Chapter 4
IAIN
Being on stage was being home.
The intense lights, the screaming fans, my closest friends beside me.
My baby in my hands. The one true love of my life.
My guitars weren’t just instruments. They were my heart and soul outside of my body. Playing had been my salvation since I was a kid. It distracted me from the mess that was my childhood and soothed me from the pain of losing my mom.
It brought me to Brodie, and Faise, and Ronin. It gave me a career that was hardly work at all.
Even if I had never made it to the biggest stadiums in the world, I’d still be playing.
Probably in some dive bar.
But I’d still be me.
I could live without the accolades and awards.
But I could never live without music.
I was so into my performance that I almost didn’t realize when our first set was done. An hour and a half flew by when you were in the zone.
We took several bows and headed for the wings to hydrate. Tommy, one of our road crew, threw us towels and then headed on stage to change my guitar.
I wiped down my face and neck and pulled at the T-shirt sticking to my sweat-soaked body. Sometime in the second set, my T-shirt would get thrown off and into the crowd.
I spotted Dawson talking with Van near the catering table. The nerves in my belly kicked up the closer I got to him. I stopped and grabbed an electrolyte drink, my hand starting to shake again.
I’d nearly flubbed my guitar solo earlier when I turned around and saw Dawson staring at me from the wings.
I had thousands of eyes looking at me on any given night. I should be used to it. But that was different. The fans wanted us, admired us; hell, they wanted to be us.
Dawson, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be admiring me. In fact, I was pretty sure he was trying to intimidate me with that glare of his. No fucking way.
“Don’t you have rounds to do or something?” I asked Dawson between sips. “No one’s going to get to me here. I’m safe.”
“Stick to playing music instead of telling me how to do my job,” he snapped back. “Oh, by the way, I cleared Frankie.”
“Who?”
Dawson smirked.
Oh shit. I forgot all about the guy from the VIP room.
“Your new friend, remember?” Dawson replied, his green eyes sparkling.
“Oh yeah, well, that’s great.” I nodded and took another sip of my drink. “But instead of the dressing room, I’d like to take him back to my place.”
Dawson's eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. And with good reason.
I rarely brought guys home. I preferred to fuck in hotel rooms, dressing rooms, tour buses, everywhere but my sanctuary. Only my family—and by family, I mean the guys and the people we worked with—were allowed in my home.
I know, I know, for a guy who hates rules, I did have a few of my own. Don’t use my first name, and don’t ask to come home with me.
Tonight, though, I felt like breaking one of them.
“All right,” Dawson sighed and tapped his earpiece. “Lennie, I’m gonna be on night watch at Holloway’s. You’ll switch over tomorrow at ten to take them to the studio.”
“Is that really necessary?” I asked.
Dawson crossed his arms. “By night watch, I mean, I’ll check the house, see you guys inside, and wait on the premises.”
“That’s ridiculous. There’s no need for you to stay on the property overnight. I’m perfectly safe in my own home.”
“New rules since the break-in. If you bring any overnight guests to your house, and I mean anyone that isn’t the band or members of our crew, security is to remain on site. Text Regan if you don’t like it.”
Regan was Dawson’s boss.
“I will. As soon as the show’s over,” I replied and looked around. “Where is she, anyway?”
“She’s in Paris, scoping out the venues.”
Normally, we’d do our European concerts at the end of the year, but Brodie wanted to try something different.
Break up the schedule. So, in a week, we were flying to France and would be staying there for a couple of concerts, then on to England, then back home.
We had April off, and our North American concert schedule started in May.
I gulped down the rest of my drink, my hydrated brain finally kicking into gear.
For sure, I’d be texting Regan about this new rule. The break-in was a while ago, and I hadn’t even been home at the time. It was nothing. And I didn’t want Dawson camped out in my house all night. He’d been with us all day, and now this? A twenty-four-hour shift? And what about his son back home?
And why did that last concern pop into my head at all? Maybe I needed tequila instead of water…
“You can’t go twenty-four hours without sleep. That’s ridiculous and totally unnecessary.”
