32
Istepped out onto the stage in front of a cheering crowd, exuding a fierce confidence, even as a war raged within me.
Sorrow. Today was the anniversary of Harper’s death.
Anger. That blogger had pissed me right the fuck off.
Heartbreak. Every time I looked to Liam, I expected to see that familiar cocky smirk he wore. Instead, I saw flat eyes and a grim face.
I grabbed the microphone and looked out at the audience.
They didn’t know about Liam.
They didn’t know about that blogger.
They didn’t know about Harper.
They had no idea anything was wrong behind the scenes.
I wasn’t about to let them down.
I suppressed every emotion welling up within me as I sang. I put on my best smirk, my most teasing smile. I strutted around on stage, leaning against Gael’s back as he played, draping myself over Nathan as he did a solo, crouching down near the edge to reach out and touch flailing hands.
Even as I took shuddering breaths during the breaks between songs, even as I shook with the effort it took to keep my voice from cracking, I had to hope our fans didn’t have a clue anything was different about me.
I had to hope they had no idea how close I was to breaking.
We hadn’t changed a single thing in our set list, but up there on that stage, on that night, it seemed like every song was about Harper. About Liam. About losing them both.
We finished the last song of our encore. I stayed out on stage a few minutes longer than I normally did, soaking in the energy of the audience. I was afraid as soon as I walked through that backstage curtain I was going to fall apart.
Finally, I thanked the crowd one last time and left the stage. The band was waiting in the wings for me.
“Fucking showed them, didn’t we?” Nathan grinned.
“I think that’s some of the best we’ve ever played,” Seth agreed.
I nodded, not speaking.
What if our fans didn't agree? What if they had sense something different about our performance? If that blogger started writing trash about it, if our fans started to turn on us, if the label lost faith in us…
A wave of nausea swept through me before I ruthlessly forced it down.
We all hustled back to the artist lounge to gather our stuff. The guys continued chatting and joking with each other. I grabbed my bag and checked my phone. There was one missed notification.
People were already posting about our concert.
That lump in my gut grew to the size of a mountain.
I couldn't bring myself to read what they were saying.
“There’s a cool club not far from here,” Nathan said. “Want to go get trashed?”
“Yes,” I said, surprising him with my firm response. “I could stand to let off some steam with a drink or two.”
Or dozen. Whatever it took to rid me of this feeling, this wretched lump of darkness tormenting me with every breath.
I'd lost Harper.
