into his arms and wrap that lush body around him. He wanted to forget that his voice sucked, that the world sucked, that his life sucked.
But he didn’t.
Because that luscious mouth of hers was pinched with worry, and her dark eyes were searching for a way to ask him if he was okay.
He wasn’t fucking okay. And he didn’t even want her to make the pretense of asking him.
As if she somehow read his mind, she rose onto her scarlet-painted toes and nipped his lower lip. “We have the whole evening to escape this bus. Since you can’t do the interviews and they’re going to play up the sick card instead of the voice card, you’re mine.” She palmed his dick through the towel then snaked her hand under the flap. “Tell me, do you think you can play college co-ed with me today?”
He resisted the urge to groan and tipped his head back as she stroked down his shaft and slipped her thumb around the crown of his cock.
She nibbled his Adam’s apple and he jerked away. Instead of looking repentant, she smiled and released him. “Get dressed.”
He grabbed the bottle and slid on his oldest pair of jeans under his towel. The knee was ripped out on one leg and there was a huge hole in the thigh of the other. An equally abused Ozzy shirt finished his college look. Half hipster douche, half irony. Sunglasses and an Angels’ baseball cap hid his overlong hair and eyes.
“That’s quite the ensemble.”
He pulled his phone out and texted.
Hey, I showered. More than most college kids.
She shook her head and looped a wide canvas purse over her head and settled it cross-body. “Want me to hold your water?”
He shook his head.
“Okay, ready?”
He gave her a thumbs up with his most sarcastic smile.
“Look at that. You don’t even need a voice to convey asshole.”
He sighed.
“We will have fun. It’s an amazing word and we shall find the true meaning today. Then tonight we’ll meet up with everyone and you can stop pouting.” She held up her hand. “Don’t even deny it. I let you pout for a day and a half. That’s all you get.”
He tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling.
“Such a tough life. Okay, let’s go.”
They got off the bus and escaped down an alleyway to the main campus. Trees and reddish walkways offset all the light-colored buildings. They fell into step with students as they wandered through a huge quad with a circular fountain at its center.
A huge patinated archway lead to food vendors. Simon sipped his way through the bottle of vodka during their lazy stroll through campus and knew he needed to drink actual water or something before he stank like vodka through his pores.
It was ridiculously hot.
Feeling better with two hotdogs in his belly and a large fresh lemonade, he finally relaxed. The sun was bleeding through the trees when they finally circled around to the back end of the campus where the stage was located.
They dropped onto the stone stairs where there was finally some shade. Margo took a long drink from the tall bottle of water she’d refilled a few times.
“I can’t believe this campus. It’s so different from Boston.”
He hadn’t even thought about the novelty of a new campus for her. She was an East coast girl. Sure, she did some studio work in Los Angeles, but that was a far cry from this slice of collegiate life.
He pulled his phone out and texted her.
“Yeah, I went to college. I have a Master’s in music theory and a minor in business from Brown.”
His eyebrows shot up. Well that was certainly a far cry from his own high school diploma.
“Holy shit!”
Simon hunched up his shoulders. His half-assed disguise had worked all day. He really didn’t want to have to fend off fans. Especially when he couldn’t charm h
is way out of it like he usually did.
“Crap, you probably don’t remember me. I look a little different.”
Simon slid his sunglasses down and looked her over. Ass-hugging denim shorts and a bright red top initially distracted him, but her face started pulling at a memory.
He was pretty sure he hadn’t slept with her, but couldn’t be absolutely sure.
“Simon, it’s Tori.”
He frowned. That name definitely niggled.
Margo held out her hand. “I’m Margo. Simon has laryngitis, so he can’t talk.”
“Oh. Oh, wow.” Tori pulled her hair over her shoulder and twisted it into a coil.
Simon snapped his fingers. He dug out his phone and texted Margo.
She looked down at her phone then gave him a deadpan stare. “I’m not saying that.”
“Can I see?”
“It’s rude.”
Tori laughed. “I bet it is.”
Margo sighed and turned her phone around.
Tori snorted. “Yep. That would be me.”
Nick’s blowjob girl from the first tour had turned into a little bit more than just a fun flirtation. She’d gelled with Nick more than any other girl Simon had seen on tour.
Ultimately, the tour was just too much of a force and Tori had gone on to greener pastures. Yet whenever they had a show in California, Nick seemed to hook up with her.
Looked like this one might not be any different.
“I was hoping to find Nick somehow with the show tomorrow night. He gave me an all-access pass to whatever show I could get to.”
Margo tilted her head in that way that made his cock harden. So curious. “Nick doesn’t really do the backstage scene all that often. You must be something special.”
“I like to think so.” Tori flipped her dark hair over her shoulder. “He’s always so damn serious. I like to shake him up a little.”
“He…” Margo trailed off.
Simon nudged her with his shoulder.
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to sound bitchy.”
“Oh, girl. Nicky can be an absolute asshole. That’s why I love him so much.”
“Well yeah.” Margo tapped her middle finger against her nail. “He needs to get laid.”
