Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Malik
Imopped my face with a towel Pauletta handed me.
Although I carried my violin case, the road crew, as well as the Rocktoberfest stagehands, cleared our stuff from the stage.
Creed slapped me on the back.
Hard.
“Dude.” I coughed.
“Sorry, not sorry.” He grinned. “You hit it right out of the park. I don’t know who Pike is, but you should’ve seen your man’s face.”
I hadn’t looked. If I’d met Spencer’s gaze in that moment, I might’ve broken. Because he’d either be moved by my tribute or he’d be pissed as hell—neither reaction could I have borne in that moment.
“They were eating out of the palm of your hand.” Pauletta’s grin encompassed her entire lovely face. “I’d say that time overseas was worth it.”
Much as I would’ve loved to take credit for the violin idea, that had been Carson. Making it work, however? That was on me.
Reese guzzled her water.
Then noticed Lydia holding the camera pointing right at her.
My drummer gazed toward me and winced.
I shrugged. Given the documentary was going to be a short thirty-minute thing, I doubt one of us chugging hydration ranked in the list of must have scenes.
Mickey waved me over. “Found these two just beyond the security perimeter. I managed to get them in.”
Mama strode over to Creed while Spencer hesitantly approached me.
I grinned. “It’s okay. You’re not going to get in trouble.”
“Are you sure?” He glanced around, almost as if expecting a security guard to grab him at any moment.
Heedless of my sweaty body, I dragged him in for a hug. He was still here. So I assumed that meant he wasn’t pissed about my bringing Pike into the concert.
He pulled back and met my gaze. His eyes were red-rimmed.
“Oh baby, I’m sorry.”
“You should be.” Mama wagged her finger at me. “Making your beautiful man cry.”
“Cry?” Pauletta’s focus zeroed in on Spencer.
“Nothing that needs to be shared here.” I gestured with my chin to Lydia.
Thornton, who stood off to the side, snickered. “You think Mickey’s not going to figure it out?”
Mickey, for their part, merely grinned.
Or Thornton might. He was, after all, the executive producer. And a damn smart man to boot. He’d gotten his start filming nature photography. After his sister’s death, he’d moved into gotcha journalism.
Why Ed ever trusted the man, I didn’t know.
Oh, wait. I wracked my brain. Pauletta took credit for allowing the crew to film Grindstone at their inaugural concert here two years ago. She hadn’t known Thornton’s connection to the young woman who had died ten years earlier. Or how hellbent he’d been on destroying Ed and Axel.
Now he was married to one of them.
Go figure.
I took a breath.
Spencer, however, put his hand on my chest. “I’ll talk about Pike. Just…not here. Not now.”
Thornton nodded. “Sure. When you think the moment’s right.”
I wanted to say never, but the decision was Spencer’s. If he wanted to talk about his friend—and why he’d chosen activism after that friend died—then that was his choice.
“You need to move along.” One of the stagehands gestured for us to leave.
Spencer clung to me as we headed out to the back.
Cool air hit my heated skin. Days were hot in Nevada, even in October, but the nights could cool quickly.
The first notes from the next band reverberated, and the crowd roared.
“They were loud.” Freddie grinned. “Seriously. I’ve never seen a crowd that enthusiastic.”
“Possibly because that’s the best we’ve ever played?” Creed held his mother’s hand. “All for you, Mama.”
She pressed her hand to his cheek. “One day, you’ll tell me the truth.”
He blinked.
Completely discomposed.
I’d warned him. I’d said that the audience would know. If not the audience, then at least Mama.
Being right brought little vindication as I watched my best friend grin with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “All good, Mama. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She scowled.
“Are we getting food? I’m starving.” Freddie pressed a hand to his gut. He could never eat before a gig and so was always ravenous afterward.
“Grindstone has invited you back to their bus. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but they want to celebrate your debut.” Thornton grinned. “They make the best lasagna—one meat and one vegetarian.”
I moaned. “No meat?”
Spencer clasped my hand. “Don’t go vegetarian on my account.” He pressed a kiss to my cheek. “I love you just the way you are.”
“Please tell them we accept their offer.” Belatedly I realized I was speaking for a large group of people. I met each of their gazes and all I got back was grins.
“I’ll text them.” Thornton grabbed his phone out of his back pocket and headed away.
“We’re going to be crammed in that bus.” Reese shrugged. “Life of a rock star, right?”
“I don’t have to go.” Mama met my gaze.
“I’m pretty certain we can fit you in.” I was so not going to point out how tiny she was.
Creed offered me a smile. He mouthed thank you.
I smiled my response.
As we were wending our way through the crowd, I grabbed Spencer’s arm. “Oh God, isn’t that Jameson Crow from Corvus Rising?” I pointed to the tall, solidly built man. His long, dark hair was tied back, and I would’ve recognized that profile anywhere.
Spencer chuckled quietly. “Did you seriously just ask me that question?”
By the time his meaning sank in, Jameson had melted back into the crowd. “Okay, if I can find him later, I’m going to—”
“Ask him for an autograph?” Spencer clutched my hand as we followed the rather-tall Thornton through the crowd.
“Maybe ask him about his vocals. He and Val are amazing.”
“That’s fair. Of course, I’ve never heard of Corvus Rising.”
“You need an education on all things rock’n’roll.”
“Only if you’re the one teaching me. My ears are still ringing.”
He really should’ve been wearing earplugs.
Hopefully Mama had.
Oh God, I’m worrying about hearing loss.
Who knew I’d be all grown up at twenty-eight?
Axel greeted us at the door of the bus and beckoned us in.
Yes, the fit with two bands, husbands, fiancés, a baby, and Mama was tight.
Celebratory and jovial were the two words I’d use. Grindstone toasted our success—with sparkling apple cider—and Pauletta made predictions about our future prospects.
