Page 7

THREE

H alf of my heart is performing, the other half is back at Summerset.

Half my stuff as well, since me and Missy had to give up our small apartment when we left college.

All my possessions that I didn’t bring with me on the tour are in two boxes stored in Ty’s room.

Who, if we’re being honest, has my whole heart if it comes to it.

But right now, I try to put all of that heart into the last song of this performance; I have to nail this if I want to give our career a boost.

We were already done, our set was amazing. We almost have as much stage time as Six of Hearts now. And even though our album will not officially release until next week, we already launched a couple of singles and it seems the audience already knows our material by heart.

Once again, it was a blast. Missy was killing it with her solos, Ava was steady as ever on her trusty bass, and Asher was still the best drummer I’ve ever encountered in my musical career.

I’m so happy and damn proud to call them my bandmates.

I would love to say that since I’m leading this band, it’s because of me that we’re killing it, but it’s not. It’s us, together, we just fit.

However, for this encore, the label only wants me on the stage with Six of Hearts.

The last hour and a half, I’ve watched Mick’s set from the sidelines. I know it off the top of my head now, know every line, every song, and every riff. They’re pretty consistent in their gigs, not mixing their set up that much.

Tonight is an exception.

The lights are out, the last song from Mick and his band has been played, the cheers and screams and whistles from the audience begging for an encore, a finale from their idols are deafening. And they’re going to get one.

I close my eyes, fucking breathe . I got this; I can do this.

I don’t like Mick, and I don’t like that I have to do this, but I talked to Ty about this, about the duet, and he reassured me that it’s fine.

That it’s just a song, just an act, and I need to keep that in mind.

Shit, I love how he can make me see some fucking perspective.

Because he’s right. Performers do this all the time, it’s in the damn name; we perform. Whatever happens on that stage, we know it’s nothing. We know we’re solid. We know its like he said: just a fucking act.

It’s all for the sales.

So I do exactly that, put on my stage smile, steel myself, before I dart on to the stage when the intro hits on the drums, the spotlight only on Bowie, Mick’s drummer and brother.

Some of the technical crew is shouting directions in my earpiece, but it’s muted when they switch channels for me.

I get in my designated spot on the spray painted red X , right next to Mick, and only hear my fellow musicians who are on the stage.

And like Mick, Jodie, and the label predicted, when the light hits, and it’s me who belts out the first lines of Six of Hearts’ song instead of their trusty frontman, the crowd goes berserk.

I smirk; I can’t help it when I feel the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins as their cheers reach a deafening roar. Even if I really don’t like it that I have to do this with Mick , the high of performing never changes.

Mick takes over like a pro, stepping in and singing his lines in that deep baritone of his.

Even his voice is all dark edges, and I hate to admit that it complements mine perfectly.

The audience is loving it, the two of us together on stage.

Him, their favorite dark rocker, clad only in black leather pants and nothing else, his tanned, tattooed, pierced upper body on display, the bad boy from the industry.

And then there’s me in my white tee and unblemished skin, the new guy, the shiny toy as Jodie described me.

Yeah, he’s toying with me alright. He comes closer, the crowd roaring, pushing his dark chin-length hair out of his face when I sing my verse, keeping eye contact like we rehearsed.

Mick winks at me as we sing back and forth, bodies moving to the rhythm, and I want to flinch when he first touches me, but I keep it together. I have to. And I do.

Maybe I should think about that acting career.

Playing into it, into this chemistry that’s flowing between us—because fuck , I can’t deny it when at least on stage that’s definitely true—I let him and smile when his hand trails over my stomach, my side, before he stands behind me and sings the filthy lyrics of their song in my ear, pressing way too close.

I drop the back of my head on his shoulder as I chime in at the chorus, acting and pretending to like this. Which I don’t.

Sure, I do like it to some extent. I like how the crowd goes wild, how they jump and scream and go crazy when he moves in closer, turns and presses our backs together. I like it when we’re shouting the lyrics alternately, giving this our best, and it feels like I’m soaring.

I like the high of it all.

