Chapter 6
6
SAM
I watch you in the quiet,
like a ghost I can’t let go,
Caught up in your light,
from a distance I won’t show
You move like something fragile,
but fierce beneath your skin?—
A beauty made of fire in whose flames I dance to ash
- The Wild Ones, "The Way She Moves"
T he problem with kissing someone you've wanted for years is that once you've had a taste, you can't think about anything else.
I watched Faye move through the pre-show chaos, all professional efficiency in her fitted black dress, tablet in hand as she coordinated last-minute details. She hadn't met my eyes since the limo incident, but I couldn't stop watching her—the graceful line of her neck, the way she bit her lower lip when concentrating, how her hands moved as she directed the crew.
The same hands that had been tangled in my hair just hours ago.
"Earth to Sam." Justice waved a hand in front of my face. "Your guitar's out of tune."
"What? Oh." I looked down at my hands, realizing I'd been absently plucking the same string for who knows how long. "Sorry."
"You okay?" He lowered his voice, glancing between Faye and me. "You've been weird since the interview."
I started to retune my guitar, grateful for something to focus on besides the memory of Faye's body pressed against mine. "I'm fine."
"You sure? Amy went pretty hard on you."
I shrugged. “Not unexpected. And Faye handled it.”
Justice leaned against a tower of speakers, crossing his arms. “Ah, that explains it.”
I cocked an eyebrow in question.
"Why you're staring at Faye like she's water in the desert."
"I haven't been?—"
"Sam!" Faye's call cut through the noise. She hadn’t glanced up from her ipad, determinedly avoiding my gaze. "The label wants photos before the show. Can you...?" She gestured vaguely toward the backdrop they'd set up.
"Whatever you need." The words came out huskier than intended.
Her cheeks darkened slightly as her eyes finally met mine for a brief, electric moment before skittering away. She turned away quickly, but not before I caught the flash of something in her gaze.
Good. At least I wasn't the only one affected.
The next hour passed in a blur of preparations, both of us dancing around each other like magnets with reverse polarity. Every time she came near, my skin buzzed with awareness. Every accidental brush of hands felt like lightning.
"Here." She appeared at my elbow as I finished my warmup, holding out my bucket of spare guitar picks. "You left these in the green room."
I took it, our fingers touching briefly. The contact sent electricity shooting up my arm. "Thanks."
She started to turn away, but I caught her wrist. "Faye..."
"Don't." Her voice was soft, almost pleading. "We have a show to do."
"And after?"
She finally met my eyes, and the heat there nearly knocked me back.
"We’ll talk," she agreed, then pulled away, already speaking into her headset about camera angles and lighting.
I watched her go, remembering how she'd felt in my arms, the little sounds she'd made when I'd kissed her neck, the way she'd pulled me closer instead of pushing me away.
"Dude." Felix appeared beside me, following my gaze. "You've got it bad."
"Shut up and tune your bass."
He grinned, unrepentant. "Just saying, for a fake marriage, you guys look pretty real to me."
I thought about Faye's hands fisted in my shirt, her breathless "don't you dare stop," the way she'd kissed me back like she'd been wanting it as much as I had.
"Five minutes!" the stage manager called. "Places, everyone!"
I strapped on my guitar, trying to focus on the show ahead and not on the memory of Faye’s body pressed against mine in the back of that limo.
We’ll talk, she'd said.
I intended to hold her to that promise.
The crowd roared as the lights dimmed, the opening band closing out their set with a rousing number.
As the stage went dark and we ran on, I forced myself to focus on the music. In place, I glanced around, waiting for the nod from my band mates before my fingers strummed the opening chords.
The crowd went wild, screaming a wave of sound at the stage. It raised goosebumps on my skin, and had Justice chuckling from somewhere to my left.
But all I could think about was how Faye's lips had felt against mine, and how much I wanted to kiss her again.
Later. After. Soon.
Finally.
The final chord of our set rang out through the arena, sweat dripping down my back as the crowd roared. Three and a half hours of playing, two encores and a third standing ovation had me exhausted but pumped up on adrenaline.
As Justice thanked the crowd, I finally allowed myself to look toward the wings where I knew she'd be waiting. Faye stood in her usual spot, iPad forgotten in her hands as she watched us.
But she wasn't alone.
Alex leaned against the wall beside her, too close for comfort, his perfectly tailored suit a stark contrast to our post-show sweat-drenched chaos. Even from here, I could see the tension in Faye's shoulders, the way she angled her body away from him while maintaining professional politeness.
"Great show," Alex said as we filed offstage, his voice carrying that practiced smoothness that set my teeth on edge. "The energy was electric."
“Always is,” I muttered darkly, shooting him a glare as I made my way to Faye. Slinging an arm around her shoulders, I leaned in nuzzling her hair. “You okay?”
“Peachy,” she said through gritted teeth. “But I’ll survive.”
We walked down to the green room, accepting congratulations and thanking our crew as we walked. Inside were the VIPs. We’d do an hour of meet and greet before finally being allowed to head back to the bus.
