Don’t Fall For A Dreamer (Wayward Lane Backstage #3)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

JESSE

A WEEK LATER

H osting a hundred guests in a twelve-hundred square foot apartment had to be some kind of fire code violation, right? Then again, I knew that Evert had enough charm to convince anyone, including his neighbors, that it was no big deal. But it was. This party was wall to wall musicians and celebrities, the elite of Nashville’s music scene packed into a place that had more pictures than actual furniture. The catering staff had undoubtedly moved some of Evert’s stuff out of the way to make room for all these people.

Whatever the case, the party was a vibe, with loud chatter, louder music, and plenty of top-shelf liquor. Not that I was surprised. Evert seemed to know everyone in this town, and art was clearly not his only passion. He had a way of welcoming guests that left even introverts like me wanting to stay. Charisma, presence, whatever you wanted to call it, Evert had it. Just like the rockstars I managed.

Evert Jackson was a special man. Of this, I had no doubt.

But trying to focus on networking was difficult when my eyes kept wandering to wherever Ev was in the room. Men and women alike crowded around him, hanging on his every word. And despite the noise around me, whenever Evert laughed, my attention followed. My stomach flipped and I began to sweat like I was standing on stage. Without fail, my gaze sought Evert’s out. And when he offered a wicked grin in my direction, I looked around to see who he was looking at. It couldn’t be me, could it?

Fuck, I needed another drink.

I excused myself from the boring but productive discussion with one of the city’s oldest music promoters, and headed for the makeshift bar, AKA the kitchen island. Averell was there, deep in conversation with Elias and Lennie, one of the band’s bodyguards. The boys of Wayward Lane were hanging out too, razzing each other, and pouring back shots like they were already on tour.

“Can I get one of those?” I asked.

Holloway passed me a shot and I downed it without hesitation. Didn’t really care what it was (vodka), I just needed the burn.

“Thanks.”

“Have another,” Brodie suggested. “You look tense as fuck.”

“I’m not.” Maybe a bit. I accepted another shot from Holls and sucked that one down too. “Well, I’m tired after having my ear talked off by that promoter. By the way, have you seen Nate? Or any of the Killmine guys? I texted them a half hour ago, but no reply. They’re supposed to be here.”

“Tommy said Nate’s got family in town, so they’re skipping this scene. Now come on, forget about the business shit for one night,” Ronin encouraged. “We’re gonna play an acoustic set right here, right now. We brought extra guitars and we want you to join us.”

“Me? Hell no.”

“Van’s gonna play, too,” Brodie added. “Come on, Jess. Enough is enough. You’ve been hiding behind your desk for too long. It’s time to let loose again. Embrace your inner rockstar.”

“Embrace my what ? Are you stoned?”

“No, but I’m nicely buzzed,” Brodie smirked. “And riding a post-sex high. Van and I tried this new thing where he tied my?—”

“Stop.” I held my hand up. “There are some things this manager doesn’t need to know.”

“For a former rocker, you’re pretty uptight about sex,” Brodie snarked.

I rolled my eyes at the blunt statement.

“Play with us,” Faise encouraged. “Come on. There’s hardly anyone here.”

“Oh, really?” I looked around at the packed room. “And the answer’s still no. I haven’t picked up a guitar in years.”

“Not at all?” Holloway asked.

I shook my head, swallowing hard. “Can I get another shot? Tequila this time.”

Holloway grabbed another bottle and poured a generous shot, then passed it over. Third one down and I was feeling looser. Could I really do this? Play again? Well, only for the guys. And a hundred or so people. It wasn’t like I was in a public venue or anything.

“Come on, Jesse. Once,” Faise implored.

The alcohol was burning more than my throat. My inhibitions were fading away too.

“One condition,” I blurted out. “No pictures or videos.”

Brodie nodded. “Deal.”

“This is gonna be awesome!” Holloway grinned at me. “It only took us a year to convince you to join us.”

I’d no idea what had possessed me to say yes to this crazy idea (alcohol), but I’d done it, and I was a man of my word. Besides, one song couldn’t be that difficult.

I glanced at my hands. There were no calluses anymore. At one time, my guitar was another extension of my body, and without it, I felt incomplete. I’d play until my fingers bled. Then, after the band broke up, I didn’t have the heart to pick one up. And thinking about playing again made my nerves take flight.

Faise stepped up to me and gripped my shoulder.

“It’s one song, Jess. And you have to start somewhere, right? It’s like when I got out of rehab and stepped back on stage for the first time, nervous as fuck. But once I started playing, it all came back.”

I nodded and tried to ignore the lump in my throat. Maybe it was time I finally put the ghosts of the past to rest. No, I’d never be a rockstar again, but music was central to my life. Always had been, always would be. I just hoped like hell that I didn’t have a panic attack when I picked up that freaking guitar.

“Let’s do this,” Brodie announced and then waved to Evert, motioning for him to come over.

“What’s up, guys?” Evert asked as he walked up to us.

He stopped beside me, far too close. Like always, he smelled amazing. But instead of leaning in, like my body wanted to, I took a step sideways and leaned against the counter.

“We’re gonna play a few songs,” Brodie replied. “Can we set up in the living room?”

