Taut Strings: A Rock Star Romance (River Valley Rebels)

by Gabrielle Sands

  “Aren’t you supposed to be young and springy?” I asked, fanning myself with my palms. My white shirt was drenched from sweat and the water I’d poured on it once we’d gotten backstage. We needed to get back out there and grab our equipment, but first we needed to catch our breath.

  “Nineteen is the new thirty.” Mason laughed.

  Liam was texting someone on his phone, probably his fiancée, Vanessa. She usually came to support him, but she was seven months pregnant now and not in the mood for a musty, loud concert hall.

  “Okay, I’m going out there, but I want to be tucked into my bed within the hour,” I said over my shoulder, moving toward the stage.

  “I’ll be there in two minutes,” Elly groaned from the couch.

  The Barnyard was emptying out, everyone eager to get out now that last call had passed. I walked across the stage to my guitar and started unplugging it from the amp.

  “Great show,” a deep, pleasant voice sounded from below. I craned my neck to look past the stage and blinked. The grinning guy from Carly’s pic was staring up at me, his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

  “Thanks,” I said once I got over the initial surprise of seeing him. His smile grew, and instead of walking away, he placed a palm on the stage and jumped up to kneel in front of me. I stood up and took a step back.

  “I’m Cole,” he said, straightening up and offering me an outstretched palm.

  “Adeline,” I responded, giving him a firm shake. His palm was calloused and cool. Up close, he was beyond attractive—lean and muscular with a tightly cropped beard and hazel eyes that lit up when he smiled, which seemed to be always. His lips had a perfect Cupid’s bow that I wanted to trace with my fingers.

  Get it together, Adeline.

  “It was cool of you to play one of our tracks.”

  I laughed awkwardly. “We had the set planned a day in advance. I didn’t expect the original songwriters to show up.”

  His eyes grew wide, “Oh, yeah, of course. I hope us being here didn’t intimidate you or anything. If it did, it certainly didn’t show. That was one of the best covers I’ve ever heard.”

  My cheeks heated. “Thanks,” I said and bent back down to finish what I was doing.

  “So, you all are from around here?” Cole asked.

  “Yeah, born and raised,” I said, glancing back up at him.

  “Cool, same with us. Hey! Come up here.”

  I jerked up with my unplugged guitar and looked around in alarm. Two more guys were walking toward the stage, weaving through the lingering crowd and stopping to sign autographs for those that came up to ask.

  Shit, where were the rest of my band? I needed some serious backup. I was not ready to chat with the members of Bleeding Moonlight, not when the topic of conversation was going to be our cover. Even though I felt pretty good about how we’d played, the image of the lead singer staring me down from across the floor had made my blood run cold.

  The guy I recognized as the drummer was next to jump up on the stage. “Hey, I’m Ezra,” he said with a friendly wave. My attention snagged on the color of his eyes—a striking, clear blue that could have been plucked straight from the sky. His sandy-red hair was cut close on the sides but longer at the top. “You guys were great,” he said with a gentle smile. “We haven’t been back to this place in ages, and it looks like we picked a good night to come.”

  “Thank you, it means a lot,” I responded. Maybe they were just being nice, but getting a compliment from a serious musician was a big deal for me.

  “Do you usually do covers? I liked the original a lot, too,” Cole said, his right hand scratching at his chest.

  “Yeah, we’re mostly just a cover band,” I explained. “I write a few originals when inspiration strikes, but it’s just for fun.”

  Cole furrowed his brows. “I think you guys have a lot of potential. You really lit up when you played your own song.”

  I could have hugged Mason when he strutted out from backstage, saving me from responding to that comment. Did I really seem that different playing my own material? Enough for a stranger to pick up on it?

  “What’s up, guys?” Mason asked, surprise in his voice.

  “Hey, man, we were just telling Adeline how much we liked your set,” Ezra said, stretching out his palm to him. “I’m a drummer, too,” he added. “You nailed the drum track on ‘The Thing About You.’”

