Page 7 of Love Loathe Devotion (Tightrope #3)

I push open the apartment door, kicking it shut behind me with a little more force than necessary. My heart is still racing from what just happened, but I do my best to keep my face neutral as I drop my guitar case onto Christie’s tiny couch.

Christie, lounging at the kitchen counter painting her nails neon pink, barely glances up before she smirks. “You’ve got a look.”

I scoff, toeing off my boots. “What look?”

“The look of someone who either just landed a record deal or got proposed to in a very dramatic, rom-com fashion.”

I snort. “Neither. Just… something weird happened at the park.”

She drops the nail polish brush back into the bottle with a clatter. “Oh my God. Please tell me it’s good weird and not serial killer weird.”

I shrug, heading for the fridge like I’m not about to drop the biggest bombshell of my life. “Define good weird?”

Christie narrowed her eyes. “Laney.”

“Fine.” I grab a soda, pop it open, and lean against the counter. “Eddie Crowe was there.”

Her jaw actually drops. “Eddie Crowe? As in the country music god you met at that tattoo shop?”

I nod, sipping my drink. “Yep. That Eddie Crowe.”

She gasps so loudly I was a little worried for our neighbors. “And you’re just standing there all casual? Girl, what happened?”

I take another slow sip, milking it for all it’s worth. “He saw me busking.”

Christie blinks. “Excuse me?”

I set my drink down and shrug like it’s no big deal, even though my heart still hasn’t returned to its normal rhythm.

I’d been forced out of my comfort zone to sing in public out of necessity and Eddie seeing me was my worst nightmare.

Okay, not worst but it was humiliating, and I just knew I would spend days agonizing over what he’d really thought.

“Yeah. He was just… there. And I was singing one of his songs. And then he came over and—”

“STOP.” Christie holds up a hand. “You were singing one of his songs? And he saw you? And then he what? Threw his underwear at you? Got down on one knee? Proposed a duet at the O2?”

I laugh. “Not quite. He asked for my number.”

Christie actually screamed.

I wince. “Could you not?”

“Could you not pretend this isn’t the biggest deal in the history of ever?” She grabs my shoulders, shaking me. “Laney. He likes you.”

I snort. “He does not.”

“He does too. He saw you once, and now he’s watching you busk and asking for your number? This is, like, the country music version of a rom-com.”

I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the way my stomach flips. “He was probably just being nice.”

“Oh, please.” Christie plops onto the couch. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened. Has he texted yet?”

I glance at my phone. The screen is blank. “No.”

“Ugh, men.” She waves a hand. “He will. And when he does, you’re going to be cool, mysterious, and slightly unavailable.”

I huff. “I’m literally none of those things.”

“Well, you will be. Now, you know what we need?”

“A new apartment where I don’t have to couch-surf?” I say dryly.

She grins. “That, and a night of fun. And, oh, look, talk of the devil, we happen to have tickets to an Eddie Crowe concert tonight.”

I sit up biting my lip. “I don’t know. He might think I’m stalking him…”

“Oh, hell, no, you’re not bailing on this.” Christie crossed her arms. “You’ve been moody and angsty for days, and this is the perfect distraction. Besides, you’ve been listening to his music nonstop since you moved in here. You can’t tell me you don’t want to see him live.”

I sigh, reaching for my purse. “Fine. But only because I don’t have the energy to fight you.”

She squeals, already darting toward her room. “Time to get hot, babe. We’re making him regret not texting.”

“As if he’ll even notice us in the crowds of screaming women,” I call, but Christie is already in the bathroom.

Christie does not take ‘casual’ as an acceptable outfit choice.

“You’re not wearing that.” She yanks my plain black tank top from my hands and throws it onto the bed like it has personally offended her.

I groan. “Christie, it’s a concert, not prom.”

“Exactly. Which means you need to look effortlessly sexy. Like, oh, I just threw this on, but also I could break hearts with a single glance.” She rifles through her closet before pulling out a short, shimmery top that I was pretty sure belonged in a nightclub. “Try this.”

