The only recognition I can give is to nod my head, unsure of how to articulate my fear, my confusion, my exhaustion from all this uncertainty.
“Dare, I can’t help but feel you want something out of being a part of the band.” I search his eyes, trying to see if I can find the answer there, even though I have a feeling I know the answer.
He leans closer until we’re a hair’s breadth away. Any slight movement will have our mouths brushing against each other in a move that’s too fucking tempting when there’s this much chemistry between us.
“I recall you asking me something like this before. Was it too late for you to remember?” he teases, reminding me of the talk we had in the middle of the night.
A small laugh falls out of my lips and he sucks in a sharp breath with the feeling of it brushing across his full lips. My body responds to the sound pressing against him. A beat later, his hands slide along the sides of my body.
What would his touch feel like on my bare skin? Shit. No. Bad Raina. Focus.
“You were sad when we seemed distrustful, and—”
“Shh,” he soothes, his lips brushing against mine more effectively shutting me up than the sound he makes. I’m frozen in place. “You were all distrustful. Don’t lie and try to make it more palatable.”
“I’m sorry, you’re right.” I wince and close my eyes, hating that I’m fucking this up. His forehead lands on mine and one of his hands cups the side of my neck, his thumb moving back and forth. Why is his touch so damn tempting? It shouldn’t light me on fire the same way my guys do. This isn’t part of the plan.
“I told you that what I wanted was you, Raina. That hasn’t changed.”
Nerves rush through me, a weird mix of giddy excitement and dread. I suck in a breath and lean my head away from his, gaining some much needed fresh air.
“Maybe what you really want is a family,” I suggest. “People that are there for you, who care about you and, most of all, who never have to doubt you?”
“That does sound pretty nice,” he admits. I’m a little worried that when I meet his eyes, I’ll find hurt in them from me putting space between us, but what is shining there instead is determination. “Are you offering to give me a family, Raina?”
My body seems to light up at the way he asks. Goosebumps flow from my neck down to my toes, my nipples pebbling and my core clenching. The question was innocent, yet my mind made it dirty as fuck.
I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah, I think I am.” Keaton already seemed to know that was the plan before I did—we just need to ensure the others are on board.
Darius’ powerful hands unexpectedly spin me around, plastering my back to his front again. “We can talk about that later, but for now, I want you to see this.”
The unexpected change in topics has me confused. “See what?”
“Remember when I said I was a little too dialed in on StormChasertok? Well, I saw some videos about your loyal fans’ thoughts about the stolen song.”
I’m reminded of the team hashtags and want so desperately to ask about Tristan, but I’m distracted by a shift rippling through the audience. They abruptly go silent and stand from their chairs, turning their backs to the stage. A dark shadow travels over them, but after a closer look, I realize black garments of all kinds are draped over the fans.
Scarves, sweatshirts, T-shirts, all come out to disguise any color from showing. The lights on the stage make it hard tosee the audience, and the in-ears dull the sound so much you wouldn’t be able to tell, but there’s still an energy you can feel from the stage, and it’s clear as Carmen performs the stolen song from me, that she can sense something is going on.
I can’t believe after one show, my fans have organized a boycott, standing up for my song—songs now that she’s started into another new one that I work extremely hard to ignore—that was stolen and making sure their objection is known.
It feels like I’m in the middle of a tornado of emotions. I never thought in a million years my fans would be this invested, but it seems it’s being proven to me over and over how much my music means to them.
“Raina,” Darius says in my ear, his voice soft but firm. “This situation is hard on everyone. And it’s more than okay to be scared and confused.” His thumb brushes against my cheekbone, wiping away a stray tear I hadn’t even noticed had fallen.
“But we’ll figure this out together,” he continues. “As a band... as a family.”
His words stir something inside me, an ember of hope amidst all the chaos. We shouldn’t have to deal with stolen songs, fake romances, or scarily obsessive fans choosing teams, but there’s a chance we’ll come out on the other side of things as a tightly knit family.
That’s something I’d be willing to suffer for.
The audience remains silent as the song-stealing artist sings on stage. I was fucking flabbergasted when I heard her sing it at the last show, and I wasn’t the only one. The video of Raina and the guys building the layers of the song was already viral. Shit, all the videos they’ve posted have millions of views.
Everyone is loving seeing the inside view of who Raina is and what her life looks like. It’s a good pairing with the videos I’ve been making sharing our past. Almost as if we strategized and came up with the plan together.
The awful sound of Carmen’s voice dies out, and she gives an overly fake thank you to the audience. Obviously, not everyone has social media accounts on every platform, so there’s a few people who didn’t get the memo. It’s glaringly obvious that most people are purposefully icing her out.
The cunt deserves so much worse, but for now, this is what the fans are doing to protect Raina’s music.
