Chapter Forty

“Do you want the lemon water, or the plain?”

Dax’s head was still in the hole of the bed and he groaned and answered without looking up. “Plain.”

He winced as the thick, strong thumbs of Darlene ran up his spine, deeply massaging his muscles. He gripped onto the bed and she slapped his hands away. “Stop tensing,” she instructed.

Trying to relax, he closed his eyes and distracted himself by trying to remember the words to all the songs he was singing later that night. And, finally, Darlene was finished. She gave him a pat on the butt and he sat up carefully, making gentle stretches. “That’s great,” he said. “I think we’re all set.”

It was six-thirty, and he was already at Ledbrooke Stadium. He knew that outside, thousands of fans were queueing to try and get a floor space as close to the stage as they possibly could. Some of them had been queuing since the early hours of the morning.

Touring had never been a problem for Dax. Everything was managed so minutely, that all he had to do was show up. It had never mattered if the crowd was ten-thousand strong or a hundred-thousand strong. To him it was the same. Walk on, do the set, walk off. It had all been practiced so many times that he could do every set in his sleep.

The trick had always been, of course, to keep a screen within eyeshot with the name of the city he was in that night so he made every fan feel special. It was always the same. “Hey, Amsterdam! You’ve been the greatest!” or “Oh my God, Cape Town! We haven’t had a vibe like this on the tour until tonight!”

Now, he was in his home town. He might not have been born in California, but he’d been here for fifteen years. He was a kid when he arrived. Now he was a man, and he had a man’s responsibility on his mind.

Grant came into the dressing room while he was pulling on his pants. “Don’t mind me,” he said. “Just checking you’ve got the steps for the third track sorted.”

The dance he’d always performed was now a little too tricky. His back was still healing, eight months after the accident, and while he was certainly almost back to full fitness, he wasn’t about to risk his progress by spinning around and flipping over the way he had done before the crash.

“We’re good,” Dax said. “I’m switching up the final track, though.”

His pulse raced a little as Grant frowned and checked the itinerary in his hand. “What? We always end with Remembering the Future. It’s the moneymaker.”

“The money’s already been made,” Dax said. “The tickets were being sold online for up to five grand each, and that was from the ticket company, not even scalps. I think the tour’s more than recouped the cash you lost while I was away.”

“Why have you switched the tracks? What are you finishing on now?”

“Calling You Out.” It was a lie, but there was a reason for it. On the lesser-known track of the third album, Dax had played the acoustic guitar and on some earlier sets, he’d chosen to play the track. Die-hard fans loved it as they loved everything else he’d ever sung, but it hadn’t been too popular with the general public.

Grant wasn’t amused. “No, no, no,” he said. He took a pen and began to scrawl across the page but Dax stopped him.

“That’s the deal,” he said. “Or we can say goodbye to the whole night right now.”

Grant sighed. He pointed the pen in Dax’s face. “I don’t know what happened to you in Scotland, but I’m sure as hell not liking the new Dax Monroe,” he said. “Sort it out for the new year. Maybe that’s something we can work in among your resolutions.”

Dax gave a tight-lipped smile as a reply, but said nothing.

Kelly came in and gave Grant a wide smile. “Hello, Mister Beaumont,” she said, and she fluttered her eyelashes at him. Grant grunted at her but took the time to stare down her cleavage. She was fully aware of his leering stare, and she’d normally cover herself instinctively but now, she pretended not to notice. “Do you mind if I steal Dax for a second?”

“Whatever,” Grant said. “I’m going down to the bar. I’ll be back in a little while.”

Once he left the room, Kelly rushed over to Dax. “He’s here,” she said in a low voice, although there was nobody else around.

Dax’s mouth fell open. “Are you serious?” he asked, wide-eyed. He sat down on the white couch, his head in his hands. “Fuck. I can’t believe he came. I didn’t think he would…”

“I was going to bring you down to him, but now that Grant’s gone, shall I bring him up to you?”

“Sure. No. Wait. Yes. Bring him. No. Hang on. Let me think.” He paced around the room, trembling. “Jesus, what do I say to him? It’s been six months.”

“I’m going to get him. You’d better sort yourself out before I get back.” And with that, she was gone.

Dax paced the room, trying to recall everything he’d learned in yoga about his breathing. He’d never been so nervous in all his life. Finally there was a tap on the door, and he opened it. There, standing in front of him, for the first time in nearly half a year, was Cameron Wilson.

Cameron’s auburn curls fell down in front of his eyes the way they always had. Dax had to resist the urge to lift his hand and brush them away. He swallowed. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Cameron replied, his mouth curled into a lopsided smile.

“I’m going to leave you boys alone for twenty minutes, but after that I need to come and get Dax for the last rehearsal,” Kelly said, and she gently prodded Cameron in the back so that he’d walk forward. When he was in the room, she took the door handle and closed the door.

They were alone for the first time in six months and Dax didn’t know what to say. He dug his hands into his pockets and sucked air through his teeth. “So,” he said. “Thanks for coming.”

“It was a VIP ticket,” Cameron said. “I’d be an idiot to turn it down.”

“I was wondering if you might give it to Will.”

Cameron gave a soft laugh, and Dax’s heart swelled. “Yeah, well, I was going to but it turns out he couldn’t make it.”

“Right.”

“We’re still missing you at the quiz.”

“I’m afraid my contribution was never that great.”

“You’d be surprised. You were one of the team.”

Their conversation was stilted. Awkward. There was so much to say, but neither of them had the words to say it. Eventually, Dax did the most British thing he possibly could, and he asked about the weather.

“Is it cold now, back home?”

“It’d freeze the balls off a brass monkey,” Cameron said. “I’ve got to admit it was pretty appealing to come out for a couple of days to LA and get some sun. I’d forgotten what it was like to have to apply sun cream. But you know what us gingers are like. We burn in the shade.”

“So you’re not here for long?” Dax croaked.

“No. I fly back on Sunday.”

“I was hoping you hadn’t gone back down to London. When I sent the ticket to Invergordon I had no idea if you’d even be there to get it.”

Cameron took a deep breath. “I thought about it. You know, I wanted to run away again but I’ve learned it doesn’t work. Sometimes you need to face things head on.”

“Can you stay a little longer, maybe? I can give you a tour of the place?”

But Cameron bit his lip, stared at Dax with his green eyes, and shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I need to get back.”

Again, the silence, but this time it was Cameron who broke it again. “Hey, I’ve kept you for long enough. I just wanted to come and say hello, and thanks for sending me the ticket. Break a leg out there, okay?”

He reached forward and put his arms around Dax in a hug. Dax fell into the embrace and the two men stood there, silently, for a few seconds, before Cameron broke away. “Take care,” he said, gruffly.

“Thanks,” said Dax. “I hope you enjoy the show.”

He wanted to say so much more, but there wasn’t any time. He had to get downstairs, to prepare himself for the biggest night of his life.