Page 6 of Edge of Heaven (Crimson Edge #2)

Mick

Now that we’re no longer in the Midwest, the crowds aren’t as friendly, and I leave the stage in Salt Lake City wondering what the hell our management team was thinking.

We knew it was a risk to tour with Karnal Death, but they offered us a good deal.

Except their fans aren’t necessarily our fans so it’s not working out the way it’s supposed to. I’m pissed off about the whole thing.

I grab a towel from my bass tech and rub it down my face.

“This is bullshit,” I mutter to Jonny.

“I know.” He doesn’t look happy either.

“At what point do we call it a day?”

“We’re meeting with Sasha tomorrow,” he says, referring to Sasha Petrov, the band’s manager and record company rep. Her mother, Casey Hart, owns Hart Records, and though they’ve been extremely good to us, this tour is bullshit.

We’re not making money yet either, which pisses me off even more.

“Are we going to say what we’re thinking,” I ask in frustration, “or continue to toe the line?”

“What’s the alternative?” Tate Jeffries, our rhythm guitarist, asks. “A club tour? The momentum is happening now —we don’t want to lose it.”

“We just got booed ,” I say, throwing up my hands. “What is that doing for momentum? The press is going to have a field day.”

“We’ll give Sasha a head’s-up tomorrow,” Sam Fielding, our lead guitarist, says firmly. “In the meantime, we need to keep our heads down and keep doing what we’re doing.”

“What? Kissing their asses?” I grunt.

“I agree with Mick,” Angus interjects. “We need to think about a change, maybe consider some options.”

“It’s only been a few months,” Jonny protests. “And we’re making money despite the lackluster response from some crowds.”

“If the press keeps writing about those lackluster responses, they’re going to assume we suck.”

“No one is going to assume that,” Tate says. “Come on, it wasn’t a great night, but that happens. Let’s go get drunk and forget about it.”

“We need to be on the same page,” I press. “We have to let Sasha know we’re serious about wanting out.”

“And we will, but nothing is going to change tonight,” Angus says. “We might as well go have some fun.”

I hate to give in, but he’s right.

A platinum album—which means record sales topped a million copies—will give us more of a leg to stand on, both with our label and within the industry in general.

Until then, we have to push forward.

I don’t like it, but I understand it.

Maybe getting drunk is a good idea after all.

And finding a pretty lady to distract me from my negative thoughts.

We head toward the back lot where the tour buses are parked and I come around a corner just in time to see Callum—pants down around his ankles, a blonde on her knees in front of him sucking his dick.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I mutter, shaking my head in disgust.

“Gross.” Ryleigh makes a face and pulls out her phone. “I am so texting this to Taryn.” Her voice is loud enough to get Callum’s attention, and he growls in her direction.

“You better not,” he says, pointing a finger at her.

“Or what?” Angus asks, putting an arm around Ryleigh.

Angus is the only one in the band who’s independently wealthy, so he typically doesn’t take any shit from Callum or anyone else.

“God dammit!” Callum roughly pushes the girl going down on him away and yanks his pants up. “You fuckers need to mind your own business.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t cheat on your girlfriend,” I snap.

“ My girlfriend,” he reiterates. “ My business. How about you mind yours?”

“How about you kiss my ass?”

Callum takes a step towards me, but Sam puts himself between us, giving Callum a dirty look.

“Maybe if you’re gonna cheat, you should consider not doing it out in the open where everyone can see you,” Sam says.

“Fuck you.” Callum zips up his pants and stalks in the other direction.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Tate asks the blonde, who fell on her side when Callum pushed her.

“Yeah…I guess.” She rubs her hip. “Thanks, though. He was holding my head and choking me.”

We all exchange glances, but no one says anything.

What is there to say? Callum’s bad behavior is well-known, and we put up with it to keep the peace.

That doesn’t sit well with me anymore, but it feels like I’m the only one.

When no one else says anything, I continue walking toward the bus because if I don’t, I might do something I regret.

