“We have to make sure Raina shines, no matter what. It’s not about us,” Nash adds. He points to me. “It’s about her.”
Darius sighs, fixing his gaze on me, freezing me in place with the passion I find in his striking green depths. “Yeah, it is.” He strums his guitar, a clean riff that echoes through the venue. Then he returns his attention to my guys. I’m not sure if he recognizes the way they bristle with the look he gave me. “I get it, I really do. I’m not Tristan, and I didn’t come to replace him. But the fact stands that he isn’t here, and I am. You need me, so what’s with all the hostility? I just want to make the musicworkand to back up Raina.”
Darius starts to quietly play the first song of the set, his fingers barely plucking at the strings.
Nash takes an agitated step toward him, and I see the sound engineer’s head snap up, watching carefully in case he needs to step in to break them apart. “You don’t get to waltz in and expect us to fall gratefully at your feet simply because we need someone, and you can hit all the notes. This is a band, there’s more to it than being able to play perfectly—it’s about being in sync. And from what I’ve seen, you’re pretty damn cocky. Can you even get along with a band, or is that why you’re free to join us? You can’t get along with anyone?”
I suck in a harsh breath. Damn, Nash sure isn’t holding back any punches. Perhaps the attention Darius gave me hit him a little harder than I thought.
Darius stops playing suddenly, leaving the auditorium feeling extra empty with the lack of sound. He levels Nash with a challenging glare. “I came to do what I do best, which is support the artist I’m playing for to the best of my ability. I step in when there’s a lack of lead guitar—for whatever reason—and I’m damn good at it. Sometimes I even do it better than the person I’m filling in for. People seek me out all the time because of my talent, and right now, it feels like you’re looking for any excuse you can to keep me out. How about you stop to give me a chance to play instead of assuming I’ll screw it up?”
I’m surprised he didn’t address the dig about not having a band of his own to play with, almost as if he avoided it on purpose because it hit a little too close to home.
Nash takes another step forward, the dig about Tristan hitting a raw nerve making my bass player explode. His tongue flicks at his lip ring, but it’s not the sexy move that makes my knees weak. No, it’s angry, almost violent.
“You don’t get it, man. You haven’t earned that trust,” Nash yells. I wince at the mention of trust. Nash is probably focused on that one aspect so hard because he lost faith in his best friend, pushing him away, thinking the worst of him, only for him to find out he was wrong when Tristan went missing. “You think because you have perfect pitch, you know better than the rest of us?”
“Enough!” Keaton’s smooth voice cuts in. It seems to jumpstart me out of watching the impending clash building in front of me.
I step forward, putting myself between the two men, holding my hands up. “We don’t have time for any fights right now. As it is, you’re burning our rehearsal time. Let’s run the set and get the sound perfect for the show.”
Nash narrows his gaze on Darius, tilting his head to the side so he can see past me. “Yeah, fine. We’ll see how you do. Find out if yourskillis as great as you think it is.”
Darius adjusts his strap, his gaze flashing with determination as he stares at Nash’s retreating back. “I’ve been playing my whole life. If you want to keep doubting me, fine. But don’t blame me if the sound goes flat when you’re the one stuck in the past.”
The jab has Nash spinning on his heel to face the newcomer. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
A low laugh spills out of Darius, lacking all humor. “It means stop comparing me to your old guitarist and let me do my job.”His piercing eyes flick to me, where they soften, some of the fight leaving them. “Shit. I don’t want to start things with your band. I’m here to play for you, nobody else.”
Blake’s eyes narrow, not liking the way he dismissed the band, but his words get to me. I might not trust his motives are as pure as he puts them, not with Dickless’ influence, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t being truthful either.
I’ve been watching everything going on, not having any experience with a situation like this. I’ve never dated my band, had my best friend go missing, and then had someone new step in. But I’m suddenly reminded that I’m the nexus between everyone; I’m in the middle whether I like it or not. Which also means I’m the peacekeeper.
Closing the distance between us, I lower my voice and run my hand along Nash’s arm. “Back off, okay? He’s here to help us, we don’t need this before a show.”
He shrugs off my touch, his angry gaze turning to something akin to a hurt puppy. He blows out a breath and steps away, not saying anything else, but his silence tells me he’ll do what I asked.
“This is a disaster,” Blake whispers under his breath.
“Can I get the kick drum?” the sound engineer asks. I should really learn what his name is. I hope he isn’t too pissed with having to watch everyone fighting when we’re taking up his time. You don’t want to make enemies with anyone who comes on tour with you, most of all the man responsible for making you sound good at the venue.
“Raina, can I get a moment of your time?” Izzy asks. She stands in the doorway to our dressing room where I’m holed up, hoping to avoid most of the stares pointing my way from the various staff. I’m not sure if it’s because of the most recent rumors, if they suspect I’ve already run off a member of my band, or if it’s because of the changes I’ve made on my team. Hell, it could as easily be the fight the band had during sound check. In any case, it sets my nerves off, and I’m already struggling enough knowing I’ll have a new guitarist in this performance.
Darius admittedly did an amazing job during sound check and even put up with me testing him on each of my songs to make sure he actually knew them like he said. It wasn’t only to assure my guys of his talent, either; I needed to know he’d nail them the way they’re supposed to be played. There’s nothing worse than getting thrown off because one of the players you rely on fucks up.
All said and done, I’m not sure if I’m happy he’s as amazing as he boasted, or if I’m disappointed that I can’t hate him for something.
“Yeah, what’s up?” I ask, walking toward her. We step out of the room into a hallway that only has one roadie carrying a guitar case. Within a couple seconds, he’s around the corner and we’re alone.
“I’m a little confused by your start time. Why have things been moved up? Shouldn’t Carmen be on stage right now?” She stares at her tablet with a furrowed brow.
Before I can answer her, a bold laugh comes from an open doorway down the hall where the greenroom is. I instantly recognize it as Darius. He has the kind of laugh that makes others want to join him, which is exactly what happens. Whoever is in the room with him follows suit. A moment later, he’s stepping out of the room and raises his hand. “I’ll see you later.”
Of course he’s instantly making friends with everyone…
He turns toward us, and somehow his smile becomes brighter when his gaze lands on me. The man certainly doesn’t suffer from RBF. He constantly has a grin no matter when I’ve seen him.
“Good evening, ladies,” he greets, closing the distance between us until he’s standing right next to me. He studies Izzy for a moment, tilting his head to the side. “Everything okay?”
