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Shit, that was twice in one night I’d been taken by surprise. What the fuck?
Head in the game.
“Hypnotizing. Every time. He makes it look so easy.”
Ace chuckled. “That man is so talented, and the funny thing is, he downplays it.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Between you and me, he loves hearing the praise. Lives for it. Some musicians need that feedback more than others. No matter how famous they are or how good a player, they need the attention.”
I made a mental note. A strategy was forming in my mind.
A way to finally get Iain to see reason.
And if he didn’t?
Sometimes, you just have to fight dirty to get what you want.
CHAPTER 4
IAIN
Being on stage was being home.
The intense lights, the screaming fans, my closest friends beside me.
My baby in my hands. The one true love of my life.
My guitars weren’t just instruments. They were my heart and soul outside of my body. Playing had been my salvation since I was a kid. It distracted me from the mess that was my childhood and soothed me from the pain of losing my mom.
It brought me to Brodie, and Faise, and Ronin. It gave me a career that was hardly work at all.
Even if I had never made it to the biggest stadiums in the world, I’d still be playing.
Probably in some dive bar.
But I’d still be me.
I could live without the accolades and awards.
But I could never live without music.
I was so into my performance that I almost didn’t realize when our first set was done. An hour and a half flew by when you were in the zone.
We took several bows and headed for the wings to hydrate. Tommy, one of our road crew, threw us towels and then headed on stage to change my guitar.
I wiped down my face and neck and pulled at the T-shirt sticking to my sweat-soaked body. Sometime in the second set, my T-shirt would get thrown off and into the crowd.
I spotted Dawson talking with Van near the catering table. The nerves in my belly kicked up the closer I got to him. I stopped and grabbed an electrolyte drink, my hand starting to shake again.
I’d nearly flubbed my guitar solo earlier when I turned around and saw Dawson staring at me from the wings.
I had thousands of eyes looking at me on any given night. I should be used to it. But that was different. The fans wanted us, admired us; hell, they wanted to be us.
Dawson, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be admiring me. In fact, I was pretty sure he was trying to intimidate me with that glare of his. No fucking way.
“Don’t you have rounds to do or something?” I asked Dawson between sips. “No one’s going to get to me here. I’m safe.”