I held the door open for Faye but Alex stopped me before we could enter.
“You guys go ahead,” he told Radley, Felix and Justice. “I need to talk to the newlyweds for a moment.”
Felix caught my eye, cocking his head.
“Go in,” I murmured. “We’ll be a minute.”
Faye stepped beside me, her hand finding mine as we waited for them to file passed. The door bumped shut, leaving us in the semi-dark of the hallway.
Alex crossed his arms, his expression patronizing.
“We have a problem.”
Faye’s hand flexed in mine.
I clenched my jaw, barely holding back the impulse to knock that smug look off Alex’s face. He had that infuriating air of superiority, the way he held himself, like he was always a few steps above the rest of us. But what set my teeth on edge the most was how close he was to Faye, cornering her with his words, like he knew exactly where to dig, exactly which scars to press his fingers into.
Not on my watch.
“And that is?” I prompted.
"The label's been doing some digging." Alex pulled out his phone, his smile sharp. "Interesting what you find when you look hard enough. Like old yearbook photos from Capricorn Cove High." He looked up, eyes glinting. "You two were quite close back then, weren't you?"
Faye stiffened beside me. "That was years ago."
"Was it?" Alex scrolled through his phone. "Because according to these photos, you were quite... friendly. Theatre club, band, debate team, and this is just what we found today." He looked between us. "Yet somehow that connection never made it into any of your employment paperwork when you signed the label’s contract."
My fingers twitched, my pulse thundering in my ears. He was baiting her, trying to unnerve her, using anything he could to make her doubt herself, to paint her as if she was just some opportunist using me to climb the ladder. It was the same tactic he’d used years ago, the same methodical, calculated way he’d dismantled her career one whisper at a time. And I knew, just by looking at him, he wouldn’t stop until he saw her break.
Not this time.
"It wasn't relevant," Faye said, her voice firm and calm but for the slight tremor of tension. “No one ever asked.”
"Wasn't it?” Alex's mouth curved into a smug smile, his eyes flicking to me, then back to her, a predator circling its prey. “From where I'm standing, it looks an awful lot like you leveraged a personal connection for professional gain.” His smile turned cruel. “Just like you did at Preston & Myers."
The rage that had been simmering beneath my skin boiled over. My free hand clenched into a fist at my side, every muscle in my body tensing as his words hit like a slap. Faye’s face had gone pale, her hand gripping mine with a desperation I hadn’t felt from her before, and seeing her like that—vulnerable, trying to keep it together as he tore into her—was the last straw.
"That's not—" she started, but Alex cut her off.
"I’m stating facts. The label has concerns about your potential conflicts of interest and about the integrity of certain employment decisions."
“But—”
Alex cut her off, stepping closer, feeding off her uncertainty, her pain. And something in me snapped.
“Faye, I think you need to resi?—”
My fist connected with the wall beside his head before I even realized I'd moved. "Choose your next words very carefully."
Alex flinched, his smile faltering.
"Sam." Faye's hand on my arm was gentle but firm. "Sam, let him go. He's not worth it."
I released him slowly, stepping back to Faye's side. Alex straightened his suit, that smug smile still in place.
"The label wants a full investigation into any potential impropriety. Starting with your initial hiring." He adjusted his cuffs. "Unless, of course, Faye prefers to resign. Save everyone the embarrassment."
I felt my pulse hammering in my ears. He had no idea what he was talking about—no idea what Faye had been through, what she’d sacrificed, what she’d done to rebuild her life after he’d torn it apart. And to stand here, to accuse her of using me, of somehow scheming her way into this job, after all the years she’d spent busting her ass for us? It was too much.
“Shut the fuck up. You don’t know a damn thing about us,” I said, my voice low and deadly, barely keeping my temper in check. “She’s been with this band since day one. She’s done more for us than you or anyone else at that label ever has.”
Alex smirked, clearly unbothered by my anger. In fact, he looked downright pleased, like he’d been waiting for me to lose control. “And isn’t that convenient? All thanks to that old ‘friendship’ from high school. What a fairy-tale story for the fans,” he sneered.
The room felt like it was spinning, my vision tunnelling as his words sank in. Every insult he hurled felt like a punch, aimed directly at Faye, at the very core of who she was, and I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t stand the thought of him tearing her down, of him dredging up her past, twisting our history into something ugly and cheap.
"That won't be necessary."
We all turned to find Justice standing in the doorway, arms crossed.
"I hired Faye," he continued, moving to stand beside us. "After she saved our asses at that charity event where our previous manager got wasted and spouted some racist shit."
I remembered that night. Faye had stepped in, handled the press, smoothed over ruffled feathers, and somehow turned the whole thing into positive publicity. It had occurred just as the label had come courting—and her quick actions had saved us from being relegated into the junk pile of obscurity.
"Sam didn't even know she was interviewing," Justice added.
Alex's smile slipped slightly. "That doesn't change?—"
"What it changes," Justice cut in, "is your whole narrative. Any other accusations you'd like me to destroy? Or should we discuss how the label might react when they learn their new crisis manager is trying to fabricate scandals?"
