“So, what happened with that Savvy chick? You seeing her again?” Crisis asked as he came out onto Logan and Emily’s patio, holding two beers. He passed one to Ream then cracked the cap on his and the bottle hissed. “You talk to Brett about hiring her?”
He knew damn well I hadn’t, but Crisis loved to press buttons, and he’d found my button—Savvy. I’d gone to Compass the other night and talked to Brett about her, but it sure as hell wasn’t to hire her.
I’d arrived just as Brett was arguing with Frankie about some girl in a flashy blue outfit who had danced in one of the cages when the paid dancers went on break. Frankie wasn’t happy about it, but Brett was more lenient and wanted her found so he could talk to her.
My guess he wanted to do a lot more than talk. I saw Greg escorting the girl out of the club and decided to end the argument by asking Greg to bring the girl upstairs.
But it never happened. Greg called me back and said she’d taken off. That was when I swore I saw Savvy on the dance floor. But in the crowd and dim lighting, I couldn’t be sure. Before I could do anything, she was gone.
Crisis swigged his beer then set it on the patio table. “What’s the story with her?”
“No story.” But there was a story.
When I thought of Savvy, it was like peering through a stained glass window. A multitude of beautifully ornate colors that didn’t allow me to see to the other side. Nothing was clear and defined when it came to my emotions with her. But fuck, it was beautiful.
The issue was I liked clear and defined, and she fucked with that. And why it was better she stayed away from me.
“There’s a story,” Ream said under his breath.
“The story is we need to decide about our next tour,” I said.
We were at Logan’s having a band meeting. Richard was on my case about touring, and we never decided on anything until we discussed it as a group.
That meant we all had to agree or it was a no go.
This royally pissed off our manager, Richard, as he thought we should do whatever he thought was a good idea.
“We have to decide this today,” I said, looking at each of the guys. “We do another charity concert in October. We all agree on that?”
Everyone nodded, except Logan who wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he stared at the surface of the pool. Tear, Emily and Logan’s German shepherd, lay at his feet snoring, but one eye flicked open once and a while as if to make sure Logan was still there.
I continued, “We finish the album in the next eight months then go on tour.”
“Fuck, man. I’d rather talk about that chick you’re interested in,” Crisis said. “And we’ve done enough tours for a while.”
Crisis didn’t want to leave Haven, especially since she was pregnant and by the time we went on tour, she’d have had the baby. But touring after an album released was good business, and the fans liked to see us in concert.
Ream slowly turned his beer on the table. “Kat’s art gallery is expanding next year. I’d like to be around to help her out, and we’re trying to have a baby.”
Crisis shifted his chair, and the metal scraped the patio stones. “Richard can go fuck himself. We need a break from touring.”
Sitting back in my chair, leg casually resting over the other, I addressed Logan. “What do you think?”
He didn’t say anything and was still staring at the pool, his brows furrowed. Logan was the band, and it meant everything to him. He was originally the one who pushed us to go on tour. The underground fighting he’d done was to make money for us to actually tour in the first place.
I may deal with the business side of the band, but Logan was the glue. He kept every single one of us on the same page.
He also had a shit past, and a dad who was a hundred times worse than mine. He’d suffered a fuck of a lot emotionally and physically to save his girl, Emily, from the bastard’s sick sex trafficking ring.
There was nothing in this world Logan wouldn’t do for her. There was nothing he hadn’t done. And from the look of his dark, anguished eyes, whatever was bothering him had to do with Emily.
“Logan?” This was from Ream.
Logan dragged his gaze away from the pool and looked at each of us.
Fuck. It was bad. “What’s up?” I asked him.
Crisis and Ream looked from me to Logan, instantly aware that this wasn’t about touring.
“Eme had a miscarriage,” Logan said.
“Christ,” I said.
“Shit. Is she okay?” Ream asked.
Logan nodded. “It was a couple of weeks ago, but….” I stiffened, not liking he waited so long to mention it. His jaw clamped and his eyes grew dark. “It scared the shit out of me.” We were silent as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “I found her in the barn on the floor and… the blood.” Logan closed his eyes. “Fuck, I thought I was going to lose her.”
Jesus. “What did the doctor say?”
Logan sighed. “The doctor wants to run tests, but”—he lifted his head—“I won’t risk her life for a baby.”
If anything happened to Emily, it would destroy him, and I suspected he’d never come back from that. Not after what they’d fought in order to be together.
There was silence for a few seconds, just the sound of Tear as he rose and walked to the pool and lapped at the water.
I pushed my beer aside. “Family first. No tour next year. We’ll write songs. Record. A few local charity concerts.”
Crisis nodded. “Sounds good.”
“Yep,” Ream said.
“Thanks, guys,” Logan said. “We can talk to Matt and do a few shows at Avalanche through the year. And at Molson Amphitheatre.”
Molson Amphitheatre was downtown Toronto. It was an outside venue with the cheap seats on a massive grass hill. When we were in our late teens and a struggling band, we’d been there countless times to see concerts.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll tell Richard the news. Tomorrow. I don’t feel like dealing with his bullshit today.”
Crisis slapped his palm on the table. “So, are we going to see this concert crashing chick around?”
I stiffened, not liking him calling Savvy a chick. Fuck, she wasn’t some chick.
She’d never been some chick.
“No.”