Page 91 of Hope & Harmony

I wasn’t a doctor, and I was certainly no expert in anything to do with vocal cords, but Kingston’s throat looked red and inflamed. Without tests it would be impossible to know what was wrong, but there was no doubt something was going on. He said he felt okay, except for the sore throat.

“I think you should go to an urgent care,” I told him after I’d given him a cursory examination. “If nothing else, to rule out strep. Because if that’s what it is, you’ll infect the whole crew.”

“Agreed.” Devyn gave him a look as she pulled out her phone. “I’m Googling now, looking for one nearby.”

Devyn was the band’s new bass player, and she and Kingston had become a couple. She’d been hired after the death of their original bassist—Carter, whom I’d loved dearly—and I’d been worried about how she would fit in. However, she was an incredible musician and she and Kingston were adorable together. I’d known Kingston for years and hadn’t been able to picture him settling down, so it made sense that when he did it was with another musician.

“I really don’t want to go to an urgent care,” Kingston muttered, making a face.

“If you have strep, you’ll need antibiotics,” I said.

“It could be something worse,” Devyn said, still scrolling on her phone. “And there’s a place about two miles from here. Go get dressed. We need to get this over with.”

Kingston got up with a grimace. “Yes, dear.”

“I’m calling for an Uber, so don’t mess around!” she called after him as he padded into the bathroom.

“Christ.” Ross had his hands on his hips. “What do we do if it’s strep or laryngitis or some other throat thing? This right here is why I wanted a backup band. Depending on what they say, we may have to cancel the show.”

“Let’s not stress until we have to,” I said quietly. “It might be okay. A lemon juice, brandy, and honey concoction could help too. Not to mention hot tea and a bunch of other things that could get him through the show.”

“The rest of us could do extended solos,” Devyn added. “He could also let the crowd sing the choruses on the bigger hits, which limits how long he has to sing for each song. We have options.”

“Those things aren’t going to fill a ninety-minute set,” Ross said.

“Maybe we cut the set shorter tonight,” Kingston said, coming out of the bathroom and putting an LA Dodgers baseball cap on his head. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“Go find out what’s going on first,” I suggested. “Then we can come up with a backup plan.”

Ross and I followed Kingston and Devyn into the elevator and down to the lobby.

“Let me know!” Ross called after them as they headed outside.

“What happens if you cancel the show?” I asked curiously.

He made a face. “Honestly, it’s not the end of the world, but fans really dislike it, and we have to either refund everyone’s money or reschedule at the end, which we all hate to do. It canbe a scheduling nightmare, you know? That’s why I like to have an opening act. We’ve had injuries and illnesses before, and had someone from the opening act fill in. Crimson Edge is joining us in Salt Lake City, but their guitarist had a death in the family, so they’re delayed for another week.” He paused. “It’s weird because King never gets sick. I think he had the flu once about six years ago and he did the show on a stool, with a hundred-and-three fever. He’s hardcore. But when his voice is impacted, it’s a whole different thing.”

“Well, I’m sure you know the lyrics,” I suggested lightly. “You could sing.”

He stared at me, those gorgeous gray eyes of his narrowing into slits. “I thought we already had this conversation?” he asked quietly.

“We did, but this is different.”

“It’s not. The last fucking thing I’deverwant to do is get up in front of an Onyx Knight crowd. Can you imagine the headlines? It would be a disaster.”

“But why? I understand that what happened to your band and fiancée was horrible, but hiding away your talent and the man you are doesn’t make that tragedy go away. Why are you hiding the man beneath a façade?”

“Thisis the man I am,” he said, irritation lacing his voice. “There’s no façade, Wynter. I’m not twenty-one anymore. I’m not a rock star. And I’m definitely not up to filling in for Kingston Knight. I’m just a guy approaching middle age with a job to do.”

“How will you know if you’re up to it if you don’t try?”

“So I can humiliate myself in front of twenty thousand people? That’s a hard no.”

“But—” I tried again but he cut me off.

“You need to let this go, Wynter. Seriously.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I said the words, but they frustrated me.

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