For the first time, Alex looked uncertain.
"You know what your problem is, Alex?" Faye's voice was steady now, stronger. "You see manipulation everywhere because that's all you know how to do. But some of us actually earn our success."
"I’m just doing my job." His smile was sharp. "Making sure everything stays... professional. We wouldn't want anyone making decisions they might regret. Again."
Faye flinched. It was tiny, barely noticeable, but I felt it where our arms touched.
“We’re done here,” I ground out, my voice rough, barely controlled. “You don’t get to talk to my wife like that. Not now, not fucking ever. You come near her again and you better fucking believe there will be consequences.” I held my hand out. “Faye?”
She took my hand, allowing me to lead her away but Alex's voice stopped us.
"Have a good night, you two," he called after us. “But not too good.”
She froze beside me, and I saw the flash of annoyance cross her face.
“Alex,” she said sweetly over her shoulder. “Go fuck yourself.”
I guided her through the backstage chaos toward the exit. She didn't resist, letting me lead her out into the cool night air and toward the waiting tour bus.
I pulled my cell out of my pocket as we walked, barely containing the rage simmering under my skin.
“Sam! To what do I owe this call?” Hendrix Archer, the CEO of the parent company of record label answered immediately.
“Hendrix, sorry to call you so late but I have a problem.”
I glanced down at Faye, catching her frowning up at me.
“Well let’s see if we can’t fix it. What’s the issue?”
“The label has sent a guy to sort out the apparent mess my marriage has caused. Let’s be honest, Hendrix, there is no mess. Sales are up, our name is splashed across the media, and Faye is gem. I want Alex Pontiff gone. Faye and Liz can handle this. And I will not tolerate the disrespect this fucking guy is showing my wife.”
Faye’s hand tightened in mine as I guided us toward the bus.
“I understand and you’re right. I’ll take care of it.”
“Appreciate that.”
“Have a good rest of your night, Sam. And best wishes to you and Faye.”
“Thanks.”
I hung up, guiding Faye into the bus with a gentle hand on her lower back.
The familiar interior welcomed us, quiet and empty—the rest of the band looking after the VIPs and press for at least another hour. I followed her into the small kitchen area, watching as she sank onto one of the benches.
"Want to talk about it?"
She stared at her hands, still clutched together in her lap. "Not really."
"Okay." I moved to the tiny kitchen, pulling out two mugs. "Tea?"
A small smile tugged at her lips. "You don't have to take care of me. I’m not the one who punched a wall."
I needed to do something with my hands—the anger still sizzled in my blood.
"I wish it had been his face." I set the kettle to boil, leaning against the counter to face her. "But I also want to understand why seeing him hurts you so much."
She was quiet for a long moment, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. Finally, she looked up, meeting my eyes. "When he did what he did, he didn't just steal my work, Sam. He stole my confidence. Made me doubt everything about myself—my judgment, my professionalism, my ability to separate personal from business."
"And now?"
"Now he's here, watching, waiting for me to mess up again." Her laugh was bitter. "Maybe I already have."
I crossed to her, kneeling in front of her bench so she had to look at me. "Hey. You haven't messed up anything."
"Haven't I?" Her eyes searched mine. "Our marriage, that kiss..."
"Was perfect," I finished. "And I'd very much like to do it again. But only when you're ready."
Surprise flickered across her face. "You’re serious?”
"Deadly." I took her hands in mine, enjoying how perfectly we fit together. "Not to be dismissive but you’re a fucking great kisser."
She stared at our joined hands, then back at me. "I… you are too.”
I grinned. “I know.”
She kicked me.
"Look, as much as I want to kiss you, I’m also okay if we stay exactly as we are. Friends, partners, whatever you need." I squeezed her fingers gently. "But I hope you'll give us a chance. When you're ready."
The kettle whistled, breaking the moment. I stood, reluctantly letting go of her hands to fix our tea.
"Sam?"
"Hmm?"
"I’ll think about it.”
I turned back to her, finding her watching me with soft eyes. "Yeah?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Just... give me time?"
"All you need." I handed her a mug of peppermint tea, then settled onto the bench opposite. "Though I should warn you, I might stare at you a lot. And think about kissing you. Probably write some embarrassingly romantic songs."
She snorted and we settled into comfortable silence, sipping our tea and stealing glances at each other across the small space. Eventually, exhaustion caught up with me.
“Gonna head to bed.”
“I should too.”
We headed up to the sleeping area, swapping between the bathroom as we quietly got ready for bed.
"Goodnight, Sam," she said softly, climbing into her bunk.
"Goodnight, Faye."
I lay in my bunk opposite hers, watching as she settled in, her silk bonnet already in place. She caught me looking and smiled—a real smile, soft and sweet and just for me.
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"That kiss really was perfect."
I grinned into the darkness. "Just wait until the next one."
Her quiet laugh followed me into sleep, and for the first time since this whole marriage thing started, I felt truly hopeful.
I fell asleep watching her through half-closed eyes, memorizing the way she looked in the dim light of the bus.
I’d wait. She was worth it.