Page 3

Chapter Three

T he crowd was rocking, and everybody knew the words. The band was feeling it, and Falin was in a fabulous mood, driving them with her lead guitar, pushing everyone to give a little more, just that tiny bit extra.

Chayce ran off stage to change shirts and get a bottle of water after the last note rang out. His first encore was acoustic, and he wanted to make it amazing.

“It is going on out there, man!” The stage manager for the venue, Leo something, clapped him on the back and handed him a water bottle with no lid on it.

Which the new guy, Waylon, stepped in like a choreographed backup dancer and took away, handing him one with an unbroken seal.

Huh. Weird, but cool. The man was sort of like a ghost, just appearing when he least expected it. “Thanks. Hot out there. I need the tank top, y’all. Now.”

“You got it.” Wardrobe rushed around like mad, and he stripped out of his shirt to shrug on whatever they handed him. He sure hoped it was the white tank that the fans seemed to think was hot as hell.

“I’m going to get your limo ready,” Vicki said, as someone touched up his makeup. “We’ll make a corridor and beeline you out before the band’s off the stage after the second encore. Then you’ll go with security to your bus.”

“Okay, but I’m giving that encore.” Dammit. His fans deserved it all.

“Of course. You’ll be alone on stage now. Then with full band for encore two.”

“Excellent.” He winked at Waylon, who was standing by, looking stony. “I’ll be okay.”

“You will.”

Did that man ever crack a smile? He was a machine.

He ran back into the stage and settled, strumming a few times so the guys knew to bring up the spot. The crowd went nuts when the lights went up, really giving him energy.

God, he was a lucky son of a bitch. Blessed, and he knew it.

Chayce played a cover of Dancing in the Moonlight and he ended it with his personal anthem, Down in the Well . He shook hands and took stuffed animals and roses and signed what seemed like a thousand hats and t-shirts and pictures as he sang.

He made it through the encore without missing a lyric and stepped off, handing his guitar off to a roadie. He started to get ready to head back out on stage, when his shoulders hunched up around his ears, and the hair rose up on the back of his neck.

Something felt off. Weird.

Waylon stepped up next to him, just right there the moment he looked around. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. Nothing. Just paranoid.” There was nothing he could put a finger on, so maybe he was just off his game.

“Nope. I don’t believe in that. You know what you know.” Waylon took him out the wrong way, sneaking him past the back door guards, not letting him walk the line they’d set up for him.

“What about the second encore?” He tried to look back, but Waylon kept him moving.

“We’ll cancel it.” Vicki was making a ton of noise. “The band can play something just theirs.”

“But—” He didn’t know what to say. He felt like shit for not following through on his obligations.

“No. We go now. You did an amazing encore for those fans. They’ll never know they missed anything.” Waylon took his arm.

Vicki nodded, hustling along with them. “I want him gone. Hurry up. Now I’m nervous.”

Waylon just nodded back, and they didn’t head for the limo. There was a big black town car parked off to one side of the underground garage, and that was the car Waylon pushed him into, sliding into the driver’s side seconds later.

Just about that time, there was a pop pop pop noise, and he jerked, instinctively reaching for the door handle. He didn’t want to be trapped in a car if he was being attacked.

“Nope.” Waylon pulled out, bypassing the crowd neatly, slipping them out the service entrance. “It’s firecrackers, not bullets. Someone’s trying to distract your team.”

“How do you know that? What the fuck is going on? Is my band okay?” This was not how the end of a concert was supposed to be, dammit! He needed to decompress, let himself deal with the energy of the crowd and the music and all.

Not this rush-off and dead silence after all that noise. Not even the radio was on.

“Because I know what a gun sounds like. And I have an earpiece. Your band is fine. But just in case, the venue is being evacuated now. Those folks will dine out on this for weeks.” Waylon maneuvered the car out, and before the traffic could get bad, they were on the road and flying away from the venue like their asses were on fire.

“Make sure someone tells Kenny you’ve got me. He worries.”

“I’m on it.” Waylon met his gaze in the rearview mirror. “Someone really is pissed at you.”

