Page 15 of The Road to Forever (Beaumont: Next Generation #7)

THIRTEEN

S oundcheck feels off today.

Not wrong. Just . . . loose around the edges. My fingers are steady as they move over the chords, my voice is warmed up, and the band’s locked in like always. But something isn’t sitting right.

It starts during the third track of our run-through. I glance into the half-lit venue and swear—for half a second—I see her.

Stage left. Sixth row. Leaning forward like she always used to, wearing my hoodie pulled tight around her face to avoid someone noticing her, elbows on her knees, eyes fixed on me like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

There was a time when I was the only one that existed in her life.

There was a time when I’d stand on this stage for rehearsal or soundcheck, and when I was done, she’d rush the stage like a wild fan, calling my name to make me laugh.

But when I blink, she’s gone.

Just a seat. Just air.

A figment of my imagination.

I close my eyes and keep singing.

I tell myself it was nothing. A flicker. A memory playing tricks on me.

But the damage is done.

After soundcheck, I head straight for the greenroom and plant myself on the couch, the kind that feels more like a piece of plywood wrapped in vinyl.

I drop my head back and shut my eyes. These rooms haven’t changed, at least not in my twenty-plus years of exploring them.

If it’s not a vinyl couch, it’s some suede plush number that no one wants to sit on because you have no idea what the person before you did in here.

Still, I lie on the couch and put my arm over my eyes to block out the noise, the visions, and the memories.

Yet, she’s still there, in the back of my mind.

Lingering.

I don’t want her to be.

Not now.

Not when I’ve finally started to believe she wants nothing to do with me.

Especially not after last night.

I sit up and look around the room for my bag and spot it under the rack of clothing Elle wants me to change into but never do.

I’m not that kind of rocker. I reach into my bag, pull out my notebook, and flip to the page I started working on last night.

I know I shouldn’t look at the new lyrics.

Not now. Not when my head’s spinning. But I do anyway, running my finger over the ink.

These words were written for her.

Not Nola.

They should feel wrong, but they don’t.

And yet, they need to be. Justine can never know I wrote these words with her on my mind.

No one can. Not every song has to be about someone or something in my life.

I’m certainly not writing ballads about my brothers-in-law or my sisters being pregnant.

While I’ve written mostly about my life, especially the love side, I can change it.

I look at the lyrics again and know I can’t finish this song. No one can ever know.

A knock on the door pulls me out of the moment. I close the notebook and push it back into my bag before going to the door. With my hand on the knob, I take a deep breath to center myself. Opening it, I’m surprised to see Justine standing there.

“Hey,” Justine says. “You okay?”

I nod and hold the door wider for her to enter, even though I shouldn’t. “Yeah. Just . . . long day.” I scrub my hand over my face.

She steps inside, guitar slung over her shoulder, hair still damp from what I’m assuming is a post-soundcheck shower. “I was watching your soundcheck. You looked like you saw a ghost out there.”

I snort. “You caught that, huh?”

Justine nods. I should probably just come clean and tell her. It’s not like we haven’t been working together for months, between songwriting and performing.

“Feels like I did.” I shrug and sit down on the unforgiving vinyl couch.

Justine doesn’t press, which I appreciate. She wanders around my room and sighs. “It’s not fair you get your own room.”

I laugh. “I don’t even ask for my own room. Elle just does it. I think it’s a leftover habit from when our dads toured. There were four of us running around during shows, and our parents wanted us wrangled in one room so they knew where we were. We were a nightmare once they let us off the bus.”

“Four of you?”

“Liam’s son, Noah, toured with us sometimes. Back then, he was really into sports . . . well, I guess he still is, but he’d stay home if he had a camp or tournament. The dads really tried to limit touring while we were in school.”

“That must’ve been some wild lifestyle growing up.”

“Probably not anything as wild as what’s going through your mind.

Our parents were strict. We weren’t like other celebrity kids.

We had homework, chores, and lived in a very modest house in a small town.

The four of us went to public school, didn’t have a bodyguard, and had a pretty normal upbringing. ”

“So, nothing like I’ve seen on MTV?”

