Rockstar’s Accidental Marriage (Wild Band Rockstars #2)

21. Twenty-One

Twenty-One

Emily

The performance is another success. The crowd roars with excitement, their energy feeding the band as they deliver hit after hit. Cass commands the stage like the rockstar he is, and the rest of the band falls in with his rhythm, the music flowing effortlessly.

Sam is on stage, and I feel his eyes as he glances toward the wings a few times. But I avoid his gaze. I have to be prepared in case anything goes wrong, and he’s a distraction—albeit a good one. Through it all, I stay alert, my eyes constantly moving so as not to miss a thing.

The final encore ends, and the band exits the stage. I watch in approval as the crew moves quickly, packing up the equipment as the band heads to the dressing rooms.

I’m already coordinating the transition to the next stop, my phone pressed to my ear as I speak with the bus driver.

“Are we ready to roll?” Cass asks as he approaches me.

I nod, slipping my phone back into my pocket. “The crew’s almost done. We’ll be on the road in fifteen minutes.”

Sam walks up. “Another night on the bus,” he mutters, earning an apologetic smile from me.

“You’ll survive,” I murmur, my tone teasing.

Sam chuckles, his eyes giving me a wicked look. I shiver, remembering our time in the storage room. But the truth is, I’d give anything for a quiet night with him in a real bed. The bus is fine for sleeping, but it’s not where I want to be—I’d rather be snuggled up against him all night as he holds me safe in his arms.

The bus rumbles to life as we pull away from the venue, the city lights fading into the distance. Even though it’s late, the adrenaline is too high for any of us to sleep. Luke and Nate are already bickering over the playlist, Vince is strumming his guitar softly, and I find myself drawn to the quiet of the back lounge.

Sitting down on the couch, I pull out my laptop.

“Working already?” Sam asks, leaning against the doorway.

I look up and give him a soft smile. “Just updating the schedule for tomorrow.”

“Ever heard of taking a break?” he teases, stepping inside and dropping onto the couch beside me.

Closing my laptop, I turn to face him. “What about you? Don’t you ever get tired of giving me a hard time?”

“Never,” he replies with a grin. “It’s one of my favorite pastimes.”

I roll my eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile on my lips.

“Turn around, and I’ll massage your shoulders,” Sam whispers softly.

His strong hands work magic on my shoulders, and I have to bite my lip to hold back a soft moan. The way his fingers know exactly where to press, how to make the tension melt away—it's intimate in a way that makes my skin tingle. When he kisses that sensitive spot beneath my ear, my whole body responds.

As he continues to work on my sore muscles, the chaos of the tour fades away, leaving just the two of us in the quiet space. It’s moments like this remind me why I was attracted to him in the first place—his strength, his easy-going and laid-back smile. More recently, he has made me feel like I can handle anything as long as he’s by my side.

“That should do it,” Sam says softly, kissing that sensitive space under my ear that he knows drives me wild. I shiver in response. “Goodnight, Cupcake,” he whispers with a knowing look in his eyes.

With that, he’s gone, leaving me to make my lonely way to my cramped bunk—alone, already missing his warm touch.

The bus rumbles on through the night, the highway stretching out endlessly ahead. The rhythmic motion of the wheels on asphalt lulls most of the band into a semi-relaxed state. Luke and Nate eventually settle down, their arguments about the playlist fading into muffled snores. Vince is slouched in a corner, headphones in, softly humming along to whatever track he’s queuing up for later.

I should be asleep, but my mind refuses to shut down. I miss Sam. But then my mind shifts to worrying about work—venues and setlists. Not to mention the havoc all these small mishaps are causing to my equilibrium. The tension simmers below the surface. I roll over, trying not to think of Sam or work; instead, I just hope to find a comfortable spot so I can drift off to sleep.

Hours later, though it feels like I've barely closed my eyes, the bus shudders violently, jolting everyone awake.

“What the hell?” Luke groans, rubbing his eyes as he sits up.

The driver’s voice crackles over the intercom. “Everyone hang tight—we’ve got a problem. I’m pulling over.”

The bus slows, veering onto the shoulder, and comes to a lurching stop. Outside, the faint glow of dawn highlights a desolate stretch of highway flanked by nothing but trees and shadows. The driver steps off, shaking his head, and a wave of uncertainty ripples through the bus.

I grab my phone and follow Sam as he and Luke head toward the front. Cass is already there, his bus parked behind ours, his brows furrowed. “What’s going on?” Sam asks the driver.

“Looks like we blew a hose,” the driver replies, checking under the hood. “I’ll need to call for assistance, but it’s going to take some time.”

“How much time?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intended.

“Couple hours, minimum. Maybe more, depending on how fast roadside can get out here.”

A sinking feeling settles in my stomach. The schedule is already tight, and this is the last thing we need.

Cass glances at Luke, who confirms. “Yeah, it looks like a busted hose.” Cass nods.

Back on the bus, tension can be felt. Vince grumbles but eventually retreats to his bunk. Nate starts scrolling through his phone, looking for something to pass the time. Luke sits down beside him.

Sam drops into the seat beside me, his knee brushing mine. “You doing okay?” he asks, his voice low.

“Not really,” I admit, staring out the window at the empty road. “We don’t have time for delays like this. The schedule is too tight.”

“It’s just a blown hose,” he says, his tone light. “We’ll get it fixed.”

“It’s not just this,” I say, my voice sharp with frustration, then immediately regret it. His brows knit together, concern flashing in his eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he says softly, reaching for my hand. “Is there something I should know about?.”

Hesitating, I finally shake my head. “No, I guess everything is fine.”

