Page 3 of Reckless

On tour he’d use an earpiece to help keep his brain on lyrics and his bassline, but during rehearsals he relied on his internal monitors and the cues he’d been trained to keep on track. Wake Up was a full-throated roar of a song and it would get the crowd revved from jump.

But it was a song he had to give his all to. The chorus was powerful, delivering the emotions of a song about solitude, loneliness, and forgiveness. He’d written it in the aftermath of his last breakup when everything and everyone he’d counted on had felt so far away. He’d been lonely and so fucking exposed but unable to just…fucking deal with it all. Music had saved him. As well as family who’d simply shown up whether he’d asked or not.

He leaned close to the microphone to whisper and then amp up to a full-throated roar.

Threadbare and torn apart, exhausted. So close to giving up, broken hearted. I can’t, can’t stop, get up be something more than alone.

Maddie’s voice came in then, nudging his along, carrying through to the bridge where Silas’s drums were waiting as the guitars rose and fell again.

The emotion behind the words would always be part of him. But it lacked the ability to hurt him anymore. He’d taken it and used it. Created something so much better. That alchemy had enabled him to plow his energy back into his life, his music and career and leave his ex and those mistakes in the rearview.

CHAPTERTWO

Above Me ended their solo tour on a Wednesday and would be opening up for Earthquakes on the start of their US/Canada tour the following week. Which was that very day.

Harlow rolled out of her temporary bed in a borrowed house in San Francisco, where she and the rest of her band were staying the few days before the concert.

She’d barely had two days at home in Seattle before they set off again to San Francisco. At the house they currently stayed in, there was a great rehearsal space. It was a nice thing that her dad’s keyboardist had decided years before to diversify his investment portfolio with property and had offered it up to them for the very low price of tickets to the concert when it rolled through Los Angeles toward the end of the summer.

She’d have done that anyway. Just like he’d have let them borrow his house anyway. But that he wanted to be at her show was pretty much the best thing.

Down in the kitchen, Nora was already at the coffeemaker while Brian rustled through the giant fridge. “Morning,” she said, pausing to look out the kitchen windows at the vista beyond. The San Francisco Bay glittered in the pale sunshine off in the distance and from one part of the room she could see the distinctive red of the Golden Gate Bridge and the other she could see the Bay Bridge leading to Oakland.

“Just got coffee started,” Nora told her.

“There are biscuits in the oven and I’ll start the gravy in a few,” Brian told her as he put ingredients on the large island. “Big day needs a big breakfast.”

“Like I ever need any excuse to eat biscuits and gravy,” Harlow teased him. “Can I help?” she asked.

“Nah. We’ve got it handled,” Nora answered absently as she puttered.

Nora and Harlow had met on the first day of sixth grade as they’d both started at the arts middle and high school they’d both attended and had hated one another the first few weeks until a random cafeteria incident had found both on the same side of an argument and they’d ended up cleaning the floor with their competition.

That had been it. Nora Abelard had been Harlow’s soul mate from that day on. Brian had come along a few years later. He’d imprinted on Nora and they’d lost a guitarist in their band so they’d gained a new guitarist and the third to their weird little family, and he’d gained a Nora and Nora’s best friend.

They’d been asked a dozen times if they were a throuple, to which Brian always groaned and said he had enough to manage with Nora. He was the brother of Harlow’s heart and that suited her down to her toes.

“We’ll move to the hotel later today,” Harlow said as she looked over the daily sheet their tour manager had dropped off for them first thing. The dailies were their lifeline for the rest of the tour, detailing where they needed to be and when. On tour there were long stretches of time where every day tended to feel very much the same, so having some direction kept Harlow on track and gave her a measure of control.

“Phil says our clothing arrived with the rest of the gear,” Nora said, putting a steaming mug of coffee in front of where Harlow sat at the sunny breakfast nook.

“Thank god.” A pallet of their gear had gone missing. All their clothes except for the day to day stuff they kept with them at the hotels was nowhere to be found for two days. Long enough that she and Nora had gone out the day before to take care of a few days worth of gear at the very least. “Not that the stuff we grabbed yesterday isn’t going to be perfect to add to the wardrobe I already have and all.”

“If this music thing doesn’t work out for you, a business where you scout an area and let people know which thrift stores have the best stuff would make you a million dollars,” Nora said. “You have supernatural thrift radar.”

“Blame Marcella.”

Harlow and her aunt hung out a lot while her father was working. Marcella—who she was closer to than her biological mother—had gone out of her way to keep Harlow interested while they were out on tour. Her father’s youngest sister, she’d only been twenty two when she’d moved in with them and became Harlow’s caretaker so Richie could make a living and pay all those bills.

Her aunt had a great sense of style but she, like Harlow’s dad, had grown up pretty poor so at first, thrifting had been a way to attempt to be fashionable in a world where seventy-five dollar jeans were simply not achievable. Then, because her aunt was at heart an artist in most every way, thrifting had been a way to teach Harlow to style an outfit, how to upcycle the clothes to make them into something altogether new and unique.

“She’s the GD best,” Nora agreed.

Her aunt had sent every review of every show of Above Me’s tour. Well, the good ones. Harlow knew there were bad ones out there, though she did her level best to avoid them. But after each show there’d be texts and emails with little things she’d found online. It never ceased to fill Harlow’s heart to overflowing to be loved that way.

Interestingly enough, Marcella hadn’t been the only one who’d sent links to reviews. Once Earthquakes had asked them to open, Miles Brown had started to send them along with cheerful little notes.Hey there! Saw this review of your show in Tucson. I know if it was one of ours, I’d want to see it. Congratulations and see you in a few weeks. M.

Just seeing his name in her texts gave her a little flutter. Why was obvious. He was gorgeous. Talented. His energy was deliciously sexy. Naturally she’d get a little flushed at his attention. Still, he hadn’t said one damned inappropriate thing. Just supportive, friendly stuff and it was absurd to have butterflies over it.

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