But I really don’t like the hand that’s holding on to my jeans-clad thigh not belonging to Ty, how I can feel Mick’s sweaty back pressing against mine, invading my space. At least I have a shirt on, so there is some fabric between us.

I dart out of his reach anyway, but keep grinning, keep my persona alive. And repeat the mantra in my head that’s been stuck on repeat ever since I stepped on the stage. It’s an act. A performance. It’s not real.

I hold on to that through every verse and bridge as I trot and dance over that stage. I do it for the music, for my band, for our combined goal. I do it for the label, because they expect this of me, I do it for our hopes and dreams. And I do this for the audience, because they are loving it.

It might look magical to them, though, it is not magical for me.

When the last note fades and the lights go out once more, I can’t get off that stage fast enough.

Foregoing the shower in the shared dressing rooms, I throw my earpiece and mic at the nearest crew member, and get the hell out of there. I feel dirty , contaminated, foul. It feels like I just sold part of my soul on that stage, so I need to get away from them, him.

Also, and that’s a big also, I don’t want to be late with talking to Tyler on his birthday. And Lamar. Somehow, those goofballs share a birthday.

I know that there’s a time difference, but I still want to call him when the clock strikes midnight here. So, I get out of the venue in a hurry, aiming for the buses.

Normally, there would already be hordes of fans outside at the back door.

But since I’ve never darted this quickly from a show, it’s still relatively quiet back here.

A few people are already lingering near the fences though, and I scribble a couple of autographs, faking a smile for some pictures before beelining it to the still empty bus.

I don’t know where my band members are, and at this point I don’t really care.

After taking the quickest shower known to man in the crowded bathroom with almost no water pressure, I pull on only a pair of boxer briefs over my damp hips since the towels here suck, before hoisting myself up in my bunk and closing the curtain.

Alone. Finally.

Releasing a breath, I feel myself relax as I quickly check my emails to see if everything is in place for Tyler’s birthday present before I FaceTime him.

Even though I’m grateful that I get the chance to do this, to live this amazing opportunity given to me, there are these moments where it’s like I’m not living my own life, but it gets lived for me.

Today was one of those days.

But as always, once I see Ty’s exquisite features as he picks up, everything is right in the world again, the stars fucking align and I forget my worries for a bit.

The dimples I love so much pop at me as he smiles.

“Hey,” I greet him, and as per usual, it takes a few seconds for the both of us to just look at each other, to settle, to take one another in, confirm we’re still okay, still us . “Happy twenty-second birthday, baby.”

Light flashes over his soft smile, and if I’m correct, he’s in the back of a car.

“Thanks, Jacie. It’s not my birthday yet, though. We have a couple of hours to go on this side of the country.” His eyes soften. “How was your show?”

I let out a sigh. “Well, kinda what we expected, really.”

He scrunches up his nose. “Yeah, I saw some live feeds... Didn’t like how he was all over you.”

“Me neither… I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I’m sorry you have to live that.”

I smile. He’s always so understanding, too understanding. I love him for it, but I want to do right by him, always. “I’ll try to evade his grabby hands better next time, now that I know what to expect.”

“It’s okay; it’s an act, Jacie. I know that. I know it’s part of the job description. We chose this, right? It’ll get better soon, once you don’t need them for publicity.”

“I don’t know. I hope so? Jodie says so,” I reply, sighing, pushing my damp hair back.

I can tell that he’s checking the movement out by his humming when his gaze roams over my undressed shoulders. “Are you naked?”

The corner of my mouth pulls up, and I bite my bottom lip, glad of the change in topics and loving how responsive to me he is, even over the phone.

“Maybe. It is your birthday, after all. I thought I would give you a little preview of your present.” I hold out my phone, letting him take his fill of me as I let my hand wander over my abs and settle on my already half-erect cock, still safely tucked away behind my boxers.

He lets out a groan for real now as I refocus the camera on my face.

“Oh, don’t tease me, that’s just mean. I can’t do shit about it since me and Lamar are on our way to Tight Spot with the new neighbors.

” Ah, so he is in a car. “But what’s the actual present, if this is only a sneak peek?

Did you make another one of those videos? ”