Chapter 6
brODIE
“The power just cut off again, the fuck?” I yelled and looked around.
Or as much as I could in the dark venue.
I glanced over at Van and then Ace, our tech guy and sound engineer. I could barely see their outlines as they stood in the wings.
“I’ll go downstairs again,” Ace yelled out.
New Orleans was known for its good times. So far, our rehearsal had been anything but.
Our venue was an old concert hall from the 1920s, with ornate moldings and drafty dressing rooms. The place had character, no doubt.
An intimate feel that we rarely enjoyed, and I loved.
But the building had electrical wiring from the dark ages.
And every hour, for the past four, without fail, the power shut down.
How the fuck could we rehearse like this? And what about the actual concert on Halloween?
“I better be prepared to sing without a mic tomorrow. Everyone got their lighters handy?” I joked.
The lights flickered again but shut down as fast as they’d lit up.
“For once, I agree with Brodie. The hell, Van?” Holloway muttered as he unplugged his guitar. “We can’t work like this.”
Van finally sauntered out on stage, carrying a flashlight.
It was the closest he’d been to me since last night on the bus. When I was about to finally stake my claim.
I knew in my gut that Van was gonna do a runner, and his words confirmed it.
A month of vacation, my ass.
But I was younger than him, and I had no problem chasing.
“The venue manager promised me that everything would be fixed by tonight. Let’s just keep going through the set and do our best,” Van replied.
“How?” Faisel stood up and hit his sticks together. “We’re a high-powered rock group. We need our amps, we need lights, we need fucking power to rehearse. This is bullshit!”
It was fine for me to go toe to toe with Van, but no one else. No way was I going to let my band brother’s comment go unchallenged.
“Chill out, Faise,” I snapped back. “It’s not his fault. I picked the venue. And we do what we always do. I don’t need special effects to sound good. The best musicians do it naturally. Isn’t that right, Van?”
He ignored my flirty comment as the lights flickered to life again.
And stayed on this time.
Faise, Holloway, and Ronin gathered around me and faced Van.
“Now that the power’s back on, start the set again,” Van requested, then turned and walked off.
My eyes lingered on his ass, but I forced myself to look away.
“Can I sing the new one now?” I blurted out.
“What new one?” Ronin asked, looking at me with curious eyes.
All four of us had been making music together since we were eighteen, fresh out of high school in Rhode Island. We’d had eleven years of friendship and road trips. We’d endured a lot together, and I knew this was not the way to mention a new song.
Shit.
Van paused and turned to face us again.
“I found a new piece for you guys. It’s different, though. Brodie read it the other night and loved it, so let’s test it out,” Van replied and headed back to wait in the wings.
In his usual pose, arms crossed, thighs rigid.
I slung my guitar over my shoulder and reached down to my bag. I pulled out the sheet music and passed it around.
“This doesn’t sound like us,” Faisel commented as he read. “You really want to perform this one?”
I nodded in response. “I know it’s not the usual, but that’s just it. We need something fresh. Something with a little less rock and a little more roll. Something deep and slow.”
As always, my eyes looked around the room and found Van’s.
Deep and slow could be really, really good.
“I like it,” Holloway replied, interrupting my sexy sidetrack. “And I agree with Brodie. After that rockfest through Europe, we should try something chill. I’m game.”
Faisel and Ronin nodded.
“Let’s try it unplugged. I need my baby,” I said to Tommy, our instrument guy.
He was busy checking all our backup pieces. He picked up my custom-made Martin and passed it over to me. Then he did the same with Holloway, switching out his electric guitar.
I slid my hands over the smooth surface and held her lovingly.
“Here goes,” I murmured as I sat on a stool and began to strum the first chords.
I’d already memorized the song. Hell, I’d read it a hundred times over the past week.
I closed my eyes and sang the first words, letting out the frustration that had built up inside me. My voice was rougher than usual, probably due to the enormous lump in my throat.
It wasn’t nerves. I’d sung Van’s words before.
But this song? It brought out a strange ache that was stronger than lust.
I can taste his heartache. It mirrored mine.
The intensity of my emotions surprised me.
It knocked the breath right outta my body, and I struggled with the rest of the lyrics. The chorus came out like a husky moan, with Holloway and Ronin backing me up.
When our harmony hit just right, I finally let go.
I unleashed. I fucking flew.
The high I got from performing—even to an empty theater during rehearsal—never got old.
But performing Van’s song in front of him and for him? His words were mine. And everything that had led us to this point suddenly made sense to me.
Growing up, my mom often told me I had a young heart but an old soul.
At the time, I didn’t fully realize what she meant.
