Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(90)

Knowing he was about as likely to stay quiet now as he’d been while balls deep in Margo, he ripped off a strip and slapped it on his mouth.

Maybe that would help.

He charged onto the stage. Didn’t let himself think about the fact that he was just a face tonight. If he was going to be a clown or a f*cking monkey, he was going to be an amazing one.

As he skidded into the center of the massive stage, he lost his breath. The crowd was like a neverending bowl of faces. The stage was endless and they were almost insignificant to the perfection of the treeline and tradition of the campus.

Holy shitballs.

Deacon, Nick, and Gray came forward and Simon grabbed his box mic. As they surrounded him, he let the cord out until his mic dangled down between his legs. He looked down at it as it swayed then looked at Deacon, then at Nick, then back at the mic.

The crowd laughed and screamed.

Simon tapped his throat, then his taped mouth.

“See, this is the only way we can make him keep his mouth shut. Simon’s lost his voice because he doesn’t know how to shut up.”

Simon gave Nick a side eye glance and put his mic into the stand before setting his hands on his hips with a huge sigh.

“So, do you think it would be all right if this guy sang tonight?” Deacon asked in his super deep voice.

Gray stepped forward and zipped his fingertips along the brim of the Fedora he wore most nights—at least for the first few songs until it grew too f*cking hot. He peered up from the shadows of the hat and gave a shy smile.

The crowd lost it.

Simon’s belly jittered at the reaction. Jealousy gurgled like a geyser ready to blow. Forcing it down, he went behind Gray and clamped his hands on his shoulders, giving him a shake.

Jazz jumped off her kit, ran forward and gave Gray a kiss on the cheek, then handed Simon his marker board.

Simon looked down at the board and scrawled out three words. He looked around for the camera that followed them around for the big screens and held it up for the lens.



Don’t f*ck up.



The words filled the screen and the crowd ate it up. Gray bent at the waist and curled his fingers around the head of a regular mic. Not Simon’s mic. That one thing would not be allowed.

“No pressure,” Gray said in a low voice.

Simon shrugged and leaped into the archway above them as they went into the opening song. He climbed, he ran, he sweated under the lights.

He played the monkey.

He played the clown.

He died a little inside as Gray handled song after song.

Natural talent shone through the long, lean lines of him. Gray didn’t quite know how to handle singing instead of playing lead guitar. Nick had to pull extra solos and Margo was all over the stage with her cello or her violin.

She even pulled out her acoustic violin for the ballad “Finally” that suited Gray’s smooth voice. The utter quiet of the crowd as Gray sang his words, the ones he’d written and molded to fit Margo’s strings, drove him mad.

When they started the Renegade and Monster combo piece, Simon lost it. He launched himself into the general admission pit in the front.

The leap of faith left his heart exploding in his chest. They passed him back and forth from one end to the other. Security scrambled and he caught Lila’s shriek of outrage as she came off the side stage.

He waved at the band on stage. Jazz was standing at her kit, her eyes huge. Margo’s hand fell to her side with her bow dangling from her fingertips.

Then she lifted her violin and slid back into the song, but her eyes never left him. Three burly security guys came to the edge of the pit and helped him down. Simon ran up the stairs and waved at Lila as he bulleted to the middle of the stage and back up on his perch.

He shaded his eyes and looked out on all the perfection, hating that he couldn’t add his voice to the slice of history.

This place that showed just how far they’d come from the tiny clubs on The Strip to sold-out shows. This venue should be in the palm of his hand. Not Gray’s. It was his job to bring this all home.

The lights went down as everyone scrambled for instruments and towels, water and sports drinks. Anything to soak up energy for the encore.

They didn’t bother going down off the stage. Instead they all congregated into the center around him and dragged him into their circle.

This band.

This moment.

His life.

His dreams right here.

They waved and the night curled around him as they all went back to their stations. Simon ripped off his tape and switched on his mic.

Deacon’s moody bass flowed out and the cue taunted him. His cue.

The song that had been his since the studio. The one that had given him Margo.

The one that had taken her away.

Now, here in this perfect night, he opened his mouth and let instinct take him.

Gray and Nick looked between them. Nick ran to the side and snagged his other guitar. The layered and guitar-heavy song sounded exactly the way it was supposed to.

Nick and Gray passing back and forth between rhythm and lead, Deacon’s bass, Margo’s strings, and Jazz’s beat.

And his voice.

He kept it steady and didn’t go for the high notes, controlled it and felt his way through the verses and chorus, fought his way through the bridge, but he owned it.

As the epic end rushed forward, he followed it. And then something burst.