Parker folded the napkin neatly and tucked it under the rim of his plate. “First and last.”
Rush frowned. “Not a fan of the festival?”
“I guess I should say, first and last as an artist. You never know, I might come back as a ticket holder one day.” At Rush’s confused look, he continued. “I’m just a wild card standing in for my brother Harvey, not a proper member of the band.”
“You’re not keen to keep playing? You’re good, man. I caught some of your set last night.”
“Thanks, but it’s not really my thing. I love the music and love playing, but the rest,” he waved his hand, gesturing to the room, “it’s not really me.”
Rush nodded. “I hear where you’re coming from, man. It’s not the life for everyone. Between you and me, I’m enjoying the touring less and less every year, especially now that I’ve got someone to go home to.” He got a faraway look in his eye for a moment before meeting Parker’s gaze again. “My advice is to make the most of the experience while you’re here, then do whatever makes you happy. Life’s too short. Anyway, I’ve got to go and make a phone call. I’ll see you round.” He pushed up from the table, leaving Parker staring at his retreating back. Parker knew Rush had had a brush with death but had come out the other end with his cancer in remission and a newfound love in his life.I guess he’s qualified to give advice about life being short.
Things started to get rowdy. The volume in the room increased as more people came in and their voices competed with the music. Conversation drifted his way, a couple of women commenting on how hot Rafe was. The jealousy burned fierce, particularly when their compliments turned to Van. Parker knew he was no competition for the goddamned Norse god. The flashback was swift and packed a punch. He closed his eyes against the image of his ex, Stav, and that last lot of photos in the press.
Gibbo dragged him from the misery of his memories, memories that were way too fresh. “I’m heading over to the tour bus to get ready. Coming?”
Parker looked at his half-eaten meal. “Yeah.” He tossed the food into the bin on his way past.
The tour bus wasn’t like Parker expected, not that he really knew what to expect, but the space and privacy were severely lacking. The front of the bus featured a lounge area and a kitchenette. The middle housed six bunks, curtained by fabric to offer a semblance of privacy, and the rear housed a master bedroom and a bathroom. They’d tossed for it, and Rafe had won the master; probably fair, considering he’d had to share with Parker back at the hotel.
Parker retrieved the duffel bag he’d tossed onto one of the bunks and grabbed his travel kit. He moved fast and managed to snag the bathroom before Gibbo; a good thing, given he thought he was going to hurl.Thank God for small mercies.
He looked terrible under the harsh overhead lighting of the bus’s small bathroom—pale and pasty. He wasn’t sure how much of it was due to the fluorescent lighting, how much was his own pale skin, and how much was due to the butterflies that had taken flight in his stomach.Nothing a little makeup won’t fix.
He washed his face, splashing the cold water in the hope it would make him feel better, then patting his face dry with a towel. He opened his kit.
There was a knock on the door. “Parker. It’s me.”
He flicked the lock. Rafe popped his head in the door, noting the makeup sponge in Parker’s fingers. “Need a hand?”
Parker nodded. He hadn’t mastered the art of stage makeup, although he didn’t wear anything too heavy, just enough to even out his skin tone and give his eyes and lips some definition under the bright lights. He sat on the closed toilet seat as directed by Rafe.
“I’ve been thinking—”
“Oh? That sounds ominous. Should I be scared?” Rafe chuckled as he opened a pot of moisturising cream.
“I’m serious.”
“Sorry.” Rafe dotted globs of the thick white cream onto Parker’s face. “What did you want to say?”
Parker’s heart hammered a million miles an hour as he prepared to throw away the best thing that had happened to him. He took a deep breath to calm his racing pulse. “Everyone keeps telling me I can do this. Nigel, Harvey, you. I think nearly everyone here has given me a pep talk. And don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate the support. I don’t know what I would have done without your help last night.”
“I didn’t do much, just took your mind off it.” Rafe fingers massaged the moisturiser into Parker’s skin, and he let himself enjoy the delicate touch for a moment. “You did the hard work.”
“Anyway, I’m not sure I can do it again. This place, this audience, it’s fucking enormous, Rafe! Did you see the size of that stage? And those huge screens broadcasting every movement up on the stage in close up! There’s no hiding. I know how important this is for you, how critical it is for the band, and I can’t fuck it up. I couldn’t live with myself knowing I’d ruined everything, and I hope to God that doesn’t happen. So, like I said, I’ve been thinking, and I wanted you to know that I’m okay with you and Van.”
Rafe pulled back to look him in the eye. “Me and Van?”
“Yeah, I know we didn’t make any promises to each other, and this is just a holiday thing, but just in case you thought you owed me something, you don’t. You have an opportunity to get some really good press here”—and I’ll protect my heart by getting out before you choose him and your career over me—“and you should do it. I know how important it is for you, and I don’t want to hold you back.”
Rafe crossed his arms. “So let me get this straight. You think I should pretend-date Van—”
“You don’t have to pretend—”
“Pretend-date for the publicity because it will help further the band and that’s the most important thing to me?”
Parker nodded. “And maybe the publicity will help if I fuck up tonight. People will be more focused on the new rock power couple and my performance, or lack thereof, can fade into insignificance.”
Rafe cupped his cheek, expression soft. “Oh, Parker, you could never be insignificant.” He sank to his knees at Parker’s feet, and Parker’s heart thumped as he met Rafe’s gaze. “Are you really dreading going on stage tonight?”