But the knot in my chest doesn’t loosen. Every minute we sit here feels like a ticking bomb, and I can’t shake the feeling that we’re skating on thin ice with this tour. Is there something wrong? Are these simple coincidences? Why do they feel more—like someone is sabotaging the tour?

Sam keeps me company; his humor makes me laugh. The hours creep by as we wait for roadside assistance. Finally, I make my way back to Cass’s bus with Sam in tow.

Cass opens the door at my knock and steps out. “Hey, is there an update?”

“No, roadside assistance can’t give us a definite time,” I admit, “I thought we should come up with a backup plan.”

He nods slowly. “Okay, what did you have in mind?”

“I thought maybe we could move the equipment in our bus to yours–just the necessities,” I blurt out, “Then drive with you to the performance.”

“That could work. It’s a hell of a lot of work, but we could do it.” He nods again. “You’ll leave the driver here, and he can join the rest of the crew once everything’s fixed?”

Smiling in relief, I say, “Yes, that’s what I was thinking.”

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

We break the news to the rest of the band and the crew. All of them groan their complaint. But willing to do whatever it takes to get us on the road. They work quickly, moving the equipment stored on our bus to Cass’s. Once everything has been transferred, we crowd into Cass’s family bus, and soon, we’re on our way. Only our bus driver stays behind, promising he’ll call with updates.

We make it to the venue only a few hours late, which does little to soothe my nerves. The tightness in my chest eases only slightly as I see the venue staff already bustling around, preparing for our arrival.

Knowing that every moment is precious, we hurriedly step off the bus, only to be met with a stern-faced venue manager who wasted no time voicing his displeasure.

“You cut it close,” he says, his tone clipped. “We were starting to think you wouldn’t make it.”

“We had a mechanical issue,” I explain, forcing my voice to remain calm. “But we’re here now, and we’ll get everything set up on time.”

He doesn’t look convinced, his sharp eyes flicking between me and Cass. “Let’s hope so. We’ve got a packed house tonight, and we can’t afford any more delays.”

I feel Sam’s hand on the small of my back, offering a subtle gesture of support. “We’ll make it happen,” he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The manager nods curtly before walking away, and I exhale slowly, my shoulders sagging.

“You handled that well,” Sam says, leaning close.

“Barely,” I mutter with a grimace. “We don’t have any room for error tonight.”

“And we won’t make any,” he replies, his voice steady. “Come on. Let’s get to work.”

The crew springs into action, unloading equipment and setting up the stage as the band performs their prep tasks. I stay in constant motion, coordinating with the staff and paying attention to every detail.

Sam tries to catch my eye a few times. I know he wants to talk, but there’s no time—not with the clock ticking down and so much still to do.

Finally, the stage is set, and the soundcheck goes off without a hitch. The band retreats to the dressing rooms to prepare, and I take a moment to catch my breath in the wings.

Sam finds me there, leaning against a stack of equipment cases. “You’ve been running yourself ragged,” he says, his voice low. “You can’t control everything, Emily.”

I want to argue, but the sincerity in his tone gives me pause. “I just want everything to go smoothly,” I admit, my voice low.

“And it will,” he says, stepping closer. “Quit worrying. You’re doing a great job.”

Before he can say more, a stagehand calls out, breaking the moment. Sam leans forward, kissing my forehead reassuringly, before heading off to join the band.

The performance goes great, considering everything that went wrong getting here. Cass owns the stage; his charisma is undeniable. Sam and the rest of the band are right on target, and the crowd loves them.

I watch from the wings, holding my breath that we can finish without something else failing. On the one hand, I’m relieved; on the other, I’m beginning to think my suspicions are right. That maybe someone is trying to sabotage the band's performances.

By the time the final encore ends and the band exits the stage, the tension that’s been hanging over me all day finally begins to ease. The crew moves quickly, packing the equipment as the band heads to the dressing rooms.

Sam finds me backstage, his face flushed with the adrenaline of the performance. “See?” he says, his lips quirking into a grin. “No disasters. You worry too much.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help smiling. “Maybe. But I’d rather be over-prepared than underprepared.”

“Fair enough,” he says, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Now, let’s get out of here before that venue manager decides to give you a hard time again.”

When we step outside, the bus, which arrived an hour ago, is already idling. The cool night air is a welcome relief after the heat of the stage. The band piles on, their energy still high from the show. As Sam starts to climb the steps, I stop him with a hand on his arm.

“We have our own room,” I tell him with a sly smile.

His eyes gleaming, he states, “Great. Let’s grab our overnight bags.”

We’re silent as we make our way to the hotel across the parking lot, holding our breath and our distance until the clerk hands us the key cards to our room.

The moment the door closes behind us, the energy shifts. Sam's eyes meet mine, dark with promise, and suddenly, the space between us feels electric. After numerous stolen glances and careful distance on the bus, having this privacy feels almost decadent.

Sam grins, his eyes landing on the king-sized bed.

After ordering room service, we both head for the shower.

Steam fills the bathroom as Sam's hands slide over my wet skin. Just as things start to heat up between us, there's a knock at the door. His frustrated groan against my neck makes me shiver despite the warm water.

Reluctantly stepping out, he reaches for a towel. “Damn, room service for being early.”

While lingering in the bathroom, the muffled sound of Sam talking to the hotel staffer can barely be heard over the sound of the hair drier. Wrapping a robe around me, I walk out of the bathroom. Sam is sitting at the small table with our food in front of him.

He stands and makes a show of holding out my chair with a gentleman’s flair.

“Care to join me?” he murmurs with a teasing grin.

“Don’t mind if I do,” I say, matching his playful mood.

After we’ve both eaten our fill, I lean back in my chair. “That was delicious. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to butter me up,” I say quietly.

“What if I am?” Sam asks gently. His sudden, serious tone makes my heart fall in my chest as I turn to him warily.