Page 34 of Pretty When It Burns (When The Lights Go Down #1)
Chapter thirty-one
"More than life" - mgk (ft. glaive)
Mia
“Thank you, Folly Beach,” Grayson says over the mic. “You’ve been the best unofficial stop on this tour. Goodnight!”
The lights go down and applause rings in my ears even after we step off the stage.
The beach club isn’t a real venue, so we’re thrown right in the mix with the audience as Jake and the club’s staff deal with our equipment.
Fans line up around us, hardly able to wait to ask us questions and take pictures.
The most mind blowing part is, they don’t just want to talk to Grayson and Eric—they want to talk to me. We haven’t been allowed to interact with the crowds after the major shows for safety reasons, so this is my first experience being around their fans after performing.
They compliment my voice, ask questions about the band, what it’s like being on tour, about my job, about Grayson and me. I still can’t imagine a world where I’m more than the behind-the-scenes girl. It’s an entirely different life being where I am now.
Grayson doesn’t hover, but watches me carefully as I sign merch and take pictures with the fans, making sure I’m not getting overwhelmed, that the crowd is being respectful of my space.
I can feel the protective energy radiating off of him like heat, his hand never leaving its place on my lower back.
Eventually, the crowd fades. By the time we get back to the Jeep, my face is aching from all the smiling. I’m not sure if I remember my own name.
“That was… insane,” I breathe, admiring the inky black sky dotted with stars.
Grayson walks towards me, wiping the last of the sweat from his brow with his shirt, giving me a hell of a view from where I’m leaning against the car.
“You,” he says, his voice low, quieter, less front man, more mine. “You were incredible up there.”
His eyes melt into mine. He’s so proud of me, proud of me in a way I don’t think anyone else in my life has ever been. It’s everything to me, the way he’s looking at me like I can do no wrong.
“Still feels like I borrowed someone else’s life for the night,” I admit, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I know I keep saying this, but I’m still not used to being in the spotlight. I don’t know if I ever will be.”
He steps in and closes the last of the distance between us, placing his hands on either side of my face and kissing me. “You owned it,” he says sincerely. “Every single second. You didn’t borrow a thing.”
His hands move down from my face until they hover on my waist. My breathing is slowing, finally, grounding myself again from the high I’ve been on. He’s always the one grounding me.
“Also?” Grayson murmurs in my ear. “You were so fucking sexy up there.”
I smile into his kiss as his hands wander up the hem of my shirt, the warmth creating goosebumps on my bare skin. It’s getting to the point where that feeling, the feeling that we’re so connected, is the only thing tethering me down to earth—and I want more.
“Damn, you’re good at that,” I say, exhaling a shaky breath as his hands continue to explore underneath the thin fabric of my top.
“I know,” he says with the borderline-cocky confidence he knows I love. “But which part are you referring to exactly?”
“Making me forget that there are still people around.”
His smirk is maddening and incredibly sexy at the same time. “There aren’t. Not right now. Just you and me, sweetheart.”
Then our lips connect again and he’s right: it’s just the two of us and the very poorly lit back parking lot.
He hoists me back into the passenger seat of the Jeep, just like he’d done this morning.
I find myself convinced that when we get back to LA, he’s going to trade in his Camaro for something that requires his assistance to get me into.
“You’re such a menace when you’re proud of me,” I tease, my voice catching in my throat a little as I feel him harden against me through his dark blue jeans.
“Damn right I’m proud of you,” he whispers as he slides one hand up my thigh and into the panties he’d made me put on after the warehouse incident.
“Not to mention, between this afternoon on the bus and then hearing you sing my lyrics tonight looking like that… Fuck, baby, I can already barely keep my hands off of you. I thought I was going to explode watching you out there.”
I moan softly and tighten my legs around his hips, barely able to control myself either. I press my hand against his cock through his jeans and put my cheek against his.
“Careful,” I say softly in his ear. “I thought we’d talked about not getting arrested for public indecency while we’re here.”
His grin against the side of my face is pure sex and sin—I can tell without even looking at him.
“Public Indecency. I think that’s going to be the title of our next single!”
I roll my eyes playfully and kiss him again, harder this time with a little tug on his hair after threading my fingers through it.
He groans against my lips before breaking the kiss and tearing himself away from me reluctantly.
I don’t want him to stop either, but the rest of our group has to be wondering where we are by now.
“You’re gonna keep getting used to this, you know,” Grayson assures me as he makes his way to the driver’s side. “The stage. The spotlight. I promise.”
“If you say so,” I shrug as I straighten my skirt in my seat and swing around to face forward.
“I do say so,” he smiles, stealing a quick kiss after putting the keys in the ignition. “You’re incredible, Mia. Now everyone else just gets to witness what I already knew.”
“We should go, before Jake comes hunting us down with his clipboard,” I remind him.
