“Wewouldbe late if I had my way,” I say as I start walking.
She’s grinning when I catch up with her and the entire way to the stage, I’m debating whether to throw her over my shoulder and take her back to the damn trailer.
Still…
I can’t make us late.
It goes against every “keep work separate” bone in my body, and I fucking hate it.
All I can hear in the back of my mind as we walk is Liam telling me I’m “angry walking,” and I’m pretty sure this time, he’s right.
It’s going to be a long day.
“Let’s go, motherfuckers,” Zeb announces as the three of us hit the stage at the same time.
“Hell yes!” Bonnie jumps and smacks the hand he has in the air when he passes. Zeb sinks his arm around her, and I back up to the edge of the stage where Kade is waiting in the wings.
“Good morning, sunshine,” he says, arms crossed over his chest. “Why don’t you look like you had the most blissful night?”
“Because my girlfriend decided to be a brat this morning,” I mutter, scratching my neck.
Kade laughs quietly. “That’s really cute. Have you slept in the corner of the room instead of the bed yet?”
“I thought about it.”
“You two hear any more from Rad?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I think he’s called, but I’ve told her to ignore it. No one has time for his bullshit. Did he do anything stupid online?”
Kade gives me a crooked smirk, and my shoulders slump.
“What now?”
“He just went on a rant. As usual. Seems like people are getting tired of it, though. Some commenters told him to get over it and stop bitching. He claims he blocked them because he ‘doesn’t deserve their negativity.’”
I snort. “Yeah okay.” I turn and gesture for the report in his hand. “Give it to me. What are we looking at today?”
As Kade begins rattling off some of the things he’s found online, along with the details from venue security, my gaze wanders slightly to the journalist standing onstage and chatting with Reed. He’s the same one who was at the studio last week, and I vaguely remember Wren deciding she was better off staying in her apartment that day.
“Hey, Kade, can you come look at this?” someone calls him.
I stick my hand out for the report he’s made and flip through it as he goes to help one of the other security guys set up their communication devices.
The comments he’s highlighted online are the usual trash. Nothing of a huge concern, some speculating how the band will fare after the last festival’s disaster.
Young Decay made a few social posts hinting at what’s coming today and people have been losing their minds trying to figure it out. I smile at a couple of theories, at the lines he’s printed from music bloggers—which reminds me…
“Hey, Kade, is Liam circulating soundcheck?” I call to him.
“Yeah. No peeks, right?” he replies.
“Right. Thanks. Hey, Stella—” I flip the pages back and fold them under my arm, then jog after the tour manager who looks like she’s about to pass out.
“Hey, Gemma. How is tonight looking?” she asks.
“Good. Nothing that I’m too worried about,” I reply.
“Thank fuck for that,” she mutters. “Avie will be here any minute. He wants to hear them play it through. He was on with Rock half of the damn night tweaking this intro.”
