Page 98 of Voice to Raise
I smacked his thigh. “You’re just jealous because my fiancé is coming and you only have your mother. What happened to Seraphina?”
“She said monogamy wasn’t in the cards if I was going to be out of the country for seven months.”
“Ouch.” I winced. “You never said anything.”
“You were missing your very faithful man. Why was I going to yuck your yum?”
I frowned. “We’re friends. That’s sort of what friends are for.”
“I told Reese.”
“Oh.” I squinted. “I don’t know whether to be offended by that or not. I’m glad you talked to someone, though.”
“Oh, don’t kid yourself—she wasn’t all that sympathetic. She never liked Seraphina. Always felt she was, like, a band bunny.”
I chuckled. “For Razor Made? That’s a bit of a stretch.”
“Hey.” He balanced himself as the bus hung a left turn.
The driver, Vera was a fantastic person. She used to fly Hercules planes into the arctic circle. After her military career, Pauletta’s father had recruited her to work for him in various capacities.
Pauletta, being magnanimous, had convinced her father to front the costs of our tour. He’d done the same for Grindstone a few years back and had been rewarded handsomely for that investment. So, in the hopes of Razor Made making it big, Mr. Magnum was providing us with a tour bus. Our manager, the lovely Pauletta, had arranged six stops down the Pacific coast as we headed to Rocktoberfest. None of the stops would compare in size to Black Rock, but with every show we gained confidence. We got closer to the cohesion Carson spoke of so often. And we were able to test out the new songs.
The album,Razor’s Edgewas going to drop while we were on stage.
I didn’t understand all the logistics involved with this. The music wouldn’t be available to fans before the show, but they’d be able to download it afterward.
Carson swore this was the best way to do things. Too early, and the Rocktoberfest goers wouldn’t get an exclusive. Too late and fans would be looking for something that didn’t exist yet.
“Spencer’s taking Mama to the airport? They’re flying together?” Creed tapped a beat on his thigh.
“Yes, Spencer is taking Mama to the airport. Yes, Pauletta has organized a camper van for Mama. You’re worrying way too much.”
I was still trying to figure out when I’d get some quality time with my man. Quite possibly, that wasn’t going to happen.
“I’m not worrying.”
I arched an eyebrow.
“Well, you would be stressing if—” He winced. “Shit.”
I patted his thigh. “Yes, if my mother was coming, I’d be worried about her.”
“That was really insensitive of me.”
“Dude.” I used his favorite word. “She’s been gone for years. She wouldn’t want me wallowing in my grief.”
“Yeah?” He cocked his head.
“Yeah.” I sat up, careful not to hit my head.
He sat next to me. Close. Comfortingly.
“I’d do anything to have them back—but life doesn’t work that way. Would they be happy knowing I’m on a tour bus and headed to a rock concert? Possibly not. Would they wantmeto be happy? Yes.”
“But the symphony was to make them happy.”
“True. I enjoyed it. Music’s in my blood and my soul. Didn’t get an ounce of that from my parents. In the end, though, as long as I’m performing, I’m happy. I’d like to believe they’d be pleased as well. We’re dropping a record in just a couple of days.”
