Page 14

MYRA

I think I’m going to throw up. Might even do it right there on-stage, mid-song.

“You don’t look so good.” Lydia eyes me from where she sits between Piper and me at the high-top table tucked into the corner of the bar closest to the stage. “You sure you want to do this?”

In spite of the turmoil in my gut, I don’t hesitate. “Positive.”

I’ve reclaimed ownership of my body—even if that’s gone a little off the rails lately—and now it’s time to take back another piece of myself.

For a while, I felt like singing was something I’d never be able to extricate from who I was before—who I was made to be.

I thought it was something I’d never get back.

But fuck them. Fuck them for what they did to me.

They stole my childhood, and most of my twenties.

I’m not letting them take anything else.

Lydia scoots to the edge of her seat, eyes shining like she’s excited to hear me sing again. “What song did you pick?”

“I gave Christian a few options and told him he could pick.” My knowledge of popular music is a little limited since I’ve only been listening to it for a year, but I do have somewhat of a preference.

It’s not what Christian and his band normally play, but I feel like it’s in the same vein, so hopefully the audience won’t mind too much. Because if I get booed...

Lydia leans one elbow on the table, propping her chin onto her hand, eyes wide. “Do you know when you’re singing? At the beginning? After the break?”

I shake my head. “I told Christian not to tell me. I think if I knew, I would work myself up in the minutes leading up to it, so having it sprung on me felt like a better option.” Now, I’m feeling a little different about that.

But the decision was already made, and I have to deal with my life choices.

At least they were mine to make, so I’m not complaining.

“It’s going to be crazy to hear you singing something besides religious music.” Lydia presses her lips together. “I kind of feel like I’m going to cry.”

“If you cry, I’m never talking to you again.” I’m already feeling emotional—about a lot of things. Looking out into the audience and seeing my sister with tears in her eyes will make what I’m about to do infinitely more difficult. And it’s already hard enough.

“Okay.” Lydia sucks in a deep breath through her nose, eyes closing as she blows it out. “I’m fine. I will be fine. I promise.” Her eyes open and she looks me over again, expression approving. “Did I tell you how amazing you look?”

“You did, but you can tell me again.”

I tend to dress a little edgier than Lydia.

I look for any opportunity to send a giant middle finger out into the universe whenever I can, and what I wear is an easy way to do that.

Tonight, I’ve got on my favorite pair of faded jeans and a pale blue shirt that’s basically just a bunch of ruffles offering a peek at my belly and a full shot of my cleavage.

It covers my nipples, but leaves a large amount of skin exposed, along with a couple of the tattoos I’ve accumulated.

They’re not nearly as impressive as the ones Simon sports, but the delicate line drawings covering my back and shoulders are meaningful.

They remind me of the weight that used to rest there, and how much of it I’ve managed to shed.

The way I’ve given up many of the burdens I was taught were mine.

The crowd around us starts to make noise, and Lydia’s eyes leave me to snap toward the stage.

I take a deep breath, steadying my nerves and my heart before doing the same thing. I know more than just singing is going to test my limits this evening, so I down what’s left of my bourbon and slowly turn to where the band is walking out.

And it’s a good thing I’ve already cleared the drink from my mouth, because I probably would have choked on it when my eyes landed on Simon.

He always looks great when they perform.

He usually wears black jeans and a fitted tank top that leaves his sculpted arms on view as they flex and move while he plays the drums. But tonight—for some weird reason—he’s omitted the tank top, instead striding onto stage shirtless.

My eyes are so wide they burn as I watch him make his way to the stool where he’ll spend the evening.

I know I saw him just like this not long ago, but I still can’t stop myself from drinking him in.

He really is ridiculously gorgeous. Dark wavy hair pushed back off his face.

