Chapter Twenty-Six
Jonathan
When Gabby comes in, my fingers almost stumble. I manage to recover, to keep playing, but I really want to stop and listen to her.
Playing with her like this—it’s so new. Yeah, we rehearsed together at her parents’ house and today at the sound check. But this is the first performance.
And damn. She’s killing it.
Her sound feeds into my ear, twining with mine, making me wish I could just bask in this. But it’s time to sing.
The crowd is almost silent, not even singing along with the chorus, even though this was the second single off my album. Almost every show I’ve played, the crowd has sung along. But not this time.
A little sting of concern shoots through me. But I can’t see enough of the audience to be able to tell if they’re silent because they’re disappointed. Or if they’re awestruck.
I hope it’s the latter.
Closing my eyes, I focus on the sound of Gabby playing in my ear, the way my fingers slide over the strings, finding the next chord, then the next, the vibration of the guitar against my chest. And I pour myself into the song. Into making music with Gabby.
When the song ends, I let the sound fade away, not stilling the strings. And it’s like the audience is holding its collective breath, waiting for the last reverberations to dissolve.
And then they explode.
It’s deafening, even over the noise blocking monitors in my ears. My grin feels like it’s going to split my face as I stand and turn to Gabby.
Her eyes are wide, her smile as big as mine, but she almost looks like she might throw up.
I push the guitar behind me so it hangs by the strap upside down on my back, and reach for her, pulling her up with me in front of the microphone.
“Gabrielle Kane, everyone!” I shout into the mic. They cheer impossibly louder.
“Right?” I say when the noise dies down enough that I can make myself heard. I always end up yelling through some part of my dialogue with the crowd, but I try not to do it too much. It’s not good for the voice. But tonight, I think they’ll keep screaming until I do or say something to get them quiet again. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve her, but I sure am happy I did it.”
A wave of laughter reaches us at that, but they quiet again quickly, waiting for what I’m going to say next.
“She was worried no one would like it. Let’s let her know how you really feel.”
The crowd erupts into shouts and applause again. I lean close to Gabby so I can speak into her ear. “You want to say anything?”
She shakes her head, her eyes as big as saucers. I can’t hear her, but I can see her mouth moving, forming the words, “No no no.”
I give her another squeeze and face the audience, who grows somewhat quieter when they notice I’m looking at them again.
“Thank you.” I pause, waiting so I don’t have to yell to be heard. “Thank you. Fortunately for all of us, Gabrielle has a few more songs to play with me.”
Another round of screams, cheers, and wild applause greets that announcement. The stage vibrates beneath our feet with the force of their enthusiasm. My smile grows even wider as I turn to Gabby, who’s smile looks half terrified.
Dropping the mic to my side, I let out a laugh and pull her close. “Let’s show ‘em what else you got. They’re loving it. I told you they would.”
Her eyes soften. “You were right. Thank you.”
Careful of her instrument, I press her body to mine, kissing her deeply, which provokes more catcalls and cheers. When we break apart, she’s breathless, and it takes me a second to catch my breath too.
I clear my throat as I snap the mic back into its stand, pulling my guitar around to the front and perching on my stool with one foot resting on a rung. Gabby stands in her spot to my right, and when our eyes meet, she gives me a nod and lifts her violin to her shoulder, her bow still down at her side until I bring us in.
We finish her set to deafening applause from the audience. I wish I could watch Gabby perform, because having her on stage with me is a different experience than what I’m used to. Both having her music weaving its way through mine, buoying it, making it better, but also the experience of interacting with the audience.
I have a band that plays with me for most of the concert. But they act in more of a supporting role. They’re in the background, there to set off my voice, my performance, and show it off.
But with Gabby, we’re equals, performing together. And the audience reacts to her that way. With her on stage with me, we hold them suspended in this bubble, and they listen with bated breath. Barely making a sound. It’s uncanny.
I stand and beckon her to me. “Gabrielle Kane! Isn’t she amazing?”
They scream their approval, and she smiles and waves back, holding her violin by the neck in her left hand and the bow between her fingers like a huge pencil. She bows from the waist, holding it for a beat before straightening and blowing kisses to the audience.
We head off stage together, the house lights coming up for the intermission. We keep the intermission short, but I have one at all my shows, something my mom drilled into us from an early age. Always take breaks. Rest your chops, even if only a few minutes, as part of a lifelong prevention routine to protect against damage.
Once we’re off stage, I pass off my guitar to a roadie waiting in the wings, and sweep Gabby up in my arms, spinning her around. She laughs at my exuberance, but falls silent when my mouth seals over hers. Her violin bumps against my back, still clutched in her hand.
Barry clears his throat. “You have to be back on in less than ten minutes. If you want some water, you might need to, ah, save this for later.”
Pulling back, I cast a glance at him over my shoulder. “Thank you ten,” I say in shorthand acknowledgment of how much time is left and dismissal all rolled into one.
He rolls his eyes and strides off to check on the rest of the band, leaving Gabby and I alone, or as alone as we can be in the constant activity backstage as the roadies ready for the next set.
Reluctantly I set Gabby back on her feet, pressing one last kiss to her lips before stepping back. I know I should grab a bottle of water, but simple needs like that are subsumed by the overwhelming need for her.
Who’d have guessed that playing together on stage would be such a powerful aphrodisiac?
She gives me a coy smile, dropping her eyes to my crotch and clearing her throat. “You probably ought to go calm down somewhere before you have to get back on stage.”
I grunt. “Sure you don’t wanna go in my dressing room and help me out?”
Her tongue darts out and swipes across her lips, and I have to bite back my groan. “Hmm. Well, much as I wouldn’t mind,” she glances around before meeting my eyes again, “I think Barry might have a heart attack. I don’t need that on my conscience.”
I reach out and run my finger over her bare shoulder. “That’s sweet you care so much about Barry.” I let my eyes skate over her, not really paying attention to what I’m saying anymore. She looks fierce dressed like this, and I can’t wait to peel the outfit off her once I’m done with this damn show. I’ve never not wanted to go on stage before. But damn. Playing with her. Hearing how much the audience loves her. I want to stay and bask in the afterglow of an amazing performance. Bask in her.
With a quick shake of my head, I meet her eyes again, which are still dancing with mischief, one corner of her mouth pulling up. She steps forward and slides her hand around my neck, holding her violin and bow together in her left hand so she can touch me. Pressing up on her toes, she pulls my face to hers for a slow, sweet kiss.
When she steps back, she pats my chest. “Go get some water. Chill for a minute. I’m going to pack up my stuff, and I’ll be waiting in the wings when you’re done.”
As she turns away, I catch her free hand. “Gabby?”
She looks over her shoulder at me. “Yeah?”
“Don’t change clothes.”
Her eyes flare, and she smiles. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” With that she pulls her hand back and sashays away, giving me a fantastic view of her ass swaying in those painted-on jeans.
God, I love that woman.
But she’s right. I need to calm down for a minute, come down from the high of being with her, and get amped up for the rest of the show. Colt comes out of the back hall, holding a water bottle out to me. “Here. Drink. You’re back on in two.” His eyes flick over me. “And maybe think about something depressing. Conversations with Mom is your usual go-to, yeah?”
I grimace, knocking back half the bottle of water. “Yeah. Thanks, man.”
He grins at the sarcasm in my tone, unrepentant. “That’s why you pay me the big bucks.”