Page 27 of Unleashed By Eden

My voice carries out into all that space, filling row after row of plastic chairs. I sing the words I’ve sung too many times to count; they got sanded down to sound and lost all meaning a long time ago. When I wrote this at twenty-one, hunched over a notebook with a shitty pen in a shitty apartment, every line split my chest open. Somewhere along the way, it turned into just another song on the set list.

Knowing Violet is somewhere nearby stitches it back together, thread by thread. The words take shape and start to mean something again, sliding under my skin instead of just out of my mouth.

My hand shakes a little as I shift my grip on the microphone, a small tremor I feel more than see. I flex my fingers around the metal, drop my arm, and give my wrist a sharp shake like it’s just an overdose of caffeine, instead of what I know it is.

About thirty seconds in, I spot her. Off to the side of the stage, the camera covering her face. She’s braced wide for balance, already hunting angles for tonight.

I gesture with my hand for the guys to cut. Kai kills the beat mid-bar, the others let their chords ring out, and the stadium falls into a cavernous quiet.

“We’re good,” I tell them, giving a quick chin-lift.

Then I jump off the edge of the stage.

The drop is higher than I clocked, concrete rushing up faster than I expected. My ankle twinges when I land, but I ride it out and keep moving, crossing straight toward her.

Violet’s eyes are wide when she lowers the camera.

“Jesus,” she hisses. “Why did you jump? You could have broken your ankle from that height.”

I shrug, breath puffing a little harder than I’d like from such a short burst of energy. “Wanted to talk to you,” I say. “And I realized I don’t have your number.”

I pull my phone from my back pocket, unlock it and hold it out.

She doesn’t take it. Instead, her gaze slides past me, a quick, wary flick over my shoulder.

“Later.”

I frown and glance back.

Mika is standing a few paces behind us, camera up, red light on.

“Fuck me,” I mutter under my breath, shoving the phone away. “Later then.” My hands sink into the front pockets of my jeans.

I don’t want this awkward air between us, not when we’re only at the beginning of the tour. I fucked things up on the plane and I want to make it right. I’ve been chewing on it since the wheels skidded across the Singapore runway.

“Are we good?” I ask. “You know . . . after yesterday.”

“We’re good, Carter. Relax.” Her tone is flat, bored even. She lifts her camera again and fires off a close-up of my face.

“Can you not do that for, like, a second?” I reach out and nudge the lens down.

She sighs, long and tired. “We’re good, Carter, alright? Don’t worry about it. For both our sakes, let’s try to get along. We’ve got ten months together. No need to make it weird.” Her mouth quirks. “Or weirder than it already is.”

I blow out a deep breath. “Okay. Good.”

“Good,” she echoes.

Silence opens between us, a gap too wide to be filled with small talk.

She glances past my shoulder again. “I’ll catch you later, okay?” And then she’s walking away, already scanning for her next shot.

I cross my arms and turn on Mika. “You guys going to follow me around everywhere?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he says, not even pretending to be sorry.

I tip my head back and close my eyes. “Fucking fantastic.”

I start walking and he trots behind me, hot on my tail, documenting every step.