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My eyes lingered on his ass, but I forced myself to look away.
“Can I sing the new one now?” I blurted out.
“What new one?” Ronin asked, looking at me with curious eyes.
All four of us had been making music together since we were eighteen, fresh out of high school in Rhode Island. We’d had eleven years of friendship and road trips. We’d endured a lot together, and I knew this was not the way to mention a new song.
Shit.
Van paused and turned to face us again.
“I found a new piece for you guys. It’s different, though. Brodie read it the other night and loved it, so let’s test it out,” Van replied and headed back to wait in the wings.
In his usual pose, arms crossed, thighs rigid.
I slung my guitar over my shoulder and reached down to my bag. I pulled out the sheet music and passed it around.
“This doesn’t sound like us,” Faisel commented as he read. “You really want to perform this one?”
I nodded in response. “I know it’s not the usual, but that’s just it. We need something fresh. Something with a little less rock and a little more roll. Something deep and slow.”
As always, my eyes looked around the room and found Van’s.
Deep and slow could be really, really good.
“I like it,” Holloway replied, interrupting my sexy sidetrack. “And I agree with Brodie. After that rockfest through Europe, we should try something chill. I’m game.”
Faisel and Ronin nodded.
“Let’s try it unplugged. I need my baby,” I said to Tommy, our instrument guy.
He was busy checking all our backup pieces. He picked up my custom-made Martin and passed it over to me. Then he did the same with Holloway, switching out his electric guitar.
I slid my hands over the smooth surface and held her lovingly.
“Here goes,” I murmured as I sat on a stool and began to strum the first chords.
I’d already memorized the song. Hell, I’d read it a hundred times over the past week.
I closed my eyes and sang the first words, letting out the frustration that had built up inside me. My voice was rougher than usual, probably due to the enormous lump in my throat.
It wasn’t nerves. I’d sung Van’s words before.
But this song? It brought out a strange ache that was stronger than lust.
I can taste his heartache. It mirrored mine.
The intensity of my emotions surprised me.
It knocked the breath right outta my body, and I struggled with the rest of the lyrics. The chorus came out like a husky moan, with Holloway and Ronin backing me up.
When our harmony hit just right, I finally let go.
I unleashed. I fucking flew.
The high I got from performing—even to an empty theater during rehearsal—never got old.
But performing Van’s song in front of him and for him? His words were mine. And everything that had led us to this point suddenly made sense to me.
