Page 18 of Mic Drop (Passionate Beats #3)

My eyes close. “You didn’t know.” I suck in air. “Let’s go and show NOLA what UC can do.” Even to my own ears, my pronouncement sounds hollow.

The guys finish their plates. I take a final swig of my tea, which doesn’t produce its usual calming effect. Sneaking a final check of my phone, it still shows no new texts. I do something I haven’t done since my father died. I issue a prayer that her mother’s all right.

Luke gives us a much-needed pep talk. “All right, guys, let’s hit the stage and show the crowd how good UC is! ”

We return to the greenroom and after Nese gives us her final approval as well as confiscates our phones, we huddle. Knowing I need to get my head into the game, I try to muster my usual performance mask. It doesn’t quite fit tonight.

I glance from Coop to Río to 007 to Tris with their fists raised into the air.

I yell in a way that’s intended to rile all of us up, “Strapped, locked, and loaded, are you ready to roll with Untamed Coaster?” Our usual collective whoop bounces off the cement walls and we make our way to the now black stage.

The show is going well. I hit all my marks and the band, as usual, sounds phenomenal. I take off in a run to cross the catwalk, and a ping from my right thigh reminds me why I haven’t done this since the tour started. I pull up short next to Coop.

Sensing I’m off my game, he walks toward the audience, sliding his guitar across his hips. The ladies in the crowd scream their appreciation. I take the opportunity to give everyone my back, trying to get this pain under control while my band takes up the slack.

007 makes his way over to me. “Are you okay?”

“Kicked up my groin pull,” I answer through gritted teeth.

“Shit.” He circles around me, tilting the neck of his bass toward some women in the front row. “What do you need?”

Jenna. Ice. More Jenna than ice.

“Give me a minute.”

“We got you covered.” He makes a show of returning to “his” side of the stage while Coop returns to me.

“Turn your back to mine,” he whispers.

Taking my time, I offer him my back and pretend to wail on my imaginary guitar while he does for real. I do a tentative slide downward, and my thigh doesn’t protest. Good sign.

Río rocks out on the drums next and I turn to face Coop, who leans forward, “We’ve all got your back.”

For the first time, I begin to understand what he means. Could these guys become my first friends since...Curtiss?

“Thanks man.”

“Take it easy out there,” Coop warns as Tris’s keys take the spotlight.

The way my bandmates rally around me breaks a notch on my performance mask, which I shore up before retaking my position as the lead singer. Our musical interlude pumped up the crowd unlike I’ve seen it do before. Perhaps we should schedule something like this in each of our shows?

After our last bow following our encore, our final wave to the audience made, we exit the stage. Coop speaks for the group, “You okay, Bennett?”

I’m back to walking like a normal person. “Yeah. I did something stupid, and my injury yelled. Got it worked out during the song. Thanks for covering for me.”

He pats my back. “We’ve got you.”

Now that the performance is over, I need to check my cell to see if Jenna got back to me. She better have. I approach Nese with my palm held out, motioning for her to plant my phone in it.

“Great job, as usual,” she says as she drops my cell into my hand.

“Thanks,” I reply then turn away to check my messages. Thank fuck there’s one from Jenna.

Ma’s all right. She fell and was disoriented. The ambulance came and checked her out but she didn’t need to go to the hospital. Kara’s here and Ma’s stabilized.

Things must be really bad if her sister came all the way out to Aroostook from the City. I rub my forehead on the phone.

Luke approaches, his eyes burning into me. “How’s Jenna’s mother?”

“Jenna says she’s all right. She didn’t have to go to the hospital.”

“Good news. ”

“Yeah.” However, things aren’t going to get better—and they’re going downhill fast. Everything swirls in my head.

I need someone to hear me out. Jenna’s been my sounding board, but she can’t help me here.

Dare I do as she did in allowing UC’s PR team in, and seek some outside help myself?

“Hey, Luke.” The words pop from my mouth before my brain can reconsider.

“What’s up?”

I take a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “What’s our schedule over the next few weeks? Before our US tour ends and we get our two week break?” He gives me our dates. Since we’re here overnight, I bet I can find a good jewelry store in New Orleans. “What do I have to do to use the jet?”

“Just give me your dates. Go back to your woman as often as you like. Help her mom.”

“There’s no helping her, Luke. She’s dying.” My hand swipes over my eyes, then I rub my fingers together over the moisture.

“I didn’t realize things were that bad.”

Coop appears at my side with an ice pack. “Why don’t you take a load off and ice your thigh?”

I try for some humor. “Is this some sort of bad game of Clue ? A guitarist in the greenroom with an ice pack?”

“Seems like it,” Tris quips, passing me a pair of shorts.

“Thanks.” Not bothering to seek privacy, I strip out of my black leather pants and don the workout shorts. Coop and Tris start changing as well. Looks like I started a trend.

Shirtless himself, as usual, Río drags over a chair as I’m switching out my own T-shirt. “Have a seat.” He pushes down on my shoulders ensuring I follow his instructions. The ice pack goes on top of my thigh.

007 is the last to approach, but he does. He’s already in street clothes. I look at each of my coworkers. Colleagues.

Friends?

“Thanks for saving my butt out there. Your jam session gave me the time I needed to get this under control.” I point to the ice pack .

“Gotta admit,” Río says, banging his hands on his legs. Once a drummer, always a drummer, it doesn’t matter that he just finished playing a three-hour concert. “It was nice to change things up a little. Our impromptu jam session was the bomb.”

Our manager agrees. “It was. Nice improv out there, guys. What do you think about adding this into our regular shows?”

“Good idea,” I answer for the whole band. Around me, their murmured agreement backs me up. Unlike before our gig, my stomach does backflips. I need to share this with them.

“Listen, guys, Jenna’s mom isn’t going to get better. In fact, she’s going downhill. The doctor gave her a few months.” I hold up my cell. “But I have an idea.”