Page 118 of Fractured Rhythm

Epilogue– six months later

Jamie:What’s the last thing a drummer says in a band?

Cassie:I have no idea.

Jamie:Let’s try one of my songs!

Cassie:Again, you’re the drummer.

Jamie:I know. Miss you, Cas.

Cassie:Miss you, too.

CASSIE

“Hey, Josh,” Isaid, ducking into the stage wings next to him.

“Hey. Was wondering when you’d get here,” he said.

“Wait? Does Bash know? I swore Tristan to secrecy.” I’d wanted to surprise Bash. They’d been touring North America for the last two months and Seattle was their last stateside show before heading to Australia in two days.

And I was going with them. Three weeks of vacation time had been cashed in, along with the promise to eat my way through Australia and New Zealand and record it for Scrumptious. I couldn’t wait to try all of the regional favorites.

“Bash doesn’t know. Tristan made me promise to keep your secret, but he let it slip when he asked for a backstage pass for you. You ready for Australia? Sold out every damn show.”

He grinned and sometimes I wondered if it was the band or the dollars that excited him more.

“Yep. Can’t wait. Scrumptious asked me to record some of my gastronomical adventures. Hope you don’t mind if the guys show up in a video or two.”

“Nah. Additional publicity,” he said, with a shrug. Then his phone buzzed. “Gotta take this. Enjoy the show. And I’m really glad you’re here. Bash won’t be as moody.”

“Everything good with him?” I asked. He’d been doing so well. Not a single drunken call while they’d been away. He was Skyping with his therapist once a week and I’d been included on some of the calls. It was good for us. Getting everything out in the open and talking through any hiccups.

“Yeah. He’s been great. They all have,” he said, before pointing to his phone and ducking out of sight.

I settled against a pillar, keeping to the shadows for now, and enjoyed the show. I’d missed Bash so much while they’d been on tour, but I’d managed to get to some of their shows over a few long weekends. It wasn’t the same as going on tour with them, but there was no way I would still have my job if I joined their tour for six months.

They looked amazing on stage. Charlie’s sticks flying, Jax stalking across the edge of the stage, Bash curled over his guitar, occasionally looking up to shoot Jax a grin. And Tristan, intently focused on playing, until he turned and spotted me, giving me a wink. I’d stuck to Tristan’s side of the stage to keep Bash from seeing me until I was ready.

They moved from “Crazy Ride,” one of their new songs, into “Straight Out,” a song from their second album. Bash’s solo rocked me to my toes and I regretted not being on his side of the stage so I could lure him into the wings and climb him like a tree. Damn. It’d been way too long since I’d had my arms wrapped around him.

Then without a word, they launched into “Fighting to Breathe” and my stomach clenched. The guys had been very open the first time they’d played the song that Jamie had written it and the trash magazines had run with a variety of speculation as to the meaning of my brother’s words. I would never know if this was what he wanted, but I’d agreed with putting the song out there.

I heard a small hitch in Jax’s voice when he got to the chorus:

I can’t see behind thismess.

I’m trying to figure out therest.

We’re fighting for everybreath.

Fighting tobreathe.

Hot tears pricked the back of my eyes and I didn’t try to stop them from falling. Jamie’s words pierced me—they always would. And as much pain as I felt hearing them every time the band played the song, I wouldn’t tell them to stop.

When the song ended, there was a hush, before the crowd started chanting Jamie’s name. It rolled through the arena and I watched the guys and Charlie relax.

Then Bash was walking toward me, stalking across the stage, every emotion possible from sadness to frustration to happiness to pure love washed across his face as he got closer.

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