Chapter 8
The next night Lane and I were backstage while Embrace the Darkness wrapped up their set. I never had a problem with them opening for us before, not until their frontman, Striker, tried to put the moves on my girl. Now, it was eating me alive I was so agitated by it.
The crowd loved them, screaming and interacting with the band. Women seemed to go crazy for the long-haired British front man. He got nearly as may panties tossed at him as Riff and I.
“Goodnight, Nashville!” Striker screamed over the microphone before he waved and exited the stage towards us.
The moment his eyes locked on Lane, a grin broke out of his face. “Lane, it’s good to see you. I’m excited to see what that marketing brain of yours comes up with for the line.”
“Thank you for the opportunity. It’ll look great on my resume,” Lane answered.
“No problem, love.” He smiled at her.
My jaw muscle clenched. I hated when he called her that and didn’t care if it was part of his British slang. It seemed too personal. And that smile. I was ready to knock it off his face.
As if on cue, Lane’s cell phone rang with her special “Your mother’s calling” ringtone. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.”
She stepped away from to take the call privately. I watched Striker’s eyes follow her, and I felt my blood boil beneath my skin. “I’m on to you.”
He snapped his gaze back to me and smirked. “Oh, yeah? Better be on your bloody toes then, mate.”
My eyes narrowed, and I closed the gap between us. “Watch it, fucker. I didn’t get to finish the job last time.”
Striker tipped his head up and stared at me. “It wasn’t quite a fair fight last time. Let’s see you try it when my back isn’t turned.”
Air rushed through my nostrils as I took a huge breath. Adrenaline flowed through my veins. This guy needed ended.
“Hey!” Lane’s voice rang in my ears as she shoved between us. “What’s going on here?”
Striker stepped back. “Ask your boyfriend,” he said before turning and walking away. “Lane, we’ll be in touch.”
She furrowed her brow at me the moment Striker was out of earshot. “What the hell, Noel? You promised.”
She started to storm away, but I caught her arm. “Wait, Lane. I’m sorry, but the things he was saying—”
“Don’t mean a thing! Regardless of his intentions, you need to trust me. Have faith in my love for you.”
My heart pounded in my chest as I dropped her arm and allowed her to walk away. She was right. Relationships were built on trust, and I sure as hell didn’t want to crumble mine by being an overbearing control freak.
I ran my fingers through my hair as I watched her leave.
“Ten minutes, Mr. Falcon,” the stage manager said as he walked by me.
“Okay. Yeah,” I answered numbly as a thousand thoughts of how I nearly just screwed over my relationship with Lane went through my mind.
It was hard for me to focus my entire set. On our fourth song, I screwed up the lyrics. Riff’s gaze whipped in my direction, and he crinkled his brow. Fighting with Lane always fucked with my head. I needed to get my shit together.
The crowd roared as I belted out the chorus of the last song. Sweat dripped down my face and back as I ran to each side of the stage and hyped them up. Their fists pumped in the air to the beat pounded out by Trip. The stage lights beamed down on me as I gripped the mic and sang one last note of Ball Busting Bitch, our biggest hit so far.
The drums got a few more kicks and then silence took over. “Thank you, Nashville!”
I wiped my face with a white towel and tossed it into the crowd. It landed about fifteen feet into the crowd and instantly the shoving began. It always puzzled me why people would fight over a towel covered in my sweat.
Riff threw his arm around my neck as I walked off stage. “What’s up, buddy? Want to talk about it?”
Sometimes I hated how he knew when shit was on my mind. Riff had always been the guy in the band I went to when things were on my mind, and I could tell him anything. But it was hard to admit hard to admit to him that I was still having woman problems. I was sure he was sick of hearing this from me by now.
Finally I shook my head. “Nah, man it’s cool. Just a little off tonight, you know.”
He dropped his arm from around my shoulders. “Okay, but if you need to talk, you know where to find me.”
“Thanks, but really, I’m cool.” There was no need to drag him into this mess.
Once he was convinced I was good, he took off. Normally I would’ve said he was off to find his random groupie for the night, but from what I’d heard, Riff seemed to be really into Aubrey and I wondered if he would find a girl for the night. I guess we’d see just how serious he was about Lane’s friend.
After I fought my way through the fans, I advised Kyle to take a break for the rest of the evening. I needed to talk things over with Lane, preferably alone.
The bus was quiet. The rest of the guys were still out living down the high of being on stage. Sometimes it was tough to work off all of that adrenaline without blowing off a little steam. My go-to relief used to be the arms of random women. But those days were nothing but a distant memory, ones I would love to forget.
“Lane?” I called down the hall. “Are you in here?”
When she didn’t answer, I panicked. Where could she be? Even though I hated myself for thinking it, the first place or person she might’ve been with was Striker. She just yelled at me for not trusting her, and here I was letting crazy images of my worst fear cloud my better judgment.
The foxholes were empty. So far, I didn’t see another soul on this bus.
The bedroom door was partially closed. With a slightly shaky hand, I pushed it open. There was no sign of her. The bed was still perfectly made, and our luggage was still zipped up tight.
I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck. When was I ever going to stop fucking up with this girl?
Behind me, the bus door closed with a thud. I whirled around, and my gaze landed on Lane. Her green eyes were puffy, like she’d been crying since the last moment I had seen her. Without thinking about it, I made a beeline for her. I wrapped my arms around her tiny waist and buried my face in her dark curls. She sobbed as she threw her arms around my neck and held onto me just as hard as I held on to her.
“I’m so sorry, Lane. I trust you—I do—but Striker just gets under my skin. The things he was insinuating about you…It’s him I don’t trust, but I need to learn to trust that you’d knee him square in the balls if he tried shit with you.”
She laughed at my lame attempt to be funny while I apologized. “I’m sorry too. I should always have your side, and I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain yourself. I won’t take the job if bothers you that much.”
I pulled back and cupped her face. “No. Take the job. I’ll try harder to be understanding and trust your judgment.”
“Thank you,” she whispered before I kissed her lips and proceeded to finish making it up to her.