Because even my dad knows red’s always been my favorite color.
I half expected my stalker to show up on New Year’s Eve when some Italian mafia idiot kidnapped Reed, and we, along with Reed’s wife, Wren, had to go rescue him.
What a fucking shit show that was.
Every other time I’d been in trouble before getting sober, my stalker was there. Without fail. And maybe it’s why I sabotaged myself for so long before realizing it was killing me—knowing she would be there if I fell, never worrying about the consequences because I had a sickening devil over my shoulder watching my every move.
And maybe I’ve since replaced one dangerous high with another.
Chase me.
Stop me.
Find me.
No matter how rattling any of her texts might be, no matter how much my heart drops to my knees each time I hear the ding of my phone or see a shadow that doesn’t appear to belong in its surroundings, I wait for her.
It’s fucked up how much the panic of seeing simply her sign has my thighs squeezing. Heat burns my cheeks that has nothing to do with the stage lights.
The person holding the sign takes it down to clap, and I’m pulled back into the moment, Reed’s voice entering my ears as he wraps up. He’s a pro at working any crowd he’s put in front of. I’ve always loved hearing him. His voice commands just enough attention, yet you know he’s fucking with you for most of it.
“—first time headlining this shit, can you believe it?” he asks.
I strum a little on the kit as Mads thumps a note on his bass.
“And because we’re celebrating this shit, I expect each and every one of you to do your fucking worst. Jump. Dance. Scream. But don’t hurt anyone. I will come down there—”
A few people screech in front, and Reed grins at them. “Oh, youwantme to come down there?” He laughs. “Maybe later. You know I like a nice, long foreplay session first.”
I don’t need Mads to take his mask down to know the look on his face as he shakes his head.
“Okay, motherfuckers. This next song… Yeah, this next song… when I say jump, you fucking jump, got it?”
The audience screams in agreement.
“Are you ready?”
Louder.
“I said…are you ready?!” This time he screams into the mic.
The roar back is gorgeous and deafening.
“That’s more like it,” he says, happy with the audience volume. Reed turns like he’s done. I set up, but I know he has more, and it makes me grin wider.
I love this part.
“Oh, and there’s one… one other thing,” Reed says as he faces the audience again, this time holding up a finger.
I double-tap on the bass drum.
The crowd goes wild as if they know what he’s about to say. It’s a line he’s said a few times that wakes people the fuck up. Reed’s grin widens, and he bends over his knees to look at Mads and laughs in disbelief. This feeling… I know that’s what he’s thinking about—the anticipation and awe of thousands of fans here to seeus.
Fuckingus.
It’s a long way from that first gig together.
When Reed straightens, he lifts one arm into the air, beaming at the audience…
