Saved by the Music (Saints & Sinners Book 2) (2 page)

“You’re forgiven. Hey, you look like shit, Sam. When’s the last time you slept?” He knew how bad he looked—there was no denying it—he just wished she didn’t feel the need to remind him. He gave her his best smile, hoping it would dissolve the line of questioning she had coming for him.

“Always saying the kindest things. I’m fine, Trish.” The last thing he wanted to talk about was his dad, and how he’d gone without a good night’s sleep in months. That would open the door to a conversation he wasn’t ready to have.

He could see the wheels turning in her head. That was the thing about being best friends with a woman—she could always tell when he was full of shit. By the smile she gave him, it was clear they were going to have a nice chat at some point.

“We’ll talk about this later. You’re not getting out of this one.” He would never stop being thankful for this woman’s good grace. She knew all about his dad and the shitstorm that was his childhood, making her one of the few people with that insight into his life. But what he cherished most about her was that she never pushed him to talk about his feelings. She was happy just waiting for him to talk to her, and that meant more to him than she probably knew.

Jarrod came up from the studio right on cue, looking every inch the superstar he was in faded blue jeans and a worn-out T-shirt. “Hey, man, what’s going on?”

Sam smiled at the man sporting the “I haven’t slept more than an hour a night,” “new daddy” look that fit him so damn well.

“Sorry I’m late. Got caught up in the studio.” Sam watched Jarrod take Emma in his arms, hoping that one day he would be lucky enough to experience that kind of bliss.

“No worries. You got a new song?” He caught the glint of excitement in Jarrod’s eyes at the mention of a potential new song, and any doubt he had about them going back out on the road, and writing their new album, vanished. Jarrod needed this as much as he did, and that was enough for Sam.

He leaned back against the wall. “Yeah. It’s still pretty rough, but we can work on it later.”

“Sounds good to me. I can’t wait to get back out on that stage and play some new songs,” Jarrod said, kissing the top of Emma’s head.

Sam understood the feeling. Guys like them were built for the stage. They thrived on the high of the crowd, and they needed it to survive. For some people, music was a hobby, but for them it was who they were.

He looked around the room and smiled at the sight of everyone in the same place. Mike was the strong and silent type, but when he had something to say, you’d better watch yourself because he didn’t hold anything back. Austin was famous with the ladies, sleeping his way through the female population of every city they played in, unable to commit to a relationship because the one woman he ever loved broke his heart. Tyler went through the motions with a smile, and he would give anyone the shirt off his back, but the man had a dark side he rarely showed to anyone. And finally Jarrod, the man who seemed to have it all but didn’t have anything worth keeping until he’d pulled his head out of his ass and made his move with Trish.

These guys were Sam’s family. There was no denying they were all kinds of fucked up, but they were brothers nonetheless.

Within an hour, the meeting was done and Sam couldn’t be happier with how the new tour was looking. There was always pressure for a tour to be better than the last, just like any album, and he felt pretty good that this was going to top everything they’d ever done on the road. Keeping fans happy was all that mattered to him, but he knew their label and management would be happy with their ideas, as well.

When he saw that Trish wasn’t downstairs, he slipped through the living room and headed upstairs. He could faintly hear her voice singing in the air. He loved the woman, but God, she couldn’t sing to save her own life. Emma’s giggles warmed his heart though, and apparently she didn’t care that her mother was tone-deaf.

When he reached the nursery, he leaned against the doorframe and watched as Trish comforted Emma in the rocking chair.

“She’s lucky to have a mother who loves her like crazy.”

Trish looked up when she heard him, giving him a soft smile that said it all. “She’s so precious, Sam. It’s like holding a piece of your soul in your hands.” The ache in his chest grew bigger with every second he watched Trish with Emma. This was her moment though, and he wasn’t going to ruin it by bringing up unresolved issues from his past.

