Ned keeps a tight grip on my hand as we leave the trailer and return to the festival. The first bands have started to play and there are people everywhere. He scans the crowd often, becoming more vigilant as we near the amphitheatre.
This has to be where Ned saw Zac, or somewhere near here. It makes sense if Zac is here for work.
“How about we go hang out at one of the smaller stages?” I suggest. Ned is in serious need of a good time, and I’m going to make sure he gets it.
Worry lines crease his forehead as he looks back at me. “You don’t mind?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve never even heard of most of the bands playing this weekend. What do I care who we listen to?” Moving in closer, I run a hand over his butt cheek, giving the rounded flesh a quick squeeze. “I’m here for the all-access pass to your gorgeous self.”
His eyes darken, and he swallows hard. “All right.” He tugs me in a different direction. “Since you’re so obsessed with me, let’s go check out the stage I’ll be performing on tomorrow.”
I nod. “Lead the way.”
Ned starts to relax as we leave the amphitheatre behind, and the next couple of hours pass in a blur of music and crowds. A few people recognise Ned and stop us for a chat or a photo. I watch Ned closely, ready to step in at the first sign of discomfort, but he appears to enjoy the attention. He chats with each person, as happy to see them as they are to see him. Even so, he stays close to me. One hand searches for mine each time we move on, while the other fiddles with my pendant around his neck. The piece of jewellery is nothing special, bought on a whim and worn by habit. It seems to be doing the trick for Ned, though, and I’m glad the idea occurred to me.
By mid-afternoon we’re sprawled on a sunny patch of grass in front of one of the larger stages. Close enough to enjoy the music, but far enough away to indulge in casual conversation while we eat a late lunch.
“Dear lord, these are amazing,” I groan, devouring a hot chip.
Ned laughs. “You look like you’re about to blow your load.”
“I may do that.” Grinning, I tilt the cardboard cup in his direction so he can grab a couple. “I love chips, but I don’t eat them often.”
“Why?” he asks, taking a swig from his bottle of iced tea.
I circle a finger in front of my face. “This complexion does not come courtesy of fried food.”
“Ah, I do appreciate your fine face.” Reaching out, he trails a finger down one of my cheeks—which distracts me long enough for him to pluck the cup from my hand. “Maybe I should finish these for you, to be safe.”
Gasping in mock outrage, I launch myself at him. Ned falls backwards, laughing his head off as I wrestle control of the cup away from him. Holding it aloft, I give a cry of victory before dropping back onto the grass to munch on another chip. They’re getting a bit cold now. Gross.
I nestle the cup in the grass between us as Ned’s phone buzzes.
He reads the incoming text before tucking it back into his pocket. “The band Johnny and Oz wanted to see over at the amphitheatre has finished. They’re on the hunt for food and then they’ll head our way.”
“Excellent.” I do my best to ignore the flutter of nerves in my belly at the thought of meeting Ned’s band mates. These men are his best friends, and I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. “How did you end up joining Fifth Circle?” I ask, hoping to distract myself.
“It was inevitable, I suppose,” Ned says easily. “Johnny and I have known each other forever. He’s a couple of years older than me, but we went to the same schools, grew up in the same suburb. You know the drill.” At my nod, he continues. “We put our first band together in high school, with way more enthusiasm than skill. Mr Jenkins next door did not appreciate our efforts,” he adds with a chuckle.
Smiling, I lie on the grass, stretching out on my side. “Did Johnny go with you when you moved to Sydney?”
Ned shakes his head. “He thought about it but decided to put music on the backburner and go to university instead. He’s a pharmacist, you know?”
My eyebrows lift. “Seriously?”
He nods. “I’m pretty sure he chose the course so he could tell people he’s a drug dealer.”
I snort aloud before slapping a hand over my mouth. “Here I am trying to picture the lead guitarist of Fifth Circle dispensing cold and flu medicine and giving advice on haemorrhoid cream.”
“Yeah, that image is probably closer to the truth.” We both burst out laughing.
“Did you stay in contact while you were gone?” I ask once we’ve calmed down.
“For a while.” Ned’s gaze strays to the stage, where the next band is starting to play. “Then life got busy, and I lost contact with people back home. I barely even called my parents in that last year.”
My ears perk up. He would have been with Zac then. “Why?”
“I’d become so focused on my career, nothing else seemed to matter anymore.” There’s a long pause, and I hold my breath, hoping he’ll say more. Instead, he straightens, as if shaking off the memories. “When I moved home, Johnny reached out. I was taking a break from music at the time.” His gaze falls to the grass, where his fingers are busy ripping the blades out one by one. “Johnny told me about the band he’d put together. He’s the one who got it off the ground, chose the name, invited Gavin and Oz to join, then eventually me. We’re all equal partners, but Fifth Circle is Johnny’s baby.”
