It was a song I had written after my mother’s death. For many years it had been only the two of us. I never knew my father, and my mom never talked about him. But when I turned sixteen, she met and married a man with two young daughters, eight and twelve at the time. They were sweet girls and I loved them like crazy. It was my stepfather I could do without. We lost my mother to cancer four years to the day after the wedding.
It was always a struggle to get through this song, and the only reason I could was because I wouldn’t want to make Shayna uncomfortable by breaking down. I walked backward, leading Grace to the mic stand that was now ready for us. I raised my head mic and continued singing into the one provided. She started trembling again as we approached the chorus, the part where Shayna usually joined in. I did my best to reassure her with my eyes and squeezed her hands. My heart skipped a beat when she was late coming in, but I was blown away by her when she did let her voice come out.
I blinked, my eyes widening. I had known her voice was good when she was singing earlier, but had no idea it was this good. “Holy shit.”
The audience laughed at my reaction and roared its approval. She looked at me and seemed as surprised as I, and I caught a wisp of a smile, although her gaze was still darting around. I turned to catch my bandmates’ impressions with raised brows. Jericho and Rafe were shaking their heads and laughing. Dex actually came out of his seat and missed a beat before hastily picking up the song again. He whooped.
She was good. She was more than good. Arguably better than Shayna. With a little voice training, she would be incredible. And our voices melded well together. And why wouldn’t they? Everything else was magical since she hit the stage, so why not this, too? I wanted to hug her, but it was hard to sing when someone was squeezing the hell out of you, and I wanted to listen to her more. She was still standing too far away from the mic, so I urged her closer.
We finished the chorus and she took the next verse, which was Shayna’s, continuing to get stronger with each note. I wanted to sing my best with her so I calmed my head that was exploding with a gazillion thoughts, and concentrated on the emotion. It was emotion that brought songs to life and to perfection. But as I did, I was hit again, as I always was, by my grief over losing my mom. The pain was specific. I knew how its particular flavor tasted. It was like when I saw a bruise on my body and pressed on it and the unique pain of that injury reminded me of how I acquired it. This pain had the same way of bringing me back to its origin. Tasting her death again. I never felt so alone and lost and still struggled with it on a daily basis.
I looked into her eyes and watched her face change. I must have revealed too much because tears threatened to slide over her lashes, as they did with mine. The joy I sensed earlier morphed into concern for me. Our eyes said so much for us, there was no need for words. But the emotion made the song infinitely stronger, made it capable of moving people, of reaching in them and wrapping around their hurts and heartaches. I had to sing it this way. It deserved to be sung this way.
When we finished the last note, hanging on to it as long as we could, I drew her in. The second she was in my arms, with the music not there to hold me up anymore, I about lost it. I clutched her and tried to draw strength from her comfort. I never sang that song so close to the edge. It was dangerous to do that. But in a way it felt good. Felt right, to pay tribute to my mom like that and sing for her.
“It’s all right,” Grace whispered in my ear, squeezing me tighter.
We had been holding each other for far too long and I needed to pull it together. I returned my focus to her and found my strength, easing away.
“Damn!” I shouted. “The girl can sing, can’t she?”
She ducked her head, color rising in her cheeks, and nodded moving away.
No. Not yet.
She dropped my hand, but I wouldn’t let go of hers. “Wait. We’re not finished with you.” I turned to face the crowd, needing their help again to keep her on the stage. “Y’all notice how she keeps trying to escape the stage for some reason?”
They laughed, aware of how uncomfortable it must feel to be yanked out of a crowd and thrust into the spotlight.
I couldn’t hear her but could read her lips and attitude. “What now?”
I had to think of a reason for keeping her from leaving. Looking back at the band to buy a little time, I stumbled on it. “That, well, that was kind of a mellow way to end things between us, don’t you think?” I tilted my head. “We can’t end on a sad note.”
