The sound blast from the crowd hit my stomach like over-modulated bass. No one could ever say Without Grey fans weren’t on board with charity.
Keyton stayed behind in the wings of the stage.
“We’d love to hear Craving Chaos.” The twenty-something there with her parents shouted into the mic.
Camden turned to the rest of the band and me. “Do you think we can pull that off?”
I lifted my mic. “Hell yes.”
Another roar from the stadium filled with twinkling lights from cell phones.
We dove straight in and I closed my eyes to beat back those nerves, although it was easier this time because he was here—not just in my head, but live and in the flesh.
I stepped to the front of the stage after the second song, swallowing against the lump wedged in my throat.
“How would you feel if I sang three tonight?”
The crowd screamed, rumbling the stage under my feet.
I could hear the voices of everyone trying to figure out what I was doing in my ear. Tugging out the monitor, I smiled wide and spun to Camden with a lip bite and a ‘don’t kill me.’
The hairs stood on the back of my neck. A throwback. Off my first album. Generally acoustic. His song.
Camden laughed and crossed the stage dipping his head, still so much taller than me in my heels.
I whispered in his ear. His eyes widened before he glanced over his shoulder at the wings and nodded, jogging to tell the rest of the guys. We’d played it a few times over the years. Easy key changes, a basic melody. It had been my first number one hit.
Closing my eyes, I wrapped both hands around the mic. The fabric of the mic sleeve matched my outfit. Holden had had them made after the first five times the mic had flown out of my sweaty palms.
The guitar chord kicked off the song and I opened my eyes, staring out at the sea of people. After all this time, it was his eyes on me that got me through a show. No matter what happened, I knew that at least once there had been someone who’d watched me like there wasn’t anyone else in the world.
I’d clung to that with deep breaths as I stood on stage after stage after the puking and strobing lights to kick off a show.
Tears clung to my eyelashes, but I blinked them back. This was why I didn’t perform it live anymore. The overwhelming feeling of our past collided with my present, making it hard to breathe. But I needed him to hear it, needed him to know I still thought about him.
It was unfair and stupid just like I’d been all those years ago too afraid to be the center of his world. Too afraid to think too hard about what we could’ve been.
He was getting married. If I could just talk to him and tell him how happy I was that he’d found his calm sea that I’d never been able to be. Then I could close the door forever and know he’d found his happiness. Found his love.
“Thank you, Philly.” I smiled and waved.
Turning toward the wings, his shoulder disappeared from behind the curtains and I found myself running toward the now empty, dark space.
His group walked away with a guy in a headset guiding them.
Music picked up again on stage.
“Da—Keyton!” My shout was drowned out by the kinetic drumming from Austin.
“Bay!” Holden rushed after me.
Going up on my toes in the heels like I had for the Chanel ad a few months ago, I sprinted after him. “Keyton!” His head tilted like he heard me, but he didn’t stop or turn around.
Heads turned in my direction and I was lucky someone didn’t tackle me to the ground for making so much noise.
Someone held back a black curtain for them.
My heart raced, pinging against my ribs. “Keyton!”
He stopped and turned. The people around him doing the same with questioning gazes.
I skidded to a stop in front of him, wobbling.
He made no move to stop me from face planting.
Staring at him, my mouth felt dried out like week-old contacts. It would’ve been good if I’d come up with something to say before right this second. Shit.
4
Keyton
She stood in front of me, her chest heaving and her eyes a little frantic.
Up on stage, she had been mesmerizing, like always. In the dress, with the hair and makeup, the differences were stark. This polished and perfected version of Bay didn’t hold a candle to the Goober-eating, hot-chocolate-making girl who’d stolen my heart with a single note.
“Hi.”
The music drowned out most talking and noise backstage.
A squadron of people stood behind her with ear pieces and tablets. It was like Maddy had cloned herself and sent a whole team to take care of Bay.
A shrill voice burst through the three-second beat where we stared at each other. “I know I just saw you on stage, but I needed to tell you how big a fan I am. And I don’t want to lose my chance this time.” The twenty-two-year-old whose parents had bid on this auction prize gushed, grabbing onto Bay’s hands and jerking her forward like she hadn’t hugged her less than ten minutes ago.
I cringed at how much of an idiot I’d probably looked like. “Gary, Barbara and Bethany. This is Bay. But I’m sure you already knew that.”
They had their phones out already taking pictures.
Bay’s gaze turned to them and I could see the stage presence she’d perfected sliding into place. This was the face she wore for the hours while performing, standing on red carpets, and signing autographs. Her smile was genuine and pleasant, but still guarded.
I knew all about living a life where everyone wanted a piece of you.
After a round of pictures and autographs using markers that appeared in front of her from her people, her gaze kept darting to mine.
I waved over the production assistant who’d been guiding us. “Can you take them to the after party? I’ll follow right behind.”
My trio was guided toward the backstage party area, craning their necks to get another look.
The music on stage ended as Without Grey finished their second encore. Backstage became a flurry of activity with equipment being moved, cases popped open and instruments tucked away.
The blanket of noise around us felt close to silence without the stadium-filling music that had been cranked up only a few minutes ago.
A roadie walked by with two guitars held in each hand. They were electric acoustics, nothing like the one I’d pieced together in California.
My heart did a triple beat and I searched for words. “I got your note for the guitar.” The last communication from her six years ago. The note I hadn’t been able to respond to, just like the texts and her one final attempt at contacting me.
Sitting in the darkened apartment, trying to keep my life from falling apart, I’d stared at her guitar wishing it were broken again, wishing I hadn’t hung so many hopes and dreams on what it would mean when it was finally finished.
“I—I can’t tell you what it meant to get it back.”
Instead of shoving those old feelings deep down, I let them wash over me. I didn’t deny the pain that had once been so sharp, I’d checked over my body to make sure I hadn’t been stabbed and not noticed. The rage and sadness threw me into a dark place if I denied it.
“I was happy to know it made it safely to you.” With a nod, I turned.