“Of course. Let me make an announcement and then we can shift things around.”

“But you’ll need to tell your guests to put away the phones. Van and Jesse are joining us. No pics, no vids,” Holloway added.

“ You’re playing?” Evert turned to me, a shocked expression on his face.

“One song. That’s it. These guys have been hounding me for a year, so hopefully this shuts them up,” I quipped, glancing at Brodie.

All I got was a rude gesture in return. Typical.

I sounded confident, like my usual self. But the thought of playing and singing again had my hands trembling hard. I shoved them in my pockets so no one would notice.

“What about me? Am I allowed to take pictures?” Evert quipped as he stared at me.

“No,” I replied at the same time Brodie said “Yes”.

“No,” I repeated.

“Come on, cari?o, this is a big moment. Let me capture it.”

“Stop calling me that,” I bit out, my temper sparking. “And it’s no big deal. It’s just a song.”

It was so much more than that. I knew it and so, apparently, did Evert. I was still shaking, but now for an entirely different reason. And why sparring with this man got me hot and bothered, I had no idea. Evert stared at me, and I was helpless to do anything but stare right back. Despite the noise around us, I didn’t hear a damn thing.

Until a soft voice interrupted us.

“Ev, you promised me a dance.”

I turned to find a stunning woman, blonde and lithe, presumably a model, staring expectantly at Evert. She sidled up to him, putting her arm casually around his waist. And he didn’t pull away. Was this his girlfriend? Probably. The very thought had my stomach clenching hard.

I stalked around the island to where Holloway was standing and motioned for another shot.

“Amber, have you met the guys?” Evert asked, then did the intros. “Amber’s a fashion stylist and model. She’s part of my latest exhibition at the Haddington gallery downtown.”

Everyone said hello. I nodded, but made no move to shake her hand. Not that she offered it, what with one hand wrapped around Evert and the other holding a glass of champagne.

I decided right then and there to throw off my manager hat for the rest of the night and get shit faced. Especially if I was gonna play that fucking guitar. In front of Evert. Not that I cared if he was watching me. Why would he be watching me when he had this model to stare at?

Someone across the room yelled out Evert’s name and he turned and waved back.

“I’ll go tell my guests and get things ready.”

He glanced at me again, holding my gaze for a moment, but I turned away, looking down at the glass in my hand. When he walked away, Amber in tow, I could finally breathe again.

Brodie leaned over and tapped my arm. “Did you see that?”

“See what?” I asked.

“Don’t ‘what’ me. You know what.”

“You mean Amber? Obviously, she and Evert are involved or something.”

“Uh, no Jess. That’s not what I meant.” Brodie shook his head. “Ev doesn’t look at her the way he looks at you.”

“Don’t even, Dee,” I scoffed.

“I was joking around at the photoshoot, but it’s true. I don’t know why I didn’t notice until now, but yeah, I’m right,” He insisted. “I know it, you know it.”

I waved him off. Thankfully, the alcohol was hitting my bloodstream fast and furious and I was feeling no pain. Or irritation. Or jealousy. Okay, maybe a little. No way could I compete with gorgeous Amber. Me? Jealous? Ugh. No. I wasn’t going to go down that road again. Falling for someone I had no chance with. No fucking way.

“You want to play, let’s fucking play,” I snapped.

Brodie was about to say something else, but I cut him off.

“Drop it, Dee. I mean it.”

Brodie relented and no one was more shocked than me.

Faise dragged me into the living room, where Evert was busy getting guests moved out of the way. The catering staff brought out folding chairs and placed them in front of the fireplace. Ronin and Holls returned, a guitar in each hand. I grabbed a seat on the end, leaving the band to their center spotlight, such as it was. Holloway passed me his classic Gibson LesPaul and when I held it in my hands, years melted away. It was strange—and strangely beautiful—to hold this baby in my hands.

I glanced up and spotted Evert watching me. Through his camera lens, of course.

Every nerve ending in my body electrified, the hairs on my body standing on end. I shook it off as nerves about playing for the first time in over a decade. And playing with the guys too, but I knew it was way more than that.

Holloway sat down beside me, and after him, Brodie, Ronin, and Faise, everyone with a guitar now in hand. It was strange to see Faise holding one. The drummer played a variety of instruments but venturing from his kit was uncommon. The guests here tonight were about to witness a very rare, unplugged performance from Wayward Lane. Van, their former manager, now family member, sat at the other end of the semi-circle. This was surreal.

Brodie let out a sharp whistle and the chatter in the room quieted.

“Running Start?” Holls suggested and everyone nodded.

The strings were hard, strange, against my fingertips, and I shifted in my seat, trying to get the weight of the guitar against my body just right. Once upon a time, I’d play for hours and hours, numb to the pain, but so alive. Then I’d stopped playing, and everything was numb. My hands. My heart. There was no more pain, but not much joy either.

I closed my eyes, escaping the stares of everyone in the room, and started strumming the opening chord. I’d listened to the band’s songs so many times I could play them by memory alone.

When Brodie started singing, I gave myself over to it. It wasn’t a concert stage, but sitting here, surrounded by these insanely talented musicians? It was as good a place as any for me to launch myself back into the mystic, otherwise known as music.