Jaxon waves as he leaves the stage, the musicians following like a waddle of black ducklings. The crowd goes absolutely feral at his exit, and I scan the feed on my screens faster, my eyes trying to find anyplace the excitement has turned to destructive chaos. Fans can quickly become a mob if given the right catalyst.
I can feel Carter next to me, his eyes scanning the arena in front of us and the monitors, making sure each and every one of the security personnel is doing the same.
My team, on the other hand, is scanning every image our system is pulling off social media pages, using the combined power of our state-of-the-art technology with our highly trained team to help identify anything that could be getting out of hand. It’s amazing how people’s first reaction to something going wrong is to start filming it.
Despite the major mishap in Vancouver, the security team is running like a well-oiled machine. While the first few concerts required Carter and me to be intermediaries between the boots-on-the-ground team and those acting as the eyes in the sky, they’re now working together, cutting us out of the loop to go directly to the person they need. It’s how they would function if we were all one team, so I try not to be too upset about feeling redundant.
We go through the motions we’ve perfected over the last week, and with a final note, Jaxon closes down the sixth show of the tour.
“Steele is in the box,” Nash says through my earpiece, and I lean back into my computer chair with a groan.
“I thought you were going to talk to him about that,” I say to Carter.
“He thinks it’s hilarious,” he says, stretching his neck to one side and then the other.
“And…?”
“And Jaxon also thinks it’s hilarious, so I’m lettingit go.”
“We practiced!” I yell in mock anger. “I spent forty minutes on the airplane listening to you rehearse how you’d tell him. I’ll never get that time back. I could’ve sentso many emails.”
“I used it to talk to him about Mikayla instead.”
“Did he cry?” I ask. “I can’t believe you didn’t wait until I could at least watch him get all flustered.”
Nash is the sweet golden retriever puppy of the team. He’s adorable, and everyone loves him, but he tends to chew up shoes if you don’t keep an eye on him.
Carter chuckles. “No one wants to see that, Kels.”
The nickname does something to my insides that I’m trying very hard not to think about. Carter and I are friends. Who are also rivals. For the most important contract of our lives. Nicknames fit into that…somewhere.
“I like making grown men cry,Cart,” I say.
“I think we need to workshop the nickname.”
“What did your Army buddies call you?”
“I decline to answer,” he says, turning away from me to pretend to do something on his computer. Well, maybe he’s actually getting everything taken offline and put away for the night, but I’m not going to let something like a prompt cleanup distract me.
“Why do you do this to yourself?” I ask, sitting back in my chair and crossing my arms over my chest. “You know if you just said something like Mitchell, I’d give it a rest.But you declined to answer. Which means it’s not just your last name.”
“It’s Mitchell. Obviously.”
I hold up a finger. “One: you hate the name Mitchell, so I can only assume that’s a lie, or they weren’t actually your friends. Two: you would’ve told me if it was something normal.”
Carter lifts one shoulder and drops it,shrugging. I ranted yesterday on the plane about shrugging. It’s Izzy’s go-to move, the shrug, and I can’t stand it. It’s the most annoying gesture someone can gesticulate. Either have the courage to flip me off or be ambivalent enough to simply ignore me. A shrug is a pity gesture. Apitygesturethat I don’t want.
So the shrug will be a no from me. I poke his shoulder, only taking one millisecond to appreciate the firm boulder my finger just ricocheted off. “Tell me.”
“No.”
“You’re being a child.” I jab my finger into his shoulder again, harder this time. “Tell me.”
“I’mbeing the child?” he asks as I brandish my pointer finger like a weapon in front of me.
“Yes. We both agree on that account.”
The computer in front of Carter dings, and he focuses his attention on the screen. I’m sure he’s not going to answer me, but he says quietly, “Puffin.”