She walked over to the microphone, using it for herself for the first time, cocking a hip. “He made me dance. Made me sing. What the hell else is he going to make me do?”
I checked the audience’s reaction. They were eating this up. This would definitely be a concert they’d remember for a long time. I laughed. “Just one more dance. That’s all I’m asking for. I have something in mind.”
She peered out over the mass of people in front of us. “Well, those words scare the shit out of me.” I must have misread her at first. Clearly she was comfortable in front of a crowd. She stared at me for a long moment, then lifted a finger. “One. Just one.” This was followed by cheers and whistles. She stepped back from the mic, but continued saying, “One,” and shaking her finger at me.
I flipped my headphone mic down, grinning. “I have something that’ll challenge you.”
She moved in range of the sound system. “Now he tells me.”
I looked at the guys and made a motion like I was playing the keyboards, hoping they would catch on. They stared blankly for a minute, then Rafe nodded, and turned to shout to the others, who also nodded and readied themselves. We only had one song that started with keyboards. Rafe put his guitar in its stand and shifted over to rattle the keys.
“Oh, shit,” she said. “I think I know what you have in mind.” She put a hand on her forehead. Rafe began playing. “Yep.”
It was a piece called “Coming Home” and the beginning sounded like a music box. Then the vocals and drums kicked in with a driving beat. In was kind of an unusual composition, but I was kind of an unusual guy, so it worked for me, but the shift in tempo made it difficult to dance to.
Grace studied me out of the corners of her eyes and her lips twitched. I knew she had concocted something. Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she curled her arms in front of her like a ballerina and pirouetted to me, stopping within feet before the crash of the drums. Then, with a wicked smile, she changed to a more bump and grind style, circling me, her fingertips grazing over my blazer between the shoulder blades as she passed behind me. Once in front, she grabbed my tie, pulling herself against me.
Oh, yeah.
She had my engine revving at an obnoxious speed, and I loved it. Realizing with her in front of me, the audience couldn’t see what I was doing, I got an idea. Taking her hand, I guided it to my blazer button. Her head jerked up to look me in the eye. She knew what I wanted all right. I lifted my chin slightly, daring her with only that small movement. And boy did she take the dare. A smile spread from cheek to cheek. Unbuttoning my jacket, she ran her fingers along my chest, down to the top of my leather pants. My thoughts flashed to hot scenes of us in bed together, and I had to refocus to remember the lyrics I had written and performed for years. Taking a hold of the side of my blazer, she rolled out to her left, pulling it so I could shrug out of it. Orbiting again, she took the fabric from one shoulder, but didn’t satisfy me by taking it completely off at first. Instead she maneuvered until we were back to back and gyrated against me, leaning in and gliding her hands along the outsides of my legs as she first lowered herself then came up. Her head was turned to the side, driving me crazy with the near proximity of her lips. I had only to roll slightly to claim them.
Remembering the audience I fanned myself in an exaggerated fashion, although I wasn’t exaggerating about my heat level. She laughed then rolled away from me, causing me to fall a little with the loss of the weight of her body pressed to mine. She peeled the
jacket off and gazed out over the writhing mass of music lovers with an “oh, my, what did I do?” expression. Hunching her shoulders and putting her fingertips on her chin, she opened her mouth in a wide, tempting circle. She took a few big steps away, pointing her toes, then whirled and strode across the stage, the jacket hung over her shoulder.
Background vocals were forgotten as the rest of the boys on stage were shouting and cheering her on. I chased her and grabbed her by the shoulders, spinning her to me. I snatched the blazer from her and squinted at her in what I hoped was a menacing fashion.
It must have worked because she said, “Uh-oh.” She covered her mouth again, but her eyes were flashing with amusement in the stage lights.
