Say It Strong (Say You Love Me Book 2) (6 page)

“Confetti cannons,” I said. “Everybody take one.”

“What do they do?” Wes reached into the box and grabbed a big, black tube.

“You shove it up your ass.” My snark was in full-on mode tonight. “Bro, you’ve never seen one of these? When I say go, just twist and pull. Don’t point it at anyone. Just straight up.”

Wes, Corbin, Tuck, and I each raised a cannon, touching the tips in the center of our circle. Even gayer than the handholding, now that I thought about it. “Let’s do this. Let’s show them why we’re number one. Let’s give them what they came to see, boys. Motherfuckers, let’s murder this show. Ready? Go!”

Four simultaneous blasts of compressed air later, fireworks of colored paper strips exploded above us, raining down on our heads. The backstage crew clapped, cheered, and high-fived. I clapped at everyone watching, shook a few hands, and was keenly aware that I was looking for Cello Girl. I was hoping she’d see the blast.

“Guys, you’re on in sixty seconds,” Robbie said from behind a side panel.

We walked out single file in pure darkness, screams of fans reverberating throughout the venue. “POINT BREAK! POINT BREAK! POINT BREAK!” echoed all around. Always my favorite part, the calm before the storm. Taking my place at center stage, I closed my eyes and absorbed the potential energy about to turn kinetic.

I pulled the mic and cupped it around my mouth. “San Francisco…are you ready to feel the
buuuurrrrrnnnnn
?” More shouts, as the boys began the opening refrain, the seats trembled with anticipation, cameras flashed, and hundreds of glowing screens filled the stadium. This—this was what I lived for.

We rocked the first seven songs, and there wasn’t a single person in the house sitting down. Then, we began the ballad that had propelled us to number one for eighteen weeks in a row—
Save Me Tonight
. Wesley began his signature guitar riff, and soon, my ears flooded with a beautiful sound—a powerful, rising string section that gave the song that complex added layer I’d been hoping for. Whoa! So different from the studio version, but man, this was just what this baby needed.

Streaks of violet and yellow appeared as a curtain of light behind the string section, darkening them in a silhouette that reminded me of that old movie
Fantasia
. Bows of violins slid up and down, and hands gripping bass and cello shook in vibrato. Fucking beautiful. I put my heart into it as best as I could, the only way I knew how, and right when I hit my trademark falsetto note, the crowd went wild. I dropped to my knees at the front of the stage—a praying man at the altar of rock ’n’ roll. “
Save meeee toniiiiiight!
”

Roaring voices echoed along with me. We were one, our fans and us.

Then boom—silence.

The bridge that Corbin usually picked up on bass was being played by the smooth, deep, rich sounds of a single, tenor string instrument. I couldn’t see her face, only her darkened outline, but I knew it was her—Cello Girl—Abby, bowing and swaying, making sweet love to the song—my song. Abby, rocking a fucking cello like nobody’s business.

The crowd—my rock ’n’ roll minions—went crazy for her.

Them showing her love made me smile. When the lights came on, I let her see just how awesome she was with two thumbs up. At first she didn’t catch it, she was so absorbed in the solo, passionately bowing away, but when she looked over again, I hit her with the Liam Collier grin, and she nodded in recognition.

A nod, not a flirty smile like I was hoping. Just a nod.

Man, she’d be a tough nut to crack.

But suddenly it hit me like a fucking tsunami.

My life was crazy as fuck. She wasn’t a girl who would put up with it. I didn’t want to hurt her, and she deserved better than me. But none of that mattered anymore.

I wanted her. I wanted to get to know her better. I wanted in her bed, inside her.

I wasn’t going to play games. I’d explain to her how it was. I’d give her a choice with no promises or false expectations. I’d give her every opportunity to tell me to go to hell.

But I was going to do whatever I could to make sure she didn’t.

*

After the show ended, I searched for her. Not obviously searched—I still had to shake hands with people, take pics with celebrities, and meet the winners of various fan club contests, but I was always on the lookout. A gaggle of groupies nearly knocked me over, hugging and playing with my hair. “Whoa there, girls. I’ll see you in the back room later. I have to go do…just one thing…”

“We’ll see you later, Liam,” a familiar hot blonde chimed in with a wink. She wore short shorts and a glittery, white tube top.
Lord have mercy.
“Don’t be late.”