Dawson shrugged and stared at me. “I’ve done it before.”
“Forget it. I’ll just meet Frankie in my dressing room and be done with it,” I snapped.
“Wow, so enthusiastic.” Dawson smirked.
“Well, I was until five minutes ago.”
“Five minutes ago, you couldn’t remember his name.”
I was about to bite back when I caught Brodie motioning for me from across the room.
Good thing, too, because for some strange reason, this exchange between me and Dawson was making my blood race.
In fact, my cock was finally awake again.
Oh, fuck no.
My hands were so sweaty that I nearly dropped my bottle. Shaking my head, I placed it on the table and made my way over to Brodie.
“What’s up?”
“What’s going on with you and Dawson? Lately, there’s more arguing than flirting.”
I scoffed. “He’s up my ass about everything. And get this, if I want to bring home that guy I met earlier, Ricki—”
“Frankie.”
“That’s what I said. Dawson has to stay on site all night. Like, what the fuck, Dee?”
“It’s the break-in. It rattled everyone. Regan is just trying to keep us safe.”
“It’s too much.”
“It’s temporary.”
“It’s annoying. And easy for you to say. Your personal life isn’t affected.”
I began to pace.
“What else is going on? And don’t fucking start that ‘nothing’ bullshit. It’s me, yeah?” Brodie stared at me, and I finally gave in.
“I’ve been getting weird text messages.”
Brodie’s expression fell. “From who? What do they say?”
“I don’t know who! That’s why it’s weird. The messages are from unknown numbers with texts like ‘I keep waiting for you’ and ‘I’m the only one who loves you.’ I block them, but new ones appear. It’s been going on all month.”
Brodie ran a hand through his dark curls. “Have you told Regan or Dawson?”
“No. And I don’t want to. As soon as they find out, they’re gonna take my phone away and put me in lockdown. And then I’ll really go out of my mind.”
“Sorry, Iain, but you’re my brother. I don’t care what kind of security measures they put in place; you need to tell them. Now.”
Fuck, I didn’t want to.
“Please.”
Brodie never uttered the P-word, and the worrying look in his hazel eyes told me to relent.
“I’ll tell them this week.”
“Iain,” Brodie warned.
Once he got something in his head, Brodie wouldn’t let go.
“This week. I promise. I swear on my favorite Martin acoustic.”
Brodie nodded and took a final chug from his bottle.
“Good. Now let’s get back out there and give the crowd their money’s worth.”
I felt lighter than I did a few hours ago. Telling Brodie was a load off my mind.
As I glanced around the room, my eyes inevitably found Dawson’s.
Telling him, however, was a whole other story.
One that I’d prefer to skip.
I told Brodie I would do it this week. That didn’t have to mean tonight.
Ace gave us the signal to get our asses back in gear, and we made our way to the stage. I picked up my 1984 Konicki electric and stood in my spot, ready to rock.
I could hear the MC on the other side of the curtain, making jokes and getting the audience ramped up again.
“You guys want to go out when we’re done here?” I asked.
Faise rolled his shoulders behind his drum kit. “I don’t know—”
“Come on, we haven’t gone out for ages. Let’s hit a club and go dancing,” I urged.
Faise looked at Ronin, and Ronin turned to me. “Why the fuck not? We’ve been cooped up recording all month.”
“Yes!” I pumped my fist. “Dee?”
“Sure, as long as Van—”
“Duh, you and Van are a package deal now. Tied at the hip. And ass. And dick,” I quipped.
Brodie gave me the finger. “Oh, it’s on, Holls. Let’s see if you can keep up with me.”
“Please, I’ve got more energy than the three of you combined.”
“Don’t forget your VIP guy,” Ronin added.
“He can tag along.”
“What’s his name again?” Brodie asked me with a smirk.
And fuck, I blanked. Again.
They all started laughing the longer I stood silent, and I gave them two very special fingers.
“Remember his name?” Brodie asked and pointed to the wings.
And stupid me, I turned around.
Like I could ever forget about Dawson.