Page 11 of Extended Bridge (Passionate Beats #2)

Chapter Six

L ater, I join UC and what seems to be a million crew members in a conference room that’s been labelled “The Closet” in Madison Square Garden. The sheer amount of people doing their jobs in this chaos is astounding.

Absorbing the controlled disorder, I approach Bennett, who sits with an ice pack on this thigh. “Are you looking forward to tonight’s concert?”

I clear my jumble of thoughts about the hubbub going on around me.

“It’ll be nice to see you guys performing again.

To see how things have changed with Tristan.

” Before a gig, Darren used to hold his own comedy session for the band and crew.

Come to think of it, I remember Bennett standing apart yet laughing at his jokes.

“We’re a different band now. Our vibe has shifted but we’re still all about the music.”

On what I consider to be safe territory, I sit across from him. “What’s Tristan like?”

My question brings Bennett up short. He taps the ice pack. “He’s pretty laid-back. He doesn’t like to rock the boat, which I guess makes sense, considering why he joined UC. He’s a good guy, though. Damn fine keyboardist, too.”

I nod. “I’ve heard him play a little. He sounds like Darren did, only with a slightly unique twist.” Goes to show everyone’s replaceable. Remember this.

“He has his own take on our songs. He’s been an integral part of writing our new stuff.

” He grins. “He’s willing to try anything.

For instance, he joined us at a rock climbing wall when we were filming the movie.

He was scared shitless, and we all saw it.

We tried to break down his walls and, surprisingly, 007 was the one to breach them first.” He chuckles.

“It was a good time. A turning point, for us as a band.”

“I remember the scene in the movie.” I scan the room and locate Tristan talking with Pierce.

“He seems like a good fit.” He’s not trying to be Darren, which is a relief.

While his job can be replaced, the man himself cannot.

The new keyboardist needed to bring his own personality to the group, and it sounds like he did.

“I look forward to getting to know him.”

“I’m sure he’d like that.” He waves at a woman sporting a pixie haircut and an eyebrow piercing. “Guess it’s time for me to put on the leather pants.”

“By all means. Turn into the rock star that you are.” I take the ice pack and slink into the background, which is more difficult than I imagined given the number of people in the room.

I’m standing by the snack table when my heart stalls.

Bennett is now clad in black leather and fiddling with a leather cuff.

Instead of four total like before, he’s now wearing five rings on both hands.

“How’s this? Do I look stageworthy now?”

“Yeah,” I manage.

His lips tick upward.

I clear my throat. “You look presentable. I’m sure all your lady fans will scream.” Or pass out. I tamp down the urge to impersonate a guppy. But damn.

“Glad you like what you see, Sweet Pea. ”

His use of Ma’s nickname for me reminds me I forgot to let her know I got to the City safely. Which brings me to our last discussion about how she doesn’t trust the rock god standing before me. “Don’t let it go to your head, Rock Star,” I grumble.

“What if it goes to my other head?”

Damn. Now I’m right back in the shower at Secluded Rest. With nothing between us but water. I step backward. “That would be a problem, especially since you’re due onstage in twenty minutes.”

“I know you could take care of it for me.”

“Reset, remember?” Am I reminding him or me? Does it matter?

“Ah, yes.” He skirts the table and takes two steps in my direction. I resist the urge to move, so there’s barely six inches between us. “I suppose a reset prevents me from reaching out and running the pad of my thumb over your full bottom lip.”

I bite said lip.

“A reset most certainly won’t allow me to drop my fingers down the front of your shirt to squeeze your delicious boobs. Or nibble on your pebbled nipples.”

I cross my arms across my chest.

“A reset?—”

I hold up my hand. “Enough. Don’t you have a job to get to or something?”

He smirks. “Only wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.” He steps away from me, and my body sags. Not two seconds later, his palm lands on my back. “Ready?”

How can he look so cool after the heated words that just came out of his mouth? My spine straightens. Two can play his game. “Lead the way.” We move through the jumble of people all working to make tonight’s concert a success.

Before we leave The Closet, he pulls me into a quiet corner.

“If I didn’t say so before, I want to thank you for coming on tour with me.

