I nod. Whenever I’d lost myself in the waves of sound, the fans and the band had taken over and carried me home. My fans are so amazing, and I am so blessed to have them behind me when I trip up.
“Gosh, it felt good!” I say, tilting my head toward the ceiling with a smile.
Raleigh settles onto the cushion next to me. “I’m happy for you, kiddo. You deserve a happy moment.”
My stomach clenches when I think about the past few months. My second album had been released to outrageously good reviews; the lead single instantly went viral on social media. It was the highest high of my life. Then, of course, Trenton announced his marriage to the woman he cheated on me with. My castle, which I’d spent years building, crumbled overnight. When the media followed the story, my private life was all anyone could talk about. My work was forgotten.
I’ve never seen myself as an attention hog, but to see my ex twist the headlines once again, it was almost too much. He’d done it on purpose – that much I’m still sure of.
Raleigh reaches out and holds my clenched hand. She finds my eye line and dips her head, determined. “You killed it, and that’s all there is to say.”
Raleigh and I share a triumphant moment before a hulking mass comes to the door and interrupts us.
“Ready to go?” a steady voice asks from my doorway. Looking up, I find Dalton Cosgrove. At the sight of him, Raleigh leaves my side and gathers him in a big hug. Best husband and wife of all time right there. I am happy to say I was the reason they got together in the first place. PR Coordinator, meet Head of Security type of deal, real spicy. I can still picture the moment they first met like it was yesterday. However, I promised I wouldn’t hold that over their heads anymore, so I avert my eyes and try to ignore the ache in my heart from being alone instead.
“I’m ready,” I groan, pushing myself to stand. I try to avoid them as I move about to collect my things, trying to give them a moment of privacy. Still, whenever my eyes wander, Dalton has a protective hand on her arm or, at the very least, is looking at her with deep passion. I hope there’s a Dalton Cosgrove type out there for me somewhere. I ignore the lingering heartache and grab my favorite jacket from the couch. Pulling out the large barrette in my hair, my oncoming headache immediately forfeits. I run massaging fingers through the hairspray-hardened curls and let the tension cease.
Dalton leads us through the tunnels of the stadium, and Raleigh coordinates small meet-and-greets. Since we’re in LA, a few celebrities have made their way below. Not caring about my worn appearance, I smile in passing and pose for a few pictures.
As we approach the doors to the outside, Raleigh leans over and whispers, “Are you sure you don’t want to freshen up further before we head out? I think the entirety of the LA Gators are out there.”
“Maybe I want to look like I just went to war.” We both laugh, maybe too loudly, because a stadium rep walks by and gives us a nasty look. It’s my turn to whisper, “Who named that team? Do they even have alligators in California?”
Raleigh pauses as Dalton moves ahead to scan the path from the doors to the car. “I think it was a buyout of a struggling team in Louisiana a couple of years ago. Not sure, though.”
I lighten at the mention of my home state and vaguely recall the Louisiana Gators. “They should at least give them a new name.” I laugh again, shrugging as the doors open fully to reveal the evening air. Out from under the lights, the coolness of the weather is simply delectable. I take a second to lift my head to the sky and breathe it in.
Cameras immediately blind me. I should’ve known the paparazzi in LA would be out in full force. Squinting, I step outfully onto the pavement. Dalton steps in front of Raleigh and me as his team members take to our sides and behind. The faces of the football players blur as I pass them by.
See you later, alligators; I am out of here. I couldn’t handle talking to a group of douchey athletes right now, even if I wanted to.
Dalton and his men whisk me into my awaiting car. Sneaking one more look back at the crowd, the faces are all blurred by the flashing cameras.
All except one.
In the group of football players, a handsome man with blond hair and pursed lips stands with his arms crossed. His meadow-green eyes are staring back at me. It’s peculiar to me that the color can stand out so wonderfully against the flashing lights. Our eyes lock and I feel a surge of electricity before he drops his head out of apparent shyness. The moment was fleeting but powerful; something had drawn me to him. I blink once and then twice to combat the brightness of the cameras. My line of sight is broken by Dalton who grunts and urges me along, forcing me to leave the unexpected connection behind.
As I’m corralled into the car I strain my neck to look back for the man in the crowd, but the media has already swallowed the concert goers whole. Disappointed, I let my heartrate calm as I lean back into the leather and the car lurches forward. There was no reason for a moment like that to occur, and yet, it did, and it charged me with hope.
I can still hear eager fans chanting my name as the car pulls away from the stadium, toward the interstate. I find myself wishing I could roll down my window and wave to them without the fear of a billion photos appearing tomorrow with the caption:Mae Evans- America’s Sweetheart fleesLA concert as America’s Broken Heart.
“I remember why I hate LA,” I mumble, leaning away from the car window.
“No kidding,” Raleigh says, not bothering to look up from her phone.
Chapter 3
Wyatt
FRESHLY SHOWERED after a light practice, I make my way from the locker room towards the media suite. Tomorrow is the big day; the season opener against the other team in town; The California Rattlesnakes. They’ve been here for ages and have a franchise name that actually makes sense. Yes, the Gators name sucks, and yes, we make no sense as a franchise, but we’re a good team and we’re slowly building a fanbase to stay.
Ben, the reason for our growing fanbase, approaches from behind me and slaps me on the back. “Ready to get back in the saddle?”
“If you mean the bucking bronco of the media, then sure whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes. I’d call myself personable, but dealing with the hyenas of the media usually brings out the worst in me. Yet, I’m still left to the wolves because I have a ‘cute face.’
“Oh, come on, you love talking to the media,” Ben insists.
“Not really,” I grumble. Maybe at some point I did, but that was before. Before the concert. Before the photos of me came out and everyone jumped to unruly conclusions. Had I really been ogling her in each crummy, zoomed-in photo and social media video? Without a doubt. Did this fact slip past my teammates? Not at all.