  Mason beamed at the compliment, and I met his expression with an encouraging smile. He was talented, and I kept telling him he was still young enough to pursue music in earnest. Maybe talking to a professional drummer would get him more excited about the idea.

  The two of them began to chat about Mason’s drum kit, while Cole and I stood facing each other in momentary silence. He gave me a crooked smile. “Silas, our guitar player, really wanted to meet you after the show. He said you have serious talent.”

  “Damn right, I did,” a deep voice boomed from below the stage, and I turned to face the Viking as he clambered up to us with unexpected grace. He had a long beard that sneaked past the neck of his T-shirt.

  When he took a step toward me, I became so distracted by his superhero physique that my worry about what he thought about my playing momentarily moved into the background. He towered over me at a height of at least six four or six five. Trim waist, two boulder-like shoulders, and a wide, pumped-up chest that lightly stretched the fabric of his shirt directly at my eye level. I couldn’t help but wonder how he’d look without it on. When I forced my gaze back up to his face, I caught him looking down at my wet white T-shirt. I put my free hand on the opposite shoulder, cursing myself for not changing after the show.

  His dark eyes met mine without a hint of embarrassment. “You’re a badass player.”

  Relief swept through me, and I gave him a tentative smile. He really thought I was good?

  “What the hell are you doing playing rhythm on most songs?” he asked, completely unaware of how loaded that question was for me.

  “It’s just what I’m most comfortable with,” I responded, my throat suddenly feeling dry.

  “I wanted to see you show off. You should lead more,” Silas stated in a definitive tone.

  “I switch on and off, but I prefer rhythm,” I said, my hands flexing at the lie, but this was a stranger who was digging way too deep without realizing it, and I wasn’t going to spill my life story to him.

  He raised one arched eyebrow, as if smelling the lie, but he held his tongue. “Adeline, right?”

  I nodded.

  “I liked your take on our song a lot, and we happen to be looking for a session guitarist for our new album. Do you want to come in for a day next week and give it a go?”

  I almost dropped my guitar. Here was this larger-than-life professional musician, checking me out, being sexier than anyone had any right to be, and asking me to help his famous band record an album. Did someone spike my beer earlier?

  Cole, who’d been standing off to the side watching this bizarre interaction, jumped in. “Dude, you’re like a freight train,” he joked, putting a hand on Silas’s arm.

  The tall man pursed his lips, but Cole continued, “You must be exhausted, Adeline. Why don’t you give us your number, and one of us will send you a text with more details?”

  “My number?” I asked in a thin voice.

  “Yeah. Like, your phone number,” he clarified, giving me a funny look while pulling out his own phone out of his pocket.

  “Right. Right. Um, okay, it’s…” I rattled off my number, my head abuzz.

  “Cool,” Cole said, the corner of his lips quirking up. “We’ll be in touch and let you get back to packing up. It was great meeting you.”

  “Yeah, you, too. See you around,” I said, and beelined off the stage.

  Liam and Elly were still lying on the leather couch, both of them texting on their phones.

  “Guys, what the hell?” I hissed at them while placing my guitar into its case. “You left Mason and I all alone and
Bleeding Moonlight came up to talk to us.”

  They scrambled to their feet, their eyes wide.

  “Shit, were they cool? What did they say?” Elly asked.

  My hand gripped the guitar case handle like a vise. “They’re still out there on stage if you want to go talk. They were nice enough, said they liked the set. Look, I’m exhausted and…damp. I just need to get home. You okay if I head out and take a cab?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Liam said. “Head on out, we’ll wrap up here.”

  I turned on my heel, grabbed my discarded leather jacket, and pushed through the backdoor leading to the parking lot, desperate for some fresh air to help clear my head.

  The temperature had dropped, and I was shivering within seconds. I jogged to a cab parked across the lot, thanking my luck that one was still around.

  As I climbed into the back of the car with my guitar, I noticed a male figure standing alone in the half-empty lot smoking. The cab moved toward him, and despite the tinted glass, I recognized who it was. The lead singer of Bleeding Moonlight. The one who’d stared me down as I sang, and the only one who hadn’t come up to talk to me tonight.

