His hollow voice sends a shiver through my gut and I pray I always stay on Jigsaw’s good side. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me. She never should’ve gotten near you.”
I’m not sure what Logan said to Jiggy but I certainly owe him some gratitude for coming to my rescue. “Well, either way, I owe you.” I force a laugh. “Thanks for rescuing me from her yammering. I’m not fluent in spoiled princess.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, I never understood what he saw in her.”
A surge of love pushes me forward and I wrap my arms around him. His body freezes at the contact. “Thank you for always being such a good friend to Logan,” I whisper.
After a few seconds he awkwardly pats my back. “He doesn’t make it easy but I try.”
When I don’t release him right away, he slowly returns the hug. “Songbird, I’m really not in the mood to have my arms ripped off today.”
Laughing, I pull away. “Sorry.”
He pats my shoulder. “Thanks for making him happy.”
“I try,” I quip.
“I don’t think you have to try. Just hearing your voice seems to do the trick.”
“What a sweet thing to say.”
His mouth twists down and he glances away. “Yeah, don’t let word get out.”
“Everything all right?” Rooster calls out.
I step back and wave. “Yup.”
He slips an arm around my waist. “We’re all paid up and ready to go.”
“Your little chickadee has made a nest for herself in the back seat and has nominated Jiggy as your co-pilot for the trip into San Fran,” I announce.
He rumbles with laughter. “That so?”
“Yup.”
Jiggy shrugs. “Songbird has spoken.”
“Let’s go.”
We bump into the parking lot earlier than I expected. The van and one of Dawson’s buses are already parked near the arena’s loading dock.
“Well, shoot, I thought we’d be the first ones here.” I slip my notebook into my guitar case and stuff my feet into my sneakers.
Jiggy glances into the back seat, watching me tie my shoes. “You meeting with the band?”
I peer up at him. “Yeah, why?”
“I think I got Ashley out of there without anyone from the tour overhearing…”
My heart squeezes and I don’t want him to fret about that for one second. “She sounded like a raving lunatic. No one would believe anything she had to say.” I squeeze his shoulder. “Thank you again for staying and dealing with her. She reminded me of one of those yappy dogs and I was fresh outta biscuits.”
He snort-laughs. “I like you.”
“I like you too, Jiggy.” More than ever, after all the things Logan told me about their long, interwoven friendship.
“Yup. All right.” Logan brushes my hand off of Jiggy’s shoulder. “Everyone likes each other. Fantastic. Let’s move along. Things to do. Concert to prepare for.”
Jigsaw raises his hand to his forehead as if he’s going to salute Rooster but flips him off instead.
Dex, Pants, and Steer’s motorcycles thunder into the parking lot, gliding to a stop next to us. Happy to see the guys, I run over and hug Dex first.
“Whoa.” He laughs and stumbles back a step. “Good to see you too, Shelby. We weren’t gone that long, were we?”
“Congrats.” Steer says, patting my shoulder.
“There’s my star!” Greg holds out his arms and rushes over. “Congratulations.”
For a second I can’t remember what everyone’s fussin’ over.
Awards show. Right. All the stuff with Ashley and talking to Rooster about his past made it feel like a couple months have passed instead of a few days.
Chapter Eighteen
Shelby
Once we’ve all settled down and gotten caught up, I tuck myself into the corner of the couch and yank out my notebook.
Every time my mind returns to the horrors Rooster’s lived through, my heart aches for him. I can’t continue playing White Knight show after show now that I know the truth about his parents.
I close my eyes and say a quick prayer for his momma.
“First, I want to take White Knight out of the set list,” I announce.
I doubt Abram and Kenny care one way or another. As long as they’re gettin’ paid, they’ll play whatever I tell ’em to.
Trent seems to be a different story. His eyes widen and he sits back in his chair. “What are you talkin’ about? That’s your biggest song right now. Why on earth would you pull it?”
“No it’s not,” I sputter, annoyed he’s questioning me. “Big Lies is higher on the charts. Empty Room’s gotten some traction too.”
“It’s a beautiful song, Shelby,” Trent says in his reasonable tone, “but it’s damn depressing. It doesn’t have the potential White Knight—”
“I just don’t feel like playin’ it,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest to indicate this isn’t a debate.
Trent’s jaw shifts from side to side. We’ve rarely argued in all the years we’ve worked together. Then again, he’s rarely ever questioned my decisions.
“So, what exactly would you like to do for those three minutes?” Trent asks.