He shakes his head. “So, what’s the issue? Why didn’t she stay the night?”
“She wants what I can’t give her.Yet. I’d say fuck it except… I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like something I just want to be casual about,” I say. “Like I want it to be more.”
“Scary,” he says.
“Fucking terrifying, dude. Why am I like this? Why can’t this be easy?”
“Because you need therapy,” he says.
My jaw drops, and I punch him in the side. “Dude.”
He laughs. “Am I wrong?”
“I—no,” I admit. “I keep meaning to get the name of Andi’s therapist. What, Lana something, right?”
“I have no idea,” he says. “Mads would know. You should ask him.”
Zeb’s phone buzzes. “Speak of the devil,” he says, showing off his phone. “Soundcheck time.”
“—thinking something like this.” I tap a beat out on the coffee table in the dressing room, and Mads grins. “Suspense into the breakdown like—” I keep going, and he nods along with it. I can see the wheels turning in his mind, the master of creativity at work plotting out something gnarly.
We’re all huddled in one of the smaller dressing rooms hours later. Soundcheck, done. Interview with the radio station, done. Lunch, done.
Chill out time before we fuck these people’s faces off?
In progress.
Mads and I are hoping to get some work done before we each start our rituals. The band before us is onstage now, and as much as I’d love to watch some of their set, getting this song out feels more important.
“This sounds dangerous,” Andi says as she enters the dressing room, snacks and drinks in hand. “I can already tell it’s going to be epic.”
I laugh when she sets an energy drink on the table and two more on the vanity counter.
“This one is all her,” Mads says. “This is her baby.”
“Ha. Right. It’d be all beats if that were the case. You’re the lyricist,” I tell him.
“Get hyped, motherfuckers!” Zeb announces as he comes in the door, arms up. “Tonight is—oh shit,” he pauses, seeing Reed laying on the floor, headphones on and his arm over his face. “Damn, is he already in the zone?” he asks us.
“About ten minutes,” Mads says. “Said he didn’t sleep well after coming in from Foster’s last night. Honestly? I think he misses Wren.”
“Poor baby,” I say, though judging by the pout on Reed’s face every time he looked at his phone last night, I know it’s true. “I wish she was here.”
Mads and Andi glance at one another, and my eyes widen.
“Shut up. When?” I ask.
“She said she’s trying to make it by the time you go on,” Andi answers, checking her phone. “Flights were all over the place with delays, and then traffic getting here.”
“At least she’ll be here after,” Mads says. “That’ll be just as good for him.”
The door opens again, revealing Stella, Liam, Kade, and finally, Gemma.
I love the way she looks on concert day.
The joggers tucked into her combat boots, snug tee showing off her muscles—a big “try me, motherfucker” display that I’m sure she uses to her advantage with these crowds. And her resting bitch face? She could choke me like that, and I’d thank her.
If I can just get through today… tomorrow… All without doing anything stupid… maybe I can be firm with my stalker. I can cut her off—tell her it’s officially over.