  EZRA

  “Damn it, Silas,” Cole cursed the guitarist as we exited the venue. “Couldn’t you have turned it down a tiny bit back there?”

  Stepping off the curb into the parking lot, I took a deep breath and tilted my gaze up toward the stars that covered the night sky like a jeweled veil. There was not a cloud in the air, and even the light emitting from the Barnyard couldn’t dampen the sight. There were a lot of beautiful things about River Valley.

  And a lot of ugly things, too.

  Silas huffed. “I was speaking my mind. Is that not allowed?”

  “Yeah, that’s all you do, speak your mind,” Cole retorted. “Sometimes, a more delicate approach is required.”

  I wasn’t sure what they were talking about, but I could venture a guess. The night hadn’t played out like I was expecting, and for some time in there, while we were losing ourselves in the music, I had forgotten all the reasons I wasn’t supposed to be enjoying myself.

  It was difficult to stay impartial while watching the thrill of playing music, of bringing chords and words to life, play out across her features. That woman. I knew that I would never forget her face.

  I glanced back at Silas and Cole, and some old part of me stirred, suddenly curious. “What happened?”

  Cole met my gaze and scratched at a spot in the center of his chest—his nervous tick. How many people out there knew their friends this well? I guess most people didn’t end up in jobs that required them to tour for months within a few feet of a childhood friend.

  “Silas asked her to help us with the album,” he said.

  Bingo. “She was a fortunate discovery, I’ll give you that,” I told him, keeping my voice neutral. Stumbling onto a talented guitarist just as we were about to give up on ever recording our last album? Some would consider that lucky. Too bad I’ve never believed in luck when it comes to music. At least, not in the traditional way.

  In my experience, we made our own luck, and behind every “lucky” break, there were years of hidden work that people were all too willing to disregard. Dozens, if not hundreds, of failed attempts. Months and years filled with rejection that only a few managed to overcome.

  That’s why when I saw her onstage, I could hardly believe my eyes. We didn’t have to work to find her. She’d simply…appeared. Then again, perhaps we’d already paid our dues in other ways.

  “It’s fine,” Cole continued as we approached the parked SUV. “I got her number. I’ll give her a call tomorrow and lay out the offer.”

  “What offer?” Abel drifted from around the car like a ghoul, his hood pulled up and a lit cigarette in his hand. He shouldn’t be smoking, it was bad for his voice, but I held back the words that threatened to spill out of my mouth.

  I wasn’t playing that role anymore. Not for him. And not for anyone else in the band.

  The singer wore a tense expression, his gaze darting between Silas and Cole. I hadn’t noticed him leave the venue, but I hadn’t been surprised to see him gone when the show ended. It seems that whatever effect the show had had on me hadn’t extended to him.

  “Dude, way to disappear like a goddamn ghost,” Cole said, ignoring Abel’s question and burrowing his hands in the pockets of his black jeans. “We talked to Adeline, the guitarist of the band. Would have been nice for you to meet her.”

  Abel’s eyes narrowed. “Talked about what?”

  The nighttime chill had long since gotten past my cotton T-shirt, but I knew this conversation couldn’t happen in the car if we wanted to avoid an accident.

  “You know what,” Cole grit out. “We can’t keep sitting around waiting for you to find someone. How many auditions have you held in the past two weeks?”

  Zero. I’d bet anything I was right. When Abel had said that one of his conditions for recording this album was that he would be the one to find us a session guitarist, I knew the recording was unlikely to ever happen. He didn’t want to do this with us. He’d said as much, but Cole and Silas wouldn’t accept his words at face value.

  “However many I deemed worth my time,” the singer spit out, his fists curling by his sides.

  This was normally where I’d interfere to defuse the situation, to help them see that we all wanted the same thing, that we were on the same team. Instead, I stood watching the scene play out in front of me in silence.

  “Well, I think Adeline is more than worth our time,” Cole retorted. “She played our song up there. You would have heard it if you hadn’t left.”

