Outsider (50 page)

“So
guitar . . .” Gary said as he came to stand next to Trey. Ethan
immediately took two side steps to put appropriate bro-space between himself
and Trey. “Is that your only musical background?”

“Yep,”
Trey said, realizing Gary was trying to find common ground with him. Music was
probably the only interest they shared a love for. Well, that and his daughter.
“I started with folk music.”

Gary
crossed his arms, his gaze trained on Reagan, who had taken a seat with her
instrument and was adjusting a microphone in front of the strings. “Interesting.”
He didn’t sound interested in the least.

“My
friend Eric plays every instrument known to man,” Trey said.

“I’m
sure you’re exaggerating,” Gary said.

“Not
really. I’ll introduce you to him. He has an unusual fondness for music
teachers. He’s convinced one saved his life.”

“So
does this Eric person play in an orchestra?”

“Naw,
he’s my band’s drummer.”

Ethan
snorted and covered up a laugh with a cough as Trey went from golden boy to
enemy with that omission.

Gary
crossed his arms over his chest and said, “I see,” in a clipped tone.

Ethan
smiled as his mother joined them.

“Someone
told me Reagan will play cello for us,” Rosa said, giving her son a huge hug
and then embracing Trey as well. “So exciting.”

If
Gary thought it odd that she hugged his daughter’s fiancé and the man she was
supposedly cheating on him with, he didn’t indicate so.

“Uh,
Mamá, this is Reagan’s father, Gary Elliot,” Ethan said. “Mr. Elliot, this is
my mother, Rosa Mendez.”

Gary
nodded at her. “Mrs. Mendez.”

“You
can call me Rosa,” she said with a welcoming smile.

“Nice
to meet you, Rosa. Reagan is quite fond of you.”

He
didn’t seem too happy about it. Perhaps because Reagan blew him off last
Christmas to spend the holiday with Rosa’s family. Or maybe it had more to do
with his apparent dislike of Ethan. He hadn’t looked directly at him since he’d
arrived.

“I
adore her. And I adore her cello.” Rosa sighed like a teenager in love.

Her
reaction drew a very small smile from Gary.

“How
was your breakfast?” Ethan asked. “With Butch.”

“Very
nice. He makes me laugh.”

Further
details of her date were forgotten as Exodus End finally started playing the
acoustic version of “Bite” onstage. Reagan’s accompanying cello was so
haunting, it made the skin the length of Trey’s spine tingle. The fairly simple
riff that Max played was echoed with an extra triplet by Reagan on cello. When
the band reached the solo, she really cut loose, adding her special blend of
classically inspired metal music to the familiar string of notes. Dare stopped
playing midsolo to gawk at her. A measure later, the rest of the band was
staring. When Reagan recognized she was the only one still playing, she stopped
and lowered her bow, looking at each of her bandmates in turn.

“Too
much?” she asked. “Sorry. I’ll tone it down a bit.”

“No,”
Dare said immediately. “You keep doing what you’re doing. I didn’t mean to stop
playing. I just wasn’t expecting . . .”

“She
plays so beautifully,” Rosa said, dabbing at one eye with her sleeve.

“And
she gave it up to play rock music,” Gary said.

As
they replayed the solo, it was obvious to Trey that she hadn’t given up
anything. She’d found a place where her two loves could converge. About halfway
through the dueling solos—on cello and acoustic guitar—Sam strode across the
stage. When Reagan noticed him standing over her, she stopped playing again and
stilled her strings with one hand.

“Why
do you bother with guitar when you play cello like that?” he asked.

“Precisely!”
Gary said, throwing his hands into the air.

Well,
that was
exactly
what Reagan needed—Sam and Gary ganging up on her.

“I
can play both,” Reagan said, straightening her shoulders. “And well.”

“
Well
?”
Sam shook his head. “You’re a goddamned prodigy, kid. When you’re finished with
this little stint with Exodus End, I can make you a star with that sound. It’s
like nothing I’ve ever heard before.”

“Actually,
there’s already a metal band that has cellos. Three of them.” Reagan drew her
bow across her strings as if to punctuate her claim.

“But
they don’t have accompanying guitars. And they aren’t a beautiful woman. And
they sound orchestral. You sound
metal
. How do you do that?”