But now I understood. I’d always known my own mind and what I wanted for my life.
And while I may be young in most people’s eyes, I’d done and seen a lot of shit. And I’d fucked around more than most.
But now I was ready to move on to bigger, better, more meaningful things.
Just like taking on a new song, I was ready to keep growing.
With my music.
And most of all, with Van.
I just needed to convince him first.
When I finally reached the end of the song, my lungs were near to bursting, and my throat was dry.
The sudden sound of claps and cheers from our crew startled me. I stood up on shaky legs and bowed.
“I told you,” I said to Van as he walked back on stage.
His blue eyes met mine. They were guarded and darker than usual.
My pulse kicked up, and my blood raced. The closer he got, the more I sweated. And it had nothing to do with the heat of the stage lights.
Which, thankfully, were still on.
“You did. And I have to say, Brodie, that was even better than I’d imagined.”
“I hope the songwriter will be happy,” I countered.
I wanted to do Van’s song justice. He deserved nothing less.
“I’m sure they’ll be ecstatic that the Brodie James picked their song.”
“They better be. I’m very selective. I know what I want.”
Van stared at me and swallowed hard. I watched as he licked his lips, my eyes locked on his tongue.
I had to taste him; I needed to…
Bam. The lights went out again.
“Maybe this place is haunted,” Holloway joked. “Isn’t NOLA full of ghosts?”
“No such thing as ghosts. Right?”
A cold draft blew over my shoulders, and I startled, taking a step forward, bumping into Van. Our bodies collided, and I gripped his arm tightly.
“Brodie,” Van growled my name in that gravelly voice of his, and goosebumps popped up all over my skin.
The lights flickered on again.
“Van, we have a problem.”
Fuck, not now.
Van pulled away, and I was about to protest, but not in the face of Regan, our lead security.
“What’s up?” Van asked.
Regan crossed her arms. “There’s a growing crowd of fans camped outside the building. And someone from the press has arrived.”
Van sighed. “Since I’m the PR rep on this trip, I’ll go out and talk to the reporter. Let’s hope that appeases them until the day of the concert.”
“I’ll go with you; let’s see what’s going on outside,” Regan replied, flanking Van as they walked away.
“You guys keep rehearsing. I’ll be back in a few,” Van yelled out.
I stared at his back as he walked away, Regan close by his side.
She said something to Van, and he tipped his head back and laughed.
Was she flirting with him? I was about to follow them when I received a smack upside my head.
“Stop mooning over him and get back to work,” Holloway teased. I whacked his shoulder in response, and he whined. “Careful, dude. Don’t mess with my arms, or I won’t be able to perform.”
“I never have problems performing,” I replied with a cheeky grin.
Everyone groaned.
“What? It’s true,” I scoffed.
“Enough fucking around, let’s rehearse,” Faise grumbled.
Faise was extra grouchy this trip, and I wondered what the fuck was going on with him. He was the quietest of all of us and usually the most good-natured. Except when he was in the grips of his cocaine addiction and couldn’t get a hit. But he’d been clean for three years.
Unless…
Before I had a chance to say something, Holloway leaned into me.
“I feel for you, brother, but I don’t think Van’s willing to cross that line,” Holls warned.
“I see the way he looks at you lately, but are you sure you want to take that chance? We talked about this before. No fucking around with each other or our crew. Nothing that can mess with our dynamic or our contract.”
I was about to reply sarcastically until I noticed his dark brown eyes were serious for a change.
“I’m done with the fucking around, Iain.”
It was rare that I used his first name. He raised one blond eyebrow.
“I mean it. I just want him.”
His eyes widened, and his arms went slack, his guitar almost falling out of his hands.
“Careful, don’t jinx us by wrecking your favorite instrument two days before a show.”
“Are you serious, or are you punking me?” he asked.
“No punkin’ involved; at least, not until Halloween.”
“Haha. I mean it, are you serious?” he asked again and stared at me.
I met his gaze and nodded.
“Never thought I’d see the day.” He whistled and backed up. “But I guess it was only a matter of time. You two would be hot together. Volatile as fuck, but still.”
“Volatile, my ass, it’s called chemistry. And it only took you eleven years to finally admit you think I’m hot,” I teased right back.
I was ready for a relationship, but I’d never be ready to shut my smart mouth.
“You know you’re not my type. I like ’em big and brawny.” Holloway chuckled, then turned to the rest of the band.
“Are you assholes gonna gossip all evening, or are we gonna rehearse?” Faisel yelled out.
“We’re ready,” Holloway replied with a wink.
I sure as fuck was.