Page 2 of Pretty When It Burns (When The Lights Go Down #1)

Chapter one

"Closer" - The Chainsmokers and Halsey

Mia

My alarm blares, far too early for how late I stayed up the night before.

I groan and bury my face into my pillow, wishing I could ignore the outside world.

Feeling the softness of the sheets against my skin and the weight of the duvet, I want nothing more than to stay in the inviting warmth of my bed for the rest of the morning.

Of course, it’s one of the days I actually need to be in the office. I love my life as a concert photographer, but the late nights it often comes with and the inevitable early morning that follows is not always ideal.

I spend most nights at different concerts around town, taking photos for a publication company in Dallas that specializes in creating content and media for bands.

It’s been a dream, being able to turn my love for music into a career.

Most of the time, my job doesn’t feel like work at all. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done.

I reluctantly throw the covers to the other side of the bed and drag myself through a very half-assed version of my morning routine. Dabbing foundation across my face and a little concealer underneath my eyes, with a swipe of mascara I look at the girl staring back at me in the mirror.

She’s exhausted.

No amount of eyeshadow, mascara, or even my ability to craft the perfect wing on my eyeliner is going to change that.

After pulling on my most comfortable pair of jeans and a basic black v-neck, I do another once over in the full length mirror on the back of my door. Accepting my appearance for what it is, I walk into the living room and grab my car keys off the coffee table.

Twenty minutes later, I pull into the parking garage at the office. Running my hands through my chocolate brown waves is a desperate attempt to make it look less like I’d just woken up thirty minutes prior and more like I have my shit together.

Rylee, my roommate, tackles me in an embrace when I get off the elevator. We met through our jobs and we’ve lived together for about six months. Incidentally, she’s become my closest friend in Dallas.

I know she’s already been at work for an hour and, if I had to guess, she’s had at least three Red Bulls from the break room by now.

Her fiery red hair is pulled up in a knot on the top of her head, and I notice she’s wearing…

the t-shirt I brought home from the concert I’d photographed last night.

I’d left it on the back of one of the barstools in the kitchen.

In typical Rylee fashion, she must have been wandering around this morning in just her bra—in a rush to get out the door as usual—and put on the first clean shirt she could find.

“Today! It’s today, Mia!” she squeals, not helping my headache.

Her energy is a lot before caffeine, but I manage a weak smile as I make my way into my office and set my bag down at my desk.

I’m the only one in our company that has an office without being on the executive team—one of the many perks of being the only photographer on staff.

It sounds glamorous, but I really only have it because I need more space to store all of my camera equipment.

Rylee is talking about the out-of-town concert we’ll be covering tonight in Los Angeles.

Our company was hired a few weeks ago to do some photos and general media promotion material for a secret pop-up show, and the details thus far have been limited.

We know the name of the headlining band and the name of their tour manager, but that’s about all they’ve given us.

They even had our team sign NDAs to keep everything under wraps.

I’ve never worked on a show this high profile before, and it feels like I’m taking the next big step towards the career I’ve always wanted.

By the early afternoon, Rylee and I have made sure the promotional material is ready to go and gotten my equipment packed up. We head back to our shared apartment to pack our personal bags for the trip and load them up in the back of my 4Runner to make our way to the airport.

We walk into the back of the venue in the early evening to introduce ourselves to the tour manager.

The backstage area is buzzing with an energy I’ve never experienced before.

Like every other venue I’ve been in, it’s dirty and smells like sweat, but it’s home to a lot of these guys.

Musicians are going through their pre-show rituals of tuning their instruments, doing vocal warm-ups, finishing getting dressed, and even napping.

I’m usually out with the crowd during the majority of my time at a venue—and I like it that way.

I’m perfectly content being the behind-the-scenes girl, focused on my job and unnoticed by the masses.

We’re walking down one of the hallways when Rylee stops short and grabs my hand. I notice she’s staring at a guy with his back to us, immersed in conversation with a group of pit crew members.

“I recognize the back of that head and those tattoos,” she whispers, and I swear I hear a little panic in her voice.

