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That was the Lila he knew and loved. And occasionally growled at.
“We’re going to have to do it without him.” At his side, Ryan rubbed his wrapped wrist with the fingers of his other hand. “I can play one-handed. It won’t be pretty, and y’all will have to carry my ass, but we can make it work.” When Michael didn’t reply, Ryan added, “Hey, it’s just an hour, right? Barely even that.”
“An hour of your biggest hits, played in front of a crowd that is excited to hear Brooklyn Dawn and Oblivion.” Lila strode up to them, impeccable as always in a pale blue business suit and black pearls. “This is not the time to phone it in.”
Michael pivoted toward where Elle was warming up on her beloved Gibson. Her blond head was bent, and the flowy peasant top she wore dipped off one shoulder as she concentrated on her fingerwork. His gaze drifted to Molly, doing stretches in one corner, then to Juliet, who was pacing and texting on her phone. West was doing air keyboards to the piped-in music through the sound system. And Ryan was at Michael’s side, as always.
They all had their pre-show routines, and that hadn’t changed because one of them was hurt. Maybe they’d hadn’t locked up tight yet as a group like Brooklyn Dawn or Oblivion, but they were making progress.
One show wouldn’t make them. Nor it would break them. It was just a show.
“We won’t be phoning anything in.” Michael cracked his knuckles and nodded at Ryan, who looked a lot less confident than Michael would’ve liked. Ryan always kept his eye on the prize. He never faltered. At least he hadn’t before tonight.
Michael shut his eyes. Fuck, he wasn’t used to being the group’s backbone. His role was to support not to lead, and that was the way he liked it. He was just a guy who played guitar.
And lines up for free booze and plentiful pussy.
Yeah, well, not tonight. He wasn’t planning on getting loaded or finding a chick. He’d have to be on point to help his band through the show, and afterward, he’d be there to pick up the pieces if needed.
After all, he’d been the one who’d rejected Lila hiring a studio musician for the night to fill in for Ryan. As long of a shot as it was, Michael had held out hope that Mal would show. He might not want to, might curse his little brother mightily after, but Mal wouldn’t let Michael down. Until it was actually happening, he hadn’t truly believed it would.
Now they were about to go on the stage, and Mal wasn’t anywhere in sight.
“We’ll be fine,” he said, finally opening his eyes.
Ryan and Lila were gone.
Okay then. Guess he was on his own, just like the band.
He reached under his shirt and pulled out the silver cross Lila’s mother had given him on his first Christmas at the orchard. He hadn’t been religious even back then, and neither were Lila’s parents for the most part. But Gram had told him that as a musician, he needed to have a higher power to call on for that extra little boost at the eleventh hour. Whether he was bolstered by spirit or self, with that cross, he would never be alone.
Ever since then, he’d always gripped the cross at the times he most needed a hand. The gesture always centered him and reminded him to count his blessings, not his failures.
There would only be blessings tonight.
Feet scuffed the floor behind him and the murmur of voices turned into something else altogether. He turned and glimpsed Elle being plucked up from the bench she’d been seated upon.
By Malachi, who lifted her as if she were a rag doll and he was the Incredible Hulk.
Holy fuck.
He set her down and took the seat she’d just vacated—not by choice. While she sputtered, he opened up what appeared to be a roll of fabric on the bench. “Sorry, sweetheart, but I need this seat for a second.”
“I’m not your sweetheart.”
He gave her a dismissive glance over his shoulder. “No, I don’t suppose you are. Too skinny for me. But cute enough in the right light. You should use more makeup on stage. Your eyes totally disappear under the glare.”
Glowering, Elle lifted her guitar. Since Michael wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t have broken it over his brother’s block head, he moved between them. “Hang on, Elle. No killing the talent, even if he deserves it.” Still facing Elle, Michael reached back and slapped Mal against the ear. “Asshole. Don’t talk to my bandmates like that.”
Malachi grunted, and when Michael looked over his shoulder, he realized the roll of fabric contained a selection of drumsticks. Casual player, hmm? “I’m part of the band tonight. So I guess that makes little Ricki my bandmate too.”
“It’s Elle,” she said, flexing her fist around the neck of her Gibson. “I’m not little either. You’re just a freaking giant.”
Having evidently chosen his preferred weapons of destruction for the night, Mal stood, drawing himself up to his full height. Michael had waited to get the same growth spurt that had sent Mal from scrawny up to mountain man, but it had never happened. Michael had made it to almost six-feet tall, but Mal was six-fucking-four. And he owned every inch.
“What kind of kit am I working with?” Mal asked Michael, though his gaze remained on Elle.
“You?” Lila walked toward them, flanked by Ryan on one side and Molly on the other. “You’re not working with anything.” Her accusing gaze shot to Michael. “This is who you bring on my stage?”