I eye it warily. “It’s… tiny.”

She smirks. “It’s hot. And it’ll look amazing with those ripped jeans you love.”

With a dramatic sigh, I change into the outfit. When I turn back to the mirror, even I have to admit Christie has a point. The top hugs me just right, the slight shimmer catching the light as I move. Paired with my well-worn jeans and ankle boots, I look… good. Maybe even confident.

Christie, of course, isn’t done. She sits me down, fussing over my hair until it falls in loose waves around my shoulders. Then comes the makeup, just enough to make my eyes pop and my lips look a little too inviting.

She grins, admiring her handiwork. “There. Now you look like the main character.”

I roll my eyes. “As long as I don’t look like I’m trying too hard.”

“You look perfect.” She spins around and strikes a pose. “Now, shall we go make country music history?”

I laugh, grabbing my jacket. “Let’s go.”

The line outside the stadium stretches for what feels like miles, but no one seems to mind.

The crowd is buzzing with anticipation, conversations overlapping in a symphony of excitement.

Fans decked out in Eddie Crowe merch clutch their tickets, bouncing on their toes, sharing stories of past concerts and favorite songs.

Someone near us blasts one of his hits from a portable speaker, sparking an impromptu singalong.

“This is gonna be legendary,” Christie gushes, clutching my arm. “Can you feel it?”

I nod, soaking in the energy around us. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this kind of joy, this connection to something bigger than myself.

People in line aren’t just strangers; they’re fellow fans, bonded by their love for Eddie Crowe’s music.

A girl next to us in a vintage tour hoodie catches my eye and grins.

“First time seeing him live?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I admit. “Been a fan for years, though.”

“Oh, you’re in for a ride,” she said knowingly. “His shows are insane. I saw him last year, and I swear I ascended.”

A guy behind her chimes in. “Dude, the guitar solo in ‘Midnight Dune’? You are not ready.”

Christie lets out a dramatic gasp. “Stop, I’m already emotional.”

We all laugh, the excitement doubling. Everyone here understands each other in a way that only fellow fans can. It feels like home.

An hour later, we finally reach the front of the line. The security guard takes my ticket, scans it—and frowns. My stomach clenches.

He tries again. And again.

“Uh, these aren’t scanning,” he says, his tone shifting from routine to wary. “Where did you get these?”

My stomach twisted. “They’re legit. My ex gave them to me.”

The guard exchanges a look with his colleague. “Yeah… these are fake.”

Heat rushes to my face. I can feel the eyes of the fans behind us, their excitement momentarily dimming as they tune into the unfolding drama. Of course, Randy had to ruin this too.

Christie, ever the fearless one, leans in, batting her lashes. “Are you sure? I mean, come on, isn’t there anything you can do?”

The guard gives her a flat look, unimpressed. “Sorry, but I can’t let you in with these.”

A sinking feeling takes hold in my chest. This is supposed to be our night. I’d finally been happy, and now—

“Let ’em in.”

The voice is low, smooth, carrying the weight of someone used to being obeyed. I turn just in time to see a tall figure in a hoodie and a ballcap strolling past. He doesn’t slow, doesn’t look back. But something about him sends a jolt through me.

The guard stiffens, pressing a hand to his earpiece as he listens to something on the other end. A beat later, he exhales sharply and turns back to us.

“Looks like you’re good to go,” he says, his tone begrudging but final. Then, with a smirk, he holds out two lanyards. “Oh, and uh, you’ve both been upgraded to backstage passes.”

Christie and I gawk at him. “What?” I breathe.

“Enjoy the show,” he adds, waving us through as though this is just another day on the job.

I reach out with a shaky hand, taking the lanyard and draping it around my neck. It feels surreal, like something out of a dream.

Christie clutches my arm, practically vibrating. “Oh my God, oh my God. This is happening.”

I turn back, scanning the crowd for the mystery man. But he is already gone, swallowed by the sea of fans. My heart pounds as I clutch the pass against my chest.

Who the hell was that?