“Oh, I won’t.”

“Great show, buddy!” Robbie clapped me on the back. “And you were absolutely right about the string section. They sounded even better tonight than they did at rehearsal yesterday, and they were pretty awesome then.”

“Incredible. Really awesome. I’m like in serious shock.” I know I sounded facetious, but I totally meant it. And a twinge of guilt hit me just then, that I hadn’t been at rehearsal to hear it before the first show when the whole thing had been my idea.

“Good call, Liam,” he said. “Getting them was easy, too. Just called up Juilliard in NYC and said, ‘I need a few of your people.’” He laughed, pretending he was on the phone with his fingers.

“Fantastic,” I said, wiping my forehead with the towel someone handed me. “The girl who did the cello solo killed it.”

“Yes, she was great. Forgot her name.” Robbie tapped his forehead.

“Abby Chan,” I offered. A fair-skinned, raven-haired natural beauty. A girl who could tell Tucker to go to hell and still rock her classy string of pearls. Loved it!

Robbie eyed me like I was an alien who’d replaced the real Liam Collier. “Learned the driver’s name today and now the cellist’s? I’m impressed, Lee. Dare I say your twenty-second birthday has actually begun maturing you?” He smiled and smacked me on the shoulder.

I smacked him back. “I’ve always been good with names, Robbie.”

“Liam, we’ve had the same hair stylist for two years now, and you still call her Lisa.”

“Her name’s not Lisa?”

“Brenda.” He shook his head. “Let’s take one before I lose you for the rest of the night.” Robbie pulled out his phone for another pic, a selfie of the two of us. He was plump and Dad-looking next to me, but then again, he was forty years old. I hoped I was as awesome as he was when I was his age.

I posed on my good side, and in the screen, an image reflected back at me—Abby.

She strolled by with that other girl from the party, the tall, gangly one, and for one brief second, our eyes met in the phone’s back camera view. I spun around. “There you are!”

She paused, caught off guard. “You were looking for me?”

“Yeah, man! Way to kill it on those two songs. Awesome job, thanks.” I gave her a friendly punch on the shoulder.

Ugh, a punch, Liam, really?

“Oh, thank you.” She smiled. A polite smile, when I so desperately wanted to see her grin big because she simply liked me. “By kill it, you mean…”

“You rocked it. You were awesome. Fantastic!” I ran a hand through my hair, something I did when I was nervous, which I could tell surprised Robbie almost as much as it surprised me.

He gave me one last lingering stare, and when he realized I was too wrapped up in a conversation to finish taking the selfie with him, he winked at me and walked off.

“So…” I turned back to Abby.

She wore a classic long, black skirt and a white ruffly top. Not exactly a wicked outfit, but then again, she was under no obligation to follow any rules of rock. She played by her own. Still, maybe by the end of the tour, we could have all our orchestra dressing in leather jackets and miniskirts. The girls anyway. That would be sick!

“Thanks for the flowers, by the way,” she said, wringing her hands. “And the wine. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“Oh…hey…I know that. Just felt bad about what happened. Tucker was being a real dick.” I folded my arms over my chest, trying to look relaxed and cool when I was probably coming across as an idiot. What was it about her that had me reverting to a high school geek once again? I thought I’d shed that skin already.

“I just wanted to say…” She fumbled with her fingers. “I mean…you don’t have to do that again. I don’t mean this in a negative way, but…” She took a deep breath then let it out. “I’m not one of your…
groupies
.” She stressed the word like it was poisonous. “So, before you go thinking anything…you won’t be getting into my pants.”

Her tall friend tried to discreetly elbow her in the back, but I caught it.

I wiggled my eyebrows at Abby.

