Bo & Ember (6 page)

Bo and I often acknowledged with each other that second chances in the entertainment industry were rare, and if we were granted something bigger than what we were doing now, we were going to take it.

As my dad plucked the strings of his banjo with fervor, and sweat from Regan’s forehead splashed in the glow from the spotlight, I grabbed the mic from its stand and danced.

They tell us the past is never far behind

That ghosts ahead are what the signs all read

I’ll take the road less travelled

The one you paved with regret

For me…

While bluegrass wasn’t a style I was usually comfortable with, I loved the contradiction of the fast beats and the heavy lyrics. And, fans over the last several months seemed to favor these kinds of songs over our others.

The whole band was involved in this song, and by the time I worked my way over to Bo's stool, using the stage to spread out my nervous energy, it was time for his entrance. I placed my hand on his shoulder as he looked up at me, and whistles and cheers fluttered through the crowd as we started the chorus again.

It’s time for a goodbye

No time for a hard cry

I don’t mind,

But honey,
don’t haunt my dreams…

The humidity stuck some of my hair to my back and chest as I leaned forward to kiss Bo after we finished the lyrics, and he, Regan, and my dad raced the song to its close. My mom worked her slim hips into sensual curves as she shook the hell out of her tambourine, Mags held a beautiful, high note on her flute, Solstice’s shoulders moved gracefully as she struck the keyboard, and Michael worked the bass drum with vivid intensity with his right foot as he strummed his guitar.

By this point, the crowd was on their feet, clapping and dancing. Living the music through their bodies, just the way it should be. Watching the crowd’s response filled me with a joy that I knew was branded into my DNA. Aside from my wedding night—and anything involving Bo—there was no more beautiful sight in the world than people
feeling
music that I helped create.

While I didn’t tend to focus on specific faces in the crowd, because that could cause me to stumble over my own concentration, I searched for Willow. She was supposed to be there with Beckett, and, sure enough, I spotted them near the pool at the edge of the garden.

Willow was moving her ethereal body along with the rest of us and the audience in a flow that looked so much like her mother’s it was nearly distracting. Beckett was watching and nodding along with the beat, talking with two people to his right. I recognized Jan Lieberman from the night before. She and Beckett seemed to know each other pretty well, given the casual and friendly facial expression Beckett wore. I didn’t recognize the woman standing next to Jan. She was much younger and incredibly attractive. Beckett thought so too, based on the mere flickers of eye contact he afforded her. He always wanted women to
want
him to look at them.

And he was good at making that happen.

I made my way back to center stage and met Journey at our original spot so we could sing the last note together. After holding the long, high note, and reveling in the praise roaring throughout the crowd, Journey and I smiled at each other and hugged tightly.

She kissed my cheek with the tenderness of a mother, and spoke in my ear. “You were on fire tonight, sweetness.”

“Thanks to you,” I complimented back.

I was thrilled to be singing with Journey. She had a slightly deeper voice than I did, and harmonizing with her was always a blast.

Mags joined us at the front of the small stage and kissed her partner before the rest of the group joined us for our bow.

Journey and Mags had been a mainstay in my life for as long as the rest of The Six. It was of no surprise to me ten years ago when they found themselves in love. I’d watched them in other relationships in their lives, including Mags’s brief marriage to the male lead singer of another band they traveled with frequently. That those two women remained friends all of these years and found love right where they’d been all along was always particularly precious to me.

After we took our final bow, Jan Lieberman slid over to my mic, announcing the two-hour break in the afternoon before the evening performances were slated to start. As a matter of habit, I turned and started helping to pack up our instruments. Before I got very far, Jan tapped me on the shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt, November,” she said with an endearing smile. The kind that lures you in. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

I was grateful my pulse was already faster than usual from the performance adrenaline rush, or I’d have felt faint from the fresh batch of nerves her request presented.

“Sure.” I nodded and kept my stage smile at full wattage.

“Bo? Regan? Can you follow us?” Jan called over my shoulder.

