Page 104 of Hope & Harmony

He quirked a bushy brow. “But will any band put up with my shit the way you and Bennett do?”

“That’s something only you can answer. But do you think maybe you can tone it down for this tour? For Bennett’s sake?”

“Was already planning to.”

Gino replied with a raised brow of his own.

“I get to have some secrets too. Speaking of, what’s that?” He jutted his chin at the sheet music atop the piano. “New song?”

“Maybe.”

Roscoe grinned. “Writing? On the farewell tour?”

“Melodies won’t stop coming.” He shrugged, helpless when it came to the muse that had tossed him around for a lifetime. “It’s like there’s space now without the pressure.”

With a nod, Roscoe peeled his flannel down his arms and off, balled it beside him, then righted himself, fingers tickling the keys. “You want some help? That way you can get back to your husband sooner.”

“Won’t say no to that.”

“Where are we?”

Smiling, Gino drew the sheet music closer, pointed a line up from where he’d left off, and started playing on the bass end of the keys.

Roscoe listened once, twice, then seamlessly added another layer of melody atop Gino’s, flourishing right past where Gino was stuck and dragging him into the next verse. Roscoe shot him a sly smile and a wink. “Keep up.”

CHAPTER 5

Their third show was in Wilmington, North Carolina, at an outdoor pavilion by the river. It was their first time playing the venue, their first time back in Wilmington since their breakout record, and Bennett had the crowd—and Gino—eating out of his hand.

Gino couldn’t take his eyes off him. Had never been able to when Bennett York was on stage. Ever since their junior year of high school when Bennett had auditioned for the holiday musical by rocking out to eighties hair metal. Didn’t win him the role, but the way he’d thrown himself into it, the way he’d hit notes even while screaming, the way he’d worn a pair of thrift-store leather pants, had won him Gino’s heart right there on the spot. His leather was designer now, the wrinkles around his eyes deep like his voice, his music more rock and bluegrass than metal, but Bennett was as utterly captivating as ever.

And judging by his wide smile as he ate up the stage, strumming his guitar, growling out lyrics, he was loving it. Gino hated that it had taken him too long to see Bennett hadn’t been, that Bennett had had to take such drastic measures to get his attention, but he had, and they were making steps in the right direction. Like scheduling extra days between the Wednesdayshow in Atlanta and the one tonight, spending those extra days at an oceanfront cottage in nearby Hanover, keeping their video call with Trish yesterday afternoon, then walking hand-in-hand along the beach last night before having their bandmates over for dinner, the six of them plucking away at their instruments until after midnight not because they had to but because they wanted to. Some of those new riffs had made appearances in tonight’s show, and everyone on stage, Bennett included, had grinned wider for it.

He was still smiling when he caught Gino’s hand as they headed into the wings for a breather, the rest of the band jamming on stage, Roscoe and Ellery in a strings versus percussion face-off with the twins egging them on with their horns.

As soon as they were behind the curtains, Gino wrapped Bennett in his arms. “You good?”

His smile faltered. “Why? Did I miss?—”

Gino silenced the doubt with a kiss, one that started firmly in you’re-perfect land, softened into you-taste-so-good territory, heated into I-want-to-kiss-you-all-night vibes, before ending in the I’ll-hold-you-to-that-promise place. Gino rested his forehead against Bennett’s, catching his breath. “You’re incredible out there, B.” He unwound his arms from around his waist and squeezed his leather-clad biceps. “You look good. Relaxed.” He pulled back far enough to catch his gaze. “I’m just checking in.”

“I’m good,” he said, hazel eyes clear and bright. “This feels better. Feels right. How’s it feel for you?”

“Amazing.” Except for that thread of guilt that snaked through him like an off note he couldn’t quite shake.

Bennett noticed. “But . . .”

Gino straightened and raked a hand through his hair. “But it feels like we should have been doing this two tours ago. Like I should have caught on and fixed it sooner.”

“Hey.” Bennett clasped his chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted his face back down, forcing his gaze. “Remember what Trish said. You don’t get to blame yourself either. We learn, and we move forward.”

“Mr. Morelli,” came the voice of one of their roadies behind them. “Got that delivery for you.”

“Delivery?” Bennett said.

The roadie handed Gino a poster tube and the marker he’d asked for before disappearing back into the sea of folks scurrying backstage to make sure the remainder of their show went off without a hitch. “A surprise for you,” Gino said. He’d worried Bennett might need a pick-me-up by the end of their first week touring. Turned out he didn’t, which made this gift all the sweeter. “When we talked that day in bed...” He didn’t need to say more, Bennett’s features tightening for a second before he seemed to steel himself and nod, understanding Gino meant the day that had started out like hell but ended with them turning a corner. “You mentioned that show in Santa Cruz we played, and it gave me an idea.” He popped the plastic off one end of the tube, then held it out to Bennett. “Something else I’d like to put on our walls when we get home.”

Bennett wiped his hands on Gino’s jeans, then turned the tube upside down and shook it, the poster inside sliding out into his hands. He unrolled it, then laughed out loud, the sound musical and full of joy, and that note of guilt snaked through Gino again—why hadn’t he noticed the laughter missing?—but he couldn’t dwell on the past. He could only do better going forward, giving Bennett what he needed, including more joyful things to laugh about. His hazel gaze roved over the concert poster from that charity gig long ago, fingers doing the sameover all the signatures on it, before landing on middle cut on the second to last line in teeny tiny print. When he glanced back up, his smile reached all the way to his eyes. “How did you get this? And all the signatures?”

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