Page 1 of Everything In Between

ONE

jersey

“Thank you, Milwaukee. You’ve given me a night to remember!”

Adrenaline courses through me with a familiar and exhilarating hum.

The last few moments are here. I hit my mark, right where the lift is located.

I take another huge bow before standing up tall and waving my arm high above my head.

As I descend beneath the stage, confetti falls from the roof and the colorful lights twirl in circles.

I catch the last final glimpses of my fans waving back at me before I’m lowered out of view.

The roar of the crowd echoes in my ears, and as soon as the lift stops below the stage, the exhaustion of the pressure from the show hits me light a freight train.

My knees wobble and my shoulders ache but even that’s not enough to deter the gratitude filling me.

I’m so thankful to be the one up there performing, making memories for my fans and putting on a show for them to remember.

Even though the night is finished, I’ll hold these memories close for many nights to come.

Blinking away the emotions from those last few moments of the show, I center myself again, taking a few deep breaths and counting down from fifteen.

Before I make it to one, I am bombarded with the whirlwind of the after-show processes.

My tech managers reach for my earpieces and my microphone, stowing them away safely until our next show.

Beside me, my dancers chatter excitedly, hugging each other and sharing high-fives at another show successfully finished.

Eyes trailing over the crew that surrounds us, I search for the familiar blue eyes belonging to my personal assistant-slash-best friend.

“Jersey!” I snap my head around at the sound of Bethany’s voice only to find her right behind me, a proud smile on her face. “Congratulations!”

She hurries in and wraps her arm around my shoulders. “There you are,” I say, sagging against her in relief. Arm tightening around me, she hurries me away from the backstage craziness and into the green rooms. “I was starting to get worried you wouldn’t come to my rescue.”

Bethany pats my shoulder affectionately. “You know I’ll always have your back.”

The stillness of the green room wraps me up like a warm hug and I feel like I can finally breathe.

There’s nothing I love more than being up on stage and performing my heart out, but the energy required to do so wears on me.

Once she shuts the door, I fall into the plush sofa that travels with us when we’re on the road and take a big breath that hurts my lungs.

My muscles are screaming at me and my skin prickles with the adrenaline crash.

Bethany stands by the door with her hands on her hips. “You look exhausted.”

I fight out a laugh. “Gee, thanks. Every pop star dreams of hearing that once she’s finished her twenty-fifth show on her cross-country stadium tour.”

“You’re killing it out there. But I’m worried about you. I don’t want you to burn yourself out,” she says, and I catch onto her concern.

I exhale and give her as big a smile as I can muster. “Thank you. Going from one extreme to another definitely wipes me out.”

“Get a little whiplash going from the highs of performing on stage to the chaos of being handled backstage?”

I chuckle and nod. “Exactly that.”

“You really need to take actual time for yourself. I’m talking about no work whatsoever.”

I frown, picturing my calendar in my head and the lack of wiggle room.

“I’m not sure I would even know what that looks like.

And really, that’s not up to me.” A bitter taste floods my mouth with that statement.

“Callum’s mentioned booking recording studio time for the rest of the year to finish the next album, so he’s definitely not open to offering me time off. ”

Bethany purses her lips off to the side at the mention of my manager. The room falls quiet between us. My admission is a heavy reminder that I’m a pawn in the grand scheme of things.

“Speaking of, Cal is going to be pissed at you for that little stunt you pulled tonight,” Bethany says.

“Oh, no doubt I’ll get an ear full at some point. I need to gear myself up for the scolding,” I mutter and then sigh, “but I’m going to get out of these clothes.”

Bethany reaches for my post-show bag full of my comfiest clothes and hands it to me.

I disappear into the adjacent bathroom and get out of the sparkly body suit.

My skin is a little damp still from the dancing and the warm lights, but after rinsing and toweling off the sweat from the show, I feel good as new.

I pull on my pair of sweatpants, an oversized shirt, and my fuzzy boots—my secret ingredient to feeling more comfortable.

Digging through my bag of toiletries, I find my face wash and hairbrush.

Once the makeup is off, my face is clean, and my hair brushed through, I can finally relax.

