“New Orleans is amazing,” Rebel said, voice no longer as sleep-slurred as it had been before. “We’ve gotta take you on a ghost tour in one of those horse-drawn carriages and down to Jackson Square; there’s always music there, and the vibe is positively enthralling.”
I hadn’t realized he’d been listening the whole time, with how deep and rhythmic his breathing had been, but it seemed like he hadn’t missed anything.
“You’re not gonna be happy until you’ve scared a few years off my life,” I grumbled.
“Gotta help you catch up somehow,” the smartass replied.
“Thought you were snoozing,” Steel pointed out.
“Started too, then you started talking and I just lay there enjoying the sound of your voice while the rest of me was recharging,” Rebel said, tongue trailing over my collarbone.
“You can’t say I didn’t warn you,” Steel replied, chuckling as Rebel squirmed, hand brushing over my cock, making me squirm too.
“Warn me?” I muttered, wondering what the hell he was talking about.
“Welcome to round two.”
Chapter 28
(Rebel)
The moment we took to the stage, I spotted him, about five rows into the massive crowd that filled the field of the outdoor festival we were playing at. Knightly was jumping around, hollering my name and waving obnoxiously, coming close to smacking the guy beside him a couple of times. He looked like an aging roadie instead of the former lead guitarist of a globally popular heavy metal band, worn down and haggard. He’d wind up on camera eventually, face splashed over the jumbo screens beside the stage. People would go wild. Some of them might even expect us to call him up on stage the way I’d done in the past. He probably expected it too and would eat up the attention when folks realized he was there.
He wasn’t getting that from me today or any other day moving forward, not after the shit he’d pulled. His number was still blocked in my phone, not that it had stopped him using other numbers to text, all of which were blocked now, too.
Every one of them had been filled with desperate excuses and absent of any form of an apology for the lies he’d told or pressing the issue the way he’d had. Pleading had rapidly morphed into reminders of everything he’d done for me. Including one message that had just been a list of all the ways he’d helped my career, calling me ungrateful all while claiming that Iowed him for doing things I’d never asked him to do.
I’d wanted to kick his ass the night he’d dragged me up onstage to play a set withShriveled Rose, because holy shit, those guys had been my idols, and I hadn’t felt like I was anywhere close to being good enough to share a stage with them, let alone join them for a handful of cover songs.
I’d surprised myself that night, in the best possible way, but it hadn’t been because of Knightly, who’d gotten up there and started strutting around like a fucking peacock, showing off every trick he knew, from playing behind his head to busting out an improvised solo that had momentarily thrown the whole flow off. It was all Adrien Lee. The way he engaged with me, smiled, nodded, and howled with the crowd when I cut loose and completely shredded, was what had changed my perception about my abilities that night.
So, I guess I did owe Knightly athank youfor getting me up there, but there had to be a limit to the amount of payback he was owed for an action that took place over fifteen years ago. There was something about him being here that put me on edge, but the feeling was overshadowed by the need to remind him that one of the greatest guitarists of our generation had given me his stamp of approval that night.
That was something Knightly could never take or tarnish.
Maybe it was spite, or maybe I was just tired of him making me feel like I should be doing more for him when it was his poor choices and shitass attitude that had landed him in whatever trouble he was in now, but I played every song that night like agiant fuckyou to the man who was doing everything in his power to get my attention.
If it hadn’t been for security, he’d have been over the barricade in a heartbeat and up on the stage whether I wanted him there or not. Watching him be shoved back the two times he’d tried to climb over it made me smile and play even harder.
I knew Johnny had spotted him too when he smirked and jerked his head in Knightly’s direction. I glanced over to see him being yanked backward and hollered at by the people he’dshoved his way in front of and grinned like a madman as we launched into our next song.
Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving dick.
I was dripping sweat by the time we finished the set, my t-shirt having been cast into the crowd three songs in. Tonight, I’d skipped one piece of my concert ritual and kept my ass on the stage instead of diving in, not wanting to wind up surfed in his direction. So far, all the press on this tour had been positive, meaning our manager was, for the most part, a happy man. I’d prefer to keep him that way, especially when a happy Daddy Draven meant a happy Johnny too.
After last year’s trial, he deserved every shred of joy that came his way.
“You’re due at the merch table in twenty minutes,” Draven’s text-to-speech device, always on its loudest setting backstage, announced the moment we stepped off the stage, prompting a mad scramble for showers and a change of clothes.
Did that stop me from catching Kit’s hand and delaying our exit from the dressing room while the rest of the guys rushed to the merch table ahead of us?
No the fuck it didn’t.
“Wha, we gotta g…,” Kit hissed until I silenced him with a kiss.
“Just wanted to do that,” I muttered before kissing him again. “Now we can go.”
“I love the way you think,” Kit said as we rushed to catch up to the rest of our bandmates.