Bo slid a casual arm around my shoulder. “Nice high note at the end.” He grinned and bit his lip, which made me want to drag him back to the RV.

“Not so bad yourselves, boys. That was a great set.” I eyed Regan who had the same post-performance look on his face I always did. Dazed. Bo was always full-throttle energy. Regan and I usually needed a nap.

Jan briefly looked back over her shoulder. “That was one of the most lively shows I’ve seen in a long time. Great crowd involvement.”

She walked us over to where Willow and Beckett were standing. They were still talking with the younger woman, who I was able to get a clear picture of as we got closer. She was taller than Willow, who was 5’10”. A quick look at her feet told me she was probably six-feet tall, since she was wearing sparkly ballet flats. Her hair was blonde and professionally thick. The kind of thickness you’d see on a network news anchor.

She turned toward us and smiled as we approached. “Well, here they are now!”

Her smile got impossibly bigger as her unapologetically rich southern accent took over the airwaves.

“Hello.” I stuck out my hand. “I’m N—”

“November Blue Cavanaugh.” She took my hand gingerly and arched her right eyebrow. My name sounded entirely different coming from her lips. It felt like I was seated on a porch swing sipping sweet tea.

“Yes.” I nodded politely, shooting a quick glance to Willow, who gave me a quick wink.

“I’m Yardley Honeywell.” She tilted her head to the side, like she was waiting for her name to sink in.

That was going to take a long time.

I know it seems hypocritical for me to bat a single friggen eyelash at anyone’s name, given I was named after words people learn in preschool, but, come on.

Always my saving grace, Bo spoke up. “Ms. Honeywell, it’s nice to meet you. Your family does some fantastic work over at GSE.” He took her hand and gave her a perfect business smile.

“You’re sweet, Mr. Cavanaugh.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Regan wipe his right hand on the back of his jeans before offering it up. Rosin could feel a little off-putting in the middle of a handshake if one wasn’t prepared for it, and Regan was always covered in the stuff.

Grounded Sound Entertainment.

I couldn’t believe the name clicked so fast, given I paid a fraction of the attention Bo did to the goings on in the industry side of the business. I remembered Bo and Regan talking the previous week about a list of possible labels that would be sniffing around
Live at the Vineyard
, and this was one of them. Bo had told me that Luke and Ginger Honeywell were grooming their children to take over, and one of their daughters had a particular interest in raw sound. She preferred musicians who could easily sing live, and—most importantly—could play instruments.

The only reason I picked up on this name and the others they talked about was because of the possibility of working with cool people who appreciated our sound, and what we were trying to do. Which was, largely, go back to basics. Voices. Instruments. That’s it.

The young woman who I was face to face with, however, wasn’t what I expected. Her face looked more pageant than festival ready, and her clothes were a confusing blend of casual and business. The ballet flats, a quite short black skirt and a white long-sleeved button down shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows and the top two buttons unbuttoned.

I decided I should close my mouth and watch her for a while.

“I was just talking with Willow and Beck…” Yardley talked at us about the things she liked about all of the other performances during the day.

I stopped listening when she said
Beck
, and his eyes shot to mine as she said it.
Beck
was a term used by two groups of people: people who’d known him in diapers, and people who’d slept with him. I was a rare member of both camps, but had specifically called him
Beckett
the previous evening to assert my position as far as his pants were concerned.

I wanted so badly to arch my eyebrow at Beckett, but I knew doing so would make him think I cared that he slept with Yardley, and I honestly didn’t. I don’t know why he’d want me to care, but his playful eyes and challenging smile told me he did.

“I want you three to come play for me tomorrow.” Yardley’s sure statement tuned me back into the conversation quickly. “I was able to call in a favor and snag some studio time.”

“Can we have a minute to talk about it?” Regan’s voice was confident and friendly, and Yardley returned a smile and a nod.

Jan hooked her arm through Yardley’s. “We’ll go over and get some wine while you all talk.”

