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The slamming drums, shrieking guitars, deep, vibrating bass, cool piano and Molly’s soaring voice combined into something magical. Something all their own. They might not be The Grunge, a bigger band with longevity and their own sound for sure, but they were becoming Warning Sign right in front of him. Growing into their own.
Juliet too. With every concert, she developed her own style. The sly laughs as she teased Molly between songs, the way she played with her head flung back and her fingers a blur, the sheer joy in her expression while she lost herself in her music.
It was like watching her come, without the intimacy. That same frenetic build and then the release as the applause broke over them and washed away the tension.
And always, always, she shot him little private smiles. She was glad he was there, happy he was watching her.
God, he couldn’t look away.
Song after song, they seduced the audience, breezing through their singles and a couple untested songs, finally reaching “Undermine”, the song with the mini flame-like torches. Randy gripped the walkie talkie at his side as West tapped out the first notes of the song with Ryan on accompanying violin—which was definitely new—and tried to relax his shoulders. Stressing until a new light design went off flawlessly was nothing new. But with each note, each flick of Molly’s colorful scarves as she danced in place, head down, letting the music soak into her, his gut tightened.
This was no big deal. Not even real pyrotechnics. No reason to—
The first couple of torches popped on, one after another. Juliet’s face was caught in the glow, and the terror that filled her expression nearly had him jumping the temporary barrier erected near the stage. In the midst of the lights coming on, she sought him, her gaze latching onto his like a lifeline in spite of the chaos around them.
He mouthed “Are you okay?” and she nodded vigorously, too vigorously, directing her attention at her bass. She glanced up one more time, her fear palpable, then she shut her eyes and let the music take her over.
The walkie talkie at his hip squawked, the vibration rumbling against his palm. He was needed back at the board. For the first time in his life, he ignored it.
Right now, the only place he needed to be was with Juliet. To make sure she was okay.
By the end of the song, her color had started coming back. By the start of the next—after a lengthy byplay between Molly, a loud, semi-belligerent West and the audience—Juliet was almost rosy-cheeked again.
She also wasn’t looking Randy’s way.
Juliet never liked to seem vulnerable, even for a second. So if that meant she had to hide her fears for now, at least he’d make sure she never faced them alone. Even if he didn’t understand what had caused her panic.
Supporting her would have to be enough.
The walkie talkie went off again as his cell beeped, and he blew out a breath. He had to get back behind the board. Spending even this much of the night surrounded by the jamming guitars and laughter and buzz of the audience had fueled him enough to get through the rest of the show. She had fueled him, and being behind the board while he took in her telltale flourishes and imagined her riding that bass hard would only give him more juice to get through the rest of the night.
Until he could get her alone and feel all that energy break with him.
“We’re gonna throw it back eighties’ style now. All the way back to a San Francisco band that so many of us grew up with. Not me, I’m a nineties’ baby,” she said to laughter and a few boos. “But I did grow up not too far from here. You could almost say I’m a product of San Fran too, though I spent the most time a little bit south.” She did a hip shimmy that made the crowd stomp their feet. “Let’s see who knows this one.”
West started hammering out the first notes on the keyboard of “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey and the audience went wild. Molly grabbed the mic off the stand and went into a crouch, singing about a small town girl who took that midnight train.
Juliet’s bass came into the song, and he savored the pluck of her fingers on the strings. The concentration on her face, the little wrinkle in her forehead he couldn’t plainly see but knew was there.
She was flawless, always.
He couldn’t help singing along and when she glanced up and caught him, her grin shot through him like kerosene. She sang back to him and together, they jammed through the song.
And his fucking walkie talkie kept squawking. Dammit.
Sending Jules an apologetic glance, he started to inch his way down the aisle, squeezing around people and muttering his thanks when they let him pass. He ducked around a gigantic guy with tree trunk arms that he was pumping in the air, bending down low enough that he glimpsed a small brunette tucked in next to the stage. From the way she was holding up her phone, facing the audience no less, he had a feeling she really wasn’t supposed to be there.
Was she recording? Filming? What the hell?
He’d just cleared the aisle and taken two steps toward her when she lifted her head and tossed back the tangle of her dark hair.
The second their gazes connected, she jumped to her feet. And fucking booked for the exit as if the devil himself were on her ass.
Randy grabbed his walkie talkie, waiting until he’d made it around the stage and into the back before alerting security. It was way too frigging loud in there, and he wasn’t even sure what he’d seen. He called it in just the same. Petite brunette recording or filming where she shouldn’t be. Fan who’d sneaked in? Fan who had a legit ticket but wanted to get closer? Crazed groupie?
Anything was possible.
Randy made it back to the board as Derek shot to his feet. “Issue in quadrant two, boss,” he said, and Randy went to work.
