and I had both vetoed a couple of his drafts, but some of it had great potential.
If we could match them to a tune.
That’s where Nixon and I came in. Jonas had a gift with words. Nixon and I wielded the notes.
Jonas’s recent lyrics needed the right amount of love in the melody. They needed a hint of angst to keep them interesting and an edge to be rock and roll. Explaining what I wanted in each song was simple. Stringing together something tangible was proving to be a challenge.
Things had been so much simpler when he’d only written about sex.
Now that we had a break in our schedule, I was anxious to get home to Seattle, where I could hole up in my apartment and sit behind my piano until it clicked.
But first I’d spend a week in Montana saying goodbye.
I loathed goodbyes, so I avoided them.
Not this time.
The knot in my stomach tightened with every passing hour. When the pilot announced we were beginning our descent, I shot out of my seat, raced to the bathroom and puked.
“You okay?” Nixon asked, handing me a piece of gum as I emerged and took my seat.
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Sure?”
“Just nerves.”
Hell, I hadn’t been this nervous since Hush Note’s early days. I didn’t get keyed up before shows anymore, not after years and years of practice. Besides, the moments on stage were the best part of this life. Playing for thousands of people live or playing for millions of people on television, my hands never shook. My stomach was rock solid.
But this? Returning home to my family. Returning home for a funeral. Returning home to him.
I was terrified.
Nixon’s hand closed over my forearm once more, and he didn’t let go until the plane touched down.
“I don’t want to be here,” I confessed as we taxied across the runway.
“Want me to stay?” His eyes, clearer after his nap, were full of tenderness.
He’d stay if I said yes. He’d be miserable and bored, but he’d stay. A part of me wanted to use him as a buffer between me and my family, but his presence and fame would only make things harder.
My face wasn’t as recognizable on the street as his, and I didn’t get half of his attention because I wasn’t one of the guys. I wasn’t the lead on stage, singing into a microphone as I played a guitar. Nixon had been People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive three years ago. This year’s reigning man was Jonas.
The last thing we needed this week were swooning fans wanting autographs.
I wanted to get in and out of Montana without much fuss. I was here to pay my respects to Nan and then I was going home.
Alone.
“No, but thanks.” The plane stopped and the pilot came out to open the door as I collected my things. “Where will you go? Home to Seattle?”
“Please don’t drink so many dirty bananas that you forget to pick me up. Next Monday. Should I write it down?”
“No, but you’d better make sure Ethan has that in his calendar.”
“I will.” I laughed, bending to kiss his stubbled cheek. “Thanks for flying with me.”
“Welcome.”
“You’re a good guy, Nix.”
He put a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell. It’s easier to get women into bed when they think you’re the bad boy.”
“Annnd you’re also a pig.” I frowned as the attendant came over, batting her eyelashes as she handed Nixon a cocktail. When had he even ordered that drink? Maybe I should make him stay with me and force him to be sober for a week. “Don’t go crazy. Are you going to be okay?”
“I’m a rock star, baby.” He flashed me a smile, the devilish one he saved for his fans and women. It was the stage smile that masked his demons. “I’m fucking awesome.”
Lies. He was far from awesome, but I wasn’t sure how to help him. Not when he was on a mission to lose himself in sex and booze and drugs like he did every summer.
“Thanks again.” I waved. “Enjoy your flight attendant.”
“Enjoy your time home.”
My stomach pitched at his parting words. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed toward the door. At the base of the jet’s stairs, my suitcase was waiting with the pilot.
I nodded a farewell and fished a pair of sunglasses from my bag, sliding them on before crossing the tarmac. The path from the private runway to the terminal was marked by yellow arrows on the charcoal asphalt.