Skin slightly tanned. Chiseled muscles that speak of use and strength. Hands that are warm and careful and?—

I nearly fall out of my chair when his eyes find mine. I tip back in my seat, a yelp of surprise sneaking out. Luckily no one can hear it over the droves of women surrounding me who are cheering and catcalling loud enough to smother it out.

But Simon still sees my reaction, and it has a slow smile pulling across his lips.

He gives me a wink as Christian addresses the crowd, and I can feel heat creeping over my skin.

Warming me from the inside out. And I know this view will be front and center in tomorrow morning’s fantasy wake-up call.

The band starts to play, but I don’t really hear any of it because I’m fighting nerves and an interest I don’t know what to do with. How to manage.

I’ve never been attracted to someone. We were warned so far away from anything like that when I was young, I was terrified of it growing up. And I sure as heck wasn’t attracted to the controlling, manipulative, asshole of a man my father made me marry.

Rubbing my sweaty palms down my thighs, I turn to find our waitress beside me.

After ordering another drink, I focus on my breathing—pulling in enough to fill my lungs before slowly letting it back out.

As soon as my bourbon arrives, I down half of it, glad the burn is there to distract me.

I manage to make the rest last two more songs, before I’m once again staring at the bottom of my glass.

I want more, but I know I can’t have it.

My tongue will start to get sloppy, and I really don’t want to embarrass myself on stage.

In front of Simon.

And then, the moment I’m both dreading and anticipating arrives. Christian looks out over the crowd, his eyes landing on me. A wide smile spreads across his face as he announces there will be a guest singer tonight. The crowd doesn’t seem sour about it, which is nice, but I still might puke.

Or pass out.

Taking a deep breath instead of hyperventilating like I want, I slide out of my chair, making my way through the crowd as he introduces me. When I reach the stage, he meets me at the edge, holding out a hand to help me up. Motioning to his microphone, Christian steps back, giving me space.

I’m feeling a little lightheaded, so I pull in a deep breath, hoping the added oxygen will clear my mind.

I take the spot Christian left for me, feeling oddly comfortable as my lips hover in front of the mic.

As the music starts, I turn my head, peeking over one shoulder to where Simon sits behind me.

He meets my gaze immediately, tipping his head in a small nod that is oddly reassuring.

I glance to my left where Tate holds his base, then my right where Christian plays guitar. Seeing them around me settles my nerves even more.

I always felt alone when I sang before, but that’s not how this feels. This time I have people beside me I trust. People who look out for me. People who want me to grow and be better and spread my wings.

Turning back to the mic, I look out over the crowd, ready to take what should have always been mine.

Until Christian’s song choice registers. Then I’m way less ready.

I offered up suggestions, but because I wasn’t sure what they would know how to play or what would fit their vibe, I kept things pretty general.

Not for a single second did I expect Christian would pick the song playing now.

It’s a song I’ve only ever sung to myself while cleaning my house, listening to my voice echo around the empty—and surprisingly acoustic—space.

My next breath is shaky and my mouth starts to dry out, but there’s no turning back now, so I close my eyes and start singing.

The first line of “Barracuda” by Heart comes out a little wobbly and soft as I get used to the mic and being in front of people I haven’t known my whole life.

It doesn’t sound great, but I keep going, determination building with each line of lyrics I sing.

Closing my eyes, I let the music wrap around me.

Let the words flow through me. How they sound.

What they mean. The way they make me feel.

I’m sure Christian picked the song because of the punch it packs, but it could have been picked for a different reason too.

The song was written as revenge on an asshole who screwed with the singer and her sister, and it feels apropos that it’s the first song I perform outside of a church full of men who did the same.

My voice evens out. The edges smooth. What started as a stilted and emotionless performance grows and morphs into what it’s supposed to be. A purge. Emptying my soul of what someone else decided it should hold so I can fill it myself. It’s an act of defiance.

A reclaiming of something I once loved so much.

When the note that defines the song comes, I belt it out, hitting it spot on, arms wide, bared but not bleeding. And it feels so fucking freeing that I let go. No more holding back. No more holding in.