“What?” I ask. “Who? That guy? I’ve never seen him before. He’s hot though.”

The hot guy with the colorful sleeve of tattoos turns slightly towards us, and Rylee’s thoughts are confirmed right before my eyes. She lets out a huff and puts her shoulders back, heading directly towards him. He faces us fully now, and I can tell he recognizes Rylee now, too.

“Little sister,” he smirks. “What are you doing here?”

Before Rylee can answer, I can tell he’s looking right past her and straight at me. He gives me the slow once over. I stand there looking a little more out of place than I would’ve liked, sporting a blush I’m not expecting.

Oh. This is Brandon. Rylee’s brother.

“What am I doing here?” Rylee snaps. “I’m working. What are you doing here?”

“I’m working, too,” Brandon says with a cheshire cat grin. “Catastrophically Charismatic is making it big time, baby. We’re opening for this show.” His eyes flick towards me again. “Enough about me. You gonna introduce me to your friend over there?”

“You’re—,” Rylee stammers, but she recovers quickly as she turns to face me. “Mia, this is Brandon, my annoying big brother who never tells me anything and the bassist for Catastrophically Charismatic—his band.”

Brandon rolls his eyes and grabs Rylee in a side hug.

“Brandon, this is Mia,” she huffs. “My roommate back in Dallas. She’s the incredible photographer at my office that I’ve told you about on the phone.”

I swear I see Brandon’s eyes glimmer underneath the low lights of the hallway we’re in.

They look exactly like Rylee’s—warm, caramel tones that I recognize without hesitation.

His sandy blond hair is a stark contrast to his sister’s fiery red, but it suits him.

I can definitely see the resemblance now that I’m focused on something other than how hot he is.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mia,” Brandon says before he beckons to us. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the band.”

I see Rylee tense a little before we step into the band’s dressing room. It’s dark, and a little musty. A clothing rack with only a few jackets on it stands to my right, and there’s an old vanity with a flickering light on the other side. It’s spacious, but not fancy by any means.

Two guys are warming up on vocals and guitar on the worn, brown leather couch in the corner.

One of them has cropped brown hair and every part of him from the neck down that isn’t covered by the tightest black shirt known to man is pure muscle and beautifully inked.

The other one… there’s something about him other than the fact that he’s gorgeous.

His hair is dark—almost black—and he’s wearing a simple faded gray t-shirt with distressed black jeans and combat boots.

His hair is shorter on the sides, but longer on the top.

As he looks down, the longer part hangs over his forehead to cover his eyes.

He’s very focused on the chords and strumming pattern on his guitar—enough to not even bother looking up when we enter the room.

Musically, they’re incredible. I close my eyes for a moment and let the melody fill my senses. There are few things in this world that I love the way I love music. I can’t believe Rylee’s never shown me their work before.

“Grayson, Eric,” Brandon calls over to them. “Surprise! Rylee’s here for work, and this is her friend and colleague, Mia. She’ll be out front taking photos tonight while Rylee is backstage doing interviews.”

My eyes open widely at the mention of the name, Grayson, as a pair of familiar deep, dark blue eyes finally look up at me curiously from their spot on the couch.

Fuck. Me. It’s him.

Before I can form the words to all the questions I’m so desperate to ask, another band member bursts through the door.

“And this is Tony, our very late drummer,” Brandon says with a roll of his eyes.

I greet all of the guys, but when I shake hands with Grayson, he holds on an extra second too long and looks into my eyes with something resembling uncertainty.

The feeling in the pit of my stomach only intensifies as our skin touches.

It’s almost overwhelming, and if it lasts even just a second longer, I’m going to have to walk away and clear my head.

Because… What. The. Fuck.

“Hey, Gray?” Eric says, and I’m now absolutely sure this is the same Eric who also lived in our neighborhood when Grayson and I were growing up. “Let’s go check out the stage set up or… something.”

Grayson snaps out of his reverie at the sound of his bandmate’s voice and drops my hand, still as speechless as I am when we finally break eye contact.

