Chapter 1
Harper
The heavy bass beat is thumping through my body as sweat streams down my face. I stretch my arms out to my fans, and my last song of the show explodes into a stadium-wide sing-along, tens of thousands of New Yorkers shouting every word of “Don’t You Come Around” back at me.
Blue lights pulse in time with the chorus as I sing at the top of my lungs while dancing the steps. When the fog machines trigger across the stage, I clutch my hands to my heart, running the length of the stage and straining to see my fans’ faces through the harsh spotlights. Confetti cannons burst behind me, their silvery bits glittering down in waves from above as I sing the final chorus at the top of my lungs.
This is my favorite part of the whole concert, but tonight my legs are aching. It’s so hot onstage, and this marks four shows in a row without a day off. I’m exhausted.
But we’re almost there.
I’m bringing it home.
When the band strikes the final note, I take a deep bow, blowing a kiss. Then I mouth,I love you, and the entire arena falls into darkness, fireworks crackling overhead as allof MetLife Stadium breaks into a roar that rattles through my chest.
“Harper, go!” our stage manager calls into my earpiece. I hurry off the stage, but I’m out of breath. Someone hands me a bottle of water, and I gulp down half, then pour the rest over my face before Tony and the rest of the security team hustle me down the steps toward my private dressing room.
I’m burning up. The lights were so hot.
Darcy, my personal manager, is right beside me as we take the stairs down. “You did good out there, but you forgot the wave at the end.”
“I did?” I’m still trying to catch my breath.
“Yes. You did the run, but then you spaced on the wave. You went straight into the bow.”
“Oh, shit.” I forgot we’d added that. “You’re right.”
Ever since this new management team took over, it’s been nonstop changes—all sorts of fussy details the higher-ups are constantly playing with to try to “optimize profits” on this tour. It scrambles my brain to keep up with all of it on top of putting on the very best shows I can for my fans.
Plus they doubled the number of stops on my tour this year, which is honestly ridiculous. I’ve told them it’s too much, but they don’t listen. With these guys, it’s always push, push, push, and even if it has been good for the brand and therefore everyone on my team, I don’t know if I can keep going like this.
Darcy nods. “We’ll practice again. The lights team needs to know when you’re going into that bow so they can drop the lights on cue and pyro can trigger the fireworks on time.”
I nod. “I’ll get it next time.”
“I know you will.” She turns to head back upstairs, and security leads me around the corner to my dressing area. My personal assistant, Melody, is waiting inside, but Tony steps in ahead of me anyway. He insists on making sure the room issecure before allowing me inside—I’ve had a stalker over the last few months.
I shoot Melody big eyes to share my annoyance, but instead of smiling, she furrows her brow like she’s worried.
Tony finally takes his position at the door and waves me in.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her, snagging a towel off the counter so I can dab the sweat from my face. “Did something happen?”
She gives me a small shake of her head. “Everyone’s all right, but I have bad news.” She takes me by the hand to lead me to the couch, where we both sit.
“What is it?”
She’s looking me straight in the eye, still not saying anything, and now I’m really concerned. Normally Melody can’t be trusted to keep anything a secret. She’s too open. Too honest. It’s one of the things I love most about her.
“Just tell me.”
Finally she sighs. “It’s Johnny. There are pictures of him and Claire together.”
Johnny Sayers plays professional hockey for the Milwaukee Blues, and we’ve been dating for the last eight months. Claire is one of his athletic trainers. The two of them have been friends for years.
I squint. “OK. And?”
“No, Harper. I meantogethertogether.”
