head. Its smoky scent triggered an insane craving for the cigarettes he'd given up five days ago, but Jeb ruthlessly shut his mind against that. He had bigger problems tonight.
In a few minutes he would have to take the stage and perform songs he was beginning to be ashamed of having written, but he couldn't see any way out of that because he was under contract. He had already struck one song from tonight's set list and made a mental note to change the lyrics of two others when he sang them. He didn't know what else he could do.
He'd read in the Bible that when a man surrendered his heart to God, his old self died and a new person was born. But Jeb was hardly a naked, innocent baby. His wicked past might be forgiven, but he was still shackled by his old promises, still dragging the consequences of a thousand bad choices like iron chains behind him.
Two sharp raps sounded and the door to the hallway opened, admitting the muffled noise of a restless audience on the floor above. A harried-looking stage manager pointed at his watch and said it was time.
"We'll be there in a minute," Jeb said.
When the stage manager objected to the delay, Jeb drilled him with a get-lost glare. The guy shut both his mouth and the door with an alacrity that satisfied Jeb until he recalled his resolution to stop using his eyes as weapons.
"Jackson?" Taylor's voice broke the strained silence. "If you get off this merry-go-round, the ride's over for all of us. You know that."
Staring at a sparkling island of broken glass in the beer puddle next to the wall, Jeb acknowledged that truth with a slow nod.
"So this could be our last show," Taylor persisted.
After a long hesitation, Jeb nodded again.
If only he could talk to Laney right now. If only he could hear her laugh. He'd close his eyes and concentrate on that effervescent sound until he absorbed it through his pores and felt it spread through his bloodstream, renewing his strength.
Too bad he'd accidentally left his phone on the tour bus.
No, it was better this way. If he didn't pull his band together in the next few minutes, there was no telling what might happen onstage.
"Guys," he began.
"Save it," Sean growled. "It's time to go."
Aaron sighed heavily and got to his feet. "Come on, Taylor." He hooked an arm around the dazed drummer's neck. "Let's be professional about this." He turned an expectant look on Sean, who in turn nudged Matt.
"Professional," Matt grumbled. "No problem. I'll just wait until after the show to rip out his vital organs."
They were filing out of the room when Jeb spotted a cell phone lying next to a plate of discarded shrimp tails on the coffee table.
"Guys, wait." As his heart beat a brutal tattoo against his ribs, he obeyed an irresistible impulse and picked up the phone.
"Oh, that's mine," Taylor said from the doorway. "Just drop it in my bag."
"Give me three minutes." Jeb tossed the words over his shoulder as he strode to the bathroom for some privacy.
He locked the door and sagged against a mirrored wall, his hands trembling as he stabbed the phone's tiny buttons to enter Laney's cell number. When he got her voice mail, he ended the connection and tried her home phone. As it began to ring, he turned toward the mirror and leaned his damp forehead against the cool glass.
He didn't have time to talk, he reminded himself as he counted electronic warbles. He'd just tell Laney he was coming home. Her squeal of delight would ease his heart enough to get him through this difficult evening.
The phone continued to ring.
"Please," Jeb whispered. Flattening the palm of his free hand against the mirror, he squeezed his eyes shut and prayed harder. "Please make her be home."
Chapter Two
"O h, for crying out loud, Francine! How could you do this to me?"
Laney Ryland was perfectly aware that sensible people didn't talk to their cars. But Francine, the old black Chevy Impala she'd inherited from her mother, was practically family.
"You knew I was waiting for a
In a few minutes he would have to take the stage and perform songs he was beginning to be ashamed of having written, but he couldn't see any way out of that because he was under contract. He had already struck one song from tonight's set list and made a mental note to change the lyrics of two others when he sang them. He didn't know what else he could do.
He'd read in the Bible that when a man surrendered his heart to God, his old self died and a new person was born. But Jeb was hardly a naked, innocent baby. His wicked past might be forgiven, but he was still shackled by his old promises, still dragging the consequences of a thousand bad choices like iron chains behind him.
Two sharp raps sounded and the door to the hallway opened, admitting the muffled noise of a restless audience on the floor above. A harried-looking stage manager pointed at his watch and said it was time.
"We'll be there in a minute," Jeb said.
When the stage manager objected to the delay, Jeb drilled him with a get-lost glare. The guy shut both his mouth and the door with an alacrity that satisfied Jeb until he recalled his resolution to stop using his eyes as weapons.
"Jackson?" Taylor's voice broke the strained silence. "If you get off this merry-go-round, the ride's over for all of us. You know that."
Staring at a sparkling island of broken glass in the beer puddle next to the wall, Jeb acknowledged that truth with a slow nod.
"So this could be our last show," Taylor persisted.
After a long hesitation, Jeb nodded again.
If only he could talk to Laney right now. If only he could hear her laugh. He'd close his eyes and concentrate on that effervescent sound until he absorbed it through his pores and felt it spread through his bloodstream, renewing his strength.
Too bad he'd accidentally left his phone on the tour bus.
No, it was better this way. If he didn't pull his band together in the next few minutes, there was no telling what might happen onstage.
"Guys," he began.
"Save it," Sean growled. "It's time to go."
Aaron sighed heavily and got to his feet. "Come on, Taylor." He hooked an arm around the dazed drummer's neck. "Let's be professional about this." He turned an expectant look on Sean, who in turn nudged Matt.
"Professional," Matt grumbled. "No problem. I'll just wait until after the show to rip out his vital organs."
They were filing out of the room when Jeb spotted a cell phone lying next to a plate of discarded shrimp tails on the coffee table.
"Guys, wait." As his heart beat a brutal tattoo against his ribs, he obeyed an irresistible impulse and picked up the phone.
"Oh, that's mine," Taylor said from the doorway. "Just drop it in my bag."
"Give me three minutes." Jeb tossed the words over his shoulder as he strode to the bathroom for some privacy.
He locked the door and sagged against a mirrored wall, his hands trembling as he stabbed the phone's tiny buttons to enter Laney's cell number. When he got her voice mail, he ended the connection and tried her home phone. As it began to ring, he turned toward the mirror and leaned his damp forehead against the cool glass.
He didn't have time to talk, he reminded himself as he counted electronic warbles. He'd just tell Laney he was coming home. Her squeal of delight would ease his heart enough to get him through this difficult evening.
The phone continued to ring.
"Please," Jeb whispered. Flattening the palm of his free hand against the mirror, he squeezed his eyes shut and prayed harder. "Please make her be home."
Chapter Two
"O h, for crying out loud, Francine! How could you do this to me?"
Laney Ryland was perfectly aware that sensible people didn't talk to their cars. But Francine, the old black Chevy Impala she'd inherited from her mother, was practically family.
"You knew I was waiting for a
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