Well, I won’t regret it, but it might not be good for the band.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Angus murmurs to me as we get on the bus.

“Doing what?” I ask, irritated. “Worrying about our reputation?”

“Letting Callum get under your skin,” Jonny says pointedly.

“He’s a fucking dick!” I snap.

“And we all agree,” Sam says. “But he’s a bully and it serves no purpose to call him out on his bullshit. Not now anyway.”

“Then when?” I demand. “When the tour is over? After they’ve had time to ruin our reputation and make it look like crowds hate us?”

“The album is selling. People know it’s not about the music. You can’t get people who love jazz to be happy at a Taylor Swift concert, and you can’t expect their fans to love us every night.”

“And there have been some great shows,” Jonny chimes in.

“They loved us in Minneapolis and Des Moines,” Sam says.

“And in New York,” Jonny adds.

“Great,” I say dryly. “That’s, like, four shows out of fifty.”

“It’s more than that,” Sam says, frowning. “And you know it. We knew going in that this tour would be rough but at the time we didn’t have a lot of options. We have to suck it up and you know that. What’s going on with you, dude?”

“This is about Taryn,” Tate interjects, shaking his head. “And dude—she is not your problem. She’s a grown-ass woman who made a choice to stay with him. I know you like her, but we can’t force her to leave him. Whatever goes on in their relationship is between them. You have to let this go.”

“I’m going to send her the picture,” Ryleigh says. “And the rest is up to her.”

“Didn’t you just interview him?” Tate asks.

“The two things are separate,” she says thoughtfully. “That was business, but Taryn is also my friend. I’d expect her to let me know if she saw Angus getting sucked off by someone else while I was away.”

“Never gonna happen,” he says, pulling her onto his lap and wrapping an arm around her.

She smiles down at him. “It better not. But that’s not the point. Maybe this is the wake-up call she needs to dump him.”

They continue to talk around me, but I zone out, my thoughts drifting to the conversation Taryn and I had on the shuttle to the airport.

About loneliness.

About how she only has to get through six more months with Callum.

None of it makes any sense, but my gut tells me she’s in trouble.

And I want to help.

If she’ll let me.

The thing is, I don’t know how I can help.

I don’t have much money, I’m committed to this tour for at least a few more months, and I’m positive the band will be pissed if I do something to get us kicked off.

On top of that, I’m in no position to be in a serious relationship.

I’d do it under the right circumstances—the right woman—but it feels like the timing would be off.

Granted, Angus and Ryleigh are together, and Sam is doing the long-distance thing while his girlfriend Kirsten is off in college, but relationships are hard on touring musicians. Unless you’re rich enough to bring them on tour with you—like Angus—or they have their own money—like Kirsten.

I can barely take care of myself, much less anyone else. Especially when that someone else has a kid.

It’s not that I don’t like kids, but what would we do with him if we were together?

He’s not a baby. If my memory serves me correctly, he’s eight or nine now, so he’s probably in school.

I seem to recall that Taryn’s mother has custody of him, but the details are sketchy.

And Taryn seems pretty determined to keep him a secret.

There’s so much I don’t understand, and if I were smart, I’d put Taryn out of my mind and move on with my day.

But I can’t.

I’ve been trying for the last six months, and I want her more than ever.

“I just texted Taryn the picture,” Ryleigh murmurs to me.

I glance at her. “What did she say?”

“Nothing yet. It doesn’t appear she’s seen it.”

“Do you know when she’s supposed to get back?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I think she said she’d be gone a week, but I don’t know if that was exactly or approximately or what.”

I nod.

“I guess all we can do is hope she comes to her senses,” I say.

“There might be something else going on,” Ryleigh points out. “Something we don’t know about, you know?”

Like a child back in L.A.

One she never talks about.

And it’s not my place to spill those beans.

There has to be a reason she keeps her son a secret, and until I find out what it is, I have to keep my mouth shut.