“Whoa. Meow!” My fingers curled into cat claws. Her concrete outer shell should’ve, for all intents and purposes, turned me off, but there was something sad about it, and it spoke volumes about what she must’ve thought of me. I guess rumors have their downside. “Hey, listen, I didn’t mean anything by it. I just wanted to say sorry and thanks. That was it, I swear. Can’t a guy do that anymore?”

“With a hundred-dollar bottle of wine?” She raised an eyebrow.

Recoiling, I scoffed. “Uh, Abby, listen, I swear I’m not trying to get into your pants.” Okay, given my determined thoughts earlier, that was a bit of a lie, but it was also a bit of the truth. I wasn’t trying to get into her pants right now, at least. I mean, I did want to get to know her better, not just fuck her. “But might I point out the obvious that, tonight, you’re wearing a skirt?” I chuckled at my own little joke.
Shit,
she was going to unload on me. I just knew it.

Abby Chan, cellist, was not having it.

At that moment, her friend held up her camera, trying to dispel the tension. “Can I get a pic of the two of you? That cello-vocals duet onstage was brilliant, eh?”

We turned toward her and smiled, just as two people photobombed us from behind with rabbit ears and bottles of beer clinging to their hands. Tucker and Helen. “Wassuuuup, dawg!” Tucker slammed me with his chest and put my head into a choke hold. “We killed it, bro!”

“Yes, yes, we did. Now let go of me, you idiot.”

“I guess I’ll see you later,” Abby said quickly, darting off before I could get two more words in.

“Hey!” I called out, but she’d already bailed. “Damn it.”

I’m sure she split because of Tucker, and luckily, he didn’t see Abby, being too drunk to notice, but Helen hung back, watching us a moment then slipping past me, leaning into my ear. Her words would haunt me the rest of the night, even as the party plowed on, and the booze flowed until the bottles were empty, and the groupies lay asleep all over the couches. “Don’t bother, Liam,” she said with an all-knowing smirk. “She’s not your type.”

And there it was. Even Helen could see that Abby was someone I shouldn’t mess with. That might be the case, but she was wrong about Abby not being my type. Maybe someone like her had never been my type before, but right now, she was the only type of woman I was interested in. Sexy but classy. Talented and fierce. A ball-breaker, yet someone who provided glimpses of vulnerability in a way that made me want to howl, beat my chest, toss her over my shoulder, and carry her off to the nearest cave.

God, I definitely had a thing for Abby Chan. The only question was what I was going to do about it.

Later that night, away from prying ears and eyes, after losing the paparazzi down a dead-end hallway, I slipped into a dark room, flicked on a dim light, and sat on the floor to call the one person I could when my life was going fucking haywire and I didn’t know what to think.

“Hey, buddy, how’s the tour going?” Garrick asked, laughter in the background. “Hold on, let me get away a second. We wrapped up filming a little while ago.”

“How’s that going?” I asked.

“It’s going great, man. Things are really starting to happen with Gwen. I can’t quite understand it myself, but I’m not going to question it. What’s up? You sound tense.”

“That’s great, man. I’m okay. I guess I’m starting down the same path as you.”

“What do you mean?”

“This girl on our tour. I think I like her,” I said, the words sounding foreign, but to my heart they were familiar. “I don’t know. It’s weird. We haven’t talked much, and one of two times, she blew me off, but I feel like I could get past her exterior if she just gave me a chance.”

“Which is weird for girls around you, my friend.”

I chuckled. It was true. Maybe that was why I felt attracted to her—just the fact that she was the opposite of the usual girls I went for. Well, that and her cello-playing onstage blew me away. “I don’t know. Am I making any sense?” I asked.

“Of course, Lee. Trust me, I get the whole opposites thing. Gwen and me? We shouldn’t work. But I’m crazy about her.”

“Yeah.” Maybe I was just tired, delirious after the show. I didn’t even know why I’d hidden in this room to begin with. “I’ve known you so long, I just…I don’t know…what the fuck should I do? I don’t want a repeat of what happened with Vanessa.”

On the other end, Garrick sighed. “If you like her, talk to her. And if she likes you, too, then just be fair, like you were to Vanessa. Nothing wrong with being up-front and honest. But I’m not there to see it, man. Has Tuck met her?”