And yet something inside of me, some small broken piece of me, began to mend itself. Sharp fragments began stitching themselves together.
"I should probably get ready," I said. "We're on next." Even I could hear the hesitation, the reluctance in my voice. "Will you be sticking around after the show?"
"I don't normally," he said.
"Oh."
"But maybe this time I will." He winked at me. "I'm going to start shoving my way to the front. I want a spot front and center for this performance."
I watched him disappear back into the crowd. Women everywhere threw lust-filled looks in his direction.
I brutally stamped down on any hints of jealousy threatening to take hold of me.
I headed to the far end of the club and climbed the stairs to go backstage, pushing through the doors. The bodyguard didn't give me a second look. The rest of my band members stood off to the side behind the curtains, waiting for the sign to take the stage. The opening act had filed out and our instruments were already set up. I had almost missed my cue.
My thoughts should have been on my upcoming performance, but I couldn't stop thinking about Liam being out there in the audience, watching me.
"Do you hear that?" My brother Gael, Cherry Lips's bassist, cocked his head towards the audience and cupped his ear in a comically exaggerated motion. "They're calling for us."
I turned my wandering thoughts from Liam to the crowd. Gael was right. The audience was cheering and chanting. Chanting for Cherry Lips.
Elation filled my chest. My veins began to buzz the way they always did before a performance. Our fans were out there, waiting for us. We were going to give them the show of their lives.
One of the crew members nodded, giving us our cue to take the stage.
I closed my eyes. Deep breath in through the nose. And out through the mouth. Again. Then again.
I opened my eyes.
I was ready.
Throwing my shoulders back and exuding confidence, I walked toward the dark stage. I grabbed my guitar with one hand from a waiting tech and I swung it around my shoulders.
I scanned the audience. I wanted to take a look at the faces of the people who so adored me.
I paused.
Off to the side, near the front of the pit but close to backstage, stood Liam. He was speaking to a bodyguard, his lips moving silently to my ears.
But his eyes were on me.
My heart jumped a quick beat. Then another. I almost missed my cue for the first song.
But I was a professional. I quickly and smoothly returned my attention to the stage, intending to put Liam out of my mind for the rest of the night. As long as I didn't look to the side, I could do that.
We finished our performance without any mishaps. The band didn't notice anything was off.
Before we left the stage, we threw guitar picks, water bottles, drumsticks, and other tokens to the audience. It was an ego boost, watching people fight over who got to leave with my guitar pick.
As I left the stage, I rubbed at my wrist.
"Is it bothering you again?" my brother asked.
"A little."
"We can always try to find someone else—"
"I'll be fine," I said. "We don't need any more members for the band. We're good the way we are. I'm just a little overworked."
