Twelve

 

Check One, Two... Mood

The buzz of last-minute setup echoed through the backstage corridors. Stagehands barked final instructions, the wardrobe mistress fussed over a band member’s favorite shirt, and guitar techs tweaked cables while the distant, steady thump of a bass rumbled down the hall. Back here, away from the crowd and floodlights, the cool, dimly lit corridor felt like a pocket of calm in the arena’s chaos.

 

Leaning against the wall with one heel propped up, Jeanie tapped her foot to the faint rhythm seeping from the stage, keeping an eye on the side entrance. Soundcheck had already been a bit bumpy — just the usual hiccups — and judging by the tension humming through the crew, a certain rock star was not too pleased.

 

The door swung open with a metallic creak, and Ari stepped through, followed by Stephanie pushing her sister in a stroller, Cliff bringing up the rear. The moment Ari’s gaze met Jeanie’s, she felt the unspoken message hanging between them.

 

“Hey, Mama,” Jeanie greeted warmly. “You look good. How’s the doc’s plan going so far?”

 

“Three for three,” Ari replied, letting herself smile.

 

“That’s a win,” Jeanie said, pushing off the wall. “And just so you know, I put Fruit Loops in the quick-change, the video cubby, and at the soundboard — gave Tony and Obie fair warning to keep their hands off.”

 

Ari chuckled. “Thanks. I’ll take any victory I can get.”

 

Together they started down the corridor toward the arena proper, the hum of backstage life wrapping around them like a familiar blanket.

 

“So,” Ari said, voice low, “what did Jon do now?”

 

She’d been down this road too many times to count. After twenty-plus years on tour together, Ari knew Jeanie wouldn’t have been waiting if everything was humming along smoothly.

 

“Soundcheck was a little rough,” Jeanie answered with a knowing look. “He’s in one of his moods.”

 

Ari let out a sigh. “What happened this time?”

 

“IEMs weren’t cooperating,” Jeanie explained. “He’s not full-on yelling — just his usual brooding. You know the drill.”

 

Ari nodded. “So, a typical day in the production world.”

 

“Pretty much,” Jeanie agreed, lips twitching.

 

By the time they reached the stage entrance, the hum of amps and the occasional clang of a road case had grown louder. Ari paused and turned to Cliff, softening as her gaze fell to the stroller. She gave him a quick nod.

 

“Can you take the girls to catering? I’ll meet you there after I check in with the Three Amigos, then hunt down Jon.”

 

“You good with that?” she asked Stephanie.

 

“Of course,” Stephanie assured her, with a wry smile. “That’s why I’m here.”

 

Cliff gave a short nod. “Will do. But I’m radioing Matt to come find you, just in case.”

 

Ari raised an eyebrow. “Really, dude? I’ll be fine.”

 

Before Cliff could answer, Jeanie cut in smoothly. “I’ll stay with her until she gets to Jon.”

 

“Thanks, Jeanie,” Ari said, shooting her a grateful look.

 

Then she gave them all a look of amused exasperation — hands on her hips, eyes warm. “We’ll be discussing this hovering later, just so you both know. I’m pregnant, not the first woman to be.”

 

Jeanie just grinned and offered a playful, two-finger salute as she fell into step beside Ari, the roar of the arena floor beckoning them onward.

 

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

 

Ari threaded her way past a knot of crew and techs until she finally spotted Kennedy, Tony, and Obie huddled near the soundboard. They stood close together, hands tucked into pockets and shoulders loose, but their eyes were sharp — like they were still replaying the scene that had just unfolded. The instant they noticed Ari, all three went quiet, that conspicuous hush people fall into when they’re bracing to sell someone out.

 

Ari caught Jeanie’s eye and gave a subtle nod. Jeanie, sensing what was about to happen, nodded back and slipped into the crowd without a word, leaving Ari to face whatever was coming.

 

Crossing her arms as she came to a stop, Ari kept her voice light but firm. “Okay,” she said. “Spill it.”

 

Kennedy was the first to grin. “Let’s just say we had a bit of a situation with the IEMs.”

 

Tony groaned. “A bit of a situation? That’s putting it kindly. Translation: Jon almost made the new sound tech cry.”

 

“Yeah,” Obie added with a dry chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “He was about two seconds away from shoving a mic stand up the kid’s ass.”

 

Ari winced in sympathy. “Poor guy. Tell me more.”

 

Kennedy mimed stirring a pot in midair, clearly relishing the retelling. “Jon started out calm enough, but as the monitors kept acting up, you could feel the pressure build — like one of those old-fashioned cookers just about to blow. Pretty soon he was grumbling and pacing like a caged tiger.”

 

“You know how he gets,” Tony put in. “And sure enough, the greatest hits followed: ‘Why can’t anyone do anything right?’ and ‘Maybe I should just do it myself.’”

 

By now, Obie was outright grinning. “That was my cue to get fired — again. Right before he asked if anyone had a better way to fix the damn problem.”

 

Tony mimed hitting a cymbal with a flourish. “And then came the classic: ‘I need a new crew.’”

 

“Classic Jon,” Ari echoed, shaking her head. Despite herself, a small smile tugged at her lips. “So where’d you end up? Did he fire anybody else?”

