Chapter Ten The Rock God #3
“Yeah, Kaitlyn heard there was some music scout that came last month and offered a big gig in Montreal.”
“Ah.” He nods along slowly. “It was a small gig. And the scout isn’t here today.”
I frown. “Do you know who was scouted?”
Someone speaks into the mic, interrupting our conversation. “I’m Kaitlyn Chambers, and this is my own original song.”
“Oh shoot. That’s Kaitlyn,” I say. “I should probably go support her.” I turn, but wobble on my feet a bit.
Noah holds my upper arm. And his touch most certainly does not cause my whole body to erupt in goose bumps. I’m fine. Totally fine.
“Have you been drinking, Noorani?” His eyes are serious, and those expressive brows of his are turned up in the middle, concerned.
How can he tell? Am I a sloppy drunk? “I had some wine before we got here.” I force my eyes to hold steady on his face, and I smile. “There’s some left. Want me to try to get you a cup?”
He drops my arm and takes a step away. “I don’t drink. Enjoy the show. And I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turns and walks toward the bar, and I can’t tell if he’s mad at me. I thought he did drink? Maybe he only drinks vodka, like that Braden guy in CROP said.
Kaitlyn’s still singing after I use the bathroom and get back to the table. She sounds pretty good. Not as good as that waitress, but not bad.
“Who was that you were talking to?” Reagan asks, leaning close to me.
I don’t get the chance to answer because Kaitlyn’s song ends and people clap—our table the loudest. Kaitlyn bows, beaming, then says her full name in the mic again before coming back to where we’re seated.
Everyone tells her how amazing she was and how she’s going to hit it big. But I don’t say anything, because my focus is one hundred percent on the person who’s stepping onto the stage after her.
It’s Noah.
He has a small electric guitar that he plugs into the amp. After playing a test chord and adjusting some knobs, he sits on the stool in the middle of the stage.
“Oh my God, it’s him,” Sadie says.
“Who?” James asks.
Sadie glances at me. “Noah Jacobs. Haven’t seen him around in a while. He grew up.”
“Holy crap,” James says. “Like, Aaron Jacobs’s brother? I thought he was in jail?”
“Aaron’s in jail, not Noah,” Reagan says.
James frowns. “I’m sure I heard he was arrested for—”
I shush them all because I think it’s super rude to whisper and speculate about who in Noah’s family is in jail while Noah is literally onstage to perform for us.
“I’m Noah Jacobs. And I only have one song for you tonight,” he says, which actually makes some people boo. I have no idea if they’re booing for him or about the fact that he’s only going to sing one song. “This one’s my dad’s favorite. I hope I can do it justice. This is ‘Rusty Cage.’ ”
He starts playing the guitar, and the whole place goes quiet, listening.
I don’t really know a lot about the guitar, other than that I love the sound of it.
But I can tell he’s good. Like, better than good.
With the white spotlight on him, I watch his fingers fly over the frets, coaxing the most amazing sounds out of his instrument. It’s mesmerizing.
But then he starts singing. It’s a song I don’t think I’ve heard before, and his voice is clear and soulful. Like, it’s definitely a rock song, but his voice is giving it an almost folk vibe. He doesn’t sound like the same person I’ve been talking to every day this week.
He’s incredible.
“Wow, he’s good,” Kaitlyn says. She sounds shocked. And a little irritated. Even I know that if there was a music scout here, between Noah and Kaitlyn, the scout would be offering opportunities to him, not her.
“This is a really hard song,” Quinn says. “It’s by Soundgarden. I’m truly impressed.”
“So it’s a cover,” Kaitlyn says, pouting. “Not even an original song.”
I can’t take my eyes off Noah’s hands—hands that I’ve seen pruning trees and digging up weeds all week.
But when I tear my eyes from his hands and look at his face, that’s the sight that takes my breath away.
His lips curl when he’s holding a note. His eyes are unfocused but intense with emotion.
Every person in the busy bar is quiet, almost reverent, knowing that this kind of talent is rare.
He said that this is his father’s favorite song. Does that mean his father’s here tonight? I glance around even though I have no idea what he looks like.
When the song starts to slow, Noah’s eyes meet mine as he holds the final note, and my stomach flutters in response.
He’s still looking at me when the entire bar erupts into applause and cheers. And because I’ve become a bit of an expert at deciphering Noah Jacobs’s body language, I see the challenge in his expression. He’s saying, This is who I am.
I respond by smiling widely and clapping louder than anyone else, which makes him smile right back, his head dipping down as he lets out a soft chuckle, away from the mic.
Yes, I see who Noah Jacobs is. And I still want him with me at my stepfather’s party.
To be honest, right now I kind of want Noah Jacobs with me in any way I can get him.