She launches into basic pre-show pleasantries, asking about the upcoming tour and Ryder’s whereabouts. I nod and smile as the walls start to cave in.
I should’ve just let Route 66 sue me.
Take the money. I’ll keep my privacy.
I’m descending into full-on panic when a hand slides onto the small of my back — warm, sturdy, achingly familiar.
“I’m right here, Eileen,” a deep voice rasps from my side.
“Ryder! Just in time. We’re about to get started.” She turns toward the stage, which was designed to look like a chic living room with its white sofa and accompanying armchairs. “You’ve done this before, so I won’t bore you with the details — I’ll do my intro, then a brief segment about the band before I call you both out to the couch. We’ll do some questions, talk about the tour, and then you’ll sing. Sound good?”
We both nod like bobble heads as she whirls away, ensconced immediately in the crush of assistants and crew members. A second later, she steps out into view of the audience. Their applause is loud enough to drown out the music blasting from the speakers overhead.
Ryder’s hand is still on my back.
He should’ve pulled away by now.
I should’ve shrugged him off by now.
Yet neither of us moves an inch. We are a point of perfect stillness in the sea of chaos. Not looking at each other. Barely even breathing. I can feel the imprint of his hand as though it’s wrapped around my heart, each point of contact burning into me like a brand.
“Hey.”
My eyes slide over to his. I blink,hard, when I see how good he looks with a fresh haircut and his jaw clean-shaven, dressed in a crisp blue button-down shirt that brings out the aqua mote in the warm brown of his right eye.
“Breathe,” he says simply, like he knows I’m about to fall apart.
“I’m breathing just fine.”
He shoots me a dubious look that tells me he’s not buying it. To everyone milling about, I might appear cool and composed… but Ryder knows me too well. He’s always been able to see straight through me.
“Felicity…” His expression is unreadable. “Do you remember the first time we ever sang together?”
Taken off guard, I respond without thinking. “Of course. At the nursing home, when we visited Gran.”
“I made you sing in front of everyone.”
“Johnny and June,” I murmur.
His eyes flash with warmth. “Right. Johnny and June.”
“I was so pissed at you for tricking me into singing.”
“I know you were. But… do you remember what I said, right before we started? When you were nervous and wanted to walk out?”
My head tilts. “You called me chickenshit, I believe.”
“I meant the part that cameafterthat. The nice part.”
I can’t subdue the smile that twists my mouth at the memory. “You said… the worst thing that can happen is I freeze. I choke. But even if I did… you’d be right there with me.” My throat tightens. “You said,you aren’t doing this alone.”
“I meant it then, and I mean it now.” His fingers flex against my back. “I’m with you. Always.”
I try to speak, but nothing comes out. All I can manage is a breathless nod as we stand there in the semi-dark wings, waiting for our cue.
We watch Eileen greet the crowd from the white chairs centerstage, listen to the thundering cheers as she mentions our names. A man with a headset starts ushering us frantically forward. I take a few steps and Ryder’s hand falls away from my back. The panic starts to swell again… until he pauses, one step out of view of the audience, and extends his hand out toward mine.
“Together?” he asks lowly.