I realized the lyrics I was about to sing were highly inappropriate, and thus maybe not the right choice at this particular moment, but they also worked perfectly with what we were doing. I stroked her cheek, belting out, “She was an angel in my head…” I strolled around her and draped the jacket over her shoulders, leaning in to add, “But a devil in my bed.” I pivoted to face the fans. They shouted my next words with me, “And Lord, I guess I was an unrepentant sinner.” Continuing my circuitous route, I ended standing before her, my hands on her hips. “Because every time she is near, I hear this screaming in my ear….” With the next, the crowd response was even louder, “And God I’d give my soul if I could just be in her.” But while the fans had gotten louder, I put my mouth to her ear and sang the words in a low murmur. My intent was to turn her on, but I was the one who had to brace myself to keep from licking her earlobe.
Must not engage.
My inner voice sounded like one of those Dalek robots from Dr. Who. I laughed at my own weakness and odd sense of humor. But I was rewarded when her breathing picked up. I wasn’t the only one feeling the chemistry. When I pulled back, though, a sliver of fear haunted her eyes. I scared her. I went with my instincts, as I’d been doing all night, my thinking too muddled by her presence. I took her chin, tilted her head so she had to look at me, and tried to give her a bolstering smile, throwing in a wink for good measure. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if I made things better or worse. Like when she lied to me, and I knew it with one glance, her face gave away her emotions. At least to a degree. She was no longer frightened, but she wasn’t smiling either. She looked…disappointed? Sad? I knit my brows, searching her for an answer. Women could be so hard to understand for a guy. Where to go next? I had to salvage this somehow. While I thought, I absentmindedly skimmed my thumb along her jaw. She dropped her gaze, so I no longer had a chance at reading her. We came to a guitar riff without vocals and I switched my mic off.
“Did I…do something wrong? I’m sorry if I was being too forward. I….” I had no idea what I would say next, but luckily she saved me the trouble.
“No. I’m good.”
I doubted the truth in that, but she did seem to relax a little. I almost forgot to click my mic on for the next verse, which made her laugh—and made my blunder totally worth it. I resolved not to whisper provocative comments in her ear for the rest of the evening, if possible.
Soon I seemed to woo her back into a more playful mood and she began messing with my tie, eventually sliding it off and wrapping it around her neck, leaving the ends to dangle in the front like a more masculine version of a boa. She took hold of a shirt button and peeked at the audience. They cheered her on. Peering at me she bit her bottom lip for a second before unbuttoning the first one. She worked her way down, and when it was finally open, slipped her hands under the fabric and along my chest. Her touch was driving me crazy. I took a step away and ripped my shirt off, tossing it on the stage and grabbing her. She laughed and we swayed for a moment.
But the song was coming to a close and I didn’t know what to do next. I didn’t want to let her go, but I couldn’t keep the poor girl up on the stage the whole time either. After the last verse was sung, the piece slowed again to the music box tinkling of the beginning. The juxtaposition in the musical styles was supposed to mirror the meaning in the song, which, when I was feeling pretentious, I would describe as the duality of the human soul. The fight of good and evil inside all of us. If I were to be truly honest, though, it was more about my conflicting feelings for my sex addiction at the time and my religious upbringing.
We needed a big finish, so, taking her idea of mimicking the ballerina spinning inside a music box, I attempted to sweep her around the stage in elegant fashion. The song ended with a single line sung as the last notes of the music faded. I stopped twirling her and bent her into a dip. Slowly. Sensually. She seemed to anticipate it. Again, I was struck by the way she seemed to read me, know me. The way she intuitively knew what my next move was. But odder still, I seemed to be able to do the same with her. I knew when the song was ending, she was getting ready for me to dip her. How? Did I feel a ripple in her muscle where I touched her? Or did I see it in her eyes as they rolled back and closed? I bent over her and we held the position for a beat after the music faded. We were peering into each other’s eyes, knowing the magic was about to end. Her gaze flickered over me. The kiss was a natural extension of the dip, I told myself. But it was much more than that. I may have initiated it, but her hands sought my face immediately, taking it to another level. The lights went down, and we didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
“Umm…I hate to interrupt.” Rafe’s voice was like a fly’s incessant buzzing as it tries to get out of a closed window. “But…we do have a show going on here….”
