It was unreal. That’s what it was. More than anything else, the fact that he was there with his band, rehearsing for a multiple months long arena tour had been a result of hard work, yes. But it was just magic. Plenty of bands worked hard. For years and years. Grinding away and it just never came together.

  He hoped to never take it for granted.

  Miles snapped open his guitar case and pulled his bass free, pausing to attach a new strap before slinging it on so he could tune it up and be sure all was well.

  It was, of course. He’d never allow it to be otherwise. But it was the ritual of it. The step by step of making himself and his instrument ready to create that mattered to his process.

  For a few minutes they tuned and tightened and got themselves situated before Maddie called out, “Wake Up,” not as an order, but as the song they would start playing.

  It rolled over him as Omar’s guitar started off with Silas’s drums and he slipped in, laying the bassline that would take the open into his lyrics.

  On tour he’d use an earpiece to help keep his brain on lyrics and his bassline, but during rehearsals he relied on his internal monitors and the cues he’d been trained to keep on track. Wake Up was a full-throated roar of a song and it would get the crowd revved from jump.

  But it was a song he had to give his all to. The chorus was powerful, delivering the emotions of a song about solitude, loneliness, and forgiveness. He’d written it in the aftermath of his last breakup when everything and everyone he’d counted on had felt so far away. He’d been lonely and so fucking exposed but unable to just…fucking deal with it all. Music had saved him. As well as family who’d simply shown up whether he’d asked or not.

  He leaned close to the microphone to whisper and then amp up to a full-throated roar.

  Threadbare and torn apart, exhausted. So close to giving up, broken hearted. I can’t, can’t stop, get up be something more than alone.

  Maddie’s voice came in then, nudging his along, carrying through to the bridge where Silas’s drums were waiting as the guitars rose and fell again.

  The emotion behind the words would always be part of him. But it lacked the ability to hurt him anymore. He’d taken it and used it. Created something so much better. That alchemy had enabled him to plow his energy back into his life, his music and career and leave his ex and those mistakes in the rearview.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  Above Me ended their solo tour on a Wednesday and would be opening up for Earthquakes on the start of their US/Canada tour the following week. Which was that very day.

  Harlow rolled out of her temporary bed in a borrowed house in San Francisco, where she and the rest of her band were staying the few days before the concert.

  She’d barely had two days at home in Seattle before they set off again to San Francisco. At the house they currently stayed in, there was a great rehearsal space. It was a nice thing that her dad’s keyboardist had decided years before to diversify his investment portfolio with property and had offered it up to them for the very low price of tickets to the concert when it rolled through Los Angeles toward the end of the summer.

  She’d have done that anyway. Just like he’d have let them borrow his house anyway. But that he wanted to be at her show was pretty much the best thing.

  Down in the kitchen, Nora was already at the coffeemaker while Brian rustled through the giant fridge. “Morning,” she said, pausing to look out the kitchen windows at the vista beyond. The San Francisco Bay glittered in the pale sunshine off in the distance and from one part of the room she could see the distinctive red of the Golden Gate Bridge and the other she could see the Bay Bridge leading to Oakland.

  “Just got coffee started,” Nora told her.

  “There are biscuits in the oven and I’ll start the gravy in a few,” Brian told her as he put ingredients on the large island. “Big day needs a big breakfast.”

  “Like I ever need any excuse to eat biscuits and gravy,” Harlow teased him. “Can I help?” she asked.

  “Nah. We’ve got it handled,” Nora answered absently as she puttered.

  Nora and Harlow had met on the first day of sixth grade as they’d both started at the arts middle and high school they’d both attended and had hated one another the first few weeks until a random cafeteria incident had found both on the same side of an argument and they’d ended up cleaning the floor with their competition.

  That had been it. Nora Abelard had been Harlow’s soul mate from that day on. Brian had come along a few years later. He’d imprinted on Nora and they’d lost a guitarist in their band so they’d gained a new guitarist and the third to their weird little family, and he’d gained a Nora and Nora’s best friend.

  They’d been asked a dozen times if they were a throuple, to which Brian always groaned and said he had enough to manage with Nora. He was the brother of Harlow’s heart and that suited her down to her toes.

  “We’ll move to the hotel later today,” Harlow said as she looked over the daily sheet their tour manager had dropped off for them first thing. The dailies were their lifeline for the rest of the tour, detailing where they needed to be and when. On tour there were long stretches of time where every day tended to feel very much the same, so having some direction kept Harlow on track and gave her a measure of control.

  “Phil says our clothing arrived with the rest of the gear,” Nora said, putting a steaming mug of coffee in front of where Harlow sat at the sunny breakfast nook.

  “Thank god.” A pallet of their gear had gone missing. All their clothes except for the day to day stuff they kept with them at the hotels was nowhere to be found for two days. Long enough that she and Nora had gone out the day before to take care of a few days worth of gear at the very least. “Not that the stuff we grabbed yesterday isn’t going to be perfect to add to the wardrobe I already have and all.”

  “If this music thing doesn’t work out for you, a business where you scout an area and let people know which thrift stores have the best stuff would make you a million dollars,” Nora said. “You have supernatural thrift radar.”