“She looks like she’s giving you guys a run for your money at night.” It was obvious the little darling was keeping her parents up, from Jarrod’s fatigued face to Trish’s dark eyes and pale skin, but they didn’t appear fazed by it at all. They seemed to be enjoying the joys of parenthood, as they should.

“That she is, but Jarrod’s been really good with her, so we’re making it work. Just be happy we have our own bus now, because this little angel has some pipes on her. She takes after her dad.”

“Hopefully, she gets her vocal talent from him and not her mother.”

Right on cue, Emma’s squeals echoed around the room, showing off said pipes.

“Hey, now, are you saying I can’t sing?” Trish’s face was lit up with a smile and a glow that he was happy to see.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Laughter filled the room and Emma joined in, unaware of what was going on but just happy to be rocked by her mom.

“You want to talk about whatever’s bothering you?”

He should have known she wouldn’t just let it go.

“It’s nothing really, just been having nightmares and I’m not sleeping well.” He shrugged it off like it wasn’t a big deal, but the concern on her face told him she wasn’t buying any of what he was selling.

“It’s not
nothing
, Sam. I know you don’t like to talk about it, and I respect that, but you’ve always been there for me no matter what I was going through. I’m here for you anytime you need to talk to someone—or get drunk with someone, if that’s what it takes. Does this have anything to do with the parole hearing that’s coming up next month?”

The idea that his dad might go free made him sick to his stomach. Sam knew that if released from prison, the man would do anything to get revenge, and he wouldn’t stop until he got it. “Honestly, I don’t know. You would think I’d be over it by now. Hell, it’s been over twenty years.”

“Sam, you never get over something like that. You learn to process what happened and you learn to live with it, but you never get over it.” She sounded so much like his therapist, telling him that no matter what he did, that fragment of his life would always be a part of him. But that didn’t mean it had to control his life. That was easier said than done, of course. Carrying the fear that if your own father ever got out of prison, he would come after you, never let you truly rest.

“When did you become a shrink?” He knew she was right, but a grown man shouldn’t still be having nightmares about something that happened twenty years ago, should he? No matter how many hours he spent on a sofa spilling his heart, or how many kids he helped off the streets, or how many gold records he hung in his studio, nothing ever made him feel like he could be saved from his own feelings.

“You rub off on people. What can I say?”

He smiled at her, remembering all those nights on the bus when they would stay up late talking about everything and nothing. He never would’ve expected the day would come when he would be the one needing the advice. Leaning over, he kissed her forehead and ran a finger over Emma’s stomach, making the baby giggle. For the first time in months, he felt like his life wasn’t falling apart. The power children held of making someone see the bigger picture was astonishing.

He smiled when Emma grabbed his finger, not letting go. “Smart-ass. I’ll be fine. I have to run. I promised Jackson I’d stop by the community center today.” He loved working with the kids at the center, and every time he was in town, he made sure to put some time aside for them. Whatever city they were in, he always tried to visit one. If he could change the life of at least one kid, some of the burden and guilt he carried seemed lighter. It made his past, and the hell he went through, seem relevant, like it happened for a reason.

“Those kids are lucky to have you in their lives.”

But it was the other way around for Sam. Talking with the kids and knowing that maybe, just maybe, he could help them gave him more peace than anything else.

“I wish I could do more to help them out,” he told her honestly. Maybe it was the time to talk to the guys about getting involved more, maybe donating some money as a band.

“I’m sure if you asked those kids, they would tell you that you do more for them than you think you do. You should talk to the guys about this, Sam. They’re your family. They would support you.”

Deep down in his soul, he knew she was right, but opening up to the guys about his past still scared the shit out of him.

“I’ll think about it. I have to go. Take care of my goddaughter.”

He kissed Emma once more before heading back downstairs. After messing around in the studio with Jarrod and getting some tracks down for the new song, he felt like his world had stopped spinning.

“You okay, man?” Jarrod asked him as they walked outside.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just working through some stuff.” He knew lying would serve no purpose, but being vague was the best he could do for the time being.