“Who? I mean, seriously, I’m not the kind of guy that folks get mad at.” He just wasn’t. He didn’t engender that sort of wild fury. His mom might, but he was easygoing and simple to get along with. Just a cowboy.

“We’re going to find out.” Waylon sounded pretty grim. He kinda felt bad for whoever got in this guy’s way.

Not super bad. But a little.

“I sure hope so. I can’t do this shit my whole tour.” He didn’t want to sound like a spoiled brat, but dammit. “These people pay to see me. I want to give them their money’s worth.”

“Well, not at the cost of your life, Chayce. Keep that in mind.”

“Uh-huh.” He tilted his head as they bypassed the downtown hotels. “Where are we headed?”

“Safehouse Air BnB rental. I have alternatives set up in every city.”

“My bus isn’t safe now? I don’t have my things. My guitar.” He needed his guitar.

A puff or two of green wouldn’t go askew either.

“Your crew has it all, but no. It’s not safe. That was why I asked you not to bring your dog.”

Yeah, Waylon had convinced him to leave Bubbles at home this time, and he was super glad he had. His poor baby would have been terrified by the fireworks. And by being separated from him while they waited to rendezvous with the band.

“I don’t like this.” He didn’t like it at all. He wanted his routine.

“No. No, I can see that.” He actually got a sympathetic smile. “But we’ll get this ironed out. I got you.”

“Yeah. So… am I going to fly to the next venue? Because Kenny drives overnight, usually.”

“Yes. We have a jet standing by.”

He blinked. He had a family jet he could use, sure, but he hadn’t planned this. “Shit, how much is my mom paying you?”

“Enough that we have a jet standing by in every venue.” Smartass.

“Lord, can’t we just go to my bus? That would be easier.”

“We’ll have an alternate bus arranged for you by the time we get to the next venue, and your driver will be there. The other bus will become a decoy.”

The guy had all the answers, he had to admit, except that they weren’t just busses . That was his home on the road. That was his safe haven for months at a time. They weren’t just interchangeable.

Waylon glanced at him again. “I know it’s not the same, but your main bus is emblazoned with your name. We can’t take the chance.”

So… he didn’t have a choice? Seriously? He was an adult. He had a headache, and he needed to eat and relax. Wind down.

“Do you want me to stop for food?”

“What are you, a mind reader?” Chayce didn’t mean to snap; he was just on the edge of losing his shit.

“No, but you worked off a ton of calories.” Those weirdly clear gray eyes met his in the mirror again, and there was something so…steady there, so strong. “You put on a hell of a show. Reminds me of Chris LeDoux.”

And that was a huge compliment. He worked his ass off to give the fans what they came for. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

“Seriously.” Waylon’s wide shoulders moved in a shrug. “I mean, you’re a better singer, God rest him.”

“He was a way better rider than I was.” And charisma. Jesus Christ. The man was a force of nature.

“He was the champ, huh?” Waylon laughed softly. “Man, I had such a crush on him.”

He shot Waylon a quick glance. Oh. Well, he hadn’t seen that coming. Momma was a good woman, making sure to hire family. He didn’t hold with homophobes. “He was a special man. I miss him.”

“Yeah. I hear you.” Waylon fell silent, and he wondered if it would be shitty to put in his earphones and sit back. He was still buzzing too hard to just sit in silence.

“We got about half an hour’s ride, you want to take a nap or something. I can hit a drive-through.” There went that mind reading again. Or maybe Waylon just knew how to read the room. Or the car, so to speak.

“Yeah. I’m okay with water until we stop. If you get hungry, holler. I’m going to zone.” He needed his time.

“Sure.” Waylon just drove and, while he hated not being with the band and the bus, he tried to relax and go with it. It was probably safer for them if he wasn’t around right now.

Whoever was doing this, they couldn’t follow him everywhere. That would cost a fortune. So they had to back off as soon as the shows weren’t so close to home, right? He sure as fuck hoped so.

That meant only one more show close, then he’d fly to the East Coast and the bus would follow in a couple of days.

Yeah. He could work with that. Chayce leaned his head back and closed his eyes. And Waylon would have to deal with it too. End of story.