“Sam,”
Steve called from behind his drums. “Get off the stage. She doesn’t want what
you’re offering. Trust me.”

Reagan
shrugged and while Trey couldn’t know what she was thinking, he was sure she
didn’t want Sam directing her career. Sam probably could make her a star, but
she’d be miserable. She was a free spirit, and Sam was a dictator.

“So
I’m assuming you’re going to let her play this with us tonight,” Max said.

“Of
course. Keep practicing. I have some phone calls to make.”

“What
I wouldn’t give to hear that man’s phone calls,” Ethan said under his breath.

“Play
more!” Rosa called to Reagan, who smiled and waved at her.

Trey
was so enraptured by the new sound Reagan was creating with the most famous
metal band in existence—he might be a bit partial—that he didn’t know Ethan had
vanished until the band decided to take a break. All five of the band members
were talking at once as they shared ideas on ways they could incorporate the
unique cello sound into other songs.

“The
fans won’t like their favorites altered,” Max was saying, “but we have some
lesser-known songs we can add to the encore.”

“Please
say you mean ‘Under the Bridge,’ ” Reagan said, her hands clasped at her chest.
“I love that song. I know it was never a hit, but it’s my absolute favorite.
And it would serve acoustic well. Or maybe Dare and Logan could play electric
and Max could play acoustic.”

“I
think I can handle that riff on electric,” Max said. “You can take the fast
parts on cello.”

Reagan
beamed and nearly flattened him with a tackle hug. Max chuckled and squeezed
her almost as hard as she squeezed him.

While
the band hashed out how they’d play the song—they’d never played it live
before—Trey leaned toward Rosa. “Where did Ethan go?”

Rosa
turned to the space where he’d been standing a few minutes earlier and then
shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe the bathroom?”

Maybe.
Or maybe he was figuring out what Sam was up to.

Ethan
stayed a dozen steps behind Sam as he trailed him through the backstage area.
It kept him out of Sam’s sight, but at the same time it made it difficult to
hear everything the man said into his phone. Not too difficult, though, since Sam’s
voice carried rather well through the echoing concrete labyrinth behind the
backstage area.

“The
idiot got himself caught,” Sam was saying into his phone. “I told you to keep
him away. He’s easily recognizable. And now they know we’re related.”

Sam
had to be talking about his ridiculous nephew, but who was he talking to? Sam stopped
at a hallway intersection and looked both directions. Ethan shifted into a
shadowed doorway just in case Sam happened to glance behind himself. Sam turned
to the right, and after a moment, Ethan started after him again.

“. . . every
media outlet in the area,” Sam was saying when Ethan was within earshot again.
This corridor was empty and had tile floors, so he had to tread lightly. “We
don’t have time to pull much together here, so work on national media attention
for the Grand Rapids show.”

Ethan
stopped moving when Sam paused to listen. He’d surely hear footsteps following
him when his voice wasn’t booming. Luckily for Ethan, the man was a loud talker
and a terrible listener.

“Yes,
I know that’s the same day the next paper comes out,” Sam responded. “But now I
think there’s a better way to get rid of her.”

It
took every shred of Ethan’s self-restraint not to confront Sam right there. He
was
trying to get rid of Reagan and he
was
associated with the tabloid in
some way. Sneaky lying bastard.

Sam
turned unexpectedly and reached for a doorknob. Catching Ethan out of the
corner of his eye, he spun in his direction. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking
for the bathroom,” Ethan said. “This place is a maze.”

Sam
squinted at him. “Were you following me?”

“Were
you talking about Reagan just now?” Hell, Ethan was already caught. He might as
well get some answers. “If you want her to go, just tell her. You don’t have to
hurt her to get her to leave.”

“Why
would I want her to go?” Sam smiled. “Record sales are finally on the rise.”

“That’s
probably because the band is touring and promoting themselves into an early
grave right now.”

Sam
opened the door. “Those efforts are local. Big impact on a few people. In this
day and age, you have to think globally.”

Before
Ethan could ask him what the hell he meant, Sam entered the room and closed the
door behind him. Ethan rushed forward and pounded on the door. “I’m not
finished talking to you.”

“I’m
finished talking to you. Go guard Reagan or do something equally useless.”

