Wincing, I move to stand on the other side of Levi. “I’m freaked out,” I whisper to my sister’s intimidating-looking boyfriend.
Triple Threat is a badass band—and I’m not just saying that because half of them are family now and the other are my best friends. Their music hits the soul.
Axel still has a boyish charm to him. His short blond hair is practically a fetish for his fans. Rowan is broody, with a perfect buzz cut. His fans die over his tan complexion that glows under the sun.
“Ew, Axel.” Levi waves him off, a frown pulling down his face. “Don’t ever say that shit again.”
“What? It’s true,” he mumbles, sagging in defeat.
“Anyway, getting back on track.” Rowan sends his bandmate a stern look. “It doesn’t hurt to play the same game and talk about it. Look at it this way: not only are you speaking your truth, but it’s also promoting the album you created, reflecting these past ten years with the old record label.”
“Doesn’t hurt to think about it,” Levi muses. “Strike ’em back, but ten times harder.”
“This is our second-to-last show in North America, Florida. How do you feel about that?” Leonidas sensually speaks into the mike, shirtless and sweaty.
The intimidating crowd of twenty thousand people surrounding us boo. The light-up wristbands they wear glow different colors, painting the arena in a beautiful rainbow. Fans in the pit raise their diabolical signs, jumping up and down in an effort to get our attention.
“Damn, you guys love us that much?” Laughter in his voice is evident. “We’ll be back soon; don’t worry.”
I feel the deep, somber notes that I’m strumming from my guitar on the bottoms of my feet. Closing my eyes and blocking out everyone around me, I beg to start thinking with my heart and not my head. Because the latter only leads me to run offstage while having a panic attack.
It’s such a strange feeling, being onstage. One moment, I’m in pure bliss, living my dream; the next, I realize how vulnerable my siblings and I are, under a spotlight onstage, at the mercy of the thousands of people around us.
What if someone else in this crowd is filled with so much hate that they take it out on us and strike?
No, no, no. Stop.
Sweat lingers on my skin; my fingers slip up on the chords. The mistake is heard from everyone in the arena. Behind her sparkly pink drums, Amelia gives me a concerned look.
Not wanting to worry her, I smile before giving the crowd a funny face. Distracting them.
“Our new album,Four Stages,is a very important piece of work to us.” Leonidas gestures behind him to us. “To be honest, we try to keep our ears away from the media. But we still hear stuff.”
What the fuck is going on? We agreed not to say anything.
Amelia sends me panicked eyes as she tries to keep up with the beat.
“If you’re waiting for a response from us, hate to break it to you, but it’s been under your nose this whole time. This—our album—is our truth. Maybe you just haven’t listened close enough.”
I almost laugh. My brother, who is known to lash out and not think twice about his actions, just uttered the most beautiful, mature, real statement.
“I wanna hug you, man,” I scream into the mic, and I’m rewarded with a wave of laughter.
TWENTY-FIVE
ELIJAH
There is nothing like being in Europe.
“The City of Love!” Amelia and Trinity squeal, straining in their seats and looking out of the small plane window.
“I remember our first time here as a couple,” Leonidas muses, cuddling into his girlfriend.
“You had to drag me away to the next tour stop.” She giggles when Leonidas bites her shoulder playfully.
I can’t help but scrunch my face at theveryin-love couple sitting directly in front of me. Going on five years, they still act like they’re in the honeymoon phase. Social anxiety is afraid of them because PDA is their love language.
Unfortunately.
