Page 47 of Hope & Harmony

“Don’t bother. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Maggie’s pretty face twitched in a way I didn’t like. She never beat around the bush with me. One reason we worked so well together.

My guts were dropping into free-fall already, because I fucking knew.

“I’m so sorry, Jude.”

Maggie didn’t apologize much, either. Mainly because she rarely had shit to apologize for. As co-manager of Dirty, she was reliable and professional in all things, and as wife of Dirty’s lead singer, Zane Traynor, she was majorly invested.

Her face twitched again, and I realized she was chewing the inside of her mouth.

“Jesus, Maggie. What happened?”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated. Then she forced it out. “We lost the signs.”

I dragged a hand over my face. This was the last thing I wanted to hear. But it was not like Maggie to fuck up. “Seriously?”

“I’m getting the crew to try to pull together some paint and plywood or something, to make new ones,” she babbled, “but I don’t know if they can pull it off in time. Plywood might be too heavy, it could be a liability for injury, because they need to be big enough to be visible, and the paint probably won’t dry in time. We need to get everything in place before Dirty hits the stage or there’s no way we can?—”

“Breathe, Maggie.”

She blew out a breath. “I have never felt so fucking sick. I can’t believe we let you down.” Her pretty gray eyes filled with tears.

This was new.

I almost didn’t know what the fuck to do for a long-ass minute as we just stared at each other.

Then I slung an arm around her shoulders, tugging her to me for a hug. “Just stop it, okay?”

She sucked in a breath and nodded.

I didn’t want Maggie falling the fuck apart—was that even a thing?—but shit, I felt kinda sick, too.

The door opened behind her and Jesse stepped out, dressed in his stage clothes, a ripped T-shirt that was really more rip than shirt, and black leather pants. “Jude, man. Happy birthday.” I released Maggie to accept the hug he offered. My best friend gave me a tight, sympathetic squeeze. “Zane just told me about the signs. We can figure out something else, though.”

“It’s okay. Maybe we’ll just do it another night…”

But another night wouldn’t bethisnight.

It wouldn’t be here, at home. It wouldn’t be the first night of the tour, it wouldn’t be my birthday, and Roni’s mom wouldn’t be here with her.

I wanted this to be as special as it could be, and tonight was the way to make that happen.

“Maybe we can play a special song instead,” Jesse offered, as the door opened again and Brody Mason, manager of Dirty and the Players, stepped out, grave-faced.

“Happy birthday, brother.” Brody, who was also one of my best friends, swept me into a hug, too, slapping my back. “What’s the word? Maggie said the signs are in the wind.”

“Yeah. Apparently so.” I slapped his back and released him. Really didn’t need all thissomeone-just-diedenergy. I didn’t like being the center of attention, good or bad.

“I was just saying, we can do a song instead,” Jesse put in, wearing the same gravely sympathetic look Brody was wearing. Maggie just looked sick. “You know, for Roni.”

“No.” I shook my head, deciding; Dirty had a show to play and I really didn’t want my special birthday request to become a distraction. I also didn’t want Zane doing my job for me where my woman was concerned. “Thanks, but I don’t want that.”

“You sure?” Brody raised an eyebrow. “That would be the easiest fix.”

I glanced at Maggie. “Look—no offense, Maggie—but I really don’t want a man who was once with my woman, even before she was officially my woman, serenading her on my behalf.” Even if that man—Maggie’s husband, Zane—was one of my best friends.

“And who could blame you,” she said dryly.

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