“I LOVE YOU, WINTER!!”
Everyone here had clearly been waiting for hours, their hair soaked from the rain. They waved frantically at him as his bodyguards ushered him down the path, then shrieked as he touched his fingers to his lips in a quick kiss.
Posters and markers, along with desperately reaching hands, were shoved out at him as he passed. The dozen security guards tried to push them back, but Winter still made a point to pass near the edge of the barricades, forcing his entourage to stop so he could scrawl a few hurried signatures on some of the posters. He was about to autograph a sign for a little girl when one of his guards pulled him away.
“Let’s keep moving, Mr. Young,” he said, shaking his head.
Winter shot the girl an apologetic look as he was ushered toward the rear entrance. The rain and screams cut off abruptly as the door closed behind them.
Up ahead, Claire slowed down and gave him a disapproving look. “We talked about not doing that,” she said. “I know you think it’s just a couple of posters, but it’s not safe.”
Winter frowned. “Come on. They’ve been standing in the rain for hours. Can’t we at least pitch a tent for them or something?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Claire called at him over her shoulder as she led them down the stadium’s corridor.
Winter pulled out a thin notebook from the pocket of his sweats. It went everywhere with him, this collection of scribbled lyrics and half-finished song bridges, words he found beautiful and choruses he wanted to run by his producers. Now he hurriedly scribbled his signature on a blank sheet and ripped it from its binding, then handed it to his nearest bodyguard.
“For that little girl in the blue raincoat who was waiting out there,” he said. “Please.”
The bodyguard gave him a small smile, then nodded and took the paper.
Winter watched him go, his throat hollow. There was a time not long ago when he could afford to spend hours talking to fans, one by one, and would leave them feeling rejuvenated by all their love. He couldn’t remember exactly when it switched to this rushed, soulless routine. He looked on until his bodyguard disappeared around the corner, then followed Claire down the hall.
They made it to the greenroom, a space crammed with makeup chairs and a table sprawled with snacks, where Claire finally left him. Winter did a few quick stretches until his muscles felt warm and loose. Then he poked halfheartedly around the snack table. His stomach rumbled. Claire was right—he should’ve eaten something more than just churros, but it was too late now, and he didn’t want to cramp up.
He’d just managed to tear his eyes away from the plate of croissant sandwiches when someone shoved him roughly in the ribs. He grunted and looked to one side. There stood a handsome brown-skinned boy with a headband holding back his crown of lush dark curls, his eyes fixated on the cookie plate. Leo.
“If you’re not gonna have anything,” he said, “can you at least move aside so I can?”
Winter rolled his eyes as he took a step backward. “Don’t you think you should eat a little earlier? We’re an hour from showtime.”
Leo scooted toward the plate, grabbed a cookie, and shoved half of it in his mouth before replying. “You’re one to lecture me about food,” he answered. He looked ready to wipe his hands on his shirt, then seemed to remember that he was already in his stage clothes and makeup. He idled there for a moment, then wiped his hands on a tall Black boy passing them by. Dameon.
Dameon frowned at Leo. “Seriously?”
Leo shrugged. “You’re not dressed yet.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t like this shirt.” Dameon shook his head, dreadlocks swinging, at the grease stain Leo had left on his sleeve. Then he looked at Winter. Even right before a concert, there was a serenity about him that Winter found soothing. “I’m heading to the practice room. You want to do one more run before we go out?”
Winter turned his eyes away from the snack table with a sigh and shook his head. “No, they need me dressed soon,” he replied. “You guys go ahead.”
Leo put a hand on Dameon’s shoulder as they walked. “How many run-throughs until you’re happy?”
Dameon shrugged. “As soon as you stop being half a beat late on everything.” He glanced back at Winter and gave him a smile. “See you out there.”
Winter waved, eyes lingering on them for a moment. Then the real chaos began. Makeup artists and designers fluttered around him, transforming his casual getup to the first of his shimmering stage ensembles. Meanwhile, the arena had begun filling with fans. Even down the hall and far from the center of the stadium, Winter could feel the shudder of their claps and chants, could hear the sporadic waves of their cheers.
The call finally came. Winter’s bodyguards scattered to the front and back of his path as he walked down the hall, adjusting his earpiece and the small mic curving around to his mouth. Already he could feel the electric pulse of his fans in the arena fueling the fire within him, bringing forward the strength he didn’t think he had even an hour ago. His steps turned more confident, and the young, unsure version of himself—the one that had sat on the pier all those years ago, laughing with Artie—retreated behind the carefully crafted version that the rest of the world saw: the curve of a seductive smile, a trained narrowing of his dark eyes, the swagger of his walk, the lines of his body moving with hypnotic grace.
The music swelled in the arena, the bass of the beat so strong that it shook the floors. The screams of fans rose and fell. Winter duckedunder the latticework beneath the stage, moving silently until he reached his designated spot. There, he bent into a crouch as workers hurriedly strapped him into a series of harnesses. He followed their instructions obediently, moving his limbs as they asked and checking his devices to ensure they were working. Every step the same as it’d always been for years. He worked mechanically, unthinking.
At last, his team cleared away, leaving him alone. He bowed his head, bracing himself.
The beat announcing his cue came.
The platform he crouched on rose, vaulting him up onto the main stage.
The audience exploded with cheers. The harnesses around Winter’s arms and legs suddenly pulled up, and Winter launched high into the air in a spin. As the beat dropped, the harnesses dropped with it. He landed lightly on his feet in front of his backup dancers, who had materialized on the main stage behind an enormous, neon-lit sculpture of his rabbit logo.
