Bo & Ember (2 page)

“Ready?” Regan asked as he prepared to count us off.

“Ready.” Bo cleared his throat. “Ember?”

I cleared my throat and swallowed hard before meeting Bo’s eyes. He set his hand on my knee and kissed me once on the lips. He didn’t need words. All the butterflies fluttering through my veins grounded their flight and allowed me to take one more deep breath before we got down to business.

Regan, Bo, and I were afforded a gorgeous evening under the stars for our performance. We’d join The Six for their performance the next day, but for the next half hour, it was just the three of us. We waited inside something that looked like a small pool house before we were called.

“You guys will do great. What do you have lined up for your set?” Georgia asked as she wrapped her arms around Regan, having arrived in Napa only an hour earlier.

Regan chose to kiss her instead of answer, so, with a smile I picked up the slack. “Some Wailin’ Jennys, Civil Wars, you know…” I trailed off, huffing out my nerves in a ragged breath. I’d been thinking all day about the implications of tonight.

Frankly, if it didn’t go well, that wouldn’t matter as far as The Six was concerned, but it was beginning to matter to me. Bo, Regan, and I had been gelling so well over the last few weeks, I was really starting to view us as a trio, a legitimate group with legs of our own if we chose to walk on them.

My mind was spinning. If someone had told me three years ago that I was going to
want
a career in music after spending
a whole year
working with my parents and their band, I’d have checked them for signs of hysteria. This wasn’t in the plan.

My old plan, anyway. Bo Cavanaugh was a bit of a game changer in more ways than one. More ways than either of us had envisioned, I think.

“Hey.” Bo lifted my chin with his index finger. “You don’t get nervous, so don’t start now. You’re aces, love.” He winked and slid his hand around the back of my neck as he pulled me into a kiss.

“Jesus,” Georgia whispered loudly, “is he the most romantic person in the universe?”

Regan twisted his lips and nodded. “‘Fraid so.”

Between Bo’s soft assurance and Georgia and Regan’s ever-present banter, I was once again calmed and ready for the show.

Just as Jan Lieberman, an organizer for the event, called us out to the garden, I tugged Bo’s wrist. His palms were warm, but not yet sweaty.

“What’s up?” he whispered as soft applause sprang from the direction of the soft green grass.

I bit my lip, looking up at him as my cheeks flushed. “Whatever this is … I want it.”

Bo squeezed my hand, shooting a sideways glance at Regan, who just smiled. “So let’s go get it.”

We’d had almost all of our contact for this event with Jan, who smiled as we took our places.

“Good luck, guys.” She gave us a thumbs-up as she ducked into the shadows with a glass of wine.

As I looked out into the crowd, I realized my previous description of the venue as a “garden” was a gross understatement. We were outdoors, but that was about the extent to which the comparisons to a poolside garden ended. It was more intimate than the thousands we’d played for at the SoCal Music and Arts Festival over the summer, but the intimate set up made me feel more on display, somehow. Still, I wanted this. I wanted to do well, no matter what it meant. If it even meant anything.

“Thank you, everyone, for being here this evening.” Bo’s voice was a low hum as his stage persona took over. Smooth and just the right amount of seductive.

“We love you, Bo! Woo!” Squeals from the back of the crowd started a cascade of applause and dreamy sighs.

“Regan!” Another section of fans waved, and Regan brought his hand to his brow and saluted them. My guys were right in their element.

I adjusted my mic to the right height and leaned in. “Thank you for having us. This is such an honor.” I jumped, startled as a stampede of applause shot through my ears. Some people rose to their feet before we’d even sung a note, calling my name.

November Blue.

Looking to my left, I found Bo with his head down, taking a deep breath as he always did before we played. Looking to my right, Regan met my gaze and smiled, mouthing,
told you so
, as fans continued to call to me.

“All right, let’s get started…” I nodded our count to Bo and we began our set as cheers continued through the crowd.

