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“So we’re first? God, these nerves are killing me,” Jules said, clearly oblivious to the tension gripping the table. And this latest wave didn’t have a thing to do with the awards.
Ryan didn’t fully get what it did have to do with. Nor did he care, truthfully. He had his own problems to worry about.
“I guess that’s good,” Jules continued, though no one had responded to her. “At least we’ll know right off the bat.” She fanned herself as if she was on the verge of passing out.
Ryan glanced at his cell. Another ten minutes had passed while he’d tried to focus on what was going on with the band. His friends. His family.
All of them but one essential piece.
Still no incoming texts. He looked at the door. Still no Denver. And the longer he waited, pretending he was just hanging out with his friends, just riding the high from the buzz of excitement in the room, the more the niggle at the base of his spine increased.
Denver hadn’t just decided to take a pre-show nap or raid the mini bar or who knows what. Something was up. He didn’t know if that involved her splitting on him or if she’d gotten suddenly sick or what, but he wasn’t going to figure it out by sitting there and checking and rechecking his phone.
He’d just text her. Wait a few minutes if she didn’t reply, then text her again. She could’ve taken a quick nap to recharge. They’d had a long night…and a long morning. They’d been insatiable for each other. No matter how many times they were together, it was never enough.
He hoped like hell it never would be.
So maybe she’d decided to grab a few minutes to reboot. Hell, he was running on low himself. If not for show nerves and ring nerves and now Denver nerves, he probably would’ve been propped up in the corner, half unconscious.
He sent Denver a quick text, letting her know it was almost time. That was it. No pressure. No “where the hell are you?” though he was sorely tempted.
And waited. And waited some more.
When it was obvious from the scurrying around onstage and nearby that the show was about to begin, Ryan sent one more follow-up text. He didn’t expect a response, and he didn’t get one.
So he took the next logical step. He rose and strode over to Donovan, bending to the other man’s ear to ask a simple, important question.
“Did you speak to Denver?”
One of Donovan’s black eyebrows winged up. “When? This evening?”
Ryan gripped his phone in one pocket and the ring box in the other. “Yes. This evening.”
“No.”
That single word was enough to set Ryan in motion. He’d made it a few steps past the table when West sprang to his feet and seized his arm. “Hey, dude, what’s going on? You’re going to miss the thing.”
“Nah, I’ll be back in a few.”
“Where are you going? Where’s Den? She wouldn’t miss this, would she?” West shoved his hands in his pockets.
He was actually wearing a tux—at least the top half of one—with dark jeans. Progress came in all forms.
“That’s where I’m headed to find out.”
Ryan had taken another step when West snagged hold of him again. “You want help?”
Ry had to smile and raise his voice to be heard. The Event Center was getting more crowded and noisier by the minute. “What, you think I’ll have to strong-arm her to get her down here?”
“I don’t know. She’s been kind of tense lately. Is that…” West scratched the back of his spiky, growing-in hair, mussing it up even more. “Are you guys okay?” he asked in a low voice.
Ryan clapped his best friend on the shoulder. It was nice to have the support, even if it didn’t do him a damn bit of good right now. “That’s what I’m on my way to find out. I’ll see you in a few.”
“All right. If you need me, holler.” West smiled and held up h
is phone. “Or, you know, text.”
“Thanks, brother. I’m good.”
