Chapter 1
Wyatt
I DON’T EVEN KNOW what I’m doing here. Sure, it was nice of the guys to have me along, but being sandwiched between two linebackers and their star-obsessed significant others is not on my bucket list.
Who even likes concerts anyway? People crowd you, and you can barely hear the act most of the time! To make matters worse, they’ve torn up our field to erect this ridiculous stage that reaches all the way out to the 50-yard line. I groan as I think about all the work that will go into making Marsch Stadium playable by next week. It better be game-ready.
“Oh my God, the countdown started!” Melissa Ortiz screams from beside me, shocking me out of my disgruntled daydream.
“Does that mean something?” I ask sarcastically as I pull on my ear to stop the ringing.
“Um, yeah. She’ll be coming out any minute!” Melissa squeals and then turns to her boyfriend to continue her elated screeching.
Peeking around her shoulder, Caleb Lochlan, my teammate, gives me a sorry look. I carelessly shrug and try to keep my broad shoulders tucked to myself. The crowd level hits a maximum, and I have to fight to not pound my hands over my ears in an attempt to survive.
I should’ve just given my ticket to my sister. She tried for hours to get tickets and ended up having to give up. She would be beside herself if she found out I got to use the team suite for this. Her husband could’ve gotten tickets too, I remind myself. My sister Hannah fell for quarterback Ben Martinez the moment she saw him in college. Neither looked back. I love them both, but man, it’s a lot to have your only family married to your best friend. It can get dicey on away trips sometimes. Their love is a constant reminder that my snot-nosed little sister has found someone before me. A reminder that I have no one.
I sigh again as the crowd continues, somehow, to get louder as the clock counts down closer to zero. I thought the stadium was loud from down on the field, but I vastly underestimated how deranged music fans can get. I think my eardrum bursts as the clock hits zero and Melissa grabs my arm, shrieking. The lights dim as a lone fiddle player appears.
The woman brings her bow down on the strings, slowly at first. After a few drawn-out notes, she builds her speed as a sparkling brunette rises from the floor of the stage. Her sequined dress glistens all the way down to the hem, which rests on her mid-thigh, and the purple design on her white cowboy boots is visible, even from here. As the woman comes up on the big screen for the first time, I can make out her perfectly white smile and stunning blue eyes. I feel the breath get knocked outof me like I’ve just been pummeled to the turf by a 300-pound defender.
Melissa turns to me and screams in my ear yet again, “I adore this song! This is a clapback at her ex!”
Why does Melissa know that, and why do I suddenly care?
As the fiddle builds, the drums kick in, and the singer starts to play the banjo hanging low across her hips. She struts down the stage, and her fiddle player joins her along the way. Her frilly dress fans out as she twirls. How is she playing an instrument while moving like that?
I swallow when the cameras zoom in on her face again as she reaches the far end of the stage. Moving to the music, she closes her eyes and lets the rhythm take her where it wants. This woman hasn’t even opened her mouth yet, and I’m already in love with her artistry.
Before opening her eyes, she holds her hands out, and the music comes to an abrupt halt. Looking around, I find that the women on either side of me are holding their hands up, too; the whole crowd is. About to ask what’s going on, the singer drops her hands, and a cacophony of banjo, steel, fiddle, and her voice erupt.
She sings with a voice so full of anger that I can only compare it to my own out on the field against a fiery rival. The song is clearly about someone she trusted; she sings about throwing away the memories and setting them all on fire. The flame practically burns in her eyes; there’s so much energy that I can’t bear to look away so I don't miss something important. Someone must have really put her through the wringer. I’ll have to ask Melissa about it at halftime. Intermission? Whatever they call it.
When the first song is over, she has to wait a good two minutes for the crowd to calm enough to speak over them. Someone collects her banjo and hands her a black guitar. Electric.
“Hello everyone,” she says, shoving her unruly hair behind her shoulder. “I’m Mae Evans.” She steps away from the mic to take in the moment; she’s grinning ear to ear when she steps back up. “This next one is called ‘Stole Your Heart.’”
She’s damn right. She did.
Chapter 2
Mae
EXHAUSTED, I TRUDGE toward the green room. Three encores. Three. I thought I hated LA, but after their welcomeness tonight, I’m not so sure.
“Here you go, dear,” Raleigh says. I lift the water bottle up to my lips and chug before collapsing on the worn leather couch in the corner.
“How did it go?” I ask, thinking about the shimmering lights. This had been the biggest crowd yet, not to mention all the celebrities that were in attendance.
“You’re joking, right?” Raleigh laughs, crossing the floor with a banana in hand.
I shrug my shoulders and say, “I don’t know.”
“To say they enjoyed the new setlist is an understatement.”
I beam at her. “I messed up a few transitions.”
Raleigh points toward the door. “Honey, I can assure you that they did not mind. They were just happy to be with you.”
