They rocked the house down.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Malik
Imopped my face with a towel Pauletta handed me.
Although I carried my violin case, the road crew, as well as the Rocktoberfest stagehands, cleared our stuff from the stage.
Creed slapped me on the back.
Hard.
“Dude.” I coughed.
“Sorry, not sorry.” He grinned. “You hit it right out of the park. I don’t know who Pike is, but you should’ve seen your man’s face.”
I hadn’t looked. If I’d met Spencer’s gaze in that moment, I might’ve broken. Because he’d either be moved by my tribute or he’d be pissed as hell—neither reaction could I have borne in that moment.
“They were eating out of the palm of your hand.” Pauletta’s grin encompassed her entire lovely face. “I’d say that time overseas was worth it.”
Much as I would’ve loved to take credit for the violin idea, that had been Carson. Making it work, however? That was on me.
Reese guzzled her water.
Then noticed Lydia holding the camera pointing right at her.
My drummer gazed toward me and winced.
I shrugged. Given the documentary was going to be a short thirty-minute thing, I doubt one of us chugging hydration ranked in the list ofmust havescenes.
Mickey waved me over. “Found these two just beyond the security perimeter. I managed to get them in.”
Mama strode over to Creed while Spencer hesitantly approached me.
I grinned. “It’s okay. You’re not going to get in trouble.”
“Are you sure?” He glanced around, almost as if expecting a security guard to grab him at any moment.
Heedless of my sweaty body, I dragged him in for a hug. He was still here. So I assumed that meant he wasn’t pissed about my bringing Pike into the concert.
He pulled back and met my gaze. His eyes were red-rimmed.
“Oh baby, I’m sorry.”
“You should be.” Mama wagged her finger at me. “Making your beautiful man cry.”
“Cry?” Pauletta’s focus zeroed in on Spencer.
“Nothing that needs to be shared here.” I gestured with my chin to Lydia.
Thornton, who stood off to the side, snickered. “You think Mickey’s not going to figure it out?”
Mickey, for their part, merely grinned.
Or Thornton might. He was, after all, the executive producer. And a damn smart man to boot. He’d gotten his start filming nature photography. After his sister’s death, he’d moved intogotchajournalism.
Why Ed ever trusted the man, I didn’t know.