After gathering up the show items for the costume department to put away, I step out of the bathroom to see Bethany standing there holding my favorite post-show snack with a cheeky grin on her face.

“Figured you’d be starving by now.” She hands the packages over and takes the clothes from me.

“You’re my favorite,” I announce, unscrewing the lid of peanut butter and scooping some out with an Oreo. The combination of chocolate and peanut butter explodes against my tastebuds.

“You’re my favorite too.” Bethany hangs up the bodysuit on the rack next to the rest of my costumes. “Plus, we’ve been doing this a long time. I know when you’re in need of comfort food.”

“That you do. And I love it!” I sing as I help myself to another hearty serving of peanut butter and moan at the absolute delight this treat brings me. It’s the best after-show snack when I’m a little woozy from the lights and the physical exertion of dancing on stage for two and a half hours.

I take out a few more cookies, following the same routine.

Bethany even helps herself to one or two.

When my post-show sugar craving has been met, I relax into the cushions and close my eyes.

In a little less than an hour, I’ll be shuttled away from the stadium to the airstrip where I’ll fly back to LA on my private jet.

Come Monday, I’ll be back at the studio ready to work.

The turnaround while on tour can be grueling.

“Have you decided on what you’re wearing for the VMAs next week?” Bethany asks, reaching for her phone. “I need to let Kelsey and the rest of the PR team know which designer you’ve settled on.”

Over the last few weeks, I’d been sent multiple dresses in exactly my size that I was encouraged to sport on the red carpet at the VMAs.

I’m projected to win Song of the Year again for the third year straight, and I’ll be presenting the Best Hip-Hop award.

All the up-and-coming designers want their names plastered across every fashion news outlet as I present myself at the award show.

Already, I’m exhausted by the idea. I’m thankful for the opportunity and the fans’ enthusiasm for the music I’ve released this year, but there’s nothing I’d like more than to watch the show from the comfort of my home, and thankful that’s exactly what I was able to do last year because I was rehearsing for shows.

But this year, with my third nomination and invitation to present, Callum insisted I make an appearance.

“This is the big leagues now, cupcake,” he said when I voiced my desire to sit this one out too. “There’s no time to sit on the sidelines.”

“I think I’m going to go with the Agnelli,” I say absentmindedly, going for another Oreo and a large scoop of peanut butter as a comfort.

A hint of anxiety pokes its head out of the shadows of my mind when I think about using up the last reserves of my social battery at the award show next week.

“She’s the sweetest and least aggressive of the bunch we’ve gotten this year. ”

“I agree,” Bethany says, tapping on her phone screen to note my decision.

This was a personal choice I made in the last few years, only choosing to wear up-and-coming designer pieces.

Even all of my stage costumes are designed by smaller name designers.

Not a single high-end named piece is on my set list. It would be easy for me to get my hands on a Versace or an Oscar de la Renta, but I wanted to give smaller designers a chance at the limelight.

Cal was not the biggest fan of the idea when I brought it to the table, but after arguing about it and going back and forth, he finally relented.

I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve bested him in an argument over the years we’ve worked together.

He would love me to be in the pieces designed by the bigger names, but I held firm on my request, not budging until he agreed.

In my opinion, the smaller designers deserved to have someone take a chance on them, like the label did for me all those years ago. Even Cal can’t argue with that sentiment.

Unfortunately, my small win with Cal was short-lived. He’s been even more of a pain ever since then. As if I need the daily reminder from him that he pulls the strings of my career.

The door to the green room flies open, revealing my twin brother standing there with outstretched arms. “Jersey Matthews, you’ve done it again!”

I roll my eyes and laugh as he takes the seat to my left, falling into the couch cushions with an audible oof.

Roman has always been one of my biggest fans.

He’s an on-screen heartbreaker, landing all the big roles recently in Hollywood.

His schedule is as grueling as mine, but he does his best to attend as many of my shows as possible.

He’s recently finished filming next year’s summer rom-com, so his schedule has freed up for a little while.

“How’s Hollywood treating you these days, Roman?” Bethany asks.