Keaton steps beside me in an instant, his hand a solid comfort on my shoulder. “Raina,” he murmurs, as if my name alone can pull me out of the nightmare.
Blake swears under his breath, tension radiating off him like heat from asphalt. Even Darius looks thrown off balance, his usual confident smirk nowhere to be seen.
“It’s not possible,” I fume, turning around and storming to the edge of the stage, barely out of sight of the fans in the crowd. The band follows closely behind me, a protective barrier against my rising rage.
The sickeningly sweet sound of Carmen’s voice washes over us as we stand here, her words twisting the meaning of my song beyond recognition. It’s amazing how you can change the perceived meaning of something based on the music you pair it with.
I should know, I’ve been hiding my torment in plain sight all along.
“Gill!” I call out, my voice loud over the music. She appears a moment later, an index finger poised against her earpiece. Her eyes widen at the uncontained rage on my face before her gaze flicks toward the stage.
“Raina,” she starts in a soothing tone, trying to placate me. “I’m already on comms with Izzy, she’s contacting your lawyer as we speak.”
“They stole my song, Gill!” I can’t help it, I snap the words at her, pointing at Carmen still performing on stage. Gill’s gaze hardens, and she nods in understanding.
“We’ll sort this out,” she assures me in a tight voice. I know she means it; she’s always had my back. But right now, it’s not enough to soothe the broken pieces of me threatening to cut me to shreds.
“She’s singing our song,” Nash states plainly, though his voice reveals his shock. “How’d she get hold of it?” he asks in shock, clearly feeling the same betrayal.
I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself as if it could ward off the chill creeping up my spine. “I don’t know,” I admit in a hushed whisper.
Those words were hidden in my journal. How the fuckdidshe get them?
I frantically trace back in my mind every time the book wasn’t with me. I’ve been diligent about keeping it hidden on the bus when I’m not writing in it, and before then… we were in the beach house.
Right as the realization hits, my gaze lands on Dickless, way on the other side of the stage in the wings, staring at me with a sick twist of his lips.
My gut twists in searing pain when I hear the now familiar riff Darius added to our version. The one he said played in his head whenever he saw me.
He’s smug as he mouths the words, “You should’ve done the duet.”
Raina hasn’t slept all night. I’m not sure any of us have. Her pain is our agony. She’s filled to overflowing with it, so I’m surprised we’re still alive. I suppose it’s so we can keep her together enough to heal from this, but I’m not sure how.
Can one even heal from a wound this deep? One that rips clean through you until it exposes the soul?
I stare at her huddled on the couch, her knees drawn into her chest with her arms wrapped around her legs. She stares blindly at the window, which is eclipsed by the closed blinds.
Her eyes have dark circles under them, and a brightness seems to be missing from her. I swear it’s probably all in my head, but even her hair seems more limp and lackluster. Like everything that bothers her in the world has become too heavy for her to carry.
“Keaton,” I say, elbowing my best friend in the side. “Make her a coffee. Maybe that will cheer her up.”
He grunts, but moves into action, going through the motions he learned from our girl to make her most favorite thing on earth. He leans over, his ass jutting out slightly where his stickspoke out of his pocket. I’m not sure I’ve seen him twirl, spin, or drum on anything since the end of the show last night.
Staring at Raina again, I’m struck with her strength. I’m not sure how she was able to pull herself together long enough to finish the show, but she did.
But ever since she’s been like this, a sad little bundle of heartbreak.
I’m not sure I can stand this for much longer. Her smile is my favorite thing in the world.
Keaton finishes her coffee and hands it to me. I’m a little shocked he didn’t hand it to her himself, but I suppose it was my idea. I don’t care who brings her the hint of happiness, just that she gets it.
“Hey, baby. I got you your one true love,” I tease, trying to get a hint of a smile from her.
“Thanks,” she says, her voice the most monotone sound I’ve ever heard come out of her. Her face never changes as she grabs the mug and sets it on the coffee table in front of her.
She doesn’t smile.
She doesn’t take a sniff.
