I bolt toward the piano, then slow as I approach from upstage—the side farthest from the audience—so I don’t startle her.
“I’m here,” I say into my mic, patched only to her. At the same time, I lightly touch her leg, just above the knee, to get her attention if the pack isn’t working at all.
Her eyes close in relief. Her shoulders almost slump.
A quick glance at the monitor pack confirms my suspicion—the power light is dead.
I pull the pack from her waist clip and swap it out, ensuring every connection is tight. Then I touch her knee again, hoping she takes it for what it is—me asking if we’re good.
She tilts her head slightly away from me, shaking her hair back, and I see it.
The earpiece is loose, too.
If I ever find the useless clown who had this job before me …
Easy. You’re here to do a job. Not to be someone’s white knight.
I stay in the shadows, lifting Lou’s long hair carefully, trying to be quick, precise. The bright heat of the stage lights beats down on her, the sweat on her skin making the adjustment harder.
A faint scent of lavender and vanilla drifts up from her hair as I gently guide the earpiece back into place, securing the cable to keep it from slipping again. I try to ignore the small goosebumps that rise on her skin where my fingers touch her.
It shouldn’t matter that her skin reacts to me.
Itdoesn’tmatter.
Yet, when she smiles and drops her head in a slight nod, I exhale in relief.
She’s good.
She’s steady.
She’s back.
I follow the same shadowed path I took to get here, and her voice brims with confidence, filling the room.
Rick gives me a thumbs-up. The stage manager does the same. Then Manny finds me and pats my back.
I brush it off.
I don’t care how any of them think I did.
I care that Lou finishes her heartbreaking melody to rapturous applause. Because that’s how I get paid.
The spotlights shift, and Lou rushes back offstage, where the wardrobe tech tears off the billowing skirt along the quick-release seam, leaving her in the sleek strapless black dress beneath.
It looks spectacular on her.
If you care about that kind of thing.
The next thing I know, Lou is throwing her arms around me.
“Thank you,” she says, squeezing me tight, her head against my cheek.
She lets go before I can process the feeling. Before I can memorize the way her breath feels on my neck.
Then she’s gone—off to the stage, leaving me there, rattled in a way I don’t like.
She unleashes the full force of her warrior princess smile on the audience.
