Page 18

EIGHT

I gawk like crazy when I enter the wings of the stage, the dome-like stadium already packed to the brim with fans eagerly waiting for the gig to start—if the noise and ruckus are anything to go by.

I’m used to playing in stadiums, to having thousands of eyes on me during every game, being the quarterback for one of the top college teams in the country and all.

But as a band just starting out? Christ , they’re doing so fucking good—it’s incredible.

I know they’re technically just the opening act for Six of Hearts, but I definitely spot more than one cardboard sign and shirt with ENCORE or Jace’s name on it. Accompanied by lots of hearts.

Just like the white one I’m wearing now.

Yeah, trust Ava to make a hot-pink neon logo which somehow speaks to the masses. She’s amazing at marketing and has woven a ton of bright neon into their brand—and people are eating it up.

After our run— where I beat his lazy ass, thank you very much —I collected my prize and paid him in kind.

After that round of orgasms, I finally gave him his birthday present: a personalized leather binder where he can store the stack of journals he always has on him.

I even had his name engraved on it. Maybe it’s cheesy, I don’t know.

But I spotted it months ago while shopping with my mom (yeah, yesterday wasn’t the first time she coerced me into tagging along), and the thing just screamed Jace .

Thank fuck he loved it. He immediately started pulling his notebooks from various hiding spots around the bus and began organizing some of his chaos.

We spent the rest of the afternoon lounging around—hugging, talking, kissing a lot— and I watched him fawn over his binder, jotting lyrics down in the journals, until it was time to head to the venue.

Maybe I was drooling a little when I saw all the different kinds of food laid out buffet-style in their dressing room.

I loaded up on glazed carrots, buttery garlic green beans, and heaps of chicken fried rice.

After the workout we had half the night and all damn day, I was famished —and deserved it.

The hitch in my step is maybe a bit more pronounced now, but I’m not about to complain.

“Is it always like this?” I asked Jace when we sat down on some old red velvet chairs. Of course he had a plate of fries next to his regular food.

He scooted closer, pressed our thighs together while we ate—never not touching—and explained everything about the catering on tour. How they’re fed at every venue before the show, how they save leftovers to nuke on the bus while traveling, how they do regular grocery runs for the essentials.

Never thought about all the planning and logistics that go into a tour this size.

Even playing the sport I do, I never really considered how much effort it takes to organize events like this.

Games like mine. Maybe I should give the team’s staff more credit.

Or send them a gift or something if I get drafted—to thank them for four years of hard work.

Mom would be proud. She could bust out her precious gift wrap and everything.

“Here.” Jodie pulls me out of my musings. Her hair’s a mess, and she’s squinting at something on her iPad before offering me an earpiece.

I raise my brows.

She rolls her eyes and focuses back on the screen, typing something. “It’s so you can hear everything that’s going on. Don’t worry—it’s not an open line like mine. Yours is muted, so no one hears you. Thought you’d want to experience the whole shebang.”

I smile as I look at the small device before stuffing it in my ear and am greeted with a distant buzz of voices right away.

“I can hear Jace this way?” I ask, nodding to the stage.

The concert’s about to start—well, at least the opening act. Jace’s act. He’s huddled to the side with his band, their arms slung around each other, heads close together, hyping each other up.

It’s a privilege to see them like this.

Of course, I’ve seen their live performances countless times—but that was always back home at Yetties.

I’ve never seen them live in a stadium .

On YouTube and various livestreams? Fuck yeah.

I’ve probably fallen asleep one too many times with their music droning in the background.

But seeing them in person, standing right next to them as they prepare to play their hearts out? That’s a whole different ball game.

“Yes. Well, partially. You’re on the crew’s channel,” Jodie answers as she snaps her iPad’s protective cover shut.

“They switch back and forth with the band’s frequency.

There’s a lot of talk and instructions backstage during a show, and we don’t want to distract them from their performance.

But when we need to communicate something to them—or vice versa—we can. ”

“That’s cool,” I say, just as I hear someone comment on the left-center lighting that’s not shutting off, immediately followed by chatter from crew members trying to fix it. “So… I guess only a couple more minutes, right?”