 

“Me,” Obie laughed, spreading his hands. “For the second time today.”

 

He’d long ago lost track of how often his best friend had jokingly fired him over the years.

 

Kennedy gave a shrug, her voice warm. “He’s calmed down, though — back to his usual brooding. We’re just here recalibrating our sanity.”

 

“Sounds like a regular day,” Ari said with a resigned sigh. “Dressing room?”

 

“Yep,” Tony replied with a knowing nod. “Probably surrounded by a hundred yellow paper balls.”

 

Ari smirked and began to turn away. “Alright then. Time to go tame the beast. Wish me luck.”

 

Tony waved her off with a lopsided grin. “You won’t need it,” he said. “Jon will.”

 

Backstage was a maze of dim corridors and road cases stacked like improvised walls. Her boots echoed against the concrete as a faint symphony of clinks, distant bass thumps, and murmured voices kept her company. The further she went, the more she felt her shoulders tense — Jon could be as mercurial as a summer storm.

 

Still, it was Valentine’s Day, and she wasn’t about to let one grumpy soundcheck ruin it.

 

She paused outside his dressing room, drew a slow breath to center herself, then rapped gently before easing the door open. The familiar scent of coffee and cologne greeted her as her gaze took in the scattered debris: crumpled yellow papers strewn across the floor, a half-empty coffee cup teetering precariously on the edge of a cluttered table.

 

“I can make the setlist if you want,” she teased.

 

He didn’t look up. “Didn’t we try that last year?”

 

“Yeah,” she shot back, stepping inside and plucking the pen and pad from his hands to set them carefully beside the cup. “And you chickened out then, too.”

 

“A little birdie told me…”

 

He cut her off with a grumble, blue eyes finally lifting to hers. “Who ratted me out this time? Tony? Obie? Or your new right hand, Kennedy?”

 

“Actually,” Ari smirked, “it was your right hand. Jeanie.”

 

A groan escaped him as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Figures. Knew it was only a matter of time before she switched sides.” Then his expression softened as his gaze dropped to the silver bracelet on her wrist. “I did good,” he murmured, lips curving into a small smile. “Not too many sparkles.”

 

“You did,” she agreed warmly. “And nice try changing the subject.”

 

He shrugged, leaning back into the couch and stretching like a cat. “Hey, it wasn’t that bad. I’ve been worse.”

 

“Oh, I know you have,” she replied, stepping a little closer, voice gentle but teasing. “You’re lucky they do too — well, except for the new tech.”

 

“It’s a long tour,” he muttered. “He’s gotta learn sometime.”

 

“Maybe don’t scare him off this early,” she suggested as her fingers reached for the notepad.

 

Before she could touch it, Jon moved in a blur, snatching the pad and holding it just out of reach.

 

“Uh-uh,” he drawled. “Not today.”

 

Ari arched a brow. “Seriously? You’re hiding the setlist now?”

 

He sprawled back against the couch, one arm draped lazily across the backrest as if he had all the time in the world. “It’s Valentine’s Day,” he said, eyes glinting. “I’m allowed one romantic surprise. Don’t ruin it.”

 

She tilted her head, stepping close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. A sly smile tugged at her lips. “Trying to get laid, Rockstar?”

 

“Trying?” he shrugged, utterly unfazed. “I’d say I’m doing pretty well so far.”

 

Ari laughed softly, arms crossing as she leaned in just enough to feel dangerous. “Cocky.”

 

“Confident,” he corrected, voice like velvet.

 

“Mm-hmm,” she murmured. “You’re lucky it’s a holiday.”

 

“I’m lucky every day.”

 

With exaggerated care, he tore the last page from the pad, folded it into a perfect square, and set it face-down next to the coffee cup like it was classified intel.

 

She crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him, earning a chuckle as she gave him a playful nudge. “We’ll see about that.”

 

In one smooth motion, he caught her wrist, pulled her gently toward him, and spun her around so her back pressed against his chest as he tugged her onto his lap.

 

“You keep making threats like that,” he murmured against her ear, breath warm on her skin, “and the setlist is gonna be the least of your worries.”

 

Ari broke into a surprised laugh just as a soft knock at the door froze them both.

 

“You expecting someone?” she asked, voice hushed but light with amusement.

 

He groaned but loosened his grip as Ari slipped off his lap and crossed to the door. When she pulled it open, she found Stephanie leaning against the frame, Lily tucked against her shoulder and an amused glint in her eyes.

 

“Sorry to ruin the moment,” Stephanie drawled. “But someone needed her mommy, and the other one was wondering if Dad had stopped brooding long enough to rejoin the land of the emotionally functional.”

 

Jon shot her a look as he stood, smoothing his shirt. “Wow. Did you practice that in the hallway, or does it just come naturally?”

 

“Please,” Stephanie smirked. “Who do you think I learned it from?”

 

Jon’s expression softened as he crossed the room toward them, hands already reaching for Lily.

 

“My girls,” he murmured warmly as he took his daughter into his arms. “All of them. Just what I needed — especially the tiny one who doesn’t throw shade.”