Black Lilith: Book One (Black Lilith #1) (25 page)

Not for the first time, Mikayla wishes that the tour will never end.

In Miami,
Black Lilith
will play their last gig on the beach.

Mikayla stands on the sand and lets it squish through her toes as she watches the roadies set up the stage. Dash and Slate are helping them—the two men easily have enough muscle to have made a good living as roadies if they weren’t already in the band. Tommy is talking with the lighting technician, but the easy smile on his face tells Mikayla that the conversation isn’t business related.

How did she get so good at reading these men? She’s only known them for a few months, but she feels as though she’s been with them forever.

They were setting up on Miami Beach, near Ocean Drive. The ocean breeze moves steadily through, gathering up Mikayla’s hair and skirt and tossing them around. Sand whips at her legs and the salty air makes her nose twitch, but in a good way. She can imagine the smell of suntan lotion and coconut oil, even though there are no tourists around to carry the scent. It’s a phantom smell, embedded in the sand and the sky, and the knowledge that she’s standing on a strip of golden sand with high-rise buildings behind her and the sparkling blue Atlantic in front.

Logan sidles up to her, so quietly that she almost doesn’t notice him. Almost. They stand for a moment and watch the sea spray burst into the air. He’s in his usual T-shirt and jeans. None of the band had seen fit to change their usual attire, despite the hot Miami sun beating down on them. Mikayla had sacrificed her usual business suit for a light cream dress, her hair tied back in a bun on her head.

“Slate talked to me,” Logan says.

His voice is as husky and deep as ever. Mikayla wonders if she will ever be able to hear it again without thinking about all the things he’d said to her while they were sleeping together. The way he would gasp and moan, how he would ask her for instructions, or give them, and even beg on one memorable occasion. He’s standing so close that she can feel the heat of his body against her arm. All she would have to do is lean over an inch, and she would be able to brush her wrist against his, feeling his tattoos again. She hasn’t touched him since they broke up.

“Did he?” Mikayla asks.

“He says he talked to you, too.”

“He did.”

“Thank you for not telling him.”

“I told you I don’t like lying,” Mikayla says.

He looks at her then, hitting her with those warm brown eyes which seem so much more expressive than any eyes have the right to be. “I know,” he says. He looks back out at the water. “He told me to get my shit together and ask you out. He probably thinks that’s what I’m doing right now.”

Mikayla glances over her shoulder and, sure enough, Slate is watching them both. He doesn’t lean over and whisper to Dash, or even acknowledge that Mikayla has noticed him looking. He just goes back to his work.

“He hasn’t told the others?” Mikayla asks.

“Slate stays in his lane,” says Logan. “At least, he doesn’t share other people’s secrets once he knows them. He just ribs you for it in private.”

“Good to know.”

They’re silent again. She sighs. Logan twitches as though he wants to lean over and take her hand, and Mikayla is relieved that he doesn’t. Having the tacit blessing of one of the band members doesn’t change anything, not really. Logan still doesn’t trust her. Or, if he does, he doesn’t know how to show it, and she needs him to show it.

“Have you found a new job?” asks Logan.

Mikayla shakes her head. In truth, she hasn’t been looking nearly as hard as she should have been. She wants to, though. Every night she pulls out her laptop and searches job listings. But she’s found herself coming up with excuses for why she can’t apply.

I’m too underqualified for this one
, she would think as she scrolls through one ad.
Too overqualified for that one. This one is interesting, but it’s in New Jersey
.
Organizing children’s events? I’d rather pull out both of my eyes and eat them.

The
Black Lilith
contract is generous, and she hasn’t spent nearly as much money during the tour as she thought she would, so she has a nice little cushion to fall back on when they return home, and she gives them her letter of resignation. She’s dreading that part. Having to look in Dash, Tommy and Slate’s eyes and tell them that she’s leaving.

“You’ll find something,” Logan says. There’s an edge to his voice that makes Mikayla feel as though she’s being slapped in the face.

He turns to leave. He actually makes it a few steps before he suddenly turns back to her, pivoting on the spot. He opens his mouth to speak, and he hesitates. Mikayla realizes that she’s holding her breath.

The moment passes. Logan closes his mouth and drops his gaze to the sand. Then he leaves, and Mikayla is left standing there, alone, on the edge of the water.

Before she can start crying again, she marches over to the stage and joins Tommy’s conversation with the lighting technician. They’re talking about childhood pets. A nice, safe topic.

By the time night falls and the band is ready to perform, a crowd has gathered on the beach. There are hundreds of people—some who had bought tickets to see the show months ago, and others who had been walking the beach and noticed the signs. There was plenty of room, though
Bass Note
had left instructions to cap it at a thousand spectators. The setting sun’s last dregs can still be seen over the horizon, painting the sky orange and purple.

Mikayla watches from backstage, as usual, while the band performs their opening set. The salty air is now mixed in with the scent of beer and sweaty people as the crowd throws itself into the dances, getting lost in Logan’s voice and Tommy’s lyrics. Logan pauses in between each song and together the band throws around some banter, keeping it light and leaving the crowd in stitches. They’re perfect together. Mikayla doesn’t think that the band would work with anyone but these four men.

They’ll survive when I’m gone
, she thinks, though it doesn’t make her feel any better. Maybe it’s the fact that she isn’t as crucial to them as they have become to her. She wonders if she might be able to persuade Tommy to write to her occasionally when he and the rest of the band moves on.

