Trey watched Danny moving around onstage, fixing the house drums. A dirty-blond number with sharp cheekbones and round eyes carried a keyboard case onstage and began setting it up. Not an Off Beat employee. “Heads up,” Trey said.
Bobby and Danielle turned on their stools. “That’s one of them,” Bobby said with a snarl. “Their bassist, Lincoln West.”
Trey nearly knocked over a half-full beer bottle. How common a name was Lincoln for a guy? Had to be more common than he thought for there to be two of them in town tonight. Hell, there were probably at least five or six. Didn’t matter that Trey had never heard that name before today.
He wiped down a sticky section of the bar, unsettled by the name of Tyson’s new bandmate. He hated coincidences, but even if by some awful turn of events this Lincoln was Dominic’s Lincoln, it didn’t mean Dominic knew anything about Tyson. Dominic hadn’t said a word about being in a band himself.
Of course, Trey hadn’t asked him, either. Not directly.
No.
Coincidence.
At nine fifty, Bobby said, “There’s another one.”
Trey dared a peek at the stage. Dressed similarly to Lincoln, in black jeans and a rainbow heart T-shirt. Messy dark hair, average height, also cute, but not Dominic.
“Benji Moore, classical guitar.”
Bobby had definitely done his homework. Trey resisted the urge to ask for the other names. He wanted to trust fate here. Fate had dropped a gorgeous, talented man in his lap last night, and they’d clicked instantly. Fate wouldn’t spit it all back in his face.
Right?
Danielle tapped his wrist. “Coop, you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure? You look like you want to hurl.”
At nine fifty-six his phone buzzed with a text.
Dominic:I’m so fucking sorry.
Trey’s throat closed.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen,” Beatrice said into the onstage mike. The crowd quieted to a dull roar. “We have aspecial treat tonight. A new group all the way from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.”
Trey grabbed the edge of the bar, everything graying out a little.
“Please give an Off Beat welcome to XYZ!”
The crowd applauded, and a few people whistled as four familiar faces marched onstage, two armed with guitars, one with drumsticks. Lincoln, Benji, and Tyson were faces Trey expected to see up there.
The last person on the face of the fucking planet that Trey wanted to see settling in behind the keyboard was Dominic Bounds. He could feel Danielle’s questioning stare but he couldn’t handle her right now. He was too stunned to move or even think. Dominic had sympathized over the loss of Fading Daze’s drummer, and the whole time he was the one who’d stolen Tyson away.
“Trey?” Van nudged him with an elbow. “I know they’re hot, but you’re being paid to keep up with us.”
Dark anger settled over Trey, and he nearly snapped at Van. Except Van was right. He had to keep working or he’d explode from the power of the betrayal bomb Dominic had dropped on him tonight.
“Thank you,” said someone who was either Benji or Lincoln. Trey was too furious to risk looking. “We’re so excited to be here tonight, our last night in this fabulous seaside community, and we hope you like what you hear.”
Someone shouted Tyson’s name.
There were two Judases on that stage tonight.
“Trey, I need Seagram’s gin,” Sasha said. “And a bottle of Fireball.”
“On it.” Trey didn’t mind the trip to the storage room. He needed a few minutes alone to collect himself.