As the last words leave my mouth, the entire stadium gets swallowed by darkness—and my heart rate spikes with excitement. I guess they fixed the issue and they’re starting now .

The crowd is screaming their hearts out, and I can’t stop smiling. But before my eyes can adjust to the sudden dark, a pair of arms wrap around my shoulders and lips press against mine in a swift kiss.

I don’t need light to know who it is. It’s Jace. His scent, his presence, his all-consuming energy—everything that makes him him —speaks to me in a way nothing else ever could. Right here, in my arms, is exactly where he belongs.

I kiss him back, but before I can deepen it, he pulls away—and in the dim lighting of the wings, I catch the manic grin already spread across his face. He’s buzzing on adrenaline.

“Wish me luck?” he asks, squeezing me close one last time before his arms drop.

“Nah, that’s bad luck. Break a leg, baby.”

“I will.”

He winks and salutes before turning around to go to his designated spot, expertly maneuvering around the snares and equipment scattered around the area. Quite impressive in the dark.

I think he just made it when I hear a Go in my ear, followed by Asher’s drumsticks clicking together in a sharp countdown—and then the stadium erupts in a frenzy of screams and lights.

“Oh shit,” I mumble, throwing up a hand to shield my eyes from the glare, squinting at my boyfriend—now front and fucking center, dead in the middle of the spotlight, belting out the opening notes of one of their more popular songs, pink and purple strobes flickering around the dome.

The lighting and stage setup are un-fucking-real .

There’s so much flashing neon, I can barely believe the label did all this for an opening act.

I know, rationally, that Encore is already way past that stage—that they’ve exceeded the whole “up-and-coming” phase—but seeing it for real? That’s something else.

Somewhere in the background, I know Jodie is talking to me, but none of it registers.

Because I’m enraptured, enthralled, fucking enchanted by my man who’s owning that damn stage, who’s feeding off the crowd’s energy like it fuels him, fills him, and hurls that excitement and more right back at them.

It’s pure, undiluted magic .

It’s a few songs in before I finally manage to snap out of it—just in time to notice the crowd in our section of the wings has tripled. I also only just now realize that Jodie is elbowing me.

My eyebrows raise in question after it takes maximum effort to tear my gaze away from the incredible show, and I focus on the tiny woman next to me.

Her eyes are wide, and she’s shaking her head while tapping at her headset, mouthing something.

“What?”

She taps her earpiece again, urging me to listen, and I get it; she can’t speak because she told me she has an open line, and when she speaks everyone on the channel can hear her.

It takes me a few seconds to focus on the heated conversation crackling through my own, since I completely zoned out the droning of instructions the moment Jace started to sing.

“I mean, I don’t think it’ll take long before he finally bends over for me. He can only put up with this stupid game of his for so long,” a man’s voice cuts through my earpiece.

“Watch what comes out of that big mouth of yours,” a second guy chimes in, his voice drier. “You know that sounds like a hashtag MeToo case waiting to happen, you idiot.”

Yup. Agreed on that.

“No way. I know he wants me too. I see it in his eyes every time I tag along for those stupid runs. He hasn’t turned me down yet, has he?”

I frown, the first sparks of recognition kindling in my brain as to who these guys might be.

“You really are an idiot.” There’s scoffing—loud, sharp. “The guy’s just too damn afraid you’ll kick him off the tour. You know this is a big break for them. We’ve all been at that point in our careers.”

My eyes flick across the backstage area, trying to confirm the gut feeling building in my chest, the hate already simmering there beneath the surface.

“Just stop tryin’ already,” the second guy says. “It’s gettin’ embarrassing. I swear, I don’t want to wake up one morning to find us trending on Good Morning America because someone’s accusing you of being the headliner in some fucking scandal. Say bye-bye to our next world tour in a hot second.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck Jace , you mean?”

“That too.” The first guy lets out a grunt, followed by what sounds like a soft thwack —maybe the other guy hit him. “Just look at him. No wonder their ratings are soaring. The whole fucking world is in that guy’s grasp if he wants it.”