Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

B ill had really wanted to pick Gwen up and put her on the stage, like he'd taken her down earlier. He barely stopped himself, mostly because he was aware of her fans—her fans , because she was a rock star who lived in a whole different stratosphere than he did—were watching, and he didn't know how fast they would spread gossip on the internet. He was, however, sure that they would, if they watched their idol being lifted onto the stage by a guy who was supposed to be her bodyguard.

Bodyguards, though, didn't want to make sure their wards were safe and happy beyond anything else in the world. Safe, maybe, but not necessarily happy. And Bill had meant that. He'd throw the whole pub over if it meant keeping Gwen both safe and happy.

For now, however, he was pretty sure looming at the stage's edge wasn't helpful to her, so he backed off, trying to find somewhere that he could both see and wouldn't block everybody else's line of sight. He eventually backed himself into a corner and stood hunched, as if there might be someone in the wall behind him, watching as the club began to fill.

There were a lot of people. If they could get a third of these numbers at the pub over the weekends, and even a fifth of them over the week, they'd be beating business off with a stick. Bill shook his head. He knew a club was a different kind of scene from a pub, but maybe Gwen was right, and they needed to try catering to a different crowd. The Thunder Bear had passed down to a new generation. Maybe it was time for the clientele to change, too.

"Hey. Bill." Mike Piccolo, his silver hair gleaming different colors in the club's changing lights, appeared at Bill's side and tilted his head toward the stage. "Come on, I've got you VIP seating up at the front."

"Oh, no, I'm too big. People can't see over me. Thanks, though."

The older man smiled, although there was a surprisingly steely look in his eyes. "Maybe people can't see over you, but Gwen can't see you if you're lurking back here in the corner."

"I don't think that's a problem?"

"Young man," Mike said with the authority of someone who was his parents' friend, "that girl is here to try to help your pub do well this weekend. It's obviously good for her if the gigs go well, but the talent doesn't go to this kind of trouble for anybody unless they really want to. She invited you to see her perform tonight, didn't she?"

Bill, feeling inexplicably guilty, nodded, and Mike's gaze got steelier. "So make sure she can see you seeing her perform, and get your big ass down to the VIP seating."

"My ass," Bill said in an attempt at injured dignity, "isn't proportionately big." But he went, slinking toward the VIP booth that turned out to have a Reserved sign on it, and his name scrawled on a piece of paper on the table. It turned out Mike had thought about where to put him, though, because the booth, while elevated, was also off to one side and had relatively little space behind it, so there wouldn't be all that many people crowding around and trying to see past him. Somehow that genuinely made him feel better, and he found himself suddenly looking forward to the performance in a way he hadn't been just a minute or two earlier.

Which was ridiculous, since he wasn't any less eager to see Gwen sing. But he slowly realized that hiding in the back hadn't made him feel like he was part of the evening, and this VIP seat, where he could see clearly—and where Gwen would be able to see him—made him feel like he belonged.

Bill wasn't actually sure when he had last really felt like he belonged somewhere. Maybe when he'd still been working the Renaissance Faires with his brothers. He knew it wasn't that he didn't belong, or in some way wasn't welcome at the pub. It was just…that was work. He was necessary there, but somehow that didn't feel quite the same as belonging there.

The stage lights suddenly went down, bringing an unexpected—to Bill, at least—cheer from the crowd, which had filled up the club pretty comfortably already. People moved closer to the stage, anticipation flooding the air, and he couldn't help smiling. It had been years since he'd been at a gig anywhere other than the pub. To his surprise, he was already enjoying it.

There was movement on the stage, easily visible to his shifter-enhanced dark vision. Bears were particularly adept at picking out movement in the dark, too, so he was able to watch Gwen swagger on stage, absolutely certain of herself even in the darkness. The crowd could see, or sense her, as well, and another cheer went up before the lights burst back on and there was Gwen Booker, rock star, standing in the spotlight.

This time the roar made Bill laugh, and his bear sat up warily, wondering if that huge sound was another bear, or some other kind of threat. It's just everybody appreciating Gwen, Bill told it, and got a tremendous sense of satisfaction from the animal.

Everyone should appreciate our mate. It settled back down, trusting Bill's comfort, and he, in turn, leaned forward, drawn to Gwen's.

She yelled, "Hello, Renaissance!" and over the shouted greetings in response, added, "Hello, Harlequin !" That time the cheers drowned her out, or would have, if she'd been doing anything but grinning. God, she was beautiful, Bill thought. Not just beautiful. Magnetic. He couldn't imagine anyone being able to take their eyes off her, even if she was only standing there grinning at them all. "All right!" she called. "It's really early for a jam, and the house band and me, we've never played together before, so look, you all are just gonna have to put up with listening to our warmups, all right?"