I tore my lips away from hers and lifted her to fully vertical. She still had her fingers on my cheeks. “Grace…” I breathed out.
Her gaze shifted from one of my eyes to the other. “Shit.” Hers filled with tears and she fought to disengage herself from my embrace. When she did, she fell off balance a little, stumbling away from me. The first act she had performed without grace. She was still staring at me with her mouth open. Was she crying? I needed to say something. “Oh, shit.” She sobbed once, then turned and ran away, running past the stagehand, who simply moved aside as she charged toward him.
“Grace, wait!” I finally got out, but it was too late. “Stop her!” I barked at the guy, but the dumbshit didn’t react. Desperate, I searched for Al. He was already halfway across the stage, booking it at a sharp clip just short of a run, but she had a lead on him. When he was within hearing distance, I shouted. “Stop her and make her come back. Or, if you can’t, get her number or find out where she lives.”
Al nodded curtly and hustle out a side door.
The audience roared. They seemed to think it was all part of an act.
I stood confused for a moment. The fact I was giving a concert chimed in my head.
I have to give a concert.
But I felt like my heart was ripped out and fled with Grace.
Rafe tried to pick up his slack. “Well…that was…something. Let’s hear it again for Grace.” I lifted my gaze to his, but couldn’t find my voice. “Umm…our next song was written in a pool hall, after we…well, had a few.” Rafe knew my routine. Knew it as well as I did. He bought me enough time to compose myself.
I got through the rest of the concert somehow. Solely by routine. I doubted anyone even was aware of my bewildered state. I stuffed it down until I wasn’t even aware of it anymore and finished. On the way off stage, though, I looked in the direction that Al left the auditorium, searching for the big man. He wasn’t there. Maybe he was talking to her. Maybe she was backstage.
The guys were even more hyped than usual. Jericho was following me off stage and clamped his hands on my shoulders. “That was incredible.” We bunched up in the area where we downed the shots before the show, which seemed like eons ago.
“Yeah, man,” Rafe seconded. “When the hell did you find time to put all that together without us knowing?”
I was pinching my lips together, sorting through what happened and was only aware of their conversation in a vague sort of way. But when everybody waited for my answer, the quiet jarr
ed me. “Huh? All what?”
Rafe crossed his arms. “Come on. You know what I’m talking about. The dancing.”
“Yeah,” Jericho mimicked Rafe’s pose. “Who’s the girl? And, more importantly, is she available?”
Dex grinned. “Yeah. No shit.”
They were all staring at me, waiting for an answer. “I have no idea who she is.”
That’s the problem.
They glanced at each other. Dex chuckled. “Come on, man. Are you trying to tell us that wasn’t choreographed and practiced?”
Rafe rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Right.”
I looked from one to the other. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you.”
Again, they peered at each other. Jericho shrugged. Rafe took over the questioning, swatting my arms. “He wants to keep her for himself.”
“I can’t blame him,” Dex commented.
I took a step forward. “I swear, man. I never saw that girl before tonight.”
Jericho studied me then lifted his shoulders with a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I don’t know.”
Rafe wasn’t about to let it go. “Oh, come on.”
“I’m not shitting you.”
Rafe stared at Dex, his mouth hanging open. Jericho sat his ass on a crate, still shaking his head, then scratching his chin as he studied me.
Dex shifted his weight. “So…” His gaze swung to Rafe.
“I don’t know, man.” Rafe threw up his hands and grabbed a towel to mop his neck.
Dex was working his jaw. All three of them wore amused smiles. “So, what? Did she call you over or something?” He looked back at the guys, but they were watching me.
“No. It all just sort of…happened.”
ROCKED BY GRACE (LOVE AND CHAOS SERIES Book 1) Page 3
