She hadn’t looked at him since he’d left her room that morning. The band all knew she was pissed at him, and at least Jackie had figured out why, so she wasn’t talking to him, either.
He’d talked to Zander after he left Liana’s room and got an ass-kicking he rightly deserved. But Zander’s simple instructions— “Make it right, you idiot. And learn some social media basics this afternoon, for the love of all that is holy”—were easier given than followed.
Before West had clued in that Liana was mad at Dean, he’d been more than willing to help. So now Dean had Twitter, Instagram and Facebook apps on his phone, and followed Liana from all of those places.
He wasn’t a complete moron—none of the three accounts had similar information on them, so he hopefully wouldn’t be found out as Arm Guy. They were generic accounts, totally locked down, and disconnected from his personal details in every way.
He felt like a stalker, but a stalker with more social media context than he had a day before, so the creepy factor would have to stay for a bit.
From where he stood in the wings, he watched her performance and Twitter, back and forth. For the live, in-the-moment stalking, Twitter was where it was at, he’d decided. Although the Instagram pictures of her…
Jeez, she was gorgeous.
He’d had her in his arms for what felt like a nanosecond. Not nearly long enough.
And he’d let her go at the first hiccup.
Well, he hadn’t let her go, exactly. He’d just stepped back.
They’d reconnect after a cooling off period. He’d done this rodeo enough times to know that a little break was often a good thing. Usually his relationships didn’t burn this hot, this fast, but all the lessons he’d learned over the years still applied.
Distance and boundaries. That’s what they needed. So when it ended, neither of them got hurt.
He thought about what Liana had told him about getting over Track. He’d never had a breakup like that.
But then again, nobody else had ever turned him into a creepy stalker, either. And distance…who was he kidding?
Not himself. He wasn’t that obtuse. The only reason they had distance between them right now was because he’d pissed off Liana. She had him at arm’s-length because he’d bruised her trust in him. If she gave him another chance, he’d be whatever she wanted.
As the lights came down on her first of two sold-out shows in Memphis, the crowd roared, and he stepped into the shadows.
When she came off the stage, she waved down Brad, the tour manager. Dean couldn’t make out what she was telling him, but once they talked, she turned to her band and had a quick conversation with them while Brad started talking rapidly into his radio headset.
The band went back on stage, and a song that Dean had only heard once before started playing. It was a party anthem she’d covered on her third album, and usually she didn’t do covers in her concerts.
“Deep Ain’t It All Cracked Up To Be” was a snarly, mocking call-to-arms for women not to give a fuck about what was expected of them. In life, and in relationships.
Well, damn.
— —
Damn, but Liana felt good belting out that cover. Her legs burned from dancing in heels for the last two hours, she was sure that her t-shirt was sticky and gross by now, but under the lights and in front of thousands of people who just wanted to see her sing, she felt like the queen Dean had told her she was just the day before.
As she hit the last high note and slowly waved good night to Memphis, she pulled all the love from the arena right to her chest and rubbed it against her skin. “Good night,” she whispered into the mic, smiling as they gave her one last deafening round of applause.
Yes. Thank you. Yes. She dropped to her knees as the lights cut out, and waved off West when he came forward to help her. She was fine.
Wiped.
Completely exhausted. But totally happy with how that had gone.
She’d practically bled for them, and they’d eaten it up.
Dean’s kisses had spurred her to some excellent performances. Then she’d struggled, and he’d been a rock that she’d desperately wanted, too.
But tonight?
Tonight she’d reminded herself of something incredibly important. She didn’t need him. She just needed herself—open and vulnerable, as scary as that was. She needed to feel.
