Page 81 of The Beat Match

Her phone quit ringing, and she exhaled. Tried her hardest to ignore the possibility that she was wrong about his feelings.

A minute later, it started again. Dammit.

Steeling herself, she glued letters down on her scrapbook page. Her phone rang another five times while she worked, going silent then blaring back to life. Her page ended with her last letter glued at an awkward angle.

When her cell quieted for longer than five minutes, she picked it up gingerly, as though it might explode. There was one message. From Wes.

Her heart resumed racing.

He was likely calling to keep their friendship intact. Wes would never abandon her and walk away, even with his fears. Or he’d discovered Duncan’s betrayal and was calling to warn her. Or Duncan had found another way to bring Wes down and Wes needed her help. Or he’d been hanging out with Rosanna again and had discovered they actually cared for each other and he wanted Annie to know before their dating went public.

Swallowing the square of chocolate she’d popped into her mouth, she pressed the phone to her ear and listened.

“I fucked up. I miss you like crazy. I let you walk away because I thought losing you now would be easier than losing you later in some horrific way, like my mom and Leo, which was cowardly and cruel. I’m done being scared. I need to see you. Please let me explain and grovel in person. I can do better, be better. Please come to tonight’s show.”

Annie bit her lip. She pressed her hand to her chest.

He missed her. He’d realized how wrong he’d been without her having to shove her scrapbook page in his face. He’d admitted it, no matter how scared he’d been. God, she loved him so much it hurt. She was so damn proud of him, wanted to kiss every inch of his gorgeous face. But she would not. Not yet, at least. Not until she had that evidence in her hands.

If not calling him before was tough, it was torture now. Good thing she was built of tough stuff. She did listen to Wes’s message again, though. Five more times, his deep voice telling her he’d fucked up, begging for another chance. Tears blurred her vision and crowded her throat. She really couldn’t wait to smother him in kisses.

Her phone buzzed again, this time with a message from Sarah.

Sarah: We’ve got Duncan. Not enough for an arrest, but enough to shut him up and bury him professionally. I can have the files to you this afternoon.

“Yes!” Annie fist pumped the air and did a seated jig. Things were finally going her way. Soon, everything would be right. This time she and Wes would be free to be together, nothing between them. She moved her thumbs on her phone, ready to call Wes and put them both out of their misery, but she paused.

This was the part in crime movies where things went sideways. The good guys were so close to victory, then they were undermined one final time before the grand finale. A chance she wasn’t willing to take. She needed those files in her hand, then she’d make her move. She also wanted to see Wes’s face when they made up. Gobble