26. Twenty-Six
Twenty-Six
Sam
Emily and I stand at the door of the beach house, bags in hand, as the morning sun streams in through the windows. The routine is starting to feel all too familiar—saying goodbye to this place, loading up for the next performance. At least this time, it’s only one performance, and then we’ll be home again for a couple of weeks.
“You ready for this?” I ask her as I adjust the strap of my duffel bag.
Emily’s hand lingers on the doorknob, her expression unreadable. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she murmurs, her voice tinged with reluctance.
I can’t blame her. The beach house has become our haven, a place where we’ve managed to live quietly and simply. Leaving it behind feels like leaving a piece of ourselves.
But the show must go on, and it’s only for one night.
The hotel is a world away from the comfort of our beach house. Sleek, modern, and bustling with activity, it’s a sharp reminder of the lifestyle we’re stepping back into. The band’s accommodations are impressive, with Cass and Kendrick in a luxurious penthouse suite while the rest of us settle into less spacious but still luxurious rooms.
They’ve barely set our bags down when Emily’s phone buzzes with a string of notifications. “That’ll be the crew,” she says, glancing at the screen. “I need to check on the equipment before tonight’s performance.”
“Want me to come with you?” I offer, but she shakes her head.
“I’ve got it,” she says with a small smile. “You just focus on getting into the zone for tonight.”
The venue is alive with the hum of preparation. Crew members scurry back and forth, setting up equipment, testing lights, and running sound checks. I stay near the stage, tuning my bass guitar and trying to go over tonight’s setlist in my head. But instead, images of Emily flash through my mind. Her laugh was soft and genuine as we decorated the nursery together. The way her eyes lit up when she talked about something she was passionate about—whether it was a new idea for the band or which furniture would be the perfect fit for the baby’s room. How she chewed on the corner of her lip when she was focused, completely unaware of how much it drove me crazy.
I pluck a string on my bass, the sound low and resonant, but it barely registers. I’m too caught up in the memory of her resting her hand on her belly the first time the baby moved. That awe in her eyes and the wonder in her voice was like witnessing pure magic.
And then there’s the other side of her. The side most people don’t get to see. The Emily, who’s stubborn as hell, who refuses to back down even when she’s dead on her feet. The Emily who quietly carries the weight of everything on her shoulders but still finds the strength to stand tall. She’s strong in ways I’m not sure I’ll ever fully understand, and every day, I find myself falling for her a little more.
I know I should be running through the chords and making sure everything is perfect for tonight’s performance. But instead, as I thrum my guitar I’m thinking about the way she looked at me last night as I claimed her.
I found her in the laundry room, in a sweet sundress, bending over to pull clothes out of the dryer. And I had to have her. Stepping up behind her, I grabbed her hips and pulled her back against me rhythmically, letting her know my intentions.
She laughingly glanced back at me over one shoulder, but when she saw the intensity of the fire burning in my eyes, her smile faded as an answering flame ignited in her eyes.
Glancing briefly around, I said gruffly, “We haven’t christened this room.”
Her voice came up breathy as she responded, “No, not yet.”
My broad hands wrapped around her waist, and I easily lifted her onto the top of the dryer. Pushing the newly folded clothes out of my way. The smell of the freshly laundered items filled the room as I stepped closer, spreading her legs.
My searching hands reached beneath her skirt to find her warmth. As my fingers trailed over the crotch of her panties, they dampened.
“Damn, Cupcake. You’re already wet for me,” I murmured approvingly.
Slipping a probing finger behind the satin, I deftly delved between her slick folds. She shivered in my arms as I pushed in, knuckle deep.
“You like that, baby?” I whispered gruffly against her ear as I started to work her, priming her for my entrance.
She silently nodded her head, unable to speak, her eyes fluttering shut as she focused on my expert fingers. I strummed her like a guitar, and she was equally responsive, letting out a soft whimper as I brought her to the edge of her passion. But just as she was ready to crest, I’d back off. Just to do it all over again until she was strung tight like a guitar string.
“Sam–” she said, her voice urgent, and when I ignored her plea, her hands tightened in my hair, and she lifted her legs, wrapping them around me, pulling me closer, urging me on.
Finally giving in, I allowed her to climax. And she came on my fingers hard. Waiting until she was through and limp in my arms, only then did I unzip my pants, freeing my rock-hard erection.
I pulled her hips closer to the edge of the smooth surface of the dryer and surged into her, my hands holding her in place. She was at the perfect angle for me to take her. And take her I did, as I repeatedly plunged into her warm depths. Not stopping until we both shouted out our completion. She slumped against my chest as we both recovered–
I’m snapped out of my remembrance as a firm slap lands on my shoulder. “Hey, Sam. You ready for tonight?” It’s Luke, with a shit-eating grin on his face. “The seats are already filling up. You can feel the crowd’s energy already.”
Blinking at the abrupt interruption of my thoughts, I grimace. “Yeah, man, I’m totally ready.”
As Luke walks away to check on his keyboard, I finally notice the murmur of noise as the audience finds their seat. I glance down at the instrument in my hands. I need to find my focus, but as much as I try, my mind keeps circling back to Emily.
Shaking my head to help clear my thoughts, I let my fingers drift over the strings, but it’s not my usual sound. It’s a melody, a sound softer than I intended. It’s not part of the setlist—it’s something new, something different. And at that moment, I realize it’s her. Every note, every chord, it’s all her.
How she looked at me after we made love made me feel like she trusted me. Like I could be the man she needs me to be.
