Chapter 7
ROSS
Onyx Knight was typically a well-oiled machine. Everyone, from the band to the crew to support staff, knew their jobs and did them well.
Unless there was a technical problem or something broke unexpectedly, we were prepared for almost anything.
I had to keep an eye on things from start to finish, but once they hit the stage, all I had to do was watch.
Their techs knew how to handle broken strings or if the sound went out or anything else that might go wrong. The sound and light guys had this down to a science, and most arenas had capable, efficient staff to make sure things went smoothly.
However, no one could do anything about Kingston’s voice.
All we could do was hold our collective breath and pray for the best.
He definitely wasn’t himself tonight.
His energy was fine, but he was singing much lower registers and his voice had already cracked a few times.
And this was only the third song.
I couldn’t imagine him getting through ten.
Not to mention the two-song encore.
Their normal set was sixteen, with a three-song encore.
They’d scaled way back tonight, but I was nervous.
Kingston jogged off stage when Z started to sing ‘Not Going Away’, and the look he gave me was worrisome.
“I don’t know how much more I’ve got,”
he admitted, his voice hoarse.
“Drink this.”
I handed him the concoction Devyn had instructed me to have ready for him at any point in the show.
He took a few sips and closed his eyes.
“This isn’t good,”
he whispered. “I may not be able to finish.”
“Do we need to cancel the tour?”
He met my gaze guiltily. “We might. The doc said it’ll take at least a couple of weeks for me to be back to a hundred percent. And we’ve got back-to-back shows for months...”
He didn’t have to finish his thought for me to understand how difficult this could be.
“We’ll figure that out later. Right now, you have to get through maybe four songs? We can sub in some covers and let the other guys sing them.”
He took a breath, looking at me intently.
“Or…you could.”
I stared at him.
What the fuck was happening?
I’d been with the band nearly ten years and they’d never asked anything like this of me.
I’d been clear from day one that my life in the spotlight was over.
We’d agreed it would never come up again.
They knew the story.
They supposedly understood how painful it was for me.
They fucking knew I couldn’t do this.
Not for him, not for the band, not for anyone.
“We don’t have to tell them who you are,”
he said, his lips close to my ear since it was hard to hear anyway. “Just our awesome manager helping out because I have a cold.”
That was the story he’d told the audience at the beginning of the show. Laryngitis would bring out every couch warrior doctor on social media, so it was easier to simplify things.
“I can’t.”
“You can. And it’s time. If you ask me, you need this more than I do.”
Wynter had hinted at the same thing.
I glanced over to where she was watching the show, her body swaying in time to the music. She looked beautiful standing there, and I watched her for a moment, wondering what she would say if she could hear our conversation.
She caught my gaze and cocked her head curiously, a faint smile playing on her lips. I’d been a dick to her today, going hot and cold like a fucking faucet on speed. She shouldn’t have pushed me so much, but I could have been more gracious.
Especially since I was planning to ask her out.
Instead, I’d used her pushiness as an excuse to avoid doing something I hadn’t done since Clara died. I’d gone out with a handful of women, had sex with more than I could count, but I’d never asked a woman out with the intention of starting something. Or at least seeing where it could go.
I’d been hiding under grief and pain and myriad other emotions to avoid emotional entanglements.
And I’d done the same thing with my music.
It was easier to hide than to face my grief again, or to remember everything and everyone I’d lost.
What Kingston was asking was too much.
It was.
Wasn’t it?
I was still looking into Wynter’s beautiful eyes, and suddenly, I wasn’t sure about anything.
Devyn, Z, and Kellan had come off stage, leaving Tommy to do his drum solo, which might last three or four minutes if he pushed it.
And now they were looking at me too.
As if they’d planned this.
“I can’t,”
I said finally.
“You can,”
Kingston said firmly. “You can do anything you put your mind to.”
“Stop talking!”
Devyn admonished him, smacking his arm.
He gave her a look and she turned to me, the question in her eyes impossible to miss.
“Not you too,”
I groaned.
“We promised him we’d never bring this up,”
Kellan said.
“This is different,”
Z pointed out. “We couldn’t anticipate running into a situation like this.”
“I haven’t sung like that in over a decade,”
I interjected. “I don’t know what shape my voice is in, even if I wanted to.”
“It can’t be worse than Kingston going out there and losing his voice completely,”
Devyn said.
“Come on, man. This is important.”
Z lifted his hands in a helpless gesture.
“There could be a nice bonus in it for you,”
Kellan added.
I gritted my teeth, trying to calm the roaring in my ears. “You know this isn’t about money. Jesus.”
“This isn’t part of your job description but we’re a family here,”
Kellan said. “We’re there for each other. Aren’t we? It’s only a couple of songs.”
Only a couple of songs?
They had no idea how much they were asking of me.
It was so much more than a couple of songs.
Yet there didn’t appear to be a way for me to say no.
Because Onyx Knight was my family, the only one I had these days. My parents had passed away several years ago, I had a brother I only saw once or twice a year, and that was about it. So, these guys were important to me beyond the fact that they were my employers.
“I’m not sure I know all the lyrics,”
I hedged, looking from Kingston to Kellen and back again.
“I still have all the lyric sheets from when I first joined the band,”
Devon said turning to her guitar tech and motioned him over. “Pete, do you still have my lyric sheets?”
He nodded and ran toward one of the supply cases rooting around until he pulled out a stack of papers and brought them to us.
“Look at me,“ I said, motioning to my ratty jeans and T-shirt as I realized this was going to happen. “I’m not stage-ready.”
“So you’ll do it?”
Kellen asked, his eyes sparking with excitement.
They were all watching me expectantly.
How the hell could I say no?
“And what happens if I fuck it up?”
I demanded. “My voice isn’t trained for this anymore.”
“Doesn’t matter,”
Kingston said, before grimacing and holding up his hands to Devyn, who glared at him.
“Here.”
Pete pulled a leather vest out of one of the supply chests. “Tommy wears this sometimes but he gets too hot. It should fit.”
“Take your shirt off,”
Devyn instructed, motioning for me to hurry up.
Thank God I spent a lot of time at the gym.
I pulled on the vest, thinking I looked ridiculous, but Devyn grinned. “You look awesome.”
“What song do you know the best?” Z asked.
My mind momentarily went blank.
Did I know the full lyrics to any of their songs?
I had to think fast because Tommy’s solo was almost over.
I caught him looking in our direction and he seemed to understand something was happening, because instead of winding down, he picked up speed again.
These guys really were amazing.
I owed it to them to make this work.
Two or three songs would save the show and Kingston’s voice.
“Probably ‘Judgement Call’,”
I said after a few seconds. “And ‘Break Your Promise’, but we’re saving that for last, right?”
Z nodded. “Yeah. So let’s do Judgment, then ‘Symphony of the Broken’. Devyn can sing that one with you while King plays piano.”
“I can do the background vocals on that one,”
Kingston said, before quickly clapping his hand over his mouth and backing away from Devyn.
“You guys suck, you know that?”
I stared at them.
“You got this, bro.”
Pete nodded and clapped me on the shoulder. “Ross Rocket is in there somewhere. You just gotta dig deep.”
Christ.
Had everyone known all along and just pretended they didn’t?
What did that mean?
Was I the asshole for trying to pretend to be someone I wasn’t?
The irony didn’t escape me, but I didn’t have time to contemplate any of that because Tommy was winding down for real this time.
It had been eighteen years and seven months since I’d last performed.
Now I was about to sing in front of 19,698 people.
I was either going to faint or puke.