I’m fully aware of the cost to you—leaving your family and friends and growing business behind, plus dealing with defamation in the media—and I truly appreciate it. ”

When he says stuff like this, how can I maintain any righteous anger toward him? I inhale. “You’re welcome. For better or worse, you’re my patient and I want to guide you through recovery. Are you sure you want me here with UC?”

“Without a doubt.” He tips his head. “Are you ready?” He doesn’t wait for me to respond, simply enters the relatively quieter backstage area. As I watch, Bennett straightens or expands or somehow grows bigger. His face alters. Before my eyes, he morphs into the lead singer of Untamed Coaster.

Things are much calmer in this room. I tilt my head. “Do you need me?”

“I always need you.”

“Not what I meant.”

“It’s what I meant,” Bennett says. “I’m going onstage and think it would be smart to have you watch from the wings. See what I do, how I interact with the crowd, so you can make suggestions about how I can do things better.”

Damn. Can’t argue with his logic. “You make a good case.”

“You mean B made sense?” Luke approaches, slapping Bennett on the back.

He shrugs. “Happens sometimes. How’s the audience tonight?”

“As good as last night. The opening acts did a great job, but they’re clamoring for the real deal.”

The other members of the band approach. Río asks, “Who’s the real deal?”

“That’d be us,” Bennett replies.

Tristan points to himself. “I’m a real deal now? Cool.”

The five of them continue in the same vein as I back away. I am Bennett’s physical therapist, not groupie, manager, or member of the crew. I’m not part of this repartee. My back hits a wall, which steadies me.

From this distance, I observe the band’s interactions. Luke is part of the mix, laughing with them, exchanging fist bumps. To the outside world, they seem to be a close-knit group of friends about to embark on a shared experience, as Darren described.

Río pulls Bennett aside, and they have what appears to be an intense conversation—or at least an intimate one.

A protracted discussion between friends.

They end with bro hugs. If this isn’t a sign of friendship, I don’t know what is.

Bennett needs to understand an ex-best friend from high school isn’t the be all and end all.

Suddenly, the air shifts. Becomes charged.

The five group members form a circle, raise their fists into the air.

Bennett looks at each guy. In a booming voice, he yells, “Strapped, locked, and loaded, are you ready to roll with Untamed Coaster?” The band lets out a collective whoop and turns toward the stage door.

When he reaches it, Bennett’s head goes in all directions before he zeroes in on me. His index finger extends toward me, and wiggles. Of their own volition, my feet take me to him. “Have a good time out there,” I offer.

“I will, knowing you’re here.” He points to the black drapes. “See you on the flip side.” With that, he disappears onto the darkened stage.

Anticipation among the crowd reaches fevered heights.

Clapping and stomping and whistling reverberates throughout the arena.

I relocate to the side of the stage, on the other side of the black curtain, next to Luke and some others I haven’t yet met.

Río pounds his drums three times and the lights flick on, illuminating all five guys at their instruments.

Well, four plus Bennett who stands at the mic stand.

It’s as if the crowd gets permission to lose their minds, because pandemonium ensues.

They knew what to expect, yet they were joking and laughing backstage as if they were going to a ball game.

My mind can’t compute the juxtaposition.

For the first part of the concert, I enjoy the music and interactions with the audience. I also detail how Bennett moves with care, taking turns slowly. He’s cautious out there, not that anyone cheering for their favorite musicians would notice the difference. But I do. And I appreciate it.

“They’re on fire.” Jeb walks up to my side. “I love watching them play. An energy lights up in each one and together they’re magic.”

“For such a big guy”—I physically turn toward him while keeping an eye on the stage—“you sure do have some amazing observations.”

His stomach bounces while he laughs. “How does one preclude the other?”

“You’ve got me there.”

“I wanted to thank you,” he continues. “The exercises you sent me are tough, but I know they’ll work. I promise to do them twice a day, like you recommended in your email.”

“Happy to help. Please let me know if you have any questions or need clarification on any of the moves.” I cringe as Bennett takes a turn too fast, winces, then sings while standing in place.

After a full chorus, he covers the rest of the catwalk, without any disruption to his gait.

If nothing else, his body will dictate how much he can handle.

“I definitely will. Is it all right if I share your exercises with some of my buddies? We all have back pain.”

“Of course. Share away!” I really should examine each one.