You’ll be the one caring way too much.
You’ll be the one saying, ‘I wish I never played the game of love.’
I’ll be the one saying, ‘You tried your best.’
I’ll be the one who still wins because
There’s no way that I could care less when I play the game of love.”
Not for the first time, I needed to step away from a Dreamscape set to catch my breath. Backstage felt too constricting, like the sparsely populated tent was closing in all around me. In one corner, Martin nodded with the music, butit felt as though each nod somehow condemned me to a terrible fate that I could sense but couldn’t yet see coming.
Pulse pounding in my ears, I rushed from the stage until I was far enough away that Grey’s lyrics stopped sounding like individual words and became indecipherable over the instruments. No matter how deeply or often I inhaled, it didn’t seem like the oxygen I took in counted. As far as my body was concerned, I might as well have been attempting to breathe underwater.
Near the chain-link fence, I grabbed onto it for support. My ears were hot with remembered words from Grey’s newly appreciated lyrics. Try as I might, I couldn’t shake the unsettling sensation.Why do I feel as if I’m in danger? Is it just everything Grey and I have been through during the long, arduous journey of our relationship to this point?Maybe I was being too pessimistic based off my previous actions. Maybe karma was a bitch and had her sights on me.I basically ghosted Piper, didn’t I? Wouldn’t I deserve similar treatment to appease the cosmic balance of things?
Okay, it seemed safe to say that I’d blown past paranoid and discovered a new level of psychosis. Still, my mind flitted back to the conversation I’d had with Carina a lifetime ago.You’d have to work at maintaining a relationship with someone who is very much committed to his dreams,she’d said.Can you be okay with sitting on the sidelines and supporting him through that?The question had seemed absurd at the time, but now it seemed very much like the answer to my emotions.
The epiphany hit me like a train. Up on the stage, Grey and Dreamscape stood on the precipice of their career. Whether Martin decided to sign them or the next manager that came along did, it didn’t change what would happen. Dreamscape would keep getting bigger. And as it did, the demands that it required would grow with it. I knew that I would never standbetween Grey and the band.So, would I be okay with Grey seeing me less often? What if he missed birthdays or holidays or anniversaries?Part of me felt like I was getting way ahead of myself, but realizing my true feelings for Grey had raised the stakes for me, and suddenly, these were questions I had, and I cared about their answers.
The song finally ended. I could’ve done without the crowd cheering and whooping, considering “The Game of Love” had damn near made me pass out from hyperventilating, but I took my win as another safer song began—the one that I’d first heard Grey sing all those months ago. “You’ve Gotta Know.”
As the familiar lyrics washed over me, I managed to pull myself together. Suddenly, with the words of the Dreamscape song I viewed asoursplaying in the background, my fears seemed silly and childish. So I walked back to my place at the wings of the stage, where all Grey had to do to see me was glance to his left. He did, for the briefest of moments, and our eyes met. The warmth that could only come from him bloomed once again in my chest. Things would be all right. I just needed to not let myself fall into crazy.
Dreamscape kept playing through all the songs I knew and even a few that I’d only heard pieces of up until now. As they played, the crowd grew, drawn to their band over competing ones down the block. I could see that Martin noticed the numbers growing, too, and I was sure he saw dollar signs attached to every person in the audience.
“This next one will be our last song of the night,” Grey told the sea of people in front of him.
Several boos followed and even a shouted “Not yet!” from the crowd.
Grey cracked an impish grin. “Believe me, I’m just as sad about it as you are. This song is called ‘Not Just Friends.’”
When they’d finished the song, the crowd went absolutely apeshit, screaming louder than I’d heard them cheer yet. It was hard not to match Grey’s smile as he left the stage, wreathed in applause from the audience.
He made a direct path to me, his eyes simmering with the ecstatic energy that had been aimed at him for the past hour. “What did you think of the set?”
I could hear the excitement in his voice.
The panic I had been feeling flared up again like an old injury throbbing to remind me it was there after I’d mostly forgotten about it. “It was great.” I almost sounded convincing. Except my voice decided to squeak on the last syllable.
Grey’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Is everything okay?”
God, he looked so cute when he cared, which made my stomach flutter in a rush of more positive emotions—among which was desire. The second time I spoke, I managed to maintain control of my treacherous voice. “Everything’s perfect.” My first instinct was to kiss him, to prove just how perfect everything was, but other bands and stagehands and Martin milled about, and with all the prying eyes, I felt oddly exposed. “I’m proud of you,” I said instead.
Convinced, Grey positively beamed. “It was everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” he gushed. “Like, I can’t believe I’m awake and that actually happened. The crowd was amazing.”
“It wasn’t the crowd,” Martin said, approaching us with the other Dreamscape members dogging behind him. “That was all your energy you saw in the audience tonight. They only gave back what you gave them.”
The members of Dreamscape practically vibrated at his words.
Martin continued. “I’ve got to tell you, I’m impressed. It’s not often someone unknown can get up onstage and do what you just did. Who writes your music?”
Dae cleared his throat. “That would be Grey.” He slapped his friend on the shoulder.
“Well, you clearly have a talent,” Martin said, and Grey’s cheeks went pink at the attention. Then Martin’s attention turned to me. The question that I’d noticed before still lingered as he held out a hand in polite formality. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Martin.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Grey said, stepping in to introduce me as I shook Martin’s hand. “This is Ethan, my”—he paused for such a brief moment that I wasn’t sure anyone else noticed it—“Friend.”
I heard the capital letter in “Friend” with a spasm of pain in my chest that felt more physical than any emotional response had any right to. By some miracle, I managed to keep my face impassive as I said something about it being nice to meet Martin, though I was becoming increasingly suspicious that it was, in fact,notnice to meet Martin. Even if the questioning look stopped as soon as we were introduced.
