Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“I heard.” His jaw clenched.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
He softened with a sigh. “There’s no reason for you to be. I dragged you here, remember?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “But that doesn’t mean you have to play.”
“But we’d love it!” Laura added, popping up behind me. “I mean, if Zoe won’t let you, the town will understand, but no one like you has ever been here—”
“Shut up, Laura,” I snapped over my shoulder.
Nixon laughed. “Look who’s losing her temper now.”
“If she thinks you’re going to fall for such blatant manipulation, she obviously doesn’t know you. Which she doesn’t.” I bit that last part back at her.
She backed away, her palms up slightly.
“I wouldn’t do it for her, anyway.” His gaze intensified, turning molten. “But I’ll do it for you.”
I felt my defenses melt like an ice cube dropped into warm water. “Nixon,” I whispered.
“It’s okay. You’ll never hear the end of it when you come home, and that’s not fair to you.” He unzipped his jacket, and I moved down a step, holding it closed.
“It’s not fair to you either. You don’t have Quinn or Jonas or your guitar…”
Or the alcohol.
“I’ll be fine. I am fine. Let me do this for you. Consider it my penance for barging into your private life.” A corner of his lips lifted, and his gaze turned to steel.
I knew that look. He’d made his decision. With a nod, I stepped back, helping him with his jacket. By the time he removed the skull cap and ruffled his hair, he wasn’t the Nixon I’d spent the last two weeks with.
He was the rock star.
I handed his things to Jeremiah and turned to see Laura pick up Peter’s guitar from the side of the stage and offer it to Nixon.
He looked straight at me.
Right.
“Thank you,” I said to her, taking the guitar from her hands and giving it to Nixon, cutting her off completely.
“Let me know if you need anything!” she called over my shoulder, but Nixon was already busy tuning the guitar.
“You good?” I asked over my shoulder, unwilling to turn my back on Laura.
“I’m good.” Nixon had the strap over his shoulder and was plugging the aux cord into the guitar.
“Sorry, he doesn’t speak to venue staff.” I offered her a professional smile, then walked off the stage to stand at the edge of the front row with my family.
“Did she really put him on the spot like that?” Mom asked, her brow puckered with worry.
“She did,” I answered as Nixon took the microphone.
“Your wife is a piece of work,” Mom said to Peter, who’d moved to stand at my right.
“Why? I’m sure he gets asked all the time,” Peter remarked, crossing his arms.
My breath caught at the sight of Nixon up there. He didn’t just take a stage, he devoured it with the kind of presence only he had. Quinn was the beat of a show, she drove it forward. Jonas brought the heart. Nixon…he was the energy, the palpable hum of excitement. It seemed to emanate from him like a magnetic field, drawing everyone a little closer.
That wicked smile of his broke across his face as he stepped into the spotlight, and the crowd cheered. It was the smallest crowd he’d played to in years, and yet none of them knew how momentous this was. They were the first he’d gotten in front of since rehab.
“Hi there.” He pushed up the sleeves of his Henley, revealing the tattoos running down his arms.
Another cheer sounded.
“So usually, I have a couple other people up here with me, but it’s just me tonight.” He turned toward me, his gaze catching Peter’s. “Peter, I hope you don’t mind that your wife offered up your guitar.”
“It’s fine with me!” Peter called back.
The crowd laughed.
“It’s in better hands,” I muttered.
Mom pinned me with a glare.
Dad laughed.
“Quinn and Jonas—they’re the other two-thirds of Hush Note, for those of you who don’t know who I am or why someone put a guitar in my hands—we always talk about doing a concert series in smaller, more intimate venues, but I never considered branching out on a solo tour.”
I held my breath, thinking of every song in his arsenal he could whip out right now.
His gaze locked onto mine. “But for Zoe, I’ll make an exception. Just for the next three minutes and seventeen seconds.”
Another murmur of laughter rolled through the crowd, but still, he looked right at me.
“I think there’s something to be said for Zoe Shannon—”
My stomach pitched as the crowd cheered. They didn’t know him like I did—know he could go either way—sweet or sarcastic—in this moment.
“Something to be said for the hearts who dream big. You see, a wise woman once said that it takes two kinds of people in the industry to bring the music to life. Those with the talent to make it, and those with the brains to make sure that music gets heard. I’ll amend that wise statement to add, it takes talent, brains, and a nearly obsessive level of drive to get the music heard, and Zoe has all three. Tonight is a perfect example, since I wouldn’t be up on this stage if she wasn’t involved in Hush Note.”