The last part slips past what little filter I have, and my chest pulls tight, but Renee’s smile is a perfect crescent moon, and her eyes stretch like she’s trying to look at all of me at once. We long ago graduated from her icy-blue stare, the one that kept me frozen in the past, a person Renee used to know and never cared to see again. But I’ve been trapped in her eyes a hundred times this summer, and they’ve never looked quite like this. Glassy as Lake Michigan on a cool, windless morning, sparkling in the sun. Cold, yes, but not in a way that feels dangerous, not anymore. Just brisk enough to restart my nervous system, to wipe clean whatever I was thinking or feeling before and leave nothing on my mind but this moment we’re in. She’s not looking ahead at where we’re going or behind at who I used to be. She’s looking at me, right here and now, like I’m a view worth taking in.
For a moment, I’m sure she’s about to say something. Instead, Renee steps forward, presses to her tiptoes, and brushes her lips against my temple in the softest, sweetest kiss. It’s no stronger than the flap of a butterfly’s wing, but my body swells in a feeling that can only be glory. It has to be. Anything else would be too much to hold.
“Thank you,” Renee whispers, still close enough for her breath to breeze over the apples of my cheeks. It sends a lava-hot flush down my throat, and I’m nearly certain that, whatever this is between us, she’s feeling it, too. She takes a slow step back and hitches the camp chair up her shoulder, and my skin still thrums where her lips barely landed, but Renee is already walking again. Soon we’re back to our normal pace, neither of us saying much until we pass by the brick building plastered in Cold Sweat posters, advertising next week’s show. Renee tenses and speeds up alittle, steering me away, but I linger, sizing up the grayscale Solas Callaghan looming large in the center of every poster. Solas’s red hair, vibrant tattoo sleeves, and deadpan green eyes have all been reduced to black and white. He’s less intimidating this way. Less complicated. He’s just a person, same as me, and I’m sure neither of us are who we used to be.
“Maybe we should go to that,” I decide, surprising myself.
“Really?” Renee pulls back, then, doubly surprised, “We? Am I invited?”
“Only if you want to go.”
There’s a beat; then she hooks her pinkie into mine, and I’ve never been so aware of my own skin. Every breeze feels like a gust. The tiniest touch could knock me down.
“Doyouwant me to go?” Renee asks softly.
I want her to goeverywherewith me.
Nineteen
It rains the night of the Cold Sweat show, but the fans can’t be deterred. Outside the venue, a stagnant parade of black umbrellas protects more leather and shredded denim than I’ve seen since…well, since the last Cold Sweat show I played. Now I’m just another ticket holder, huddled beneath a shared umbrella with Renee. Her clean cotton scent is washed with the smell of rain, and it’s a balm for my nervous system, breathing her in, even if I can’t quite relax.
“Should we run through the plan one last time?” Renee suggests, lifting a brow. I try to stick my focus there, to fix my eyes on something innocuous like her eyebrows instead of the white-hot temptation that is the rest of her. I thought I might faint when she showed up at my apartment in that thigh-skimming leather skirt and matching knee-high boots. Spiky silver studs replace her usual gold hoop earrings, and a chain belt hangs below the hem of her ribbed white tank top. When I called out the absence of her signature color, she corrected me with a swipe of deep-red lipstick that I immediately imagined staining every inch of my skin. If this is a costume, Renee Roberts is playing the star of literally all my sex dreams.
“Alice?” Renee nudges me, and given where my mind has wandered, just the bump of her elbow turns me pink. Maybe the rain isn’t such a bad thing; I could use a bit of a cold shower.
“What…what were we talking about again?”
“The plan?” Renee looks at me expectantly, and my mouth goes dry.Right. The plan.We’ve run through this a hundred times, but right now, the only word that comes to mind iscloser. Renee is only a breath away, but my body insists it’s a breath too far.
“So we’re going to go inside…” Renee prompts.
“Right. Okay. We’re going to go inside, and we’re going to try to get close to the front of the crowd so Solas and the guys can see that I’m here.”
“And that will be a good thing,” Renee emphasizes. “They’ll be happy that you’re here.”