  “Blame Marcella.”

  Harlow and her aunt hung out a lot while her father was working. Marcella—who she was closer to than her biological mother—had gone out of her way to keep Harlow interested while they were out on tour. Her father’s youngest sister, she’d only been twenty two when she’d moved in with them and became Harlow’s caretaker so Richie could make a living and pay all those bills.

  Her aunt had a great sense of style but she, like Harlow’s dad, had grown up pretty poor so at first, thrifting had been a way to attempt to be fashionable in a world where seventy-five dollar jeans were simply not achievable. Then, because her aunt was at heart an artist in most every way, thrifting had been a way to teach Harlow to style an outfit, how to upcycle the clothes to make them into something altogether new and unique.

  “She’s the GD best,” Nora agreed.

  Her aunt had sent every review of every show of Above Me’s tour. Well, the good ones. Harlow knew there were bad ones out there, though she did her level best to avoid them. But after each show there’d be texts and emails with little things she’d found online. It never ceased to fill Harlow’s heart to overflowing to be loved that way.

  Interestingly enough, Marcella hadn’t been the only one who’d sent links to reviews. Once Earthquakes had asked them to open, Miles Brown had started to send them along with cheerful little notes. Hey there! Saw this review of your show in Tucson. I know if it was one of ours, I’d want to see it. Congratulations and see you in a few weeks. M.

  Just seeing his name in her texts gave her a little flutter. Why was obvious. He was gorgeous. Talented. His energy was deliciously sexy. Naturally she’d get a little flushed at his attention. Still, he hadn’t said one damned inappropriate thing. Just supportive, friendly stuff and it was absurd to have butterflies over it.

  Not that her libido cared.

  Part of her excitement about that night was that she’d see him again after several years. She liked him, or the person she’d known as they were growing up, hanging out backstage at festival shows their fathers played.

  Soon enough, breakfast was ready and they ate, chatting between bites as the day fully woke up. Harlow’s phone rang and when she noted it was their agent, she answered and told Jeremy she was putting him on speaker with everyone.

  From the beginning, it had been important to the three of them to make as many decisions as they could as a unit. They argued and cajoled, sometimes they didn’t talk for a day or three, but no matter what, they always presented a united front to the outside world.

  “It’s not the first time I’ve been backstage at an arena show,” Harlow muttered as she tried not to gawk because it might not be the first time she’d seen the organized chaos of a live rock and roll tour show, but it was the first time it was her arena show.

  Giant crates called work boxes had the band names stenciled on them along with other letters and numbers that would enable the load out of all that gear so it could be set up in a very specific order. She’d always found that part fascinating. The way the show went up in one order and was taken down in the opposite order. And it worked!

  Harlow had decided to walk around so she could enter the arena as a fan would. There were hours before their soundcheck so she had plenty of time to find a seat up and out of the way and watch.

  She took photographs and some video as first, trucks arrived to help place protective flooring over the arena polished wood. Then the stage was set up to one side and midway through that, people began to scramble up ladders, climbing up into the complicated foundations of the set. Then the light and sound booth set up center on the floor. Given the complicated rigging that had gone on with giant white sheets of fabric hanging at the rear of the stage, with hanging video screens alternating between them, Harlow figured Earthquakes would have great visuals to go with their set and was really pumped to see them live.

  Maybe one day Above Me would have such a complicated and amazing set to go with their show. Certainly a goal to work toward. But their lack of such a thing wasn’t a reason for her not to celebrate the fact that Earthquakes had come this far already in their career.

  “These would be some great seats, huh?”

  She turned toward the voice, already smiling as she recognized Miles. “I was just thinking that very thing. Hi.”

  He opened his arms and she stood, moving to hug him, lingering longer than she’d planned to, but he smelled good, and he didn’t actually loosen his hold immediately either.

  “It’s good to see you, Harlow,” he told her, settling into the seat next to hers.

  “Same. Thanks again. This is…” She waved a hand at the giant speaker stacks that were currently being built and then the black cases with Above Me emblazoned on them just waiting to be unpacked.

  “This is our first arena tour too. I’m blown away by just how big everything is. Between you and me? I’ve been part of the process of building the stage and the overall show with the designers and I’m dying to see it all in play tonight.” His grin rendered some of the edge into softness due to the joy on his features.

  Miles Brown was beautiful. She sat at his side, both twisted to face the other better, so she got the full impact of his physical nearness and his looks. He wore jeans with a T-shirt. Nothing fancy. It was the man inside them that did all the work.

  Green eyes fringed with dark lashes took her in with open interest. He had a ring in his septum piercing and her gaze kept returning to it over and over again because where it met his mouth and the dark caramel lushness of a beard so perfect he had to have just had it trimmed up, well it was perfection. The entirety of him, so big and delicious smelling did something to her pulse. The watch he wore on his left wrist drew her attention. Classic. Elegant without being ostentatious. And it went well with the fine dusting of dark hair and the muscles and tendons of his forearms.

  Charisma and charm rolled from him and over her. Damn it. She was no stranger to super compelling people. She’d grown up with and around them her entire life, so why was this man so…alluring?

