“I thought you like liked him. I thought you were going to fall in love—like in the movies—and that he could be my dad since I never got one.”
Oakley took a long breath, the wistfulness in Rae’s voice flaying her. Never before had Reagan expressed any desire to have a father in her life. Oakley had thought she’d surrounded her with enough to fill that gap—all the love she had to give plus her brother and Hunter heavily involved. But she should’ve known that it was still there—just like the empty spot Oakley had inside her where her parents used to be, just like Pike had for the family he was cut off from. “I do like him, but Mr. Pike has a very busy job and he has to be on the road. I’m sure we’ll see him again soon, though.”
She hated how the lie rolled off her tongue, but how could she tell her daughter that she’d sent Pike away? That they might never see him again.
A volunteer who was handling the backstage stuff clapped her hands and called for everyone to come take their places. Rae looked over her shoulder and then back to Oakley, worry flitting over her expression again. “I guess I better go.”
Oakley took Rae’s face in her hands and kissed her forehead. “You’ve got this, baby girl. Just go out there and have fun with your friends. The rest will work itself out.”
Rae nodded and touched the sparrow pendant, rubbing it like a rabbit’s foot. “I love you, Mom.”
Warmth bled through Oakley. “I love you too, Rae. Now go rock it.”
Reagan hurried off to get in her place, and Oakley went back out front to take her position against the wall again, still too anxious to sit. Before long, the lights went down and the curtains went up.
Reagan stepped onto the stage looking small and beautiful and overwhelmed. Oakley had one brief moment of panic that Rae was going to fall apart. But then Reagan touched her necklace, gave the audience a shy smile, and gave the drummer his cue to start. She closed her eyes and began to sway to the beat in a way Oakley had never seen her do before—and just like the way Oakley used to calm herself when she was on stage. By the time Rae opened her eyes and the first notes came out of her mouth, she was every bit the strong, brave girl Oakley knew her to be.
Oakley stood there, awed and proud and overwhelmed, tears filling her eyes.
The child who hadn’t spoken until she was almost four, who had suffered panic attacks when she’d first had to be in a classroom with others, was now holding an audience in thrall with the power of not just her voice but her pure, shining presence.
Rae had stopped being afraid.
Maybe it was time Oakley did the same.
THIRTY-THREE
Pike jogged off stage, adrenaline pumping, the screaming roar of the crowd still ringing in the background. The audience had wanted an encore—from an opening band. That shit never happened, but this was the third stop this week where Darkfall had gone back out to play a few more songs. It was happening. The new songs were taking off and grabbing people. Now instead of just seeing Wanderlust T-shirts and signs out in the audience, he was seeing Darkfall merch. He could sense the shift, the swell of support growing.
And when he was out there on stage, he was flying. His drums around him, his head only filled with beats and song, the crowd whipping up into a frenzy—it was a high no one would’ve been immune to. But he knew what awaited him once he hit backstage—and what he’d faced every damn night of this first month on tour. The life. The girls. The partying. Another long ride on the bus.
As much as he loved that hour on stage each night, the rest of it was wearing him down. Braxton and Geoff had noticed and had tried to do their part, sending pretty groupies and high-end liquor his way. But neither held any appeal. He couldn’t look at the groupies with any interest anymore. His goggles had been broken. Instead of seeing hot bodies and eager eyes, he’d notice all the other stuff—how much younger they were than him, how fake the conversation was, how empty the attraction. How fucking boring the whole game was.
And though he’d partaken of the liquor the first week or two, waking up with a booming headache and sick stomach had gotten old quickly, too. He wasn’t built for this anymore.
So most of the time, he’d find his way back to his hotel room and tinker with the songs of the artists he was working with at the studio. Or he’d hang out with Lex and his woman since they weren’t into the party scene either. But it was beginning to feel like a grind already.
He missed home and Monty and his friends.
He missed Oakley.
Pike weaved his way through the backstage chaos, people parting for him like he was a boat fighting upstream. He needed to get out as quickly as he could. This was Vegas and they were here for a three-day break, so the guys were dead set on dragging his ass out for a night on the town. Pike couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do less.
A few people called his name, and he gave a nod or a wave of acknowledgment, keeping his feet moving forward. Fans, thankfully, weren’t back here yet because the main act hadn’t gone on stage, so he could at least avoid dealing with that. He made his way to the back door, the fresh air, and the limo that would drive him to the hotel.
Pike greeted the driver and climbed into the limo, inhaling the peace and quiet like it was the first oxygen he’d breathed all night.
“Where to, Mr. Ryland?” the man asked.
“Bellagio.”
Something banged on the top of the car. Pike swung his gaze to the window. “What the fuck?”
The door yanked open and both Braxton and Geoff peered in. “Oh no you don’t, asshole. You’re not getting out of tonight. It’s your birthday, and we’re taking you out.”
“Yeah, man,” Brax said, sliding in and giving the driver an address. “Don’t be a punk. We’ve been letting you act like an old man for the past couple weeks. No way we’re letting you do that in Vegas.”
“My birthday isn’t until next week,” Pike groused.