The moment the door shuts behind us, my hands cover my face and I sink to the ground, letting the bottled emotions flow out of me.
I cry.
Sob like a little baby.
You’d think by now I’d have learned that hiding my emotions is unhealthy…
Arms wrap around me, then another set and another, until I’m certain the jostling of my body is the feeling of each and every one of them trying to hold me at once. Even Darius.
“What do you mean they were chanting Tristan’s name?” I practically shout the question, my heart rate shooting through the roof. It feels like we’ve been waiting to find him for a lifetime now, unable to do much at all to help in the search.
Now I find out my fans were chanting his name after I left the stage while I was what? Too busy getting in a fight with that little twat Carmen?
I fist my hands at my sides, wanting to scream my fucking head off. What’s that saying? One step forward and two steps back? Only in my life it’s one good thing happens and two shitty as fuck follow behind it.
An image of a handful of pills and the calmness of the sea flash into my head. Intrusive thoughts, I know. But thereisa reason why I thought death was the best way out of this fucked up life.
Darius’ mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He shrugs his shoulder and gestures to the phone in his other hand. “StormChasertok,” he says as if that explains it all.
“Let me see that,” Nash quips, grabbing the phone right out of his hand.
Before he even told me about the fans, Darius had turned his headphones off, which means when Nash hits play, we hear the sound from the video filling the bus. I snuggle next to him, watching the screen intently. It loops back to the beginning and we hear the chanting in the background when the fan says, “Oh my god, Tristan is actually here! I can’t believe I’ll see him reunited with Raina.”
The camera flips around and zooms in on Tris. Nash’s thumb hits the glass as I grab the phone from him, pausing the video so I can see my ex-best friend’s face.
“It’s him. It’s really him,” I whisper.
“Why is he watching the concert like that?” Blake asks, leaning over my shoulder. “Why didn’t he try to contact us? Clearly, they were trying to get our attention with this stunt.”
“What if he couldn’t?” Keaton asks.
I drop my hand into my lap and stare at him for a second, blinking slowly. “Why wouldn’t he be able to get a hold of us?”
Keaton smiles at me, and I’m reminded of how he told me he loves me. I can see it in the way he looks at me, shining from his eyes as they trace over my skin.
“You’ve blocked any numbers from getting through unless they are in your contacts. You don’t run any of your official social media accounts and you filter out your name from your feeds. He doesn’t know about Izzy, and we know Alyssa wouldn’t help him.” His reasoning leaves me stunned.
“Wow. I think he’s doubled the number of words I’ve heard him speak,” Darius mumbles. None of us comment on it, though. Keaton’s decision not to speak much doesn’t need an explanation.
“Fuck,” I breathe out. “You’re right.”
All this time, I assumed he’d contact one of us if he could. How fucking dumb of me.
I scramble to find my phone and call Gill.
“Hey, girlie, what can I do for you?” she greets, a mix of friendly and professional that I appreciate.
Briefly, I wonder if I should’ve called Izzy right off the bat, but I know she has a lot going on with my stolen music, and discard the thought as quickly as it comes.
“Tristan was at the show last night trying to get our attention. We need to make sure there’s backstage passes waiting for him at the next show. Make sure security knows what he looks like so they don’t give him any trouble. And… I don’t even know what else. I just want my friend back.”
“Absolutely,” she quickly replies. The confidence in her voice instantly calms my frazzled nerves. “If he’s there, I’ll make sure he gets to you. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got you.”
I know it’s her job, but I can’t help but believe she doesn’t see it that way. She’s as genuine as Izzy. How I lucked into them I’ll never know.
“Thanks, Gill.” I end the call and take a deep breath, wanting to rid myself of the desperation coursing through me to do something, anything, but not knowing what the hell it could be.
“That’s your Tristan?” Darius says, drawing me out of my thoughts.