We started with “Heaven When We’re Home” at my request. I needed something familiar to settle me into the set. I always started singing with my eyes closed; something I’d come to realize my mother did, as well. Regan teased me incessantly about it, promising me that I was missing out on half of the experience of performing for a crowd. So, after I sang the intro solo, I opened my eyes and looked to Regan. He winked and nodded in approval as I turned my eyes to the crowd.

I had to focus twice as hard when Bo entered the song. We met each other’s eyes three beats before he joined me, and when he did, the whistles and claps from the crowd almost knocked me off balance. We’d received this kind of reaction many times before, through the past several months of touring with The Six, but in this setting it felt almost oppressively intimate.

My emotional connection with my husband always deepened when we sang or played together. He’d spent two years helping me fine-tune my guitar skills, and I coached him on vocals. Together this was what we were meant to do. As the song reach its end, I knew I didn’t want to stop. Not tonight, and not for as long as I had a song in my heart.

Before we knew it, our set was up and we had to leave the stage. The standing ovation we received was overwhelming and had me floating all the way backstage.

“Nailed it!” Georgia raised her arms into the air, and Regan swung his pin-up girlfriend around as he kissed her. She’d finally let her hair grow back to its natural chocolate brown color, and it suited her. She looked even more badass than she had the first night I met her a year ago.

“Was it as good as it felt?” I asked, breathless from adrenaline.

Bo squeezed his arm around my shoulders and I could almost feel his muscles vibrating with excitement. “Better. I’m sure of it. God, that was exciting. I can’t wait for tomorrow!”

Just as we were starting to look around, wondering what we were supposed to do with ourselves, Jan rushed up to us with a cabernet-laced smile on her face. “Wonderful job, you three. Truly.”

Bo stuck out his hand, never losing his deeply ingrained professionalism. “Mrs. Lieberman—”

“Please,” she waved her hand, “just Jan. I dropped the Mrs. when I dropped my ex-husband.”

He grinned and I caught Georgia rolling her eyes from beside Regan. Georgia was the only person I knew who rolled her eyes more than I did. She thought everyone was always flirting with Bo and Regan. Mostly because everyone always was, though I didn’t think that was the case with Jan.

“Jan,” Bo continued, “thank you for this opportunity. You’ve got a great event here.” He gave her hand a firm shake.

She turned her attention to me. “Ms. Har—Cavanaugh—sorry, I must say, you have an incredible stage presence. So relaxed, yet beaming with energy. You remind me a lot of your mom. That’s her guitar, isn’t it?” She pointed a finger at the instrument in my left hand.

I smiled as a sinking feeling took over. This was an
old
guitar she never played anymore. “It is. Have you listened to The Six for a long time?” I questioned. Hoping.

“I hadn’t listened to them much until the tour last summer. But, once I saw all of you on stage, I did my homework. You’re a spitting image of both of your parents. A gorgeous young lady.” As Jan continued rattling off the things she’d learned during her research of The Six, air returned to my lungs.

Now, I know that more times than not, it’s who you know that gets you somewhere in this business. Hell, that’s why Bo, Regan and I had the opportunity to play with The Six at all. But, I’d been hoping there hadn’t been any favor-calling to get us into this event. I was hoping—and right, it seemed—that our hard work over the last couple of years was garnering the right kind of attention.

“So,” Jan continued, “we’ll see you tomorrow afternoon with The Six. I’m
so
looking forward to that performance.”

With a quick kiss on all of our cheeks, Jan swept herself back to the stage to introduce the next act. A top-40 artist I’d fallen in love with over the last year. I studied her body of work like it was the vocal Bible. Just a girl and her guitar, and I loved that. Though, if I were to be completely honest, performing with one of my best friends and my husband kind of took the cake.

Best friend.

“Where are you?” Bo whispered into my ear as he kissed the still-excitable skin of my neck.

