Carson stepped up beside me. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. That wasn’t true. I did know. It was so fast I didn’t even know their names. I still had to get through the rest of the show. There were a million reasons why this was the worst possible time, and I didn’t care. “But I think they’re mine.”
CHAPTER THREE
________
TYLER
“You guys seen my pick case?” I asked.
Dylan flipped a drumstick. “The one you decorated with stickers like a good boy?”
Rolling my eyes, I dug deeper into my bag. I’d seen it earlier, but now I couldn’t find it. The little fucker was elusive. “You say that like they’re stickers of puppies or clouds or something.”
The stickers he referred to were just things I’d picked up on tour. Fans brought us things. Venues had them. I always felt bad throwing them away, so I found a use for them. Granted, the case probably had about three full layers of stickers on it by now, but it was the thought that counted.
“Nothing wrong with puppies and clouds,” Liam said.
There. I felt the edge in the deepest corner of my gear bag. How it managed to slide down into the depths every time I needed it was a mystery. I should probably start putting it in a pocket.
“How long do we have?” I asked.
“Like ten minutes.” Jack stretched and began humming a couple of vocal warmups.
This show was always a good time, but we were tired. Just coming off tour, we had a nice long break in front of us. Our breaks usually ended up with us in the studio, but I’d take creating in the studio over the exhaustion of touring any day. But first? Three days of solid sleep.
One song, leave it all on the stage, and then we were back home.
“Let’s go do this then.”
We grabbed our gear and made our way out of the dressing room to the muted chaos of backstage. It was sweetly floral back here. Not at all unpleasant. Some places could be when every designation was packed together. Whatever they were using as a scent canceller was excellent.
“Ty.” Jack stepped close. “Want to try the new version of the bridge? You and I are the only ones it really changes for.”
“Yeah, I’m down.” I slung my bass over my shoulder and glanced toward the stage. “Man, I’m exhausted.”
He clapped me on the shoulder. “You’re telling me.”
“Watch out.” A second later, someone crashed straight into me and my guitar. She was moving too fast, her heels slipping out from underneath her, and I moved purely on instinct to catch her.
“Woah,” I said. “Sorry about that. Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” she said, looking up at me.
Holy fuck, she was beautiful. Hair in waves that flowed to her shoulders and a dress that was some kind of purple and showed offeverything.
Roses. Coffee. Omega.
Mine.
The wave of scent enveloped me, and my heart dropped through my toes. There wasn’t a scent canceller. It was this woman. I’d scented her from across the fucking room.
“Miss Williams,” one of the staff said. “We need you now.”
But she didn’t look away. My hands on her arms tightened. I wasn’t fully in control of them. All I could do was keep them from moving when I wanted to haul her against me, show be damned, and kiss her.
Williams.