Ethan
tried the knob, but the door was locked. He supposed he could camp out across
the threshold and wait for Sam to emerge. Or maybe he should share what little
he’d learned with Trey and Reagan.

But
when he made his way backstage, he didn’t have the heart to lessen their joy.
Everyone was certain they were on to something big with Reagan’s cello-playing,
and Ethan was sure Sam would figure out a way to twist that into some
promotional endeavor. And maybe that was okay. At least this had something to
do with music rather than Reagan’s personal life. He didn’t think she’d mind
being famous for being talented.

“Where
did you disappear to?” Trey asked.

“I
followed Sam. Overheard him talking on the phone. We can expect another tabloid
to be released next Monday.”

“It
will be all about our engagement,” Trey said, patting Ethan on the chest.

Ethan
wasn’t so sure.

By
the time the concert started that night, Exodus End had rehearsed the two new
additions to their set list half a dozen times. The acoustic version of “Bite”
and the slightly altered metal version of “Under the Bridge,” accompanied by
Reagan on cello, had everyone pumped for the show. The bands, the crew,
security, and hell, even the food stand workers were talking about it. Mad Dog,
the head sound guy, was so ecstatic to have a new sound to fiddle with that he
was humming show tunes—mostly “One” from
A Chorus Line
—under his breath.
Reagan had finally found her own place in the band. Not just as a replacement
for Max, but her
own
place. Ethan didn’t stop smiling until a horde of media
vultures showed up right before they were set to hit the stage.

Ethan
wasn’t sure what Sam had arranged, but not only was the press box overflowing
with reporters, there were also dozens of them in the wings, on the floor
between the crowd-control barrier fence and the stage, and milling around the
backstage area. They kept asking each other and anyone who looked like they
might have a little inside information what was happening, but no one knew a
thing, and anyone who knew wasn’t about to share their information with the
press.

Ethan
expected Reagan to look positively green with nerves, but there was an
unexpected air of confidence about her as she was asked, cajoled, and downright
harassed about the surprise “big event” the members of the press were there to
cover. Ethan guessed she wasn’t worried that she’d fuck up. She’d played in so
many cello competitions, the pressure didn’t rattle her at all.

As
usual, the band entered the stage from beneath the floor, rising up from the
depths in a mood-enhancing show of lights and fog, thudding drums, heavy bass,
and wailing guitars. As a member of the security team, Ethan was on high alert.
There were more people backstage and around the front of the stage than usual.
Even if the press wasn’t a physical threat to the band, someone who might be
could blend in with that crowd. He also kept an eye on his vertically
challenged mom, who was doing her best to see through the crush of bodies
around her. Even if she’d worn a size 18 shoe, standing on tiptoe wouldn’t have
elevated her high enough above the crowd.

“I
can put you on my shoulders,” Ethan teased.

Mamá
covered her chest with one hand. “No. It’s okay. I’ll just listen.”

When
the opening song came to an end, Max spoke to the crowd.

“Good
evening, Little Rock! How are you feeling tonight?” The audience cheered on
cue. Max extended an arm toward Reagan to draw the crowd’s attention to her. “Our
talented lady on guitar hails from just outside Little Rock, so this is her
home turf.”

“It’s
good to be home!” Reagan said into a microphone, waving at the crowd with both
arms and adding an excited series of hops that made Ethan hungry for some alone
time with her.

The
crowd went insane over seeing one of their own on stage.

“I
promise she has a surprise for you a little later, but for now we’re going to ‘Bite’
you with the original.”

As
the band performed, most of the members of the press were talking about the
surprise they’d been promised. Ethan wanted to punch them all in the throat so
they’d have no choice but to shut the fuck up. Trey found him in the wings
trying to glare a hole into the forehead of a particularly noisy reporter.

“How
was Reagan before she went onstage?” Trey asked, standing on tiptoe to get a
glimpse of the stage over the sea of heads.

“She
seemed fine to me. Better than fine. Like she was in her element.”

“There
were so many reporters around her, I couldn’t wish her luck,” Trey said. He
waved at someone, and Ethan recognized Mr. Elliot at the stage margin. Either
he didn’t see Trey’s greeting or he was ignoring him. Mr. Elliot had his
complete attention focused on Reagan and was scowling at either her suggestive
attire or the fact that she was rocking out on electric guitar. Maybe both made
him cranky. Trey lowered his waving arm and wrapped it around Ethan’s mom,
who’d given up on being able to see long ago.

