Pieces of Us - Carrie Elks Page 0,100

The rush that never lasted. But he’d take it while it did. For as long as it did.

“Sydney, you were awesome. Thank you and good night.” Even with ear monitors in, he couldn’t hear his own voice over the crowd. It didn’t seem like they would be stopping any time soon. He lifted his hand and turned to go, but the noise increased, wrapping him like a blanket as he strolled off the stage.

In the wings, one roadie removed Gray’s ear monitors, the other lifted his guitar over his head to carefully place it on a stand. Gray took a towel from somebody’s hands and wiped the sweat from his face, then grabbed a bottle of water and swallowed the whole thing in one go.

“They’re gonna have to turn the lights on if they want them to go home,” his manager, Marco, said, grinning at Gray as they walked down the hallway toward the dressing rooms. “Three encores. Three! Thank god we rehearsed them all. They’re in love with you out there.” Once upon a time that would have made him feel ten feet tall. Now he was just exhausted.

Gray pushed the dressing room door open, frowning at all the people inside. The guys from Fast Rush, the up-and-coming band that played his opener for the last leg of his world tour, were already on their third – or possibly fourth – drink, surrounded by a group of women who were giggling with them. He recognized the A&R guys from his record label, and a whole other bunch of groupies who were turning the dressing room into a party. He tried not to sigh.

It wasn’t their fault the low was already hitting.

“Oh my god! It’s Gray Hartson!” One of the girls surrounding Fast Rush had noticed him. All of a sudden, the support band was forgotten as the women surged forward.

“Is the other dressing room empty?” Gray asked Marco, his voice low.

“Yep.”

“Okay, I’ll use that one.”

The second dressing room was used by the local musicians who’d supported the final part of the tour. He turned to leave, but one of the girls grabbed his arm. She slid something into his jeans pocket, and he found himself recoiling at the pressure of her fingers against his hip.

“Something to make you happy,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling. “And my number. Call me.”

Marco closed the door to the first dressing room and rolled his eyes. “I told them not to invite people back. I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s okay. It’s their first major tour.” Gray shrugged as they walked down the hallway. “Can you make sure somebody stays sober to look after them? And to make sure they get back to the hotel safely?”

Marco nodded. “Of course.”

“If there’s any damage, put it on my bill.”

They’d made it to the second dressing room, and as Gray pushed open the door, Marco walked off to take care of the support band, muttering something about calling for a car. Unlike the first room, this one was almost empty, save for one of Gray’s session guitarists drinking a glass of orange juice.

“You not partying with the others?” Gray asked the older man as he grabbed himself another bottle of water.

“Nope. I’m heading back to the hotel shortly. My bed is calling me.” Paul’s eyes crinkled. “How about you? I didn’t expect to see you back here.”

Touring created strange allies. The only thing Gray had in common with this fifty-something, grizzled Australian was the fact they both played guitar. And yet, for the past two weeks they had hit it off, talking quietly at the back of buses and airplanes while the rest of the entourage shouted and laughed at the front.

“I’m too old to party.”

Paul chuckled. “You’re thirty-one. Just a baby.”

“Tell my muscles that. And my bones.” Gray rotated his head to iron out the kinks in his neck. “Anyway, I’ve got a flight to catch tomorrow. I don’t want to miss it.”

“You’re heading to see your family, right?”

“Yeah.” Gray sat back on the leather sofa and crossed his feet on the coffee table in front of him. “That’s right.”

“Funny place. Hartson’s something…” Paul grinned. “Not many people I know have a whole town named after them.”

“Hartson’s Creek. And it’s not named after me. Probably my great-great-great grandpa or something.” Gray’s brows scrunched together thinking about the small town in Virginia where he’d grown up. The same place he hadn’t been back to since he left more than a decade earlier.

“What is it they used to call you and