  “I couldn’t listen to a botched rendition of a song I wrote.”

  Silas took a step toward Abel. “That’s not true. They played it well.”

  Abel sneered, but Cole didn’t give him a chance to argue. “I agree. You need to let her audition.”

  My heart rate spiked. Abel didn’t take well to people telling him what to do, and this was going to blow up imminently.

  After Charlie’s death, I’d promised myself that I would take a backseat in the band going forward. I couldn’t take that responsibility on anymore. But now, watching as two of my best friends were on the brink of doing something they’d regret, my body seemed to move between them on its own volition.

  I stepped forward and turned to Abel, scanning him over. I may not have been as familiar with his idiosyncrasies as I was with Cole’s, but I could tell that his temper was a taut string, ready to snap at the slightest of pressure. In the aftermath of Charlie’s death, his list of triggers seemed to be constantly growing, so I wasn’t surprised he didn’t want to listen to one of Charlie’s favorite songs played live. But his grief didn’t excuse the fact that he’d been leading the guys on for the past few weeks. He must have known that Cole and Silas would eventually demand to take the search for a guitarist into their own hands.

  Abel craned his neck to the side, keeping his gaze on Cole over my shoulder. “I don’t need to do shit.”

  My palms landed on his arms. “Abel, look at me.” After a long moment, the singer turned, his furious green eyes finding mine. “This was always going to happen,” I told him in a firm tone. “Your process can’t be a black box to the rest of the band. If you let her audition, you can have the final say, but you can’t just dismiss someone we all think has potential.”

  I was giving him a way out, but if he recognized that, it didn’t show. His upper lip was still curled in a sneer. “You, too? You’re with them on this one?”

  When did our band become an-us-versus-them situation?

  When you let your bandmate overdose alone in his home instead of taking care of him like you should have.

  The sadness came accompanied with sudden nausea. Unable to speak with my stomach churning, all I could do was nod. Abel ground his teeth before shrugging my hands off and getting into the car. When I looked back at Cole, his expression was grateful. I shook my head. This had been a moment of we
akness on my part. The way I felt about this album or this band hadn’t changed. Cole, who knew me as well as I knew him, must have read my thoughts, because his face fell.

  I’m sorry. But I can’t do this anymore.

  We climbed into the car, and Cole told Leo to take us to Abel’s, signaling that the conversation wasn’t yet over. Silas and I shared a look that showed we both knew this was going to be a long night, which was a mainstay in our communication lately. At least Abel didn’t argue with our destination. That was a good sign.

  A good sign for who? Do you even know what you want anymore?

  The drive was silent, the four of us sitting mute while Leo kept the music off. At one point, I opened my mouth to request he put something on, but then I decided that would be admitting to how awkward I felt. How awkward we felt. And I wasn’t quite ready to make that admission.

  “I’m tired,” Abel announced as we pulled up to his house.

  “So am I,” Cole retorted. “The faster we talk it out, the faster we can crash.”

  The house was an architectural marvel. A statement of how far Abel had come. He’d once told me that he often dreamed of his foster parents showing up here, not knowing that this was where he lived whenever he was in town. In his dream, they’d crane their necks to look inside, their faces painted with shock at the opulence their foster kid could now afford. He said their eyes would look hollow in the dream, and it was that detail that gave him the most satisfaction.

  I shuddered as I stepped inside. His place was always so pristine that I felt like I was ruining some precious piece of art with my presence. Abel caught my subtle reaction and gave me a strange look, but I shook my head and moved to sit on the large U-shaped couch.

  “All right,” Cole began once we all sat down. “Abel, we got Adeline’s number after Silas nearly scared her off by asking her to record the album with us. I’m going to call her tomorrow and ease her into the idea of coming to the studio.”

  The singer tipped a beer bottle into his mouth while glaring at Cole.

  “It will be an audition,” he said.

  Cole groaned beside me. “Tonight might as well have been an audition. She passed with flying colors. You agreed to record this album because you know Charlie would have wanted that, but now you’re looking for any fucking excuse to delay.”