“Are
you enjoying yourself?” Trey asked her.

“It’s
loud!” she yelled. “You play loud too. But good job.”

Trey
chuckled and squeezed her. “That’s the same thing my mom says when she comes to
a show.”

While
the band performed their usual plugged-in version of “Bite,” Reagan, Max, Dare,
and Logan had to perform near the front of the stage while avoiding the gaping
holes in the floor. Out of sight beneath the stage, the stage crew was
scrambling to set up their acoustic equipment on the platforms on which they
usually made only their initial stage entrances.

After
the song ended, the band dashed for the stage wings. Technicians plowed their
way through the throng of onlookers to collect instruments while the security
team cleared the steps and a path for the musicians to make their way beneath
the stage for a second entrance. Ethan smiled when Reagan gave her father a
hasty hug as she passed. He, Trey, and Mamá were too far away for her to see,
but she did seem to be looking for familiar faces in the throng of strangers.

The
audience began to speak in hushed whispers, and then there was a collective
gasp as all the lights went out and the stadium was bathed in absolute
darkness. From a security standpoint, complete darkness was a nightmare, but
its effect on building excitement was unmatched. The mechanism beneath the
stage groaned as two guitars began to play the much slowed intro to the
acoustic version of the song. Max and Dare—seated on stools—slowly rose out of
the floor together, playing a series of chords in harmony. Steve’s drums and
Logan’s bass soon joined to fill in the undertones, and then the haunting but
rapid notes of a cello filled the stadium, increasing the tempo of the song to
its usual furious pace. They carried the intro for several measures longer than
usual, and the crowd went wild as Reagan was propelled from the stage floor,
bowing her cello as though she was at war with it. Camera flashes were going
off everywhere, and there was no stopping the reporters from crowding onto the sides
of the stage. At least no one rushed the performers. Ethan wasn’t against
tackling someone to keep the band safe, but he’d much rather allow himself to
be carried away by the song. Toward the end, Max’s voice faded first, followed
by the drums and bass, and then the guitars, until Reagan was playing alone.
She slowed the repetitive riff. Slower. Slower. Slower still. Until the song
faded into oblivion on one final haunting note.

Reagan
lifted her bow overhead, and the audience erupted into explosive applause. She
looked so happy in that moment that Ethan’s heart constricted. This was what
he’d wanted for her all along—pride in her talent, a place to shine, acceptance
of deserved accolades, and overwhelming joy in her music.

He
and Trey exchanged proud smiles. The urge to draw him close overwhelmed Ethan
to the point that he had to shove his hands deep into his pockets.

“Ah!”
Mamá said, tears sparkling in her eyes. “Our Reagan, she is a keeper.”

Ethan
laughed. “We definitely won’t let her get away.”

*****

The
surprise performance made Reagan an overnight sensation. Fans weren’t the only
ones who’d gone nuts over the two new songs in the set list. “Under the Bridge”—a
song previously overlooked by all but the biggest Exodus End fans reached the
number one spot on iTunes in under twelve hours. Reagan’s unique style of
playing had been featured on TMZ, and was the buzz on every radio station in
the nation. The press had even interviewed her father about her classical music
background. Fan-recorded cellphone videos were getting millions of hits on
YouTube. The only person who seemed happier than Reagan about all the
recognition was Sam. Ethan was starting to think he’d been wrong to assume Sam
was purposely trying to hurt Reagan. It seemed she really was just a publicity
stunt to him and that nothing he did was personal. He’d put her through
scandals for attention and now that her reputation was recovering, he was
putting her talent in the spotlight, again for attention. Apparently Sam didn’t
care if she was attracting negative publicity or positive publicity, not when people
were noticing. Even those who had scarcely noticed Exodus End were enamored.
And with recognition came a tide of creepy guys Ethan was forced to keep at
bay. Trey wasn’t the only man who’d proposed to Reagan in the last couple of
days. More than a few fans had declared undying love outside the arena after
the concert, and when the band had toasted Reagan at an impromptu after-concert
bar hop, a couple of locals had tried to approach her, stars in their eyes.