This worked well for Ryker, who found himself corralled by Forest and escorted back to the hangar. The band had spent the morningvisiting the units on base for PR photo ops to meet and greet the troops. They were now gathered back at the hangar for lunch and a light rehearsal.
He wasn’t certain what he’d expected, but some manner of running through the set list had gone through his mind. Instead, it was organized chaos with Forest and Ash running the show. Ash spent most of his time with an arm wrapped around his wife, Skye. The pair seemed inseparable, leaving Ryker to wonder how Ash would handle what Skye had planned with the medical insurgent team she was trying to build.
Bent, Bash, Noodles, and Spike kicked back, individually picking up instruments to check on the sound. Sometimes, two of them would play together, laying down pieces of songs. Not once did the band all get up onstage and play one song from beginning to end.
Ryker followed Smiley around, getting an up-front tour of what went into putting a show of this magnitude on. Computers controlled the entire stage—from lighting to sound and even to the smoke and pyro they had planned. Smiley ran the lights, showing Ryker how he could make the stage look like anything he wanted. In the background, the crew worked furiously to fine-tune everything, checking and double-checking connections. He was tripping, being as close to the action as he was, and then realized he would be sharing the stage with the band.
Smiley took him to a spot with an X on it. “This is yours.”
“X marks the spot?”
“Yeah. Try to stick to it as much as possible. The guys get wild onstage and will be running and jumping and ripping it up. Your job is to look pretty. Don’t get in the way, and don’t fuck anything up.”
Ryker laughed. Smiley’s grumpy face told more about his frustration with the band than anything else but also his clear and undying loyalty to them.
“This show is going to be unlike anything in the world,” Ryker said. “I think the troops are going to lose their minds.” He pointed to the front of the stage. “Why isn’t there a barrier?”
“Ash doesn’t want one. He’s looking for close and intimate.”
This venue would be tiny compared to the sold-out stadiums the band normally played, and the audience was much different. Angel Fire brought in the crowds, male and female. This crowd would be predominantly male, although as a group, they knew how to follow rules. If the base commander, group, squadron, and unit COs told them to stand behind the line, then it was a given that no line would be crossed.
“You think you’re ready to share that stage?”
“I’ll do my best. Won’t pretend I’m not a little bit nervous.”
He’d had plenty of time to get to know the band. He wasn’t nervous around them—at least, not anymore. What bothered him was something else entirely. In all his years playing, he’d never been on the inside, looking out. Now that he was, all he wanted was to be on the outside with T by his side and not at odds with him. She’d been polite earlier, but it was clear she’d been peeved by what he’d done the night before.
When Forest had brought him to the hangar, she had followed along and sat with Skye as the band did their version of a sound check and warm-up. He hadn’t seen T in over an hour but wasn’t worried. All the members of the band were with him, and he’d decided T was smart enough not to go chasing another active duty member. She was probably in her barracks, reading a book, or out jogging around the perimeter of the base. Time was winding down to showtime, and he expected to see her soon.
Forest eventually gatheredeveryone and brought them backstage to an area out of sight where they could relax untilshowtime. There were microphone stands onstage, but Smiley handed out wireless headsets to the band, even one to him.
“What’s this for?” He had no intention of singing.
Ash kicked back and crossed his ankle over his opposite knee. “You’ve got a good set of pipes, dude. Didn’t think you’d get away with just playing bass, did you?”
He cocked his head. “That’s exactly what I thought.”
Noodles’s laughter bounced around the group. “Yeah, that ain’t happening.”
He pulled his long hair back tight and gathered it at his nape with a leather wrap. Ryker wondered if the black tribal tattoos coiling up and around his muscled arms held any significance but didn’t want to ask. He was treading a fine line with the band between being a fan and whatever this special backstage access granted him.
“Nobody needs to hear me sing,” Ryker asserted. “I can play, but—”
“Hey,” Bent said, “we all heard you.”
Bash twirled his drumsticks in his hands. Then, he leaned forward and tapped out a beat on the metal table. “Just suck it up. You’re not getting out of it.”
He gave Ash a long look, and something silent was communicated between them. Out of the five members of the band, he and Ash had a unique connection.
“Decision’s been made, dude,” Ash said. “It’s just a song.”
Ryker narrowed his eyes, realizing he was losing a battle, but they couldn’t force him to add his voice to this madness. Or could they? He’d never done well with peer pressure.
“Ten minutes,” Forest bellowed.
The guys sat back and quieted down.
“Do any of you still get nervous before a show?” Ryker asked. He might be sharing the stage with them sooner than he’d like, but he couldn’t silence the fan inside. He was dying for an insider’s look into one of the most epic bands in recent history.