  “My goddess, Silas’s drum kit is incredible. Nora is going to have kittens when she sees it.” Even though Above Me was going on first to open, their gear would be set up after Earthquakes’s was. As the other band’s set up dominated the stage it wasn’t that big a deal.

  “It is. And like every other drummer I’ve ever met, he’ll be happy to talk about drums with Nora at length any time she wants.” Miles snorted a laugh. “I probably don’t even need to ask if you’re ready for tonight. You just got off your solo tour right?”

  “A week ago yesterday. Then we went home for two days, washed clothes the whole time, watered plants and headed down here. We’ve been here since Monday.” Rehearsing all day. Meeting their various techs and their sound engineer. “By the way, Kenya, our sound engineer, she tells us your people have been great about coordinating with her and front of house. Appreciate it.”

  Earthquakes was a hot property earning a lot of money so being able to make use of their sound was a huge bonus. Most headlining bands were good about sharing, but there were some who were proprietary—stingy in Harlow’s opinion—with everything and the openers had to scramble to make do.

  “Makes no sense to us not to share that resource. We’ve got a great engineer and he’s grumpy with everyone but other engineers. Oh and my mum, but that’s due to them both being English and my mother being impossible not to like.” Miles’s blush brought those damned butterflies back. “There’s no fucking reason to be a dick. This industry is hard enough so I can’t see the point in playing dominance games. If Kenya has a problem, or any of your people, let me know. Please. It makes no sense to have something that’s supposed to make things easier actually making things worse.”

  Surprise and then pleasure slid through her at his request. They were a far less powerful band and it would be easy to run them over to serve everything else that favored Earthquakes. But she believed Miles. To her toes. He truly wanted to be sure they were okay.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You look really good,” he said and then paused as if to gauge her reaction—which was wildly flattered. “Can’t lie, I’ve been looking forward to being able to see you in person. Not a disappointment.”

  She’d been wearing the same leggings and t-shirt for the last few days as they’d rehearsed and hung around the house, but when she came to the arena that day and knew she’d be seeing Miles she’d decided to put on pants with a zipper and a blouse that flattered while remaining comfortable and easy to move in. “You’d never know they lost the crates with our clothing in them, huh? Found this morning, thank goodness.”

  “You could just wear hotel robes the whole tour.” He laughed. “Super comfortable.”

  “Too hot. Plus it gaps open and as my clothes were gone, they’d see a lot more than the price of their ticket can buy,” she told him around a snicker.

  “We’d certainly sell out every night.” He winked.

  Then…well her hand was in his and she couldn’t recall when that had happened. Only that it felt natural to have her fingers tangled with his.

  He turned her wrist over, examining her forearm. “Goldfish?” he asked of the five small, scattered goldfish she had inked around it.

  “Two things. One, keep fucking swimming,” she murmured as she looked at their joined hands and then tried not to feel lonely when he let go to trace a fingertip across each tattoo.

  “I can get behind that,” he told her, his head still bent. And then he sang, “They say goldfish have no memory, I guess their lives are much like mine. And the little, plastic castle, is a surprise every time.”

  He straightened and let go of her arm. She took a deep breath but it was full of his scent and that didn’t help her racing pulse either.

  She grinned at him. “That was the second thing that inspired the ink. Love that song so much. Love everything Ani DiFranco does really. My aunt introduced me to her along with Bikini Kill. I got to introduce her to Le Tigre so it’s a lovely circle.”

  “My aunt Erin plays Ani all the time. Grew up hearing Erin sing along while cooking or whenever the mood struck.”

  “I admire the sort of control and independence Ani’s built for herself and her career. I want to say something with what I do and the work I produce. In my own way, of course, but I think that’s her jam anyway. Be yourself doing what you’re passionate for.”

  Harlow watched the work on the arena floor just beyond and decided to share a thing she’d been thinking about.

  “Also, it’s just so…weird and wonderful that you’re sitting here talking about your aunt but Erin Brown is one of my icons. She’s not only a great songwriter, the production stuff she’s done with your dad has been stellar.” Harlow stopped herself, not wanting to gush any further and make Miles uncomfortable.

  He guffawed. “There’s no one in the world like her. I’m so lucky to have her in my life as such a mentor. She and my dad have given me a master class on how to be successful in the music industry.”

  Without a doubt, Adrian Brown and his sister Erin had been an indelible part of the alternative rock scene and then later when Erin stepped away from performing and Adrian went solo, that next level career had exploded and catapulted him into superstardom.

  “I like that.” And she did. Harlow loved that she got so much from her father in the same way.

  “We can’t all learn how to shred from a metal god,” Miles teased her.

  Harlow’s dad was a metal hero and most definitely her own personal one, “He’s taught me a lot, for sure. We’re pretty fortunate to have the musical examples we do. When we passed through LA on our tour, he and I spent hours just jamming together at his house. Honestly? I love watching him play guitar. He’s…magical.” She’d probably never in her life be as good and as natural as her dad was when it came to guitar playing. But what a joy that he’d passed it on to her.