“I love you like a brother, Sam. You’re the one who made me see the light with Trish. I hate seeing you like this.”

“I’m fine, Jar. I have to run now. Catch you later.” He climbed in his truck, cranked up the radio, and drove to the one place on Earth he could be his fucked-up self.

When Sam pulled up to the community center, the first thing he noticed was the kids playing basketball on the new court he’d donated money for. There was a sense of accomplishment in knowing that, by making a small donation, he had the power to change someone’s life. That was the one thing he loved about having so much money—the ability to give back. He never understood people who had a lot but didn’t donate.

What’s the point of buying a bunch of stuff? It’s not like you can take it with you when you go.

He was almost at the front door when he heard someone yelling his name. Turning around, he saw Michael, a fourteen-year-old runaway who had been living at the center for months now. The kid reminded him so much of himself at that age, which was probably why Sam had grown so attached to him.

They had built a bond from the first time they met, and seeing how well the kid was doing was all the thanks he would ever need. “Hey, Michael, what’s up?”

“Just wanted to let you know that I got the hang of that track you gave me last week. Maybe we can play before you leave, if you have time.”

A few weeks back, Sam had given him a guitar and some chords to learn, and surprisingly, the kid was talented.

“Sure thing, buddy. I just have to talk to Jackson, but then I’m all yours.”

The kid would never say how happy he was, but his eyes gave him away. He shrugged, smiling at Sam like he was a hero. “Cool.”

Sam walked through the center, smiling at all the renovations and improvements he had managed to fund. It wasn’t much compared to what the staff was doing on a daily basis, but he did what he could to make their lives easier. Jackson’s office had a view of the entire center, so it didn’t surprise him when the man met him halfway.

“Hey, Sam, how are you?” The man worked eighty hours a week trying to give these kids the best chance possible. He was overworked and underpaid, yet he never complained, and that passion was what had drawn Sam to the center in the first place. He respected the hell out of him.

“I’m good. The place looks great.” He shook Jackson’s hand and walked beside him to the office, taking in the kids playing around the area.

“Thanks to you. That donation really saved us. I’d usually say it was too much money, but you won’t hear me complain this time. We really needed it.” He closed the door to his office and sat down behind his desk, looking exhausted.

“I’m just happy I could help. How are things looking?”

“Better, but the battle isn’t done. The state pulled our annual funding due to cutbacks. It’s happening all around the country. I don’t know how we’ll manage to stay open without it.”

A wave of disappointment and anger at the thought that these kids could potentially lose the one place that gave them a safe haven to just be kids hit Sam hard. “Shit, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

“Not unless you plan on funding fifty community centers across the country. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

On his drive home, Sam thought about what the man had said about funding the centers. Then it hit him that maybe, just maybe, he could convince the other guys to get involved.

ASHLEE

Ashlee sat in her small office, exhausted and drained of any energy her body could conjure up. Looking at the pile of files and paperwork on her desk didn’t help her fight the feeling that she was getting ridiculously close to a burnout. Running a small consulting firm was more work than most people could ever imagine, especially when your specialty was nonprofit work.

Eight years ago, when she started her company, she had high hopes that she could make a difference. To an extent, she had, but lately the drag of clients yelling at her and being angry at her for the state of the economy was taking its toll.

“Ashlee, are you okay?”

She looked at her assistant, Rebecca, who had been with her since the beginning, and she couldn’t even muster a fake smile.

“I’m just exhausted.” Ashlee ran her fingers through her hair, rubbing her scalp, hoping to dissolve the migraine building inside her skull. The last couple of weeks had been brutal, with extensive traveling and long hours to finish a client’s project on time.

“Maybe you should take a week off and recharge the batteries.”

She laughed at Rebecca’s words; she couldn’t even remember when she’d last taken time off.

“It’s not just the workload. It’s all the bullshit that comes with it. I feel like I’m drowning trying to make clients happy. I started this company to make a difference, and now I’m spending more time doing paperwork than helping people.”