Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(21)

He wasn’t quite sure when that had changed.

“Melissa, right?”

She nodded. “What song do you want to hear, Melissa?”

“‘Too Still’. It’s my favorite.”

His eyebrows shot up. “We rarely play that one.”

“I know. That should change.”

He grinned and lifted her hand to his mouth. “You got it.” He spun on his butt and stood. “Think you can make that happen?” he asked Nick. It was his song.

Nicky grinned and the achingly dark chords flowed out into the darkness. Simon swiped his hand down his dripping chest and caught a towel that came sailing from the side stage. He wiped off his mic and then his chest before dropping it at his feet

The long intro melted into lyrics that were one with the darkness of Carson and their past. He snapped his mic into the stand and fell into the old and felt it juxtapose with the new.

The growth of them as a band instead of loosely connected musicians forced into accepting an amalgam of Nick’s vision over theirs. In the early days of Oblivion, Nick had been the principal songwriter and he was damn good.

But it was a sad song of being alone. And none of them were alone anymore.

When he finished the song, he gave Melissa a thumbs up. “That was a nice trip down memory lane. But I think we need to kick it up a notch, yes?”

He lifted his hand up and fingers splayed as their single started. “Sugar Kiss” with the dirty lyrics that had culminated into a hot video he’d never thought they’d do.

But it fit.

The pieces of Gray and Jazz and the band as it was now.



Up against the wall

Or on the floor

I’ll take what I need

Anytime at all



He dredged up the sinewy vocals reminiscent of Axl Rose’s good years and added the sex dripping honey. He dragged his hand down his chest and to his belt as he ground his hips against the mic stand with a laugh before unhooking his mic and kicking the stand out of the way.

The rest of the set flew by with the last of the new songs from the album until they had to play their biggest hit. The epic flavor of “The Becoming” was something he’d been dreading the entire night.

He’d ignored Margo as long as he could.

She’d played on the outskirts and came into the center stage with Deacon during one of their new songs that she’d been a part of, but this is where it had all begun.

This was where he’d fallen.

Picking up those pieces again required all his concentration. He turned to Margo as Deacon’s bass teased out of the smoke and strobing lights.

Her bow sliced out of the night. The silvered edge caught the light and he was lost. He sang to her and only her. They circled each other, the echoing lyrics bleeding into her strings.

Jazz stood in the back as the drums acted as a heartbeat to match Deacon’s bass. She sung the verse under his chorus. The new addition to the song that they’d practiced at the end of the last tour.

That had made the song theirs instead of the soundtrack version it had started out as. Her sweet, pure voice soared and his seedy darkness quivered under the bass line.

Then there was Margo.

The final piece.

The bombastic part they hadn’t ever had on stage.

Instead of allowing the crowd a break, a breath—even a moment—to recover, the seesawing bow of Margo’s instrument slipped into the iconic start of “Kashmir”.

The first verse was hers.

She owned it and he had no choice but to give it to her. Until the “Oh”s of the song started. He shut out that intense stare. The too big eyes and their swimming emotion. Emotion which was usually veiled under polite indifference.

This Margo was the one who’d come to him in that booth.

He backed out of the moment, returned to the front of the stage, and rocked out to the song that they killed.

The rehearsal had been magic.

The reality was hedonistic.

When the lights went down and the crowd screamed for more, Simon stumbled back to his band mates for the bows.

Escape.

He needed it.

He jumped into the crowd and led the charge to the bar with a war cry for booze. He needed to be away from her and the voodoo that was them in the middle of a haze of music.





* * *



Margo escaped to the backstage area after the show. She just didn’t fit in with the band dynamic. Jazz was in the center of them all like a happy puppy.

Simon had escaped like a demon was on his back. The fearless way he jumped into the crowd and onto the lighting rig had stalled her heart a few times. She didn’t know if he had absolutely no regard for his safety or he was just that confident in his surroundings.

All she knew was that her corset was pinching every rib and she was so very tired of only taking half a breath.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Margo stopped at the side door. “Backstage to change.”

“No, you are going to mingle.” Her sister hooked her arm through hers and dragged her down the side stairs to the ground floor.

“I can’t breathe in this thing, Juliet.” She was tired and exasperated and just uncomfortable enough to snap at her.

Juliet’s eyebrows shot up. “Feisty. I like it.”