Page 42

Now, I think differently. Ifeeldifferently.
Honestly, the more I think about it, the more pissed off I get because instead of just ending our relationship, she’s kept me hanging on by a string. We have a few more stops until we’re in South Carolina, and I have no idea what to expect.
There’s a niggling voice in the back of my head telling me Nola’s not going to run to me, with her arms stretched outward, like you’d see in a movie, and jump into my arms. Shit’s going to be awkward and uncomfortable. We haven’t spoken, and frankly, I’m starting to ask myself what the fuck I am doing pining away for someone who clearly wants nothing to do with me.
But then that voice changes, and it reminds me of the time we’ve spent together, the years we’ve put into our relationship. We fell in love, and while I thought it was forever, maybe I’ve been blinded by the couples around me I look up to: my parents, Liam and Josie, JD and Jenna. They all found love. They’ve made it work with a life on the road, music in their veins, and even though Josie is the only one of the three who maintains a career, she doesn’t need to. Even Liam has expanded into entrepreneurship. What he and Josie are doing for Beaumont is amazing.
I’m tucked behind the rigging, watching Plum take the stage. The crowd hums with excitement, with the energy each performer needs to get through their set. There’s nothing like standing there, performing for a crowd that seems disinterested. With each stop, their popularity has increased. Yes, it helps that my sister insists on changing the set list, mixing up when I’m going to perform with Justine. It keeps the ticket buyers on their toes and in their seats when the show starts.
Justine has a duet with Liam as well, but Elle hasn’t said when he’ll join the tour. The fans will love that, and knowing how rabid 4225 West fans are, Elle will probably have to book another night at the venue or extend Liam’s schedule. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind either way.
The curtain rises, and the crowd roars to life. Plum doesn’t ease into their first song. Justine belts the first verse before lights, guitar, or drums can guide her. This drives the audiencewild. For a brief second, they get nothing but Justine, and it’s a gift.
And then as the lights come on.
They own it.
All three of them together.
Wynonna starts with a gritty, reverb-heavy riff that growls through the speakers and wraps the audience in its grip. Priscilla follows, sticks slamming down like she’s starting a fight she knows she’ll win. Justine stands center, her mic clenched in one hand, hips swaying like she was born under stage lights.
They don’t smile.
They don’t ask for permission.
They demand attention.
Justine tips her head back, and when her voice cuts through the air, it’s not the one I sing harmonies with. It’s sharper. Wilder. A little more unhinged.
She screams into the chorus like it’s war paint, and for a second, I forget about Nola, forget about the notebook in my case, forget about everything except the way she commands that stage like a goddamn queen.
This isn’t the soft-spoken girl writing on napkins.
This is her as a frontwoman. A force.
And the crowd loses it.
The women in Plum don’t flirt with the audience. Theydarethem.
They challenge every guy in the crowd to keep up, and they make the women watching feel like they could burn the world down and still look good doing it.
Elle leans in beside me, her voice barely audible over the amps. “You ever seen them live before this tour?”
I shake my head.
She watches a beat, then says, “They’re not just good. They’re different. People are starting to notice.”
“That’s because you make them notice. You have a knack for bringing the best out in your musicians and the fans. You’re good at this,” I tell her.
Elle leans into me again, and I put my arm around her, pulling her as tightly as possible to my side and kissing her forehead. She rights herself and wipes at her cheeks. She doesn’t have to thank me for what I’ve said; I know she’s grateful, and I also know she’s searching for the right words. That’s one thing about Elle: she struggles with compliments and how to receive them.
“This will be the last tour they open for someone.”
“You think?”
I nod. “Their fanbase has grown by leaps and bounds with this tour. Once they release their next album, it’s going to soar to the top of the charts. You’ll be doing this again next year, only then you’ll have a newborn.”
Elle cradles her bump as she looks at me. “You’ll have to babysit.”