Once they were out of earshot, Willow stepped closer to us. “What do you guys think?”

Bo ran a hand over his head and rested it on the back of his neck as he spoke. “Is she seriously wanting to listen to us or is she just playing with her parents’ money? I know a bit about both.”

I shot my eyes to Bo, focusing on the second half of his statement. I didn’t know what he was talking about and it made me a little uncomfortable. He remained focused on the conversation.

Beckett slid his hands in his pocket. “Good question. She’s serious. Grounded Sound is a big name, and while her brother and sister might entertain friends of friends, Yardley has a wicked business sense and doesn’t ever waste her time on something she’s not considering.”

“Beckett’s right,” Willow offered. “He’s the one who told me Yardley was on the prowl and had asked specifically about you guys. That’s why I called you to Sand Castle last night.”

“She was there?” I scrunched my forehead, trying to remember seeing her, but I couldn’t.

“Oh, shit!” Regan sounded like he’d had a revelation. “She was with that group of girls who came up to us, remember, Bo? She didn’t say much, or anything, but she was there.
That’s
why she looked familiar.”

I remembered Regan coming up to Georgia and me the night before, talking about girls who’d written a paper about him in school. I wasn’t paying a lot of attention, given I’d just run into Beckett for the first time in ten years.

Beckett nodded. “That was her. I asked her about those girls after and she said she didn’t know them, but followed them over to you when they’d finally worked up the courage to approach you. She liked your style. Both of you.” He pointed between Bo and Regan.

“Smart.” I nodded approvingly at her undercover tactics to get to know both the fans of the music she liked, and the musicians who made it.

Bo scratched his jaw then looked at me. “What do you think?”

“I think we should play for whoever wants to listen, don’t you?”

I’d spent the last year working tirelessly on developing my craft. Performing as much as I could, and practicing even more. I was so enveloped in training that I hadn’t spent any time at all researching the business side of things. I knew Bo’s business sense was enough for the both of us, so I silently let him shoulder that. I realized that was a slight misstep on my part; because I felt like I didn’t even have enough to stand on to make such a decision.

“I mean, she isn’t wasting our time, really,” I continued. “She’s here, and we’ve got that concert in a few days anyway, so
we’re
here. I just don’t see that it’s a loss on any front.”

Beckett put his hand on my shoulder. “Last night you spent a lot of time talking about how you didn’t know anything about
the business
. Playing for anyone who will listen? That’s all you need to know right now. Don’t underestimate yourself.”

I heard Regan chuckle way under his breath behind me.

Bo, however, spoke first. “Beckett, tell me a little bit about yourself. I know you DJ, but what’s your experience with labels?”

I didn’t hear any sort of posturing in his voice. Cool and collected, as always. One of these days I knew he was going to snap if he always kept it calm like that.

Beckett answered. “As I’m sure you know, my parents jammed with The Six a lot before we moved back east.”

The term “back east” irritated the hell out of me. Before he’d moved there, Beckett hadn’t been anywhere east of Wyoming.

“When I was at Colombia, I spent a lot of time in the underground music scene,” he continued. “That’s where I got my start at mixing music. While I followed local artists, every once in a while one of them would get picked up. I started keeping track of who went where and who had the most success and creative freedom. Soon, friends started seeking my advice as a non-benefitting party.”

“Impressive,” I cut in.

“Turns out there is some good that can come from hanging out in a bar all week.” Beckett winked and I laughed.

“What do you think, Regan?” Bo refocused the conversation.

“Let’s play for her. Give her something to write home about. Which reminds me. I’m not getting ahead of myself, or anything, but where is
home
for Yardley and Grounded Sound?”

Willow took the lead. “Her family is based out of Savannah, Georgia, but they’ve had offices and studios in both New York and L.A. for years. Her parents are ready to take a more behind-the-scenes approach, and are giving Yardley her choice of operations. Looks like she’s leaning toward New York, but she’s scoping prospects all over.”