As we ate the most delicious lasagna, she reported on the number of sales of our new album, dropped just over an hour ago.
Numbers that staggered me and far exceeded sales of our last album.
Spencer nuzzled my ear. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
I turned to give him a quick, hard kiss. “Worth the time apart?”
“Completely.”
“No nookie.” Mama shook her fork at us.
Spencer wrapped his arm around my shoulder.
I leaned into his touch. Even after being home for several months, I never could get enough of it.
“We’ll save it for the tent.” My fiancé grinned.
“You two need to marry.”
I blinked at Mama as I stilled. We’d never discussed a date. After my wonky, awkward proposal, the band had been so focused on today—tonight, specifically—that we’d never really discussed a date.
“I’d marry him tonight if I could.” He tightened his grip on my shoulder.
“You could drive to Reno. Or Vegas.” Axel grinned. “As long as you’re back to watch our show tomorrow night.”
“Sounds…possible.” Spencer gazed at me.
I shook my head. “Family and friends. Small and intimate—but family and friends.”
“We’re not all dragging our butts to Vegas.” Meg held her baby tight.
Although Vera, our bus driver, had offered to watch little Ella when Grindstone rehearsed, and then played, Mama insisted she do it.
Vera didn’t appear the least bit offended.
To practice for when you all give me grandbabies.
She’d said that directed at me, Spencer, Reese, Freddie and—most especially—Creed.
I would’ve sworn he’d gone pale.
He was thirty-three and, to my knowledge, had no plans to settle down. Wasn’t even seeing anyone seriously.
His younger sister, Abrianna, was still pursuing her PhD and showed no signs of slowing down as she plowed toward academia.
I glanced over to Spencer. He was pale. “Migraine?” I whispered the word.
He shook his head. “I took my preventative pill earlier. It’s working.
This new drug is amazing.” He’d only had a handful of crippling migraines since I’d gotten home.
His doctor had gone out on a limb, prescribing an off-label use for an older drug.
The medication hadn’t initially been created to treat migraines, but that had been an unexpected side effect.
Since the risks were minimal, Spencer had been willing to try.
Six months of significant relief made the gamble pay off.
Whether he’d need to take them for the rest of his life was a question for another day.
Mama eyed him.
He nodded.
Apparently satisfied, she put the last mouthful of lasagna on her fork. “You’ll marry at Christmas. I’m organizing. You just have to show up looking respectable.” She popped the food into her mouth.
Creed hooted.
I glared. “You’re next, my friend.”
Again, he desisted immediately.
Okay, something is really wrong.
At that moment, baby Ella started fussing.
“Hand her over.” Mama pushed her tray toward me and opened her arms to the baby.
Meg, who was still eating, frowned. “She’s been fed.”
“Too much noise.” Mama took the baby and headed toward the back of the bus.
Big Mac made to rise.
Creed gestured for him to sit back down. “Your daughter couldn’t be in better hands.”
“And if Mama gets the grandmothering out of her system for a bit, that gives you a reprieve.” Spencer turned his attention to my drummer. “I see you.”
But he didn’t. As perceptive as Spencer could be—and he was fucking good at reading people—he was totally missing Creed’s evident pain.
“I need some air.” Creed collected a bunch of dishes and carried them to the kitchen.
“Remember we eat ice cream after our show tomorrow night. You’re expected to be here.” Songbird grinned. “You’re our new besties.”
Creed waved, then headed out.
Spencer gazed at me.
I nodded. “Yeah, we should be going as well.”
“Happy nookie.” Pauletta leaned against Mickey. “And we’ll head out as well.”
They’d head to the camper van while Spencer and I headed to our tent. Not the most glamorous way to hunker down, but I didn’t want to be making out on our tour bus with all my nosy bandmates within hearing distance.
Spencer slid off the bench first. He held out his hand and shook hands with each member of Grindstone.
Ed cocked his head.
“You were the inspiration. If Malik hadn’t had Black Rock in his sights—knowing you all had made it not once, but twice—who knows where he’d be right now?”
“Possibly in jail.” Freddie grinned. “With Mama having to bail him out.”
“I heard that.” Mama’s voice carried from the back of the bus.
“Oh shit.” He mumbled that. “I better go before I say anything else that will get me in trouble. Thanks, eh?”
He and Reese rose as well.
En masse, we departed.
Reese and Freddie headed to our bus. As they got in, I couldn’t spot Creed.
I hope he’s gone to bed and isn’t getting into any trouble.
I might have the reputation as the one who did things without thinking about the consequences—but Creed was a close second.
Only the idea of disappointing Mama kept him from following some of his more-reckless impulses.
Spencer and I stopped by the tent to grab our toothbrushes. We took super quick showers, brushed our teeth, pissed, and then headed back to our tent.
I sat cross-legged as I sorted out my hair.
He sat on our sleeping bags, eyeing me.
“What?”
“A Christmas wedding?”
I fought with a particularly annoying tangle. “We don’t have to do what Mama wants.”
He arched an eyebrow, visible in the low light. His hair shone a shade darker as he towel dried it.
“Well, if you have your heart set on something else—”
“I don’t. I like Mama’s suggestion. I don’t want you to feel pressured.”
“Sweetheart.” I grinned. “I proposed to you, remember? The intention was always to, you know, get married. I just wanted to get through the concert first.”
“You were amazing.”
“Yeah, I kind of was. We all were.”
“And now you’re going to want to be the face of This Land is Ours.”
“Yeah, I kind of do.”
He pursed his lips. “All right. You can be the spokesperson if—”
I leaned forward.
“—if you tone it down a little. There’s no reason why I can’t try my way and your way at the same time. Just no arrests, please?”
I grinned. “Deal.”