Page 79 of I Need You Tonight
Chapter 29
Nicole
Like in every other city, a large crowd had flocked to the radio station for the interview. Even from within the limo I could hear the fangirl screams building to a deafening volume. I was used to seeing the crowds, but they had been nothing like this. And I suspected they’d be far more common now that the latest Pushing Limits single had hit number one on the U.S. charts.
Brian climbed out from the front passenger seat while we waited for the limo driver to open the side door, then one by one the guys from the band emerged. I winced at the thunderous noise greeting each man…and realized how much I missed Desert Springs. My life had been simple back then, if you could call running a business simple. Instead of the loud, enthusiastic fans, the sounds of nature and small-town life had filled my days.
A pang squeezed my heart. I was in love with Mason, no doubt about it. But that love wouldn’t bring me happiness. It would bring me only turmoil. My brain understood that…but my heart was not so sure. I mentally went through the list of what made a perfect husband. Nowhere on it was a mention of him being a rock star. Nowhere on it was a mention of this kind of life—a life I wasn’t so sure I wanted.
Once the guys had exited the limo, I followed behind them. Unlike in the hotel, I didn’t hold Mason’s hand to show my support. Out here, it was all about the fans. Sure, Mason and I had admitted our feelings for each other, but we still hadn’t talked about what it meant. So for now I just pretended that Mason was nothing more to me than a job.
A job that was ending in a few weeks.
Nolan, Jared, Kirk, and Aaron all interacted with their fans the way they normally did. Mason didn’t even spare the fans a second glance. He stalked to the building, yanked the door open, and entered. It was like he hadn’t even seen them.
I wasn’t the only one who noticed his disappearing act. Screams for Mason followed after him. Despite what he had said earlier, the fans’ reaction proved he was loved. They wanted to see the energetic, highly entertaining drummer as much as they wanted to see the rest of the guys.
Hearing the frustrated cries from the crowd for Mason, the guys in the band scanned the area. When they didn’t see him, they glanced back at me, puzzlement in their expressions. But I didn’t have time to answer their unspoken questions. I rushed after Mason.
I found him inside the building, pacing across the tile floor. A twentysomething guy was standing to the side, looking a little lost as to what to do. My guess was he was an intern.
Ignoring him, I joined Mason. “Hey, are you going to be okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” he mumbled, but his stooped shoulders suggested he was as fine as Anne Boleyn had been just before her beheading.
The main door opened and fangirl screams spilled into the lobby, accompanied by the guys in the band. I could tell his friends wanted to check on Mason, but once they spotted the intern waiting for us, all they could do was follow him onto the elevator.
The interview itself went fine. Mason was more subdued than normal, but the rest of the guys made up for it. It was as if they were doing it on purpose, to distract the radio personalities from zeroing in on Mason’s atypical behavior. Anyone who had ever listened to him in an interview knew he was the boisterous one.
With the interview over, we drove to the arena. Mason’s knee bounced the entire way as he stared out the window. The moment we’d climbed into the limo, he’d grabbed hold of my hand. Not once did he let go. Even when we arrived and were hustled into the arena through the back entrance, he held on tight.
The bands still had twenty minutes before they had to be at the meet-and-greet. We headed for the greenroom, and Mason immediately went for a beer. He gulped it down like it was water, then grabbed another one. By the time I had to herd them into the other room so they could meet their fans, he had polished off two bottles. While two beers in that time frame would have done me in, Mason didn’t so much as sway or slur his words. So I let it go. He was a grown man who was grieving. Who was I to judge, as long as he didn’t do anything to hurt himself or anyone else?
I watched the meet-and-greet, making sure things went smoothly. With their handler recovering from food poisoning, I had taken on her role here too. But after nine weeks of watching her manage this part of the concert, I pretty much had it figured out. It didn’t hurt to have Brian, the ex-Marine, by my side. No one would dare question my authority with him next to me.
“Is Mason okay?” Brian asked. “He’s acting strange.”
“His father died the other day.” No point discussing the rest of the details, especially since I had no idea how much Mason was fine with me sharing.
“That would explain things,” Brian said, and didn’t say anything more on the subject.
As soon as the meet-and-greet was over, the guys returned to the greenroom. All grabbed a beer. Like with his first two, Mason downed his in record time. He pulled another one from the ice chest and flopped down on the worn couch. With each second that ticked past, his restlessness grew. He fidgeted, and when someone tried to ask him a question, he didn’t reply. It was like he was no longer in the room. After a while, people quit trying to talk to him—and the once outgoing drummer seemed perfectly fine with that.
I expected him to take me down an empty hallway to make out, as per our normal routine, but he didn’t. It was a routine that I wouldn’t be doing for much longer. Did it mean that once I returned home, other women would be taking over my role?
For a second I was tempted to grab a beer myself, to help me forget that my time with the guys was ending in a few weeks. By the time the band had to go onstage, Mason had consumed five beers since arriving at the arena. Even the guys were throwing him worried glances. It wasn’t that they thought he was too inebriated to play—which he wasn’t. Maybe if he had finished a sixth beer, things would’ve been dicey, but as it was, I was confident his playing would be fine.
It was everything else I wasn’t so sure about.
I watched the show from my usual spot backstage. They finished the final song of the night and the audience went crazy, which was no different from what had been happening lately at each of their shows. They waved their appreciation and walked off the stage—to the thunderous demands for an encore.
“You should give them what they want,” I told the guys. Hell, I wasn’t ready for their show to be finished either.
“We can’t do that,” Jared explained.
“Yeah, I know. They have to set up for Endless Motion.” Except it didn’t sound like the audience agreed. They continued chanting for an encore.
“Your call,” the stage manager said, having overheard our conversation, “but I think you should go for it. It’s just one song.”
