Beat (Life on Stage 2)

“Okay. I’ll jump in the shower. What are we doing?”

“Helicopter ride over Grand Canyon.”

“Really?” I’ve never been in a helicopter and it’s been years since I visited the Grand Canyon.

“Yep.” He smiles. “Figured between the bus and the hotels, you could use a little outdoors today.”

“I love the Grand Canyon. My dad and I went camping there when I was fifteen. We’d always talked about going back someday, but never got around to it.”

“I know.” Dylan walks to me and wraps his arms around my waist. “I remember you telling me about it. Your whole face lit up, so I figured it would be a good choice for today. I haven’t been making you smile enough lately. I’m going to work on that over the next week.” He leans down and kisses me softly. “Go get ready, I know how long you can take.”

I let the shower rain down on me, the heavy massaging pulses of water working to loosen my tense shoulder muscles. Hanging my head, I stare blankly at the water swirling around the drain. Dylan’s right, he hasn’t made me smile lately, but the truth is, I haven’t given him the chance since the day Flynn Beckham walked into my life. Maybe today is just what we need. Just what I need to finally know I’m making the right decision as the bus rolls on to California tomorrow.

“We camped right down there!” I point to a clearing along the river’s edge, yelling over the whirl of the chopper. There’s a microphone built into the headset I’m wearing so that the pilot, Dylan and I can all hear each other.

Dylan reaches for my hand. “Maybe we’ll go back one day.”

The pilot dips to the left, taking my stomach with him and making me smile. Dylan catches my eye. “There it is. It’s been hiding on me lately.” He cups my face with his hand and runs his thumb back and forth on my cheek. The contact feels…nice.

The pilot’s voice comes over our headset as he points out spectacular views—the Hoover Dam, Bypass Bride, Black Canyon. He brings us over an extinct volcano and then flies deep within the canyon for otherworldly views of the Colorado River running between multihued rock formations that are millions of years old.

I look down in awe of the natural beauty, a gift thoughtfully given by the man I’ve called my boyfriend for almost a year, and think to myself, the shade of blue in the shallow part of the river is almost the exact same as Flynn’s eyes. It’s at this moment I realize that although my brain may not have caught up yet, my heart has already made its decision.

The ride back to the hotel in the town car is quiet. Dylan’s gaze is troubled when he calls my attention back from where I’m lost staring out the window. “Is everything okay, Lucky?” His forehead puckers to a frown that matches his lips.

“Yes,” I lie. “I’m just tired. I’ve been having trouble sleeping. Guess I’m not used to being on the road anymore.”

“It takes a while. But you’ll get the hang of it. You need to stop getting up so early. You get out of bed like you’re anxious to start the day.”

I force a smile. “I’m just a morning person.”

“Guess it’s a good thing one of us is. Will come in handy when we have kids someday.”

The frightened look on my face makes him frown. “What’s wrong? You do want kids, don’t you?”

“Sure. Someday. But that day is a long time away.”

“I don’t want to be forty-five when I start to have kids.”

The ten-year age difference between us has never mattered. “I’m nowhere near ready to have a baby, Dylan.”

“We’ll have to negotiate that one.”

“Negotiate?”

“Yeah.” He raises my hand and pulls it to his lips, kissing the top as we pull up in front of the hotel. “Would it really be the worst thing in the world if you were pregnant now?”

Yes. It most certainly would.

I watch the show from my usual place on the floor, taking note of the jam-packed venue. Only a month ago, Easy Ryder wasn’t selling out places as big as the MGM Grand Garden. Now ticket scalpers are getting twice the face value because the demand has spiked so high. Women in the audience are sporting T-shirts I’ve never seen before—the face of Flynn Beckham, not the usual Easy Ryder concert tee.

There’s a noticeable shift in the air when Flynn sings the songs he leads. An energy that seemed to have been missing prior to his arrival. There’s no playful banter between songs, like Linc and Dylan have, it’s more of a necessary evil that Dylan tolerates. I watch Dylan’s face as the crowd shrieks in delight when the limelight passes to Flynn for a song—he definitely doesn’t appreciate all the newfound attention going to someone else.

After the show, I take my time going backstage, knowing that Dylan is being whisked off for his late-night dinner with the sponsor. He didn’t ask me to join him tonight and I purposefully avoid running into him before he leaves so he doesn’t have time to extend an invitation at the last minute.

I check in with Brett and tell him I’m going to hop in the first limousine that shuttles back to the hotel. Cars run back and forth after the show, taking roadies and guys from the band with their guests wherever they want to go. It all gets coordinated through the tour manager.

Avoiding the lounge area backstage, already filled with excited groupies, I slip out the black door and into the black stretch limousine that pulls up outside. The driver tells me it will just be a minute or two while he waits for a few more passengers that Brett radioed him to expect momentarily.

I’m texting back and forth with Avery when the door flies open and a man hops in. It startles me, but I quickly see why he’s running. A gaggle of women are chasing after Flynn. He turns, not expecting to find anyone inside the sizeable back seat, and when he sees me sitting across from him, his trademark slow, lazy, smile washes across his face and he arches one eyebrow expressively.

“To the hotel, please. Too many fans out here.”

The limousine pulls away just as Duff is walking out with one of the roadies and a few women.

“Waiting for me?”

I roll my eyes. “No. Running to me?”

He grins. “Always.”

We stare at each other, and I watch the change in him occur right before my eyes. His mischievous smile turns heated, bordering on predatory. He calls to the driver, without breaking our gaze, “Can you drop us at the Wynn, please?

We’re staying at the Bellagio a mile away. “In the mood to gamble?”

He shakes his head.

“See a show?”

Another slow shake.

“Dance?”

That’s not it either.

“Dinner?”

“Only if we’re having breakfast for dinner.”

Oh my.

Neither of us says a word as Flynn whisks me from the reception desk to a suite, flipping the key around between his fingers impatiently as we board the elevator. When the elevator fills and half the panel illuminates with floors to stop at, he blows out an audible breath of frustration.

He pulls me against him to make room for an older couple, and his hard-on pokes against my ass. This time it’s my turn for the audible breath. Flynn chuckles faintly and his fingers press into my hip as he nudges me against him even tighter.