I hope.
“Then we’ll meet them at the merch booth before the headliner goes on, and I’ll say…” I blow a raspberry. “I’ll say what I have to say.”
Renee nods, and the umbrella nods with her, shaking off some of its collection of raindrops. “And what you have to say is…?”
Despite a week of workshopping this exact speech, my nerves still prickle when I square my shoulders and give it one last shot.
“Solas, I want you to know how proud I am of everything Cold Sweat has accomplished. I will always be a fan of this band, and while I regret that circumstances kept me from being the reliable bassist Cold Sweat needed, I’m thrilled that you have continued to grow and make extraordinary music. I wish I could have been in the studio for your session at Gentle Giant, but I did want to tell you that I’m sober now, and I’m building a portfolio of engineeringwork. I would love to grab dinner and catch up when you’re back in town, if you’re willing.”
I blow out a breath, and Renee’s eyes sparkle with pride, the softest smile lifting her sinfully red lips. “You’ve got this,” she says, squeezing my hand for half a heartbeat just as the line begins to move.
Security is a mess—all stubborn umbrellas and wet sneakers squeaking, the ticket taker hollering for us to “keep it moving!” Without a purse, I get through quickly, and Renee finds me on the other side just as the firstthumpof a bass drum hits. The crowd roars, and Renee smooths her leather skirt as an erratic guitar riff kicks in. I could play it on my heartstrings. I helped write it, after all.
“That’s us,” I say, tipping my chin. “Or…that’s them. That’s Cold Sweat.”
We follow the sound up the stairs, bypassing the merch tables and ID checkers handing out wristbands. Renee stays just as close to me as she did when we shared the umbrella. I can’t imagine being here without her. I can’t imagine doing anything without her anymore. My pulse quickens, keeping time with the rattle of the hi-hat, and when I push open the double doors, it’s like watching a memory on playback, but on a bigger screen. A larger stage. I don’t realize that I’m frozen until Renee jostles me out of it and into a crowd that reeks of cheap beer and wet dog. It’s disgusting, but damn, it’s familiar. I missed it. The lights onstage flash blue to green faster than I can register either, but my brain clocks every move Solas makes. Each time he smacks the air and commands the crowd to jump, or when he reaches for a high note and the tendons strain in his neck, it tugs on the memory of anearlier version of us. Solas and I were both drunk when we met, but I still instantly knew we had our front man. I was never too worried about whether I liked him as a person; he had undeniable star power, and I liked what he could do for the band. And here he is, doing exactly that, but watching him, I don’t feel jealous. It’s freeing to know what I know now: that I wouldn’t prefer to be up there. To like where I am—in the crowd, with Renee. Maybe it’s just growing up, but there’s no stage I could play that would make me half as proud as I feel when she smiles. That wide, bright smile that pushes her cheeks up over her eyes. To me, it’s brighter than all the lights onstage combined.
The first song ends, and with a flip of Solas’s sweaty red hair, the chug of the next song starts up. I don’t know it, but the crowd does. They scream like there’s a prize for the first person to tear a vocal cord. I turn to Renee, and she’s looking at me, but her gaze bounces away when I catch her, the apples of her cheeks ripening to a perfect pink. She says something then, but it gets buried beneath the music.
“What?!” I lean closer, but even with Renee’s breath prickling the shell of my ear, the music is too loud to make out a word she says. My face twists up in a silent apology, and Renee nods, motioning to the stage as if to say she’ll tell me later. When the song ends and the crowd roars, Renee and I roar right along with them until Solas’s rough chuckle comes over the mic. The sound is familiar in the worst way, and something deep inside me begins to tremble, a rockslide starting the moment I hear the words “Is that Alice Pierce?”
Every part of me freezes, except for my pulse, which charges ahead like a raging bull. This is definitely not part of the plan. Isqueeze my eyes shut, then Renee’s hand slips into mine, a silent reminder.You wanted him to see you, Alice. Maybe this is okay.When I open my eyes, a ragged smile has crept its way across Solas’s mouth, and a chill rolls through me as he extends one tattooed arm, pointing into the crowd.
