Grindstone’s Edge (The Road to Rocktoberfest 2024)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Axel

R ocktoberfest.

2023.

“Axel.” A voice I’d never thought to hear again rang in my ears.

I had been flying as high as a kite, looking around the concert venue. A natural high, of course. After eight years of hard-won sobriety, the joy I was feeling came from pure, natural endorphins.

I’d dreamed of this for a long time now. I was lead singer for the Canadian band, Grindstone, and we were performing at our first Rocktoberfest.

And absolutely not our last.

I was going to make damned sure we got invited back to Black Rock again and again. This year, we were performing early on Friday night. In my mind, I envisioned a year when we were a headliner show—Saturday night or Sunday afternoon. I could dream big while keeping my feet firmly planted on the ground. Just in case I started to get a swelled head, my bandmate—and best friend—Ed, would put me in my place. Would remind me every member of the band—from our manager to our roadies and our bus driver—was just as important as I was. Lead singers could be replaced. Strong women keeping us in line and getting us contracts with big record labels couldn’t.

Which was the other hope for this show. Hopefully, our performance here would land us a contract with a big American record label. I just had to get through my interview this morning with an intrusive and very nosy documentary film producer, and then I could sit back and enjoy the rest of the week.

I spun to see the man I’d dreamt about so many nights of my life jogging over. He wore that smile I knew so well. The smile I held so dear. A smile I’d never thought to see again. I’d thought about that a lot, trying to let go of the regret only to have it boomerang back. I’d almost let it go, then it would come right back, slamming into my brain. “Uh, hey, Mr. Threadgold.” I managed a lame wave.

He stopped just short of where I stood.

Wow, either he’s shrunk or I’ve gotten much taller. Oh, wait. Growth spurt. Nineteen years old. Year after graduating.

“I think you can call me Hugo. We’re, uh, both older.”

True. He wasn’t my teacher anymore. I wasn’t his student. We no longer had that barrier between us. He looked older. Like life hadn’t been kind to him. Ten years is a long time. What was our age gap? Fourteen years? Since I just hit twenty-eight last month, that made him around forty-two. “Hugo.” I tried the name. The first two letters fell off my tongue in a whistle while the harsher final syllable caught my notice. Go . As in…should get out of there before I did something stupid. “Well, nice to see you…” I started to inch away.

He reached out a hand, nearly touched me, then pulled his hand back. “Sorry.”

You’re apologizing at the moment you almost touch me? After all these years? How often had I longed for that touch? In comfort. In support. And more. But teachers didn’t touch students, and Mr. Threadgold, with his strict adherence to rules, never laid so much as a finger on me. “It’s okay. We could, like, shake hands.” Belatedly, I stuck out my hand.

After a long moment, he grasped it. His solid grip had breath squeezing from my lungs. He held my gaze until he finally released my hand. He ran his hand through his overly shaggy hair. Those red locks had been much shorter back when I’d first met him. When he’d been still fairly new at the teaching thing. The bright morning sun lit a few threads of silver at his temple.

He said, “I’ve followed your career.”

“Yeah?” In a way, that warmed me. In another, it sort of irritated me. He could’ve said something before now. Let me know he was out there watching us. To what end? So he’d come for you ?

“Yeah. You and Ed…you’ve really made something of yourselves, and I’m so damn proud of you.”

His words should’ve encouraged me. Should’ve activated something warm in my chest. Instead, a hollowness followed. “Well, that’s nice.”

He glanced around. “I’m here with friends. Do you…do you think we could catch up? There’s not much privacy…”

I was pretty certain there were places we could go…but that wasn’t the point. Even as I had the thought, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I yanked it out.

Pauletta.

Reminding me of my interview. I was only supposed to be gone for a minute. “I, uh, have to go.” I held up my phone, even though the screen had darkened. Our manager wouldn’t have texted anyone else because none of them would’ve forgotten. I would’ve remembered too. If Hugo hadn’t distracted me.

You’re always distracted. That’s why it’s called attention deficit disorder .

Most of the time, I had coping mechanisms. Then something would derail me, and my bandmates would gently try to guide me back to the topic at hand.

“Right.” He glanced behind him. “My friends are kind of in their own world. I’d have time to spend with you. If you wanted, of course.”

My mind whirled. “Like, tomorrow afternoon? I have an interview for a documentary right now, a walk through the main stage tonight, and a group interview tomorrow morning, but then I’m free until rehearsal tomorrow night.”

“That’s…that’s great. Where should we meet?”

I tried to think of somewhere inconspicuous. Until I figured out what he wanted, I didn’t want Ed to know he was here. “Behind the hot dog stand? Say about two-thirty?”

I’d have to make sure I was finished with everything by then. Ed would switch with me if I needed to. He did so damn much to accommodate me—often without me even having to ask. Being best friends since we were in kindergarten cemented our relationship in a way that nothing else ever could have. Just two poor kids growing up in the rough Downtown Eastside of the richest city in Canada. What could possibly have gone wrong? Or maybe gone right.

“That’s perfect. I’ll be there.” Unbidden, he grabbed my hand again. “It’s great to see you. Until tomorrow afternoon.”

He held on just a beat too long.

Is he going to pull me in for a kiss?

Absurd notion .

And he didn’t. He released me, offered a little wave, and took off.

I didn’t look at his ass as he went.

Well, maybe just a little.

And I most certainly didn’t look at his back and muscular shoulders.

Just a peek.

He’d always been larger than life to me. Now…he wasn’t as big. Not as intimidating. I’d remembered him as chiseled and, in my mind, ripped. Perhaps that had just been my imagination, as he always wore long-sleeved shirts. Although he rolled them up in the summer, seeing as our ancient high school didn’t have air conditioning. I had a thing for forearms…

I jogged off in the direction of the tour bus.