“Ryder—”
My jaw clenches. “They’re waiting. I should get out there.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean to hold you up.”
I take two steps before she calls out my name. Turning back, I lift my brows in question.
“I don’t know all the details about what happened to her while she was away from here. I don’t even know exactly why she left. But I do know, despite what you might think… it wasn’t easy for her. Not at all.” She swallows nervously. “Still isn’t, if you ask me.”
She’s only trying to help, but her words make me want to put my fist through the closest wall. With a terse nod, I turn and stride out onto the stage.
“Look who finally dragged his ass to soundcheck,” Linc calls from behind his drum set. “The ball couldn’t start without you, Cinderella.”
“We’ve been waiting twenty minutes.” Aiden frowns at me from the opposite side of the stage, where he’s talking to one of the sound engineers.
“Don’t blame me — blame the traffic from all the people tail-gating outside,” I mutter, avoiding their eyes as I take my place by my mic. When I look out over the arena, I lose my breath at the sheer magnitude. All those empty seats — in a few hours, they’ll be full of people listening to our songs, singing along to our words…
“Surreal, isn’t it?” Felicity says quietly from my left. There’s a tremor in her voice. “Hard to believe that many people are coming to see us.”
I don’t respond as I sling my guitar strap over one shoulder and make a few adjustments to the tuning pegs. Turning to look back at Aiden, I call, “Let’s get started.”
The small sound of hurt that comes from Felicity’s throat nearly brings me to my knees, but I don’t spare her so much as a glance. The rage that’s been simmering inside me for the past two weeks, as I’ve sat through interview after interview, listening to her tell the world we’re better off friends, is suddenly threatening to boil over.
Silence is the only thing keeping an explosion contained. Every time I open my mouth, it’s harder and harder to swallow down all the things I want to say to her. Things she’s made pretty damn clear she has no interest in hearing.
When the sound engineer gives us the green light, we launch intoDon’t Break My Heart— a catchy, opening number that will have the crowd dancing in their seats within the first few chords. Aiden wanted to start with one of our slower songs, but we overruled him.
This is a stadium tour, not an acoustic open-mic night.
We play the first verse, starting and stopping three separate times while the tech team tweaks the speaker system and adjusts the overhead spotlights. I blink away stars as the beams shoot straight into my retinas, blindingly bright.
From the corner of my eye, I can see Felicity doing the same.
We’ve spent the past few weeks practicing on the makeshift platforms at Route 66, but that can’t compare to being here, standing on the real stage. Built like a capital T, a narrow catwalk extends to a round secondary platform in the middle of the pit section. Later in the set, we’ll leave our mic stands behind and walk out there to play in the heart of the crowd, singing back to back as a sea of swaying fans stare at us from all angles.
The technicians test every microphone, light fixture, and speaker, before they release us to relax and get ready. One final hour of downtime before the doors open. All four of us are eerily silent as we walk to the backstage lounge, the looming reality of our first show intimidating enough to momentarily subdue even Lincoln’s usual chatter.
At least, until the door to our backstage suite swings open and he spots Carly sitting on the sectional, sipping a soda.
“I don’t recall requesting a hot blonde on my rider!” His grin is a mile wide.
“In your dreams, Travers,” she shoots back, rolling her eyes. When they drift to Aiden, her smile falters and her cheeks flush red. “Hi, Aiden.”
“Carly.” He nods, unreadable as ever. A beat of silence passes as they stare at each other, until Aiden turns and walks stiffly into the bathroom.
Huh.
“How’d it go?” Carly asks brightly, looking back at her best friend as though nothing strange has just occurred.
“Swell,” Felicity mutters, sounding uncharacteristically dark as she plunks herself down on the sofa.
I tell myself it’s not my concern, that I should look away, but I can’t keep my eyes from lingering on her face, examining the small indentation between her brows that tells me she’s lost in deep thought, the way she chews her bottom lip that informs me she’s swimming in nerves. I want to smooth my thumb across that line, to plant a warm kiss on that troubled lip.
But you can’t. It’s not your job to be her shoulder to lean on, anymore.
Gritting my teeth, I tear my eyes away from her and force myself to walk to the refreshment table. While Carly may not have been on Linc’s rider, plenty of other shit was. There’s a full spread of snacks, fruit, and refreshments, including a chilled platter of jumbo shrimp. A glass mini-fridge displays an array of cold soda, beer, water, and wine.
“Is this all for us?” I ask, glancing over at Linc.