Page 7 of Before You Fell

I snort. “If you’re famous.”

“Not if. When.”

“Very humble.”

“Humility is for people without stage presence.”

“You don’t even have a stage.”

“I have your mom’s back step and an audience of one.”

He nudges my shoulder with his.

Then his voice drops, quieter than before. “You’re the talented one, Wills.”

I look at him.

His throat moves. “I’d be shit without you.”

And before I can make a joke, shove him away and call him an idiot, he wraps his arm around me and pulls me close.

My whole body forgets how to behave.

He pulls me in as if this is normal. As if boys say things like that and wrap their arms around girls without leaving fingerprints somewhere deep. As if my heart has not just done something stupid and permanent.

Those words sink straight into the softest part of me. They curl up there and I have no idea where they are going to stay or the fact that one sentence can stay with someone for years. And for one stupid, golden afternoon, sitting on a blanket under a tree, it feels as if the whole world begins right here.

Chapter Two

Phoenix

Present Day

The crowd screams my name, and it is the best sound in the whole fucking world.

Better than whiskey burning down my throat or a woman’s nails carving half-moons into my back. Better than the first drag of something illegal when the night is too loud and my head is too full.

Thousands of voices.

One name.

Mine.

Phoenix.

Phoenix.

Phoenix.

It rolls through the stadium in a violent wave, shaking the floor beneath my boots, crawling up my legs until my whole body hums with it.

I stand at the edge of the stage with my guitar strapped across my chest, one hand curled around the neck, the other wrapped around the mic stand. Sweat slicks the back of my neck and my pulse pounds hard enough to turn my blood into noise.

The air reeks of smoke machines, spilled beer, hot metal, expensive perfume, and bad decisions waiting for me after the show.

My favorite kind of air.

Behind me, Jax spins one drumstick between his fingers, shirt half unbuttoned, grin already feral. The reckless bastard looks born for noise. Messy dark hair, tattooed arms, shoulders made for breaking drumheads and possibly laws.