Parker closed his eyes briefly and nodded.
“Then don’t.”
His eyes flew open. “What?”
“I hate seeing you put yourself through this—the anxiety, making yourself physically sick. If you don’t want to, or can’t do it, then don’t. I’ll play the guitar and sing. It can be done.”
“But it was discussed. The band agreed it would be a last-ditch option because the overall performance would suffer.”
Rafe shrugged and placed his hands on Parker’s knees. “You are a thousand times more important than one performance.” Rafe stood and pulled Parker to his feet. “Come with me.”
He led Parker from the bathroom, and Parker followed. He thought he’d probably follow Rafe anywhere. They sat on the edge of the master bed, Rafe twisting to face him.
“You said some stuff to me this week, things I’ve really taken to heart. You made me realise that I haven’t been enjoying our successes, because I’ve constantly been striving for more. Nothing has ever been enough.” He reached for Parker’s hand, and Parker grabbed his like a lifeline. “Well, that changes now. I’ve finally found what I’ve been looking for, and that’s taking the time to enjoy my life, and that includes happiness with you. It isn’t a number-one hit, it isn’t a Grammy, and it most certainly isn’t the world’s most eligible rock star. It’s you.”
Parker was at a loss for words.
“You’d really sacrifice all this for me?”
Rafe’s face lit up as he smiled. “Without a doubt.”
“But your chances of getting noticed over here?”
“I’d like to think that one performance isn’t going to make or break us.” Rafe shrugged. “Perhaps it will, but our music is good, and I believe we can overcome one sub-par performance. We got great feedback on last night’s set, and Nigel has set up a few meetings next week. But if the worst happens and HyperOctane is written off in the States because of one bad performance or negative review, then maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”
“But the other guys?”
“I’m sure they feel the same. You know Harvey well enough to know that he lives by the motto ‘just go for it.’ He knows we’ve done our best, and if it doesn’t work out, then at least we’ve tried.”
“But we haven’t done our best if I don’t play.”
“He’d understand.”
Parker knew that was true. Harvey would stand by him, whatever he decided. “Yeah, but—”
“No buts. He knows,Iknow, that you want the best for all of us. You played last night—you fucking kicked arse, babe—but if it’s all too much, then we all understand.”
But was it too much? Really? He’dneverbe comfortable with getting up on stage, and it was no use pretending the stage fright would go away, but Rafe’s words had taken some of the pressure off. The world wouldn’t come to an end, the fate of HyperOctane didn’t entirely rest on his shoulders,andhe’d been able to play the set last night.
Maybe hecoulddo it.
26
Standing on stage was fucking awesome. The crowd was massive, and the excitement was palpable, thousands and thousands of people with their hands in the air, jumping and dancing. Rafe glanced to his right to where Parker stood with his guitar, auburn hair highlighted by the stage lights. He’d gelled it into a tousled mess that looked goddamned sexy. His pale skin reflected the changing colours of the strobes, biceps flexing under the lights as he coaxed music from his Fender. He moved with a fluidity that Rafe would never have, his guitar like a dance partner as he ripped out the guitar solo. No matter what Parker thought or said, he looked every inch the rock star. He looked up from his guitar and met Rafe’s gaze with a grin.
Rafe was relieved to see the smile, the tilt of lips and crinkling around the eyes, that hinted at Parker’s ease and maybe even enjoyment. Rafe maintained eye contact as he laid a hand over his own heart and winked. Parker’s smile grew even wider, if that was possible. Rafe was tempted to cross the stage to his side, so instead gave a thumbs up and forced himself to look away.
He looked to RG and Gibbo and sent a thumbs up their way too. Both of them, RG at the drums, and Gibbo standing to his right, were hot, sweaty messes, but like Parker, wore huge grins as the song wound up. Rafe looked back to the crowd and belted out the final chorus. As the last note died away, he pumped a fist in the air. “Thanks for being a great crowd, and thanks for welcoming these boys from Down Under,” he yelled. “I’m Rafe, and it’s been awesome to party with you all.”
The applause was deafening.Holy shit.
Rafe tossed his head, hair damp with sweat as he gestured to the guys behind him. He took a deep breath. “We have RG on the drums. I’ll leave it up to you to guess what that stands for,” he said, playing up the fact they’d never confirmed what Antony’s nickname represented.
RG lifted his drumsticks, then his beats filled the air, the crowd cheering him on. He ended with a crash of cymbals.
Rafe swung his arm out towards Gibbo. “And this guy on the bass guitar is John Gibson, but you can call him Gibbo.”
Gibbo orchestrated a riff on his bass, ending on a high note.
