Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
While they work on the wardrobe malfunction, Laird says, “Poppy approves.” He laughs. “Not that you need our approval by any means, but we’re more than a band. You know that, right?”
“I know that.” We bring it in for a back clap and push apart again. “Where is this coming from? Need a babysitter and buttering me up?”
“The twins do miss you. Where have you been hiding?”
“We’re moving in together.”
“That’s a big step.” If he only knew all the other steps we’ve been through. “If you’re happy, I am. You and Cat should come around when we’re back in town.”
I look toward the sunlight when a garage is opened nearby. Crossing my arms over my chest, I say, “I want to. I want her to meet Poppy and the twins. We’ll make plans when we return.”
Tommy whistles. “Get your asses over here. You’re being announced.”
I slip to Cat’s side as she turns to look for me. “Hey,” she says, “break a leg. Just not yours.” She never fails to make me smile.
“You know where to go?”
“Tommy said he’ll help me find my seat.”
“Good.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders as we walk toward the stairs that lead to the stage. “Stay close to him. Crowds can be finicky.”
“Don’t worry about me, babe. Just have fun. I will be.”
I kiss her quick as my sticks are handed to me. Watching her walk away is fucking painful. At least I have the memory of what she did to me in the dressing room to keep me company while we’re apart.
The lights go out, and I run up the stairs first to settle onto the stool. A roadie hands Laird his guitar stage right, and Nikki waits just off stage left, ready to run out and kick into the first song. Standard operating procedure.
I’m not looking for them. I’m looking for Cat. With the stage lights out, I can’t see jack shit, though I can hear the noise of the crowd grow louder with the two of us out here.
I count us in and slam down on drums. The lights come up and kick into the song Laird and I worked on. It has a sick opening beat and was made to kick off the set. Nikki runs out, waving to the crowd before putting her own guitar on and taking center stage at the mic.
Left of her foot, I see my wife. So goddamn beautiful dancing to our music.
It doesn’t take but half a song for our eyes to connect. I play the rest for her.
Four songs end, and Tommy changes places with her. I keep playing, and my hands know where to go all on their own. My shoulder is already giving me trouble, though. Next week is the appointment.
A scream, a fight, and beer flying in the air has Nikki pointing at where security is needed. When I see where she’s pointing, I stand at attention, noticing the scuffle. I hit the notes but don’t see Cat.
Sitting again, I try to get a better view, but security is in the way. I lean left, then right. There’s no good angle to check on my wife. And then I see her being shoved into Tommy from a fucking asshole in the audience.
I throw my sticks and run before thinking about what to do otherwise. Jumping off stage, I head to the railing and lunge into the crowd with my fist meeting the fucker’s face.
“Your shoulder is broken. You’re going to need surgery,” the medic says, “and you might have a broken rib or two. We’ll need x-rays to determine what you didn’t mess up out there.”
“You should see the other guy,” I reply, eyeing Cat next to me.
“I did. He’s not faring better.”
“I hope he’s faring worse.”
The medic doesn’t laugh, which is probably the appropriate response. “Your knuckles are swelling. Keep the ice pack on them and decide whether the ambulance will take you to the hospital to get your shoulder set or you’re riding in the private SUV.”
“I’m not riding in an ambulance.” I smirk, giving Cat a wink. “The SUV works. Anyway, I have my personal nurse with me.”
The medic starts scribbling something and then stands to dig through his bag.
Cat whispers, “That’s one way to handle a bad rotator cuff. In a blaze of glory.”
“Worked out, didn’t it?”
“Not for the other guy.”
“Damn right. That’s what he gets for shoving a woman.” I lower my voice so only she can hear me. “That’s what he gets for shoving my wife.” I can make myself feel bad. Who shoves a woman? Even more so, mine?
She has been summing me up with every once-over she gives. Kicking into nurse mode, she asks, “Are you in pain?”
“Not a bit. Whatever they gave me is working, baby.”
Shaking her head, she laughs. “Good to know.”