“We could leave now, beat traffic by driving at night.”
What the fuck?We. Notyou. For a moment Killian almost said yes. But Tex didn’t mean it; he’d only been trying to make Killy feel better. But why? People didn’t do things for him, they expected him to do for them. And if he hightailed it now, Tex would be the one shining star in a mediocre band. Killy didn’t owe the band shit… but he owed Tex for accepting him as a man, not pushing for more than Killy could give, no matter for how short a time.
“It can’t be that bad, can it? A few hours, a few songs.” Killy tried for a smile and failed. Too out of practice. “Reckon we should duct tape the singer’s mouth? Might improve the show.”
“Well, just remember that I got your back,” Tex said, reaching out but not quite touching. He drew his hand back.
For a moment, Killy wished he’d followed through on the connection.
“I’ve backed you up before. Highway 401 can vouch for me. You just didn’t know it.” Tex opened the door and stepped out. “The bar’s a bit bigger than my Bronco, but I reckon I’ll make do.” He grinned. Damn but Killy could get used to the man flashing those teeth.
Still, singing along with a CD couldn’t compare with singing live. Killy gazed out at the sparse cars. Not like they’d have much of an audience, and if Tex sang like he did everything else, they might have a decent night—even with crap for a lead singer.
This time Killy managed a bit more of a smile. “You’re on.”
16
Knowing something the others didn’t made Mike a bit protective. Though he tried to keep himself in check, he couldn’t help glancing repeatedly at Killian.
Was he really okay playing his band’s songs? Too bad Ted was here. If he wasn’t then Mike might get to hear Killian in the concert he’d always wanted to attend.
Better yet, he’d back the man up. Oh, he had no delusions of competing with the super-talented Elliot Desmond, but he’d do his very best, put everything his father taught him into tonight’s performance.
Tomorrow? Who knew?
Yes, this man, this rock icon, deserved better than playing in a blink-and-you’d-miss-it bar, to an audience too drunk to appreciate his talent.
He tuned up and followed Killian backstage, catching him in a rare moment to himself. Glancing right and left to ensure no one watched, he framed Killian’s face in his hands and touched their foreheads together. Killian didn’t kiss. Though disappointment filled him, Mike would respect his wishes.
“If it gets to be too much, tell me, okay?”
Killian snorted. “I’ll be fine.” He’d gone porcupine all of a sudden, full of prickles and bravado.
“Are you sure?”
Killian deflated and cupped a hand to Mike’s cheek. For a moment, one second in time, he appeared—ready to kiss? He shook his head and pulled back. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve been performing onstage since I was a kid.”
“Me too,” Mike said to a retreating back. Despite the words, the conviction hadn’t been there.
He’d watch Killian’s back.
* * *
Why the fucking hell had he agreed to this? Killian glared at a few cowboy-types playing pool, or more interested in picking up women than in a live show. The band finished their tuning and someone silenced the blaring jukebox.
People didn’t stop talking. They hadn’t paid for a ticket to see the show—tickets that once cost an average week’s wages.
Ted opened his mouth and hit a sour note onFour on the Floorfrom the get-go.
“Boo!” someone shouted from a pool table. “You suck!”
What the ever-loving fuck? No one ever said Killian Desmond sucked. At least not in his hearing.
Ted tried again. “Get off the stage, loser!” someone yelled.
Texas came closer. “They can get bad, but not like this before. You want to go?”
“Oh, hell no.” This might not be Killian’s band, but he felt duty bound to defend his and Tex’s honor, at least. “You mean it when you say you got my back?”
