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Is it really that easy for you to accept?
Are you over this—us?
Are you just going to use this as an excuse to bolt?
But there was no point in asking anything now. He had a show to prepare for, and Tris was already shutting down.
Tristan: Gotta go. IM me when the show’s over. She’ll kick ass.
Randy: Yeah, she will. Later.
Half an hour later, when he’d checked and rechecked the lighting sequence, he gave control of the board over to Derek and one of the other senior techs, who was practically bursting the seams of his hipster jeans at the thought of manning the show. Randy rarely gave up control, instead choosing to remain involved in every step. But tonight, he needed to support Juliet, and he had to trust that his people would do the same job that he would in their stead.
And hell, he wasn’t going far. Just to the first row. If something happened, he’d be back where he belonged in an instant.
Besides, this gave him another view of the stage. Another way to eye their setup, to scrutinize their choices. He’d be watching his own handiwork as much as Juliet.
Or so he thought.
The show started with a darkened stage, something new for Warning Sign. They were trying different stuff, using this opportunity to fill in for The Grunge to show off what they could do. The restless crowd shifted in the dark, bumping elbows as the steady simmer of the drums and the bass and guitars heralded the beginning of a song many of them knew. One spotlight popped on, illuminating Molly behind the mic in a shaft of blue as she cupped the microphone and sang in her low, husky voice about wishing she was special. He smiled at Radiohead’s “Creep”, amazed at how she was making the song her own. In her fringed black dress—with its thigh-high slit that revealed a hell of a lot of leg as she leaned forward into the song—and with the multi-colored scarves wrapped around the mic, she reminded him of a young Stevie Nicks. That gravelly, husky voice that seemed entirely ordinary until she opened it up on the high notes and let it soar to the ceiling and beyond.
One by one, lights popped on around the stage, revealing Michael and Elle, heads bent as they focused on their playing. On Malachi, keeping time on the drums with his seething intensity as ever present as another band member. On West and Ry doing their crazy joint keyboard thing and making the keys sing. Finally, the light landed on Juliet, her head tipped back as her thumb and fingers plucked the strings in perfect rhythm.
Molly’s voice grew, filling the twelve-hundred seat room with inescapable sound. The girl had fucking pipes for days, and when she followed the song to its epic conclusion, the showmanship to go with it. Gripping her microphone, she wailed into it like her heart was breaking as the music swel
led around her, building to the breaking point.
Like a snapping finger, it cut off, and the tormented Molly disappeared, replaced with a grinning one who unclipped her microphone and yelled out, “How the hell are you doing tonight, San Francisco? Hope you guys were in the mood for some Radiohead, because we sure were.”
The crowd cheered back, surprisingly lively considering this wasn’t the band they’d paid to see. But after that opening, the audience was with her. With them.
“Let me get this started by introducing the band. First, Michael Shawcross on lead guitar.”
Cheers.
“Elle Crandall on rhythm guitar. Yes, she’s the sister of that Crandall, if you happen to know who I mean.”
More cheering. Apparently, at least a chunk of the crowd knew that Elle was Nick Crandall of Oblivion’s twin sister.
“West Reynolds and Ryan Waters on keyboards, though you’ll see Ryan all over the damn place tonight. And maybe West too.” She did an exaggerated wink and then swung her outstretched hand toward Juliet. “On bass, Juliet Reece. And yes, she’s the sister of another pretty famous Reece.”
Juliet waved and did a little half bow. He grinned as she turned her smile his way, but he couldn’t help wondering if being in competition with her older sister ever stung. Margo had made a name for herself in Oblivion, and comparisons were hard.
He and Harper had never had that between them, but maybe because they both had their own areas of expertise that weren’t comparable. Or perhaps because they weren’t the same sex.
Then again, maybe everyone competed subtly—or not so subtly—and only since he’d been involved with this thing with Jules and Tris had he been aware of it. Though he wasn’t jealous of Tris and Juliet, not anymore. The three of them fit. Even if it wouldn’t make sense to the outside world, when it was just them, they made sense.
“Back there on drums is Malachi Shawcross, Michael’s older brother.”
More shouting and clapping as Mal held up his sticks in one fist.
Molly turned back to the crowd. “As for me, I’m Molly McIntire, and yep, my sister is in Oblivion too. What can we say? We keep rocking out all in the family.”
The audience erupted into laughter and clapping, including Randy who pumped his fist just to get Juliet to glance his way one more time. Those dark eyes swept over him, blazing heat through his veins. The smile she gave him burned more brightly than the spotlight that circled around Molly as she revved up the crowd for “All Night Long.”
Song by song, he watched the band play and sing and most of all, have fun. Juliet and Michael did their bantering routine, trading jokes and playfully getting in each other’s space. From Randy’s spot in the front row, he could see the amusement on their faces—and the way Michael occasionally glanced out at Randy’s row where his wife, Chloe, was stationed with a couple of girlfriends. The love on his face was clear.
Juliet did some glancing of her own, even sliding closer to Randy’s end of the stage as she worked on the intricate fingerwork at the beginning of “Cascade.” She pursed her lips as she played
