When the song ends, the guys wish the crowd goodnight and exit the stage, making room for the headliner. Rylee and I try to make our way backstage. Before Grayson gets very far, I see Eric pull him aside for a brief, intense exchange. He then pats Grayson on the back and sends him on his way—directly to me.
“What did you think?” Grayson asks once he reaches me, a grin on his face.
“It was incredible.Youwere incredible. I got some amazing shots,” I tell him, though it barely scratches the surface of how I feel. “But how did you know? That I would know the song?”
“You really thought I didn’t see little Mia watching me play on my porch all those years ago?” He chuckles. “You weren’t all that great at pretending to read.”
I blush furiously. The memories come flooding back for the second time tonight—the innocent obsession, the front porch concerts, the childhood awe.
“I thought I was being smooth.”
“Not even close,” he smirks playfully.
Then he leans in, brushing a lock of hair away from my face.
“Do you want to watch the rest of the gig, or get out of here?”
“The headliner is one of my favorite bands, so I’d like to stay,” I say.
He nods and smiles as though he knows I love music almost as much as he does. We sit in the wings, just barely touching, with Rylee and the rest of the band nearby. I glance back and see Rylee giving me a strange look—no idea why—especially after she pushed me to tell Grayson who I am. What I also notice: Eric has his arms around her. I raise an accusatory brow and she only shrugs, as if she doesn’t realize this is only adding to my curiosity surrounding their relationship—whatever it is.
As soon as the headliner finishes their set, Rylee grabs my arm and yanks me away from Grayson into a storage closet. I can only imagine how it looks to the guys, but they have to know it’s pretty typical behavior for her. She flips on the light as I try not to pass out from the fumes of the industrial size bleach and pine-scented multisurface cleaner bottles that I’m now backed against.
“We need to have a conversation,” she says seriously—rare for her, which means I need to listen.
“And this conversation is happening in a closet because…?” I prompt her, waiting impatiently for her response.
She twirls a piece of fiery red hair around her pointer finger and stares up at the ceiling, standing there with her arms crossedover her chest looking anything but innocent. She always does this when she’s trying to figure out how to tell me something she knows I won’t want to hear.
“I’ll put it simply,” Rylee says finally. “Grayson is involved. Married. To Lily Vance. She’s the lead singer of another up and coming band called The Dilemma.”
I feel a little ridiculous. A little naive. A lot stupid.
He’s fuckingmarried?
Rylee chews on her bottom lip nervously while I take in what she said.
Did it bother me? Yes, absolutely.
Should it? Probably not.
It’s been twelve years since I've seen Grayson.
A lot of life has been lived in the last twelve years, and we barely know each other to begin with. My feelings are built on a teenage crush and fleeting adult connection. But Grayson is next-level attractive and insanely talented, so it makes sense to me that he’d be with someone like Lily.
No one who looks like him would’ve had to spend the last twelve years alone.
I certainly haven’t been alone either. Don’t get me wrong, I’m in no way innocent. I’ve had a few relationships here and there over the years, too, but it was never anything serious. Never to the point where I’d considered getting married. I’ve always been waiting. Hoping. Dreaming of something, or someone, that would take my breath away.
“Okay,” I reply, not knowing a better response.
“I just wanted to make sure you knew,” Rylee adds softly. “I don’t know if he would’ve told you.”
Too late.
The feelings are already there, as embarrassing as that is, in crushing amounts that now only feel like extra weight on my shoulders.
I can’t act on them now, but that doesn’t mean I can just shove those feelings back in a box and put them in the back of this closet we’re standing in. It doesn’t matter how much I wish I could.