The thought tightens something in my chest. I’ve never been good at this—at being vulnerable, at letting someone in. But with Emily, it doesn’t feel like a choice. It feels inevitable.
With a frustrated sigh, I set the bass guitar aside and rake a hand through my hair. I need to get my head in the game.
The performance that night is electric. The crowd is on fire, their energy feeding into every note and lyric. Cass commands the stage with his usual charisma, and the band stays with him, caught up in his tireless momentum.
By the time the encore ends, the adrenaline coursing through me, and the crowd’s cheers still echo in my ears.
As we head backstage, I make my way over to Emily, who’s already coordinating the load-out process with the crew.
“Another flawless show,” I say with relief, leaning in close so only she can hear.
She smiles, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Let’s hope the rest of the tour goes this smoothly.”
Emily is a blur of efficiency as she coordinates the equipment breakdown with the venue staff. She’s in her element, and I can’t help but watch her with a mix of admiration and pride.
But my admiration quickly turns to anger when I overhear a conversation near the back of the stage.
“She only got this job because her brother’s the lead singer,” a voice sneers.
I glance up, my eyes narrowing as I spot one of the newer crew members leaning against a stack of amps, talking to another guy.
“And because she’s married to Sam Ryder,” the other guy adds with a smirk. “Probably figured marrying into the band would secure her a paycheck.”
My blood boils as their words sink in. Emily has worked tirelessly to earn her place, and hearing these idiots belittle her like that makes me see red.
I want to stride over there and angrily demand they stop, but my higher self realizes that would be foolish. Instead, I take a mental note of who they are so I can discuss their behavior with Cass.
I find Emily backstage a few minutes later, deep in conversation with the venue manager. She looks up as I approach, her expression softening when she sees me. Even amid the chaos, she's a sight to behold. The way she commands attention without trying and her quiet confidence as she directs the crew still amaze me, especially how powerful and graceful she can be at once.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a smile. “Just wanted to check in.”
She narrows her eyes slightly, clearly sensing that something’s off. But before she can press me, the sound tech calls her name, and she turns to address the next issue on her list.
As she walks away, I can’t shake my lingering anger. Emily doesn’t deserve to have her reputation dragged through the mud, especially not by people who know how hard she works.
Someone is trying to stir up trouble, and we need to put a stop to it before it escalates further.
Whoever’s behind the malicious whispers and the bad-mouthing isn’t just going after Emily—they’re targeting the band as a whole. And they aren’t going to get away with it.
Back at the hotel, Emily kicks off her shoes and collapses onto the couch in our room, her head resting against the back cushions. Her guard, finally down, stirs something protective in my chest. Even exhausted, she's beautiful, and when I brush that strand of hair from her face, my fingers linger against her skin longer than necessary.
“Tired?” I ask, sitting down beside her.
“Exhausted,” she admits, her eyes closing.
I reach out, taking her hand in mine. “You did great tonight. As always.”
“Thanks, Sam.” She opens her eyes and looks at me, her expression grateful and relieved. “You did great, too.” She tilts her head tiredly to look up at me. “I kept waiting for some catastrophe to happen—I’m so glad nothing went wrong.”
At her weak smile, the day's chaos fades away, and I decide not to worry her about what I overheard earlier.
But the anger still simmers beneath the surface, and I know I can’t let it go.
“Hey, why don’t you rest here and maybe order room service? I want to stop in and see Cass for a minute,” I say, brushing a strand of dark hair from her face.
She looks up, a hint of curiosity in her tired eyes, but she doesn’t press. “Okay, but don’t take too long.”
“I won’t,” I promise. I lean down to kiss her, meaning to keep it brief, but the soft warmth of her lips makes me want to forget about meeting Cass altogether. Only the urgency of protecting her pulls me away.
Cass is in the penthouse lounge. He looks up as I enter.
“You alone?”
“For now. Kendrick should be back in just a minute. Why? What’s up?” he says with a frown.
I sit across from him, leaning forward, my elbows on my knees. “I overheard something tonight. Two of the crew members were badmouthing Emily—and us.”
Cass’s expression instantly darkens. “What did they say?”
I recount the conversation word for word. As I speak, Cass’s jaw tightens, and his hands form fists on the armrests of his chair.
“That’s not just disrespectful,” Cass says, his voice low and sharp. “That sounds like someone trying to undermine her and us.”
“Exactly,” I say. “It felt deliberate. They weren’t just venting—it was targeted.”
Cass’s eyes narrow, his mind clearly working through possibilities. “Do you know who they are?”
“One of them is new. Jed somebody, but I can point him out. The other guy—he’s been with us a while, but I never pegged him for trouble.”
Cass exhales sharply, sitting back but far from relaxed. “You think someone is paying the new guy to stir up trouble?”
I shrug, but the thought has been gnawing at me since I overheard the conversation. “It crossed my mind. Whoever’s behind this might not just be trying to rattle Emily—they could be aiming to create distrust in general. I don’t think we should write this off as a coincidence.”
Cass nods grimly. “You’re not wrong. All those things that went wrong at the last venues. And now this? It’s all adding up.”
“We need to dig deeper,” I say. “Find out who hired this new guy, where he came from, and whether there’s any connection between him and the issues we’ve been having.”
Cass’s expression hardens. “Agreed. I’ll talk to the crew manager in the morning. Quietly. I don’t want to tip anyone off that we’re looking into this.”
“And if it turns out someone’s pulling strings to sabotage us?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
Cass’s mouth tightens into a grim line. “Then we shut it down. Hard.”