“Dangerous skill.”
“Only if you give me something to work with.”
There it is. I grin, because not grinning would be a mistake. “And have I?”
Her eyes flick over me; quick, assessing, not subtle in the slightest. “You’re still talking.”
I bark out a laugh before I can stop it. “Wow. Brutal much?”
She shrugs again, but there’s the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her mouth now, which I guess makes it a little better.
“Does it work?” She motions with her chin toward the bottle. “The pretending.”
“Sometimes.” Just to make a point, I take a drink, then fire back at her. “What’s your method?”
“Feeling things.” It’s blunt and lands as intended.
“Yeah, I’m gonna pass on that tonight.”
That earns me a real smile. It’s quick, sharp and gone too fast, but I note it.
Hayden drifts in beside us then, bass slung low, calm like the world never rattles him. He gives me a nod. The universalyou goodcheck-in.
“Barely,” I grumble as I glance back at Quinn.
His mouth twitches. “Figures.”
Down the hall, someone shouts the call. Five minutes. Everything fractures into motion. Sadie kisses Dean. Lily hugs Luc. Quinn steps back, already disengaging like she’saccomplished exactly what she wanted. She glances over her shoulder at me once, flashing me a smirk. “Try not to overthink it, drummer.”
I snort. “It’s adorable that you think I would.”
That half-smile again, and then she’s gone. And just like that, the space feels different. I retreat to my corner, needing the space. This is my ritual. One last breath. One last count before I blow out a breath and then jog onto the stage and up to my kit. I settle onto my throne, in-ears snug, sticks warm in my hands.
I close my eyes and let my breathing slow, syncing with the rhythm that’s lived in my chest for as long as I can remember. Drumming has always been my way of controlling the noise. It’s how I keep everything from emotion, doubt, and fear locked behind tempo and timing. As long as I keep the beat, everything else stays where it belongs. Except, yeah, not sure she’s buying that.
The lights drop and the roar hits like a wave, crashing through the walls and straight into my bones. Luc walks up to the mic through the thunderous applause, his voice slicing through the darkness as he shouts into the mic. “How you doing, Chicago?”
I count us in. The downbeat lands, solid and powerful, and my body takes over. Bass drum. Snare. Hi-hat. Precision. Muscle memory. The crowd moves as one, riding the pulse I set. This, this is easy. And I can’t believe I won’t feel it for another year.
Sweat slicks my skin. Cymbals crash. The bass vibrates through the riser beneath my feet, through my spine, through my heart. We’re locked in, perfectly synchronized, the sound of our band, Devil’s Halo, filling every corner of the arena.
I steal a glance toward the wings. I don’t see her. But I feel her. Somewhere out there, Quinn is listening. Like every beat matters a little more than it should.
On stage? I never miss a beat.
Off it? She’s already knocked me completely out of rhythm.
Chapter Two
Quinn
Crush, Crush, Crush
Paramore
The lights drop,and the roar of the crowd swells until it feels like it’s vibrating inside my ribcage. I’ve been to concerts before. Big ones. Loud ones. But this, this one feels different. The energy in the arena sharpens the second Devil’s Halo takes the stage, like the entire arena inhales at once.
And then Mikey sits. There’s something about the way he settles behind the drums that makes my attention lock in whether I want it to or not. No wasted movement. He rolls his shoulders once, grips the sticks, and in that moment, the chaos around him seems to organize itself.