Another roar met the question, and by that time, Bill was almost laughing with pleasure. The crowd was so happy to see her, and Gwen herself was obviously thrilled to be there. Someone yelled the name of a song as a request, and she sauntered down to the stage's lip to stare into the crowd as if they'd been rude. "Really? Really? Is that how you think it's gonna go? We're gonna come up here, never having played together before, and take requests ?"

The same voice said, "Yes?" hopefully, and Gwen burst out laughing.

"All right, all right, let's see what we can do, but hey, don't get cocky, okay? What's your name? Rudy? Listen, Rudy, we got a real set list and everything, like we know what we're doing, and you can't be out there just pretending this whole thing is a private audience just for you." She walked back up the stage, dropping the mic she'd been carrying down to her hip, and leaned into say something in the guitarist Ripley's ear. They laughed and nodded, and she went to the other people on stage—a long-haired bassist, a keyboardist, and a drummer—speaking to them, too. Whatever she said made them laugh as well, and then with a nod she returned to center stage and the spotlight, pointing at the person who'd made the request. "Okay, just this once, Rudy, this one's for you."

Another cheer rose, then turned into club-wide laughter as the band, and Gwen, all started the requested song, but each in a different key or with the wrong beat, or—Bill didn't even know what else they were doing wrong, but it sounded genuinely awful. Gwen sang several phrases, her voice going all over the place, before breaking down into giggles against the mic. "Told you you shouldn't ask a new band to play that cold!"

The drummer, while she was laughing, called out a beat, and the second time they started the song right, getting another laughing roar of approval that set the tone for the rest of the evening. After the warmup, by the time the set was supposed to actually start, the club was full, and half an hour after that, it was packed. Gwen played to the crowd fabulously, occasionally taking requests after checking with the band to make sure they could follow, and once actually taking her phone out to apparently send them all the sheet music for a song they didn't know. That earned her a huge cheer that she bowed to the audience for, then bounced around the stage asking people their names and whether they were going to the Thunder Bear tomorrow while the band looked over the sheet music. A few minutes later they were playing again, raising the roof and encouraging dancers and singing along. It was a jubilant evening that left Bill's ears ringing when the band finally left the stage after an encore.

The audience shouted for another, and to Bill's surprise, Gwen came back on stage alone, guitar slung across her body and her mic in one hand. She brought it to her mouth, murmuring, voice low and warm and inviting as she said, "Here's the deal, folks. I've got a new album coming out next year, and some music nobody's ever heard. But you guys probably want the stuff you already kno—" She was drowned out by the cries of protest, and ended up laughing into the mic. "Really? You sure? You wanna close on weird new music? All right." She grinned at them all, that delicious dark wine lipstick making her smile sweet enough to cut through the whole night. "Tell you what. I'll do two songs tonight, and two each on the nights I'm playing over at the Thunder Bear this weekend. You come to all three gigs, you'll have heard almost half the songs on the new album. That sound good?"

She was barely audible over the cheers of approval and excitement, but the audience settled as she patted her palms downward, asking them to quiet a bit. And they were rapt , Bill thought, as she sang one of her new songs, as if every single one of them was holding their breath, listening with their whole beings. By the third chorus for both songs, people were joining in, already committing the melody and words to memory, and Gwen herself looked as if she could fly for joy. The second song blended into a third that got a roar of excitement as the first bars became clear to the crowd, who sang along lustily with this one. At the end, Gwen bowed, waved, and walked off stage to a howl of protest that went on for three or four minutes, until the audience was sure she wouldn't come out for another encore. The crowd started breaking up, people going to get drinks or moving farther away from the dance floor, and after a while, Mike Piccolo made his way up to Bill's booth and sat down with a grin. "Your girl knows how to play to a crowd."

"She was amazing," Bill said dazedly. He could still feel the music in his blood, and his ears were ringing in the aftermath of the performance. "I can't believe how many people showed up tonight."

"Free gig," Mike said, though his smile said he knew it was more than that. "You're going to be busy at the pub this weekend."

"Let me know if you want to come. I'll send over some tickets. This has been—thank you. This was great."

"Hey." Mike chuckled. "Don't imagine it was altruism. I sold a lot of alcohol tonight and didn't have to pay for the talent. And Ripley's over the moon."

"I think everyone is."

"Yeah, but not everybody got to get up on stage with their guitar hero." Mike grinned and stood, offering a hand to shake. "No way Gwen's coming through the front of the house again tonight. She'd never get out of here. I'll take you backstage."

Bill glanced at the crowd. "That'll draw attention, won't it? Is there already a mob at the stage door?"

"Not too bad."

"Then I'll go around and meet her there, maybe. Maybe we can get out early enough that most of them won't think she'll be ready to leave yet." Bill took his phone out to text Gwen, winced at the number of unread messages in the family chat, and sent a note saying, Let me know when you're ready to go.

Any time, came back immediately.

Meet you at the stage door in a minute, he wrote back, then nodded at Mike. "Thank you again."

"Send those tickets over," Mike said with a grin. "I want to be there the night Gwen Booker breaks big."