I turned to him, my eyes misting over with a mix of emotions. “I miss Monica. I need to call her. Give me a sec, okay?”

Bo nodded as I slipped away to my guitar case, where I’d left my cell phone. Smiling as I picked it up, I saw that I’d missed five calls. All from Monica. I dialed her back as quickly as I could.

“How could you possibly sound better
every fucking time
you sing? Does your vocal perfection know no bounds?” Monica was rarely one for your standard
hello
.

I laughed, sniffling as I realized how much I missed not just the sound of her voice, but her presence in my daily life. “How did you hear it already?”

“I listened to it on that satellite station. Trust me, I tried to find a live video feed, but they seem to have a mobile lockdown on the event.” Monica sounded entitled and annoyed. I loved her.

“Did you hear the whole thing?”

She clicked her tongue as if I were a misbehaving toddler. “Of course I did. I’ve done nothing else all day. Finnegan’s sends their congratulations.”

I scrunched my eyebrows. “What?”

“I used my
in
at Finnegan’s to have everyone shut the hell up so we could blast your set through the bar. The place went nuts.”

“Well, thank Josh for me, huh?” Monica’s husband, Josh, was the manager of Finnegan’s and had always been a soldier on the front lines of good music.

He was the one who drove all the way to Concord, NH two years ago to scope out a potential act for the Barnstable, MA pub.

That “potential act” snaked his arms around my waist and kissed the top of my head as I conversed with my best friend.

“So,” I continued, wrapped in Bo’s arms, “when are you coming out here again?”

“Uh-uh, sister. When are
you
coming
here
? You’re not West Coast, you know. You’re too pale and broody for that shit. Come back and touch down on your roots for a hot minute, would you?” While she brushed a powder of sarcasm over her words, I could tell she was serious.

I’d only been back to Barnstable twice since I moved to San Diego a year and a half earlier. Bo and I had gone to New Hampshire two or three times, where all of our things lay in wait at his family’s estate, but that was largely for DROP business and fundraising. Monica was right; I needed some Atlantic air in my lungs.

“After this weekend I’ll see what our schedule looks like. I really need a trip back there—”

“You know I’m just giving you shit. If anyone out there was listening and has a brain in their head, they’re going to offer you a recoding contract. Wouldn’t that be insane? Jesus, then you’d be all
over
the place!”

I laughed nervously, not wanting to put too much pressure on myself. “Tell me something about you. I’m tired of talking about myself.”

“I went off the pill two months ago,” Monica blurted out nonchalantly.

My eyes grew wide. “Yes!” I shouted. Bo had been holding onto me through most of the conversation, but dropped his arms as I cheered and spun around, addressing him. “They’re gonna start trying!”

Bo scrunched his eyebrows and tilted his head.

“They want to have a baby!” I squealed, bouncing on my toes.

A smile rose from his toes to his eyes, and he nodded once in approval.

“Yo, Ember, over here,” Monica shouted into the phone.

“Sorry! I’m so excited. Shit, see … I should be there for this…”

She snorted. “No, not for this part you shouldn’t.”

I laughed harder than I had in days. “Not
that
part, ass. Just … baby stuff! We’re supposed to, like, live our lives together. Isn’t that what best friends do?” My tone grew somber as I ended my sentence.

“We do get to live our lives together,” Monica reassured me. “You get to go be a rock star for a few years, I’ll have a few kids, then you’ll have some, and we get to experience everything together. It’ll be okay. I promise. Okay, I gotta go. It’s getting loud in here and it looks like Josh’s bartenders are just learning how to tie their shoelaces so I’ll have to get behind the bar.”

“I love you, Mon.”

“Love you, too, Ember. Call me when you get your record deal.”

I pressed “End” on my phone and looked around, finding Bo, Regan, and Georgia ready to go. I snapped the guitar in its case and walked to the parking lot, wondering what the next several months of my life would look like. For me and the people I loved so dearly.