Eric moves past us and brushes his fingers across Rylee’s hip, sparking something resembling intensity and familiarity between them that I don’t recognize.

The band leaves the room shortly after the strange interaction.

As soon as the door shuts behind them, Rylee whirls around and grabs me by the shoulders, already unaffected by whatever just happened between her and Eric.

“Do you want to explain to me why this whole room felt awkward for a good ten minutes and why Grayson was acting like he knew you?” she demands.

I’m a little bewildered, because I feel like I just learned more about her in the last fifteen minutes than in the entire year I’ve known her.

“Do you want to explain to me what just happened between you and Eric?” I shoot back. “Also, when were you planning on mentioning that Brandon’s band is a big enough deal to open for a show like this?”

“I honestly didn’t realize they were getting big opportunities now,” Rylee explains.

“Brandon and I talk often, but he’s always been the type to play stuff like this close to the vest until it’s really happening.

He feels like he’ll jinx it if he starts shouting his success from the rooftops. I’m not surprised he didn’t tell me.”

“Okay, valid,” I relent. “But you and Eric. What was that?”

“A story for another day, okay?” she says, and I hear the pleading tone in her voice for me to drop it. “I want to talk about you and Grayson. I’ve never seen him look at anyone like that. Have you guys met before or something?”

“You could say that.” I sigh, trying to collect all the feelings and thoughts buzzing around in my head.

Rylee’s eyes widen as she points to the couch and demands I spill the details immediately.

I tell her the story of Grayson Harris, the older boy who lived across the street from me.

He sang and played guitar on his front porch, and I would sit on my own porch and pretend to read or work on homework so I could listen to him.

Unbeknownst to him, he’s the one who started my love for music.

I tell her about the huge crush I nursed for years and the heartbreak that followed when he left.

In a desperate attempt to get to know him, I’d even gone as far as befriending his little sister, Johanna—not one of my finest moments.

Now, I haven’t seen or heard from him in over a decade.

“You’ve got to say something to him!” she exclaims once I’m finished.

“No!” I say, almost instantly. “I’m not going out of my way to embarrass myself. It’s not like he felt the same way about me back then.”

Rylee rolls her eyes and heads for the door, saying something under her breath along the lines of, “If you don’t tell him, I will.”

I dart out of the room after her, but I’m too late. There she is, with Grayson. It seems like she’s telling him everything, animated gestures and all. I stand with my arms crossed awkwardly against my chest a few feet away, praying for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

He’s more than just a hot guy. Even when we were young, I thought he was attractive—as much as I could think that at fourteen. But there almost aren’t words to describe the effect he has on me now. He’s God-like.

Grayson looks from Rylee to me. His eyes widen in full recognition—and he runs straight towards me.

He reaches me in a few long strides, wrapping me tightly in a hug and spinning me around like something out of a movie.

“God, Mia,” he murmurs against my shoulder. “Look at you—all grown up.”

I return his embrace and allow myself to relax into him, breathing in his scent. I expected him to smell more like sweat and cigarette smoke—what most of the musicians I know usually smell like. But his scent is intoxicating, something remnant of sandalwood and fresh laundry.

I hope I’m not shaking hard enough for him to notice. He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, still holding on to me like he doesn’t want to—maybe can’t—let me go.

“You’re not just here for tonight, are you?” he asks, and I swear he sounds hopeful.

I shake my head, still too shocked by who’s standing right in front of me to say anything even remotely coherent.

“Good,” he smiles. “I have to go play this set, but please, don’t go anywhere.”

He kisses my cheek and runs out on stage with the rest of the band, greeting the crowd at the microphone. I stand there stunned, unable to move, as I attempt to process what just happened. I see Rylee rounding the corner with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

“Well?” I demand, half pissed at her for confronting him, half in love with her for the same reason. “What did you say to him?”

“You walked in before I could finish,” she says. “But, Mia, in all the years I’ve known Grayson, he’s never looked at anyone the way he just looked at you.”