Grayson chuckles. “I can think of so many better uses for that damn clipboard.”
As we pull onto the main road and away from the club, Grayson rests one hand on the wheel and the other in its almost permanent position on my upper thigh. I glance over at him, loving the way the ocean breeze blows through his dark hair and the way the orange glow from the dash lights his face.
He looks like trouble.
Like mine.
His fingers tap softly against my skin and I can tell, he’s already writing new lyrics about tonight in his head. I let the silence beyond the wind whipping around us fill the space and close my eyes, knowing I want to have moments like this for the rest of my life.
Grayson and I made it back to the tour bus without incident after returning the Jeep. When we climb inside, the rest of our group is sprawled out in the common area downloading about the beach club show.
“Finally!” Jake huffs from the driver’s seat. “About time you two showed up. I was waiting for the call saying I needed to bail you out of jail.”
Grayson and I exchange a quick, knowing glance before settling into the booths with our friends. Brandon slides Grayson a beer from their six pack while Rylee pours me a glass of the red wine she and Johanna are sharing.
“I still can’t believe you did an acoustic version of Fallout,” Tony says, clinking his beer with Grayson’s. “And that the crowd actually knew all the words! I can’t remember the last time we did that one live. You guys crushed it.”
The bus jolts as it rumbles to life and we pull away from Folly Beach and toward the highway. Tony isn’t the only one buzzing; between the leftover adrenaline from the show and loading up on way too many orders of fries after, we all have way too much energy for midnight.
“They were feeling it,” Grayson grins, stretching his arm lazily around me. “Folly Beach might’ve topped Philly and it wasn’t even an official stop on the tour.”
“Well, Philly didn’t have Mia up there for a full set,” Eric says, pointing his bottle at me. “Game changer, for real.”
“True facts,” Brandon adds.
I flush instantly. It never gets less strange hearing the guys hype me up like this. It’s one thing coming from Grayson—but hearing Eric, Brandon, and Tony praise me just as highly is more than flattering.
“You guys are just being nice,” I say, tucking myself further into Grayson’s shoulder.
“Nope,” Tony says, popping the p for emphasis. “Like I said—crushed it. Especially that second verse on Collapse? Hot as hell.”
“Watch it, Pratt,” Grayson warns, throwing a bottle cap at Tony’s head playfully. “She’s my girlfriend.”
“Pretty sure ‘hot as hell’ is just the technical term,” Brandon chimes in with a smirk.
“Next stop, Miami!” Jake hollers from his spot at the front of the bus, his clipboard somehow materializing out of thin air. “Please prepare for turbulence in the form of me screaming about tomorrow’s setlists and agenda!”
The group groans in unison as Jake reads down his checklist. As he gets to the afternoon’s events, I’m distracted by my phone buzzing in my lap with an incoming call. When I look down, I nearly drop my wine glass mid-sip when I see the name that lights up my screen.
Incoming Call: Byron Alexander
I freeze. My father.
It feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room, and suddenly I can barely breathe.
My father was the presiding judge in the county where I grew up.
When the news broke that he had been cheating on my mother, that the picture perfect Alexander family was all a lie, he couldn’t get himself and his mistress out of town fast enough.
I haven’t heard from him since he left. Hell, I don’t even know what state he lives in anymore.
I set my wine glass down carefully and click the side button to silence the call without declining it. Grayson’s hand brushes against my thigh, reminding me I’m still breathing, and I can tell he knows something is up.
The call finally went to voicemail.
I have to get out of this room.
“You okay?” Grayson asks softly, low enough that the others won’t catch it over Jake’s rant about making sure the guys remember the load in time and when they’re expected on stage for soundcheck.
“Sure,” I say absent-mindedly, the word feeling thin and fake coming out of my mouth. “I’m just gonna go to bed, okay? I’m tired. I’ll catch up with Jake in the morning.”
I don’t wait for a response, weaving my way past the bunks and through to the smaller back lounge, closing the door behind me. The missed call notification stares up at me, a relentless reminder, and then:
New Voicemail: Byron Alexander
I sit there for a second, staring down at my phone in my hands, feeling the rumble of the highway under my feet. Curiosity is getting the better of me. What could he possibly want after almost two decades of silence?
I take a breath, and before I can change my mind, I press play.
“Mia… hi. It’s Byron—uh, your dad. I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, but—”
There’s a shaky pause.
“Someone at work showed me this video of you singing at this huge concert, and I—God, I don’t even know why I’m calling.”
A scoff as there’s another pause, longer this time. I can practically hear him trying to figure out how to talk to someone he doesn’t really know anymore.
“The person who showed me the video didn’t even realize you were my daughter. I just thought, well… Give me a call back, if you want.”
Click. End of message.
The already small space now feels unbearable.
I want to throw my phone out the window.
What the hell am I supposed to do with that?