I chuckle. “They came to our house once, and my mom threatened them with the garden hose. My dad forgot to tell her they were coming. It was comical. My mom is very no-nonsense. This life was definitely not for her, but if you asked her, she’d probably tell you it was the best time of her life.”

“If we record in Beaumont, maybe I’ll get to know her better. She seems like a pretty chill mom.”

“She is and it’s possible,” I say, shrugging. “I have a feeling she and my dad are going to move back.”

“Leaving you in LA by yourself?” she asks in mock horror.

“Honestly . . . yeah, I guess so.” If my parents move, I’ll probably go back to Beaumont and at least reset.

An uncomfortable silence fills the room. I hate the awkward pause, the unknowing of what you should say. I could ask her why she’s here, but that would be rude. We’ve spent time together writing songs. It makes sense for her to be here.

Sort of.

It’s probably odd for her to be in my green room.

There has only been one other time we’ve been cut off from the rest of our bandmates, and that was in my hotel room.

Every other time, we’ve been in common areas, working on music together.

This is probably one of those moments where I should tell her to leave or stand up and open the door so that nothing nefarious happens between us.

Instead, I glance at her standing there, near the vanity, and ask, “You ready for tonight?”

She nods. “More than ready,” Justine says softly.

There’s a hint of self-assurance in her voice—steadier than before. She’s getting stronger. More confident.

Maybe I should take a page out of her book and grow a set.

Part of me wants to tell her everything: from the note to the ring, to why I’ve been so damn moody.

How Nola left me and how, until recently, I’ve been desperate to reach her but I’m too afraid to pick up the damn phone to call her.

To what I saw—that for one fractured second, I thought Nola was out there.

But I don’t.

Because I know how that would sound.

Instead, I keep that part of me bottled up where it needs to stay.

It’s not time to share it.

Not yet.

Tonight, I’m watching Plum. I’ve seen bits and pieces of their show but haven’t sat through a full set.

Normally, I show up before I go out to perform one of the duets Justine and I have, and then I bail.

It’s been my modus operandi since the last tour.

Mostly because I had Nola here, and I didn’t want to ignore her, and at the time, she was the most important person in my life.

Now, I think differently. I feel differently.

Honestly, the more I think about it, the more pissed off I get because instead of just ending our relationship, she’s kept me hanging on by a string. We have a few more stops until we’re in South Carolina, and I have no idea what to expect.

There’s a niggling voice in the back of my head telling me Nola’s not going to run to me, with her arms stretched outward, like you’d see in a movie, and jump into my arms. Shit’s going to be awkward and uncomfortable.

We haven’t spoken, and frankly, I’m starting to ask myself what the fuck I am doing pining away for someone who clearly wants nothing to do with me.

But then that voice changes, and it reminds me of the time we’ve spent together, the years we’ve put into our relationship.

We fell in love, and while I thought it was forever, maybe I’ve been blinded by the couples around me I look up to: my parents, Liam and Josie, JD and Jenna.

They all found love. They’ve made it work with a life on the road, music in their veins, and even though Josie is the only one of the three who maintains a career, she doesn’t need to.

Even Liam has expanded into entrepreneurship.

What he and Josie are doing for Beaumont is amazing.

I’m tucked behind the rigging, watching Plum take the stage.

The crowd hums with excitement, with the energy each performer needs to get through their set.

There’s nothing like standing there, performing for a crowd that seems disinterested.

With each stop, their popularity has increased.

Yes, it helps that my sister insists on changing the set list, mixing up when I’m going to perform with Justine.

It keeps the ticket buyers on their toes and in their seats when the show starts.

Justine has a duet with Liam as well, but Elle hasn’t said when he’ll join the tour. The fans will love that, and knowing how rabid 4225 West fans are, Elle will probably have to book another night at the venue or extend Liam’s schedule. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind either way.

The curtain rises, and the crowd roars to life. Plum doesn’t ease into their first song. Justine belts the first verse before lights, guitar, or drums can guide her. This drives the audience wild. For a brief second, they get nothing but Justine, and it’s a gift.

And then as the lights come on.

They own it.

All three of them together.