Lily beams in return. “Sadie! Thank God! I was hoping you’d be here!” She struggles with the bag on her shoulder, as she tries to balance Larkin on her hip. “This bag is trying to kill me.”
Sadie laughs, reaches out, Larkin leaning toward her with open arms, Lily transferring her over like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And it is. Because I saw the way Sadie talked Lily down from a panic attack backstage a few nights ago. Calm voice. Slow breaths. Steady hands.
Now that Lily has her hands free, she wraps them around Luc’s neck to hug him tight, his arms circling around her back to pull her close. He looks whole again.
I notice more than I should. Sadie settles Larkin on her hip like she’s been doing it for years. The kid grabs a fistful of her hair and squeals. Sadie just smiles and adjusts her grip.
And something inside of me pulls tight. Not because of the kid. And not because of Lily. But because Sadie seems to fit there, next to them, with them, like she belongs in Luc’s orbit. So much like something I had once upon a time. But Luc is my family. Not hers.
“Bro,” Mikey asks quietly at my shoulder. “You see what I see?”
“Nope,” I grit through clenched teeth like denying it will make it less real.
“Keep lying to yourself, dude,” he mutters under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear.
“Fuck off.”
He grins and wanders away, too smug for someone who’s barely a functional adult.
I watch from a distance as Sadie snaps a few photos. Not invasive ones. Not face shots. The soft in-between moments: Larkin’s hand fisted in Lily’s shirt. Luc brushing hair off Lily’s temple. A family, unposed.
Sadie captures that better than anyone I’ve ever seen. It pisses me off.
And I don’t know why.
Soundcheck starts normal. Hayden is half-asleep, Mikey is bouncing on his stool like he’s done ten lines of coke, which maybe he has, Luc keeps wiping his hands on his jeans because he’s nervous with Lily and Larkin on-site, and I’m doing what I always do; pretending I’m fine.
A stack of metal barricades crashes to the floor on the other side of the arena, the squeal of the material bending echoing loudly around us. The sound cracks through me like lightning and my whole body goes rigid. My lungs short circuit and I’m suddenly unable to inhale.
Past and present collide together. I lean over, my guitar swinging in front of me as I bracket both of my hands to my knees. I finally suck in a breath too sharp, and all I can taste is asphalt, blood, and broken glass. My heart pounds hard against my rib cage, threatening to break the cage holding it in place.
No. Not here. Not now.
“Dean?”
Muffled at first. A little clearer the second time it’s said. Her voice. Too close. Too gentle. Sadie steps into my peripheral like she’s walking up to a wild animal and doesn’t want to spook it. Her fingers come to rest on my shoulder, her touch featherlight.
“You good?” It’s gentle. It’s concern. It’s everything I don’t need from her.
I jerk back into myself. The room snaps into focus so fast it hurts.
“I’m fine,” I grit through clenched teeth, standing up straight, the guitar slamming into my center, her hand slipping off me.
She gives a short shake of her head, the space between her eyes crinkling. “You’re not.”
“Didn’t ask for your opinion.” I bite through my embarrassment.
Her cheeks flush a deep red as her jaw tightens. “Jesus, Dean, I was just trying to make sure you didn’t face-plant into the monitors. But sure, bite my head off instead.” She tosses a hand up in the air before twisting away from me, her boots stomping loudly against the stage floor in her wake.
Luc’s propped against the mic staring over at me. Hayden’s head is down, but he’s peeking up at me. Mikey’s drumsticks are frozen in the air, mid-beat, his mouth twisted in a strange expression.
Fuck this shit. I’m not doing this. I drop my guitar into its case and don’t look at anyone. “Soundcheck’s over.”
“Dean,” Luc calls out, but I cut him off before he can continue.
“I said I’m done.” My tone leaves no room for argument. I walk off before I hear anything else. I make it into the hallway before my lungs seize up again. Instead of letting it get the better of me, I make a fist and slam it into the closest door. The pain causes a surging of breath to escape, and along with it, some of my sanity.
I stay gone the rest of the afternoon. Not hiding. Just… avoiding. That’s different, right? That’s what I pretend anyway. I’m good at pretending. A fucking master. By the time the show rolls around, I’ve rebuilt the walls enough to function. Mostly.
