Last night wasn’t clean. It was stupid. And it was dangerous. I swung at her defenses like I wanted them down. And when she didn’t push me away, I almost did something really fucking dumb. I almost kissed her.
Regret or relief? I wasn’t sure what I was feeling anymore. Nothing did when it came to Sadie Brooks. My stomach flips. I shove the curtain back and swing out of the bunk before I can replay it again.
The venue looks smaller in the daylight. It’s the second night of the run. Repeat logistics. Same schedule, just a different date stamped on the wristbands. The crew moves on autopilot, same jokes, same complaints, different city. I move on autopilot too. Coffee. Shower. Stretch. Pretend I’m not looking for her. I fail miserably.
She’s by one of the loading doors, shooting B-roll of rigging going up, hair in a braid today, black tank, jeans, boots. She laughs at something Cherry says, head tipping back, throat exposed.
I choke on my coffee and suddenly find the catering table very interesting. Avoidance is a game of inches. Don’t make eye contact here, don’t linger in that hallway there, stay on the other side of rooms. Easy enough. I’ve been avoiding things my whole life.
Turns out avoiding a five-foot-something photographer on my own tour is harder than outrunning my past. She’s everywhere. And it’s making me crazy. In the hallway outside wardrobe, going through shots with Cherry. In the family lounge letting Larkin gnaw on her knuckles while Lily talks about set list changes. In the seats during line check pointing her lens at empty rows and catching the way the light falls.
Every time I walk into a room, my gaze tracks her automatically, like she’s some kind of north my compass got rewired toward. I tell myself it’s habit. Self-preservation. Know where the threat is. But Jesus, I’m not even convincing myself.
By late afternoon, I’ve managed to keep our actual words exchanged to zero. Gold star for me. Emotional cowardice: A+. I’ve probably earned extra credit as well.
We’re in the tuning room with a couple of techs when Hayden looks up from his bass. “You’re quiet today.”
“I’m always quiet.” I force a smile.
“You’re extra quiet.” His eyes are too knowing.
“Maybe you’re losing you’re hearing,” I deflect. “You are getting old.” He’s only two years older than me, but it’s something we raze him for on the regular, so not stopping now.
He keeps looking at me. Hayden sees more than he says, which is why it’s a problem when he says, “If you’re planning on being an asshole to her, at least make it worth the apology later.”
“I don’t need to apologize to anyone,” I snap.
He just nods, like that’s what he expected. “Sure, man.”
The door opens. Sadie slips in, a little burst of cool air with her, camera already up. My spine goes stiff.
“I’m just going to grab a couple of shots of pre-show,” she informs Cherry, who’s right behind her. Her voice is professional, neutral. Nothing that betrays what happened last night.
I should be relieved. I’m not. She doesn’t look at me. Not once. Not even a flicker. Something ugly twists in my gut. You wanted this, I remind myself. You pushed. You’re the one who made it weird.
But the petty, broken part of me, the part that has never learned how to sit with wanting anything, hates how easy she makes it look to ignore me. I twist a tuning peg too far. The string snaps with a sharp twang and whips my hand hard enough to sting. “Shit.”
One of the hands a few feet away from me mutters, “Careful. She’ll catch that.”
I glance over. “Catch what?”
He shrugs. “You know. Press loves mistakes.”
I follow his gaze to Sadie. She doesn’t look up. She’s locked in; patient, professional, exactly where she’s supposed to be, but I know she can hear us.
“She’s not press,” I inform him with a bite in my tone. It comes out quieter than I expect. Still carries.
He frowns. “Thought she was?—”
“She’s here to document,” I add. “That includes the good and the bad. So don’t give her either if you’re worried.”
There’s a beat. Then a short laugh. “Got it.”
I turn back to my strings, fingers tightening on the neck of my guitar. Off to the side, Sadie shifts her stance. Raises the camera. The shutter clicks once. Not at me. I shouldn’t care. But I do. Because I didn’t deflect. Didn’t pretend I didn’t hear it. Didn’t let her stand there alone. And that feels dangerously close to choosing something.
“Dude.” Mikey grins wickedly. “You protecting camera girl?”
“I didn’t-” I start to defend, almost whining.
