didn’t trust him.
Trust wasn’t really the issue. She did trust him. It was the loss of control that really vexed her.
His career and hers were riding on this one performance. And she had no control over any of it.
It was absolutely terrifying.
But all she could do now was sit back, try to remember to breathe, and do her best to relax. It was all up to Jackson now.
The good news was that the crowd was super worked up. The local band had been great, and now, just the sight of Jackson walking across that stage had them in a frenzy.
Kendall could relate. The sight of him walking across the kitchen usually had her in a frenzy.
When he waved, took a seat on a stool behind the microphone that had been placed to his exact specifications (turned out Jackson was a little OCD about his mics), braced his guitar on his knee, and offered the audience a killer smile, they went bat-shit crazy.
She’d had no idea a crowd could be that noisy. Screaming and whistling and throwing things—was that a bra?—at the stage. It was pandemonium.
And Jackson was feeding off it. She could see it in the way his shoulders slowly relaxed, the way his smile finally reached his eyes.
“How y’all doin’ tonight?” he asked, his Southern drawl a little thicker than usual.
Again—pandemonium. And that was definitely a bra onstage.
When the cheers died down to a dull roar, he said, “I’m glad y’all decided to come out and see us tonight. What do you think—should I play something?”
Kendall had to cover her ears this time. She’d always assumed people wore ear protection to rock concerts because of the amps, but now she was starting to think it was because of the screaming crowds.
Jackson laughed. “All right, then. I’m gonna start off real slow, though, ‘cause it’s been a minute since I’ve been onstage. But you’ll be gentle with me, right?”
He winked at the crowd, and Kendall wasn’t exactly sure how many of them could see it, but she did, and it was ridiculously sexy. Add that to the subtly suggestive way he’d mentioned going slow and needing them to be gentle with him, and Kendall was surprised panties weren’t spontaneously combusting all over the place.
Hers in particular.
“I love you, Jackson!” a woman in the front row shouted.
I can relate to that, too, Kendall thought.
He just smiled easily, strumming a few test notes on his 12-string. “OK. Here it goes…”
Kendall held her breath as he picked out the first few discordant notes of Hurt by Nine Inch Nails.
It was a bold choice. Not usually a song anyone would think of as a crowd pleaser. But it was absolutely perfect for what he was trying to accomplish. If he wanted the job scoring a soundtrack for a film about the pain and ravages of drug addiction, Hurt was unbeatable.
Then he started singing, and she forgot all about why the song was a good marketing choice, because all she could focus on was his voice.
It wasn’t the voice of fifteen-years-ago Jackson Hale. This was something new. Every bit as technically proficient as he’d once been, but with the grit and gravel of age, time, and a little hard living in it. It was rough, beautiful, and intense. Completely moving, and sexier then Jackson had ever sounded.
And the emotion he put into the lyrics was nothing short of gut wrenching. This wasn’t just a cover song. He was taking the audience on an emotional journey.
Kendall wanted to look into the crowd to see how they were responding, but she was transfixed by Jackson onstage, pouring his soul out into that microphone, emotionally bleeding through those chords on the guitar.
By the time he reached the end, Kendall was furiously blinking away tears. Jesus. She’d never been moved to tears by a performance. What the hell was wrong with her?
The last note faded out into dead silence. You could hear crickets chirping in the fields, a dog barking in the distance, a car alarm somewhere in the designated parking area. It was that quiet.
That’s when Jackson opened his eyes, lowered his guitar, and looked out into the audience.
Kendall held her breath again. Was it possible they hated it? No. No fucking way. He’d been brilliant. She was going to be pissed if these dumbasses didn’t see how…
That’s when they snapped out of their stupor and started cheering. But cheering was really too delicate a word for this audience. They went wild—even louder than when Jackson came out