At the end of the first set, they move into the second. Logan seems preoccupied, even though he delivers his lyrics and the jokes as usual. If Mikayla weren’t so attuned to him, she never would have noticed.

Intermission comes before she realizes. Their last show is halfway over.

A tent has been set up for the band behind the stage. As usual, there’s a crowd of women waiting for them, but even Slate just gives them a smile before heading into the makeshift green room. Today is their last show so the band will be spending it together.

Mikayla hesitates outside of the tent.

“Mik?” Dash asks. “You coming?”

She nods. Inside, instead of the usual stained couches and fridge, there’s a massive cooler and some fold-out chairs. It seems wrong somehow that Mikayla doesn’t need to check her seat for suspicious liquid before sitting down.

None of them say anything—they just take a moment to breathe.

Slate hands her a beer. She accepts but she doesn’t drink it. This day is sad enough without introducing depressants. He and Dash are both leaning back on their chairs, their satisfaction with the situation coming off of them in waves. They’re happy, and why wouldn’t they be? They’ve almost finished their first international tour. The first of many if the ticket sales are anything to go by. Beside Slate, Tommy has his feet on the cooler and a serene look on his face.

Only Logan doesn’t seem at ease. Mikayla watches as he tugs at the edge of his shirt, kicks at the sand beneath his boots, and raises his thumb to chew at the nail. Instead of looking at Mikayla like he’s got a secret, he keeps glancing at Tommy. He gives the other men some considering looks.

After about five minutes of silence and fidgeting, Logan stands up.

“Tommy, I need you for a sec,” he says.

Tommy cocks his head like a cocker spaniel being offered something which may or may not be food. “Sure thing, man,” he replies and follows Logan out of the tent.

“Three-way,” Dash says.

Slate, who’s leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, doesn’t hesitate, “Not on a beach. Bad things happen when you fuck on a beach.”

“Bad things?”

“Sand. Chafing. Sharks.”

Dash winces.

Mikayla heads outside after a few minutes to double check that everything on stage is ready for the next set. The lights from the stage illuminate a dome immediately surrounding the performance. The hopeful groupies have returned to the crowd, but Mikayla expects them to return at the end of the show just in case. The only people remaining behind the stage are the techs and the roadies, sitting on heavy plastic equipment trunks with beers and joints in their hands.

Thanks to the stage lights, Mikayla can make out the figures of Tommy and Logan at the edge of the water. They’re facing each other with their hands in their pockets. She can’t tell if they’re talking or not.

By the time she has finished supervising final checks, intermission is over, and the band is ready to go back on stage. From her position waiting in the wings, Mikayla searches Logan’s face for some sign of what he and Tommy talked about. Tommy looks grim and more melancholy than usual as he takes up his bass.

“Welcome back,” Logan says into the mic.

The crowd screams their encouragement.

“Thanks for sticking around. Nice to see my singing hasn’t made anyone want to throw themselves into the ocean yet.” The crowd laughs. “I’m gonna do something a little different now. It’s a new song, one I wrote.”

Mikayla blinks in shock even as the crowd goes wild. Logan wrote a song? Is that what he was talking to Tommy about?

Dash and Slate both look surprised. Whatever’s going on, they’re clearly in the dark about it. Tommy pulls a battered acoustic guitar out from behind one of the speakers and hands it to Logan with a nod.

A moment passes between them. Then Tommy turns and whispers something to Slate, who nods and passes the message to Dash.

“I wrote this song for a woman,” Logan says. Mikayla feels her heart jump into her throat.

He couldn’t mean…

“She’s pretty important to me,” he goes on, speaking to the crowd like he’s telling them a secret. Then his eyes turn, and they catch Mikayla in the wings of the stage. He holds her gaze. “If I weren’t so bad at talking my feelings out, I would have explained that to her a long time ago.”

The crowd is cheering. There’s an awed tone to it. Dash is looking between Logan and Mikayla with wide eyes, Slate looks shocked as well. Even if he knew about Logan’s feelings, he obviously wasn’t expecting this. Tommy just smiles sadly at Mikayla.

Slate taps his drumsticks three times, counting them in, and then the rest of the band begins to play. They have the same remarkable ease they always have with new songs. Tommy must have told Dash and Slate what to play. So he’s in favor of this, at least. Then why does he look sad?

The music has an easy, relaxed beat with the bass line thrumming in a regular back and forth. It’s the sort of song that she could see herself listening to as she drives down a long, coastal road, possibly with the top down on a convertible and her hair blowing in the breeze. With the waves washing in the distance, and the smell of salt in the air, all Mikayla would have to do would be to close her eyes and she would be there, in that car. But she can’t take her eyes off of Logan Todd.

Mikayla feels her heart start to race as Logan begins strumming the acoustic, the metallic twang of the strings echoing through the microphone in front of him.

And then he sings…

We can’t trust anyone on earth,

What’s special to me is we know each other’s worth,

Everybody else treated us like dirt.

Destined to be together since our birth.

Mikayla realizes that she’s clutching her hand to her chest. Logan has his head tilted so that he can sing through the mic and still observe her, his soft brown eyes holding onto hers and pinning her down, forcing her to stay and hear the song out. As if she would ever want to be anywhere else.