The song ends, but I’m still soaring, riding the wave of freedom I’ve been chasing.

Christian moves into my periphery and I prepare to step down.

Instead, he holds up a finger, his brows raised in a question as he mouths the words ‘one more’ since I can’t hear anything over the crowd cheering for my performance.

I nod, head bobbing with an eagerness I thought was dead and gone. It feels so fucking good to be up here, and I’m not quite ready to give it up. Not yet.

I recognize the next song immediately and give Christian a wide smile. He returns it and steps back. I mean to turn to the mic, but my eyes find Simon, and my breath hitches at the way he’s looking at me.

Like I’m the only other person here.

I’m forced to turn away when I have to start singing.

I only make it a few words into “Stronger” by Kelly Clarkson before the crowd of women packed into The Cellar are singing along with me.

Belting out the lyrics at the top of their lungs, arms in the air.

I can see the emotion in their faces as we take back what was stolen from us. Together.

The moment is so fucking powerful it threatens to tighten my throat. I fight through it, proving the song right.

My past didn’t kill me. It tried like hell, but failed.

Because I’m stronger than it was. Stronger than the people who tried to break me. Stronger than the men who wanted to control me.

When the song ends, Christian comes to my side, announcing my name again to the crowd as he wraps an arm around my shoulder, beaming like he’s proud of me as they clap and cheer.

After telling them the band is going to take a brief intermission, he leads me off stage into the curtained-off portion where the band can relax unbothered.

Christian gives me a quick hug before holding me by the shoulders at arm’s length. “You fucking killed it.”

“Thanks.” Excitement and happiness buzz across my skin. I feel fucking reborn. Capable of being who I want to be for the first time since leaving Arkansas behind. It’s euphoric, and I don’t really know how the feeling stays contained within the confines of my body.

Christian releases me. “I’m gonna go find your sister.”

I nod, pulling in a deep breath. “I think I need a minute.” I’m raw. Nothing but exposed nerves and barely restrained emotion. I don’t want to risk how I might react to seeing her right now. I don’t want to cry. I want to ride the high I’m on as long as possible.

“Take as much time as you need.” Christian ducks out of the curtain, and Tate gives me a quick slap on the shoulder before he follows him out to go find Piper.

I press both hands to my head, trying to find something to ground me before I explode into a million pieces. It’s not a bad feeling, just overwhelming.

I turn in place, trying to expel a little energy, and come face-to-face with Simon as he walks off stage toward me. I don’t know what happens, but my feet start to move. I run right at him, jumping into his arms.

He catches me like he knew I was coming, swinging me around. “That was fucking unreal, My.”

“Yeah?” I squeeze him tighter, because the feel of his arms around me is what I needed. Something to hold me together.

“Yeah. I was so fucking proud watching you. It was killing me that I couldn’t see your face.” His voice is deep and rumbly in my ear.

Now that I no longer feel like I’m about to explode in ten different directions, it registers that I’m pressed tight against him. That his arms are around me. That his bare chest is warm and wide and right against mine.

I lean back, because I should probably put a little distance between us. But that’s not what I end up doing. Instead, my eyes meet his. That look from before is still there. The one that makes me feel like I’m all he sees. It makes my pulse race and my insides heat.

And because I’m still high on adrenaline and possibly still slightly inebriated thanks to bourbon, I do something stupid. Something rash. Something I should instantly regret.

I push up on my toes and bring my lips right to Simon’s.

The kiss is short and disappointing, because a second later, he pulls back, breaking the contact.

“Shit.” Embarrassment heats my face. Am I so damn clueless that I read that whole moment wrong? Saw what I wanted to see instead of what was really there? “I’m sorry. I was just?—”

Simon’s hold on me shifts. I think he’s letting me go, but then one big hand comes to my face, thumb under my chin, fingers along my jaw as his mouth seals over mine.