Page 96 of Reverb
“You’ve done rounds three times already.” Adrian crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “I’ve counted.”
God, these people were so damn frustrating sometimes. But even as he glowered at Adrian, part of him took warmth in the man noticing.
“Look, we all have ways of dealing with the stress. Yours is marching around like a man with a mission,” Adrian said. “One of mine’s cooking, which is really hard to do on the road, let me tell you.”
“Hence the coffee?”
A laugh, then Adrian sobered. “I also know you marching around isn’t all about tonight.”
“God, not you, too.”
Adrian pushed off the wall. “Oh really?”
“Marcella. She...” David gave up and slapped a hand against his thigh. “You all are too perceptive.” He searched for words, but didn’t find the right ones. “I’m mulling my future, that’s all.” The one person he should discuss that with was the one he couldn’t. He wouldn’t distract Mish tonight—or any night—on the tour.
Whatever happened between them would happen, and they’d figure out shit after they returned to New York.
Heydel was right. Mish never settled on one lover for very long. While his heart ached with the thought of walking away, that was on the table. Had been from day one. Day one, when he’d known he shouldn’t have gotten involved.
David met Adrian’s thoughtful expression. “I’ll be fine. These jobs are always weird when they get personal.”
Something in Adrian’s expression shifted. “I see.”
David’s muscles tightened. “I should go and...” He waved in the direction of the stage and the audience.
“All right,” Adrian said. “But David...it’s not a job for us.”
There was the line he had to decide whether to cross. “I know. Like I said. Thinking ahead.”
He turned away, because he didn’t want to see how Adrian’s expression changed. How much all of these folks felt. They were family, one he could be a part of—maybe was. He didn’t know anymore.
He was dating Mish Sullivan, and that seemed to shake up everything in his head. Worse when he thought about his paycheck and the contract he’d signed.
Once out in the theater again, he pushed the turmoil aside. The focus had to be the job. Regardless of his feelings, he had to keep her and the band safe. If he couldn’t do what he’d been hired to do, then he might as well not be here at all.
Chapter Nineteen
Mish had expected her stomach to be in knots at the thought of taking the lead on singing. But the rhythm of getting ready for the show, the banter with Dom and Zavier, knowing David, Adrian, and Marcella were out there, had eased the anxiety from her mind.
As expected, Ray’s voice was still a fucking mess, even though he’d been downing tea and not saying a word. He’d manage a few songs, but no more than three. They rearranged the set list, practiced with Ray singing and some songs with her singing, but only on ones she’d already sung, to keep that she’d be singing the majority of the night a secret. The meet-and-greet went well. And now? Now they were in the wings, waiting for the house lights to go down so they could burst out onto the stage.
She could do this. Shewoulddo this. Ray clutched a bass guitar—another one of hers. He’d play some of her parts, too. He nodded at her, his smile wide and pleased.
Yeah, they’d be fine. Maybe the show’d be messy on the edges, but they’d roll with it.
The lights dimmed, the audience screamed—and they moved. A moment later, Zavier clicked his sticks to set the beat and they exploded into sound as the light bathed them in brightness and color.
While the crowd had been loud before, they were tumultuous now. Mish danced across the stage to the opening bridge of “River of Pain,” then spun up to the mic and belted out the words that had been Ray’s, but that they all had felt at one point or another. Ray picked up her bass line as she slid her guitar out of the way, planted her feet, and sang her heart out.
Oh god, what she got back. Like before, the screams, the outstretched hands she could spy from the first couple of rows before the stage lights robbed her of vision. The singing comingfromthe audience was magnified by the wooden walls of the theater, and it shook through her like they were standing inside a giant guitar.
When another musical interlude broke through, she swung her bass around, and she and Ray played together until the lyrics came around again. She sang and sang.
By the end of the song, the din from beyond the stage was wild.
“Hey, Charlotte, how y’all doing?” She raised her hand to block out the stage lights enough to see some more of the theater. “Having a good time?”
Of course, they screamed back at her.
