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And, as she was trying to remind herself on a daily basis—not everything needed to be serious all the time.
“An hour music lesson with Micah Sullivan?” she said. “An hour private concert?”
“I’d bid on those.”
“Everyone will bid on those.”
The song switched and Band of Outlaws’ biggest hit, the song Micah had sung with Juliette St. James four years ago, filled the truck. Helen had to imagine that there were ten thousand couples who’d planned to use that song for their weddings–she and Evan had been one of them.
The second he realized what it was, Jonah fumbled for the phone.
“It’s all right,” she said, when he accidentally turned the music off instead of just fast-forwarding the song.
“I’m sorry. I forgot I put it on there.”
“It’s a good song,” Helen said. “Go ahead and play it.”
“Helen.”
“You think they won’t be playing it today?” she asked.
“I could ask him not to.” He was joking, but not really. Jonah would ask one of the biggest music stars in the world not to play his biggest hit because it reminded her of Evan and made her cry.
Her diaphragm unseized and she laughed. She laughed harder than his little joke warranted, but she was just barely hanging on. She was white-knuckling this whole thing. A semi truck passed on the left and their truck did that little shimmy in its wake. She gripped the seat belt so hard the edges cut into her skin.
“Helen,” Jonah said in that quiet voice she’d heard so often in the last couple of years and she shook her head.
“Don’t want to cry, Jonah. Just play the next song.”
Band of Outlaws’ guitars and drums filled the car and then so did Micah Sullivan’s voice, not a great voice, probably, but somehow perfect all the same.
Perfect for songs about loss and love and waking up every morning hoping shit would get better.
It was no wonder she loved the music so much; it spoke right to her soul.
As Jonah drove five miles per hour below the speed limit behind an SUV, hurtling toward a rehearsal space in White Plains, she closed her eyes and clung to Micah’s voice and his lyrics the way she had for the last few years.
Chapter Two
Micah
Danny was off. He wasn’t just off… he was…playing an entirely different song? Micah could feel his brother Alex staring death arrows at him. Micah turned slightly and looked over at Danny, sitting on top of the speaker, looking down at his bass, like they were in conversation.
Which was lovely. And classic Danny.
It was just the wrong fucking conversation.
“Stop!” Micah yelled into the mic. “Stop. Danny? You all right, mate?”
Danny Singh looked up through his long dark hair and blinked. His smile was the exact smile of a kid getting a bike for Christmas. He was barely twenty-one. It was absolutely criminal that the guy was so young and so talented. Micah knew bringing Danny in on bass was a risk, but he’d expected the kid’s talent and personality to win over the rest of the band.
He was wrong.
“If we slowed it down…” Danny said.
“Oi!” Sean MacNee on the drums shouted. “We’re not slowing down any more songs, Danny! We’re a rock band, not a…”
“But listen, if we slowed it down it’s a riff on Handel’s Messiah—”
“What the hell, Micah?” Alex, Micah’s half-brother and whole pain in the ass, and the lead guitar player for the band, came up on his left. He didn’t even bother to lower his voice and Danny could hear him. “I know you like the guy, but this—”
“Shut up, Alex.”
“Micah?”
“I’m serious.” He turned to face his brother and saw what he always did. They shared the same eyes. Mom’s eyes. They shared Mom’s musical ability, too. And her quick temper.
But Alex had his father’s black hair and shit-eating grin.
And cruel streak.
Alex was seven years younger than Micah. Eons younger. Worlds younger. They’d had very different versions of the same mother growing up, and that had made all the difference.
“We’ve been over this,” Micah whispered to his brother, his hand over the microphone. “Danny stays.”
“He was amazing in the studio with the new album. And in that online shit you were doing. I can’t argue that. But live?”
“He’ll be fine. We just need to practice and that’s what we’re doing.”
“What is going on with you, Micah?” Alex asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been a fucking pill since the lockdown. You’re pissed all the time.”
“I’m not pissed.”
“At me, you are.” Alex’s eyebrows lifted, daring him to say different. Micah couldn’t argue. “Right. And now, bringing in some unknown bass player? The tone of this whole album—”
“There’s nothing wrong with the album.”
Alex sighed. “We’re Band of Outlaws, Micah. We’re not your band and you’re treating us like we are.”
“Micah?” Jo, the band manager, approached the stage from the door. The rehearsal space was huge and it took her minutes to get to a spot where she could talk to him without yelling.
