Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Friday passed in a blur. Her twelve hours extended to a fourteen-hour catastrophe as a multicar pileup had stressed the services of the emergency department. Like Bob had done many times for her in the past, she stayed to manage a trauma code while Bob tried to save another life.
Her cell phone buzzed nonstop during the chaos—Sam wondering where she was, Forest checking in, Ash asking if she was coming to the concert, and Reggie demanding to know how much longer until she was finished.
Finally, she had one of the nurses take the cell phone. It was too big of a distraction. Her hands were busy with more important things, like inserting a chest tube into a patient’s chest. Air escaped with a whoosh, and her patient’s blood pressure rose while his heart rate stabilized.
She snapped off her gloves and tossed them in the trash. “Give him another unit of blood, and get him to the OR.”
Bob wandered in, peeling off blue paper scrubs. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah, my last patient is on the way to the operating room. You?”
“Good. He was the last critical one. I really appreciate you staying to help.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ve got it from here.”
“You sure?”
Several other patients from the multivehicle pileup had yet to be seen.
“I’m good. Besides, don’t you have plans?”
She never should have told him about the concert or what had happened at Niagara. He’d been fathering her since she mentioned it, asking about Ash, his intentions, and if he treated her well.
Meanwhile, Reggie waited. She collected her cell phone. Reggie had left half a dozen messages in the past hour alone. His uneasiness wasn’t difficult to understand. He had one task for the evening—get her to the concert and, by extension, to Blaze.
She missed the easygoing Ash with the beat-up Jeep who shopped in secondhand stores and chased waterfalls on a whim. The man who wore pajamas and strummed a simple guitar had disappeared with the revelation of his superstar status, becoming Blaze, who commanded the adoration of millions.
Forest had mentioned a sea of groupies. The idea of entering that chaotic world set Skye’s teeth on edge.
She had already formulated and rejected too many excuses as to why she couldn’t attend.
In the end, there wasn’t a single valid reason she couldn’t go.
Her exhaustion might get her out of the evening, but she’d never lie to Ash.
Or Forest.
Her brother was beside himself with his all-access backstage pass. Tonight, he would see one of his dreams fulfilled, and she wanted to be there to share in the excitement.
Bob patted her on the back. “I love your dedication to this place. You work too hard. Seriously, I’ve got this. Enjoy the rest of your night. You’re not working this weekend, right?”
“I’m not.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t asked for any time off.”
She gave a hard swallow. Bob the Boss was much easier to handle than Bob the Paternal Figure. “We’re already short-staffed…”
His gaze softened. “We can always make allowances for family. I reworked the schedule. Take the next two weeks off.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “How’d you do that?”
“We have some ancillary staff with ED privileges looking to pull extra shifts.”
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“I know, and I knew you’d never ask. Consider it a wedding gift. Take time to get to know your new husband.”
“Bob—”
“Go. Get out of here. I don’t want to see you around this place until after you’ve had a proper honeymoon.” He lightly pushed her on the small of her back. “Enjoy your rock star—doctor’s orders,” he said with a laugh.
If only she could.
An hour later, Reggie escorted her out of the black sedan and through a rear entrance to the Verizon Center.
The press of thousands pulsed around her, and an unrelenting beat thumped in her bones as the deep bass of Angel Fire’s music settled in her jawbone.
Reggie’s gentle hand guided her up a set of stairs, through an industrial pair of doors, and down a concrete hallway.
He shielded her with his body, blocking the crowd ahead and forging a path forward.
Men in jeans and black shirts with Crew stamped on the fronts and backs filled the halls. Most had earbuds lodged in their ears and black boxes attached to their waistbands. She shifted her backpack on her shoulder and slogged along, tired and weary after such a long day.
People stared, perhaps recognizing Reggie. A few of those looks were more pointed than others. Maybe her picture was in the news already. She had no idea how fast these things worked.
As they wove their way deeper into the bowels of the venue, the crowd thickened.
Fewer crew members filled the halls as more and more groupies stretched out against the walls.
Tall, lanky females with micro miniskirts and macro boobs advertised their various assets to any who cared.
There were plenty of men who took advantage of the display and the blatant jockeying for social position.
She received odd stares. Not only did she look like crap, but fatigue also pulled at her, sapping her energy. Without the demands of the emergency department to concentrate her focus, all she could think about was sleep.
Although never one to attend concerts, let alone rise to the ranks of those allowed backstage, she could guess how things worked.
The most beautiful would advance to the inner sanctum.
Impress the right people, and they’d have a shot at meeting the band.
Wasn’t that the ultimate prize? How many of these had overcome those hurdles in the past and scored the prize of her husband?
Her eyes narrowed as she passed buxom blondes and leggy brunettes, their tight dresses barely covering their asses and their five-inch fuck-me heels accentuating long legs. Flawless makeup and perfectly styled hair contrasted sharply against her messy bun and her work-worn mascara-less face.
What the hell had she been thinking, coming straight from the hospital? The further they traveled, the more the bimbos were draped over men, moving ever closer to their final goal. Surely, the inner sanctum had to be close?
A heavy beat thumped through the walls. A steady wave of sound pounded in her chest, felt more than heard and pulsing with a demanding rhythm. The beginnings of a headache settled behind her eyes as the roar of the crowd cascaded through the halls.
Almost ten p.m., so the concert had to be coming to an end.
Reggie ushered her through a phalanx of burly men in black pants and shirts stamped now with Security instead of Crew. Beyond them, the throng thinned, but the quality of the bimbos jumped from overly pretty to straight-out gorgeous.
Reggie finally led her to a door labeled with a single star. “In here, Mrs. Dean.”
She placed a hand on his arm. “Please stop calling me that. It’s Skye or, if you must, Dr. Summers.”
His frown radiated his displeasure, but he refrained from saying anything more. “You can leave your bag here. It’ll be safe.” He held out a hand to take her bag.
Without protest, she handed him her backpack.
“I’ll put this in a locker and then take you backstage where you can watch the rest of the show.”
Ash’s music was beyond incredible, and to see it performed live would be amazing.
Reggie kept her moving, and before she knew it, he had her climbing a short flight of metal stairs.
A wave of sound crashed into her, pressing against her chest, and it made it difficult to breathe.
Her ears protested the chanting of tens of thousands mixed with the heavy beat that was Angel Fire’s unique rock sound.
Carrying pure emotive brilliance, Ash’s voice poured into her soul, drenching her in a wash of angst and a primal need so fierce that she wanted to scream and shout with the rest of the masses.
Her heart thumped in synchrony to Bash’s drumming. Reggie cupped her elbow and led her into the wings where she had an unobstructed view of Angel Fire onstage.
Nothing could have prepared her for the magic of the five men bonded together by music.
Noodles’s fingers flew over the keyboard while Ash and Spike thrashed their guitars, leaning back-to-back, as they picked out a particularly complex riff.
Bent stood left of center, feet spread wide, head hung low, his arm strumming out the reverberations of his bass guitar.
Ash’s deep voice filled the concert with his tonal melody while Spike backed him up on vocals.
“Wow!” She raised her voice to be heard above the thundering noise.
“Fuck yeah.” Reggie leaned close to yell into her ear, “Your brother’s over there!”
Forest stood at the edge of the stage, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. His hair hung loose down his back, a white cloud of frenetic energy, as he banged his head to the beat. His entire body pulsed from the excitement of watching his favorite band, up close and personal.
She hurried to him. “Bean!”
His arctic gaze turned to her. “You’re late.” His rumbly voice carried easily, despite the noise.
Lifting up on her tiptoes, she raised her voice. “My shift ran long. How’s the concert going?”
His teeth flashed white with his grin. “Fucking awesome. It’s almost over though. You missed the whole show.”
She could lecture him on the relative importance of saving lives compared to watching a concert, but that would be wasted breath.
She focused instead on the guitar-wielding rock god belting out the chorus to one of Angel Fire’s original hits.
The audience roared and joined Ash as he sang the chorus.
Spike rocked the guitar, lending vocal support, as Ash grabbed the microphone. The phrase sex on a stick came to her mind as he played to the crowd.