Page 15 of Unfinished Noise

The biker sat down without asking, dropped a heavy hand on the table, and ordered drinks for them. Alfie looked amused. Jamie looked… polite. Maybe even a little curious.

The biker leaned in close to Jamie, saying something that made Jamie laugh—soft, polite, but still a laugh. Spencer’s fingers tightened around the guitar neck, the wood digging into his palm.

No. Nope. Absolutely not.

He kept singing, but his eyes kept flicking back to that table. Every time the biker leaned closer, Spencer’s strumming got sharper, the rhythm a little too aggressive. His breath hitched, coming shorter, as if his lungs were suddenly working against him.

Why is he sitting there? Why is he talking to Jamie? Why is Jamie smiling?

Heat crawled up the back of Spencer’s neck, the kind that made him want to step offstage and plant himself between Jamie and anyone who thought they had a chance. It wasn’t rational. Jamie wasn’t flirting. Jamie wasn’t interested. But seeing another man, especially a big, confident one—give Jamie that kind of attention made something coil tight behind Spencer’s ribs.

Jamie looked up at him then, as if he could sense it. Their eyes met. Jamie’s smile softened, turning warm, turning his. Spencer’s shoulders eased a little, the tension sliding down his spine, but not disappearing.

It helped.

But not enough.

Nathan tapped his sticks. “Next one’s you and Billy.”

Spencer exhaled through his nose, steadying his grip on the guitar. “Right. The duet.”

Billy stepped up beside him, guitar in hand, blond hair tied back, blue eyes bright under the stage lights. He flashed Spencer a grin—too charming, too familiar, too Billy.

Spencer didn’t rise to it. He shifted his stance, planting his boots wider, grounding himself. His fingers rolled once over the tuning pegs, a small, controlled movement to bleed off the irritation buzzing under his skin.

“Ready?” Billy asked, leaning in a little too close.

“Just sing,” Spencer said, voice flat.

Billy’s smile faltered.

Good.

They sang, their voices weaving together the way they used to. The crowd loved it. Billy leaned in during the chorus, smiling as if they were sharing some private joke.

Spencer didn’t return it.

He kept his eyes on Jamie.

Jamie was watching him, not Billy. Jamie’s expression was soft, steady, full of that quiet devotion that always knocked Spencer sideways.

Billy could flirt all he wanted. The biker could sit there and try his luck. None of it mattered.

Spencer sang straight to Jamie—every note, every lyric, every breath.

And Jamie looked back at him like he was the only person in the room.

The moment Nathan called for a break, Spencer unplugged his guitar and headed straight offstage, eyes locked on the biker still sitting with Jamie and Alfie. The guy hadn’t moved. Still in his black vest, still leaning in a little too close, still talking like he owned the table.

Spencer’s pulse kicked up.

Nope. Not letting this slide.

He walked over, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Hey,” Spencer said, keeping his tone polite but firm. “Everything okay over here?”

The biker looked up, grin wide and easy. “You must be Spencer.”

Jamie blinked, then laughed. “Oh—Spence, this is my Uncle Bob.”