Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Ross
Onyx Knight is typically a well-oiled machine.
Everyone, from the band to the crew to support staff, knows their jobs and does them well.
Unless there’s a technical problem or something breaks unexpectedly, we’re prepared for almost anything.
I have to keep an eye on things from start to finish, but once they hit the stage, all I have to do is watch.
The techs know how to handle broken strings or if the sound goes out or anything else that might go wrong.
The sound and light guys have this down to a science, and most arenas have capable, efficient staff to make sure things go smoothly.
However, no one can do anything about Kingston’s voice.
All we can do is hold our collective breath and pray for the best.
He definitely isn’t himself tonight.
His energy is fine, but he’s singing much lower registers and his voice has already cracked a few times.
And this is only the third song.
I can’t imagine him getting through ten.
Not to mention the two-song encore.
Their normal set is sixteen, with a three-song encore.
They scaled way back tonight, but I’m nervous about the execution.
Kingston jogs off stage when Z starts to sing “Not Going Away,” and the look he gives me is worrisome.
“I don’t know how much more I’ve got,” he admits, his voice hoarse.
“Drink this.” I hand him the concoction Devyn instructed me to have ready for him at any point in the show.
He takes a few sips and closes his eyes.
“This isn’t good,” he whispers. “I may not be able to finish.”
“Do we need to cancel the tour?”
He meets my gaze guiltily. “We might. The doc said it’ll take at least a couple of weeks for me to be back to a hundred percent. And we’ve got back-to-back shows for months...” He doesn’t have to finish his thought for me to understand how difficult this could be.
“We’ll figure that out later. Right now, you have to get through maybe four songs? We can sub in some covers and let the other guys sing them.”
He takes a breath, looking at me intently.
“Or… you could.”
I stare at him.
What the fuck is happening?
I’ve been with the band nearly ten years and they’ve never asked anything like this of me.
I was clear from day one that my life in the spotlight was over.
We agreed it would never come up again.
They know the story.
They supposedly understand how painful it is for me.
They fucking know I can’t do this.
Not for him, not for the band, not for anyone.
“We don’t have to tell them who you are,” he says, his lips close to my ear since it’s hard to hear over the music anyway.
“Just our awesome manager helping out because I have a cold.” That’s the story he told the audience at the beginning of the show.
Laryngitis would bring out every couch warrior doctor on social media, so it was easier to simplify things.
“I can’t.”
“You can. And it’s time. If you ask me, you need this more than I do.”
Wynter hinted at the same thing.
I glance over to where she’s watching the show, her body swaying in time to the music. She looks beautiful standing there, and I watch her for a moment, wondering what she would say if she could hear our conversation.
She catches my gaze and cocks her head curiously, a faint smile playing on her lips. I was a jerk to her today, going hot and cold like a fucking faucet on speed. She shouldn’t have pushed me so much, but I could have been more gracious.
Especially since I’m planning to ask her out.
Instead, I used her pushiness as an excuse to avoid doing something I haven’t done since Clara died. I’ve gone out with a lot of women, had sex with more than I could count, but I’ve never asked a woman out with the intention of starting something. Or at least seeing where it could go.
I’ve been hiding under grief and pain and myriad other emotions to avoid emotional entanglements.
And I’ve done the same thing with my music.
It’s easier to hide than to face my grief again, or to remember everything and everyone I lost.
What Kingston is asking is too much.
It is.
Isn’t it?
I’m still looking into Wynter’s beautiful eyes, and suddenly, I’m not sure about anything.
Devyn, Z, and Kellan have come off stage, leaving Tommy to do his drum solo, which might last three or four minutes if he pushes it.
And now they’re looking at me too.
As if they planned this.
“I can’t,” I say finally.
“You can,” Kingston says firmly. “You can do anything you put your mind to.”
“Stop talking!” Devyn admonishes him, smacking his arm.
He gives her a pointed look, and she turns to me, the question in her eyes impossible to miss.
“Not you too,” I groan.
“We promised him we’d never bring this up,” Kellan says.
“This is different,” Z points out. “We couldn’t anticipate running into a situation like this.”
“I haven’t sung like that in over a decade,” I interject. “I don’t know what shape my voice is in, even if I wanted to.”
“It can’t be worse than Kingston going out there and losing his voice completely,” Devyn says.
“Come on, man. This is important.” Z lifts his hands in a helpless gesture.
“There could be a nice bonus in it for you,” Kellan adds.
I grit my teeth, trying to calm the roaring in my ears. “You know this isn’t about money. Jesus.”
“It isn’t part of your job description but we’re a family here,” Kellan says carefully. “We’re there for each other. Aren’t we? It’s only a couple of songs.”
Only a couple of songs?
They have no idea how much they’re asking of me.
It’s so much more than a couple of songs.
Yet there doesn’t appear to be a way for me to say no.
Because Onyx night is my family, the only one I have these days. My parents passed away years ago, I have a brother I only see once or twice a year, and that’s about it. So, these guys are important to me beyond the fact that they’re my employers.
“I’m not sure I know all the lyrics,” I hedge, looking from Kingston to Kellen and back again.
“I still have all the lyric sheets from when I first joined the band,” Devon says, turning to one of the guitar techs and motioning him over. “Pete, do you still have my lyric sheets?”
He nods and runs toward one of the supply cases rooting around until he pulls out a stack of papers and brings them to us.
“Look at me,“ I say, motioning to my ratty jeans and T-shirt as I realize this is going to happen. “I’m not stage ready.”
“So, you’ll do it?” Kellen asks, eyes sparking with excitement.
They’re all watching me expectantly.
How the hell do I say no?
“And what happens if I fuck it up?” I demand. “My voice isn’t trained for this anymore.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Kingston says, before grimacing and holding up his hands to Devyn, who glares at him.
“Here.” Pete pulls a leather vest out of one of the supply chests. “Tommy wears this sometimes but he gets too hot. It should fit.”
“Take your shirt off,” Devyn instructs, motioning for me to hurry up.
Thank God I spend a lot of time at the gym.
I pull on the vest, thinking I look ridiculous, but Devyn grins. “You look hot.”
“What song do you know the best?” Z asks.
My mind momentarily goes blank.
Do I know the full lyrics to any of their songs?
I have to think fast because Tommy’s solo is almost over.
I catch him looking in our direction and he seems to understand something is happening, because instead of winding down, he picks up speed again.
These guys really are amazing.
I owe it to them to make this work.
Two or three songs will save the show and Kingston’s voice.
“Probably ‘Judgement Call,’” I say after a few seconds. “And ‘Break Your Promise,’ but we’re saving that for last, right?”
Z nods. “Yeah. So, let’s do Judgment, then ‘Symphony of the Broken.’ Devyn can sing that one with you while King plays piano.”
“I can do the background vocals on that one,” Kingston says, before quickly clapping his hand over his mouth and backing away from Devyn.
“You guys suck, you know that?” I stare at them.
“You got this, bro.” Pete nods and claps me on the shoulder. “Ross Rockit is in there somewhere. You just gotta dig deep.”
Christ.
Has everyone known all along and just pretended they didn’t?
What does that even mean?
Am I the asshole for trying to pretend to be someone I’m not? Or that I’m not someone I am?
The irony doesn’t escape me, but I don’t have time to contemplate any of that because Tommy is winding down for real this time.
It’s been eighteen years and eight months since I last performed.
Now I’m about to sing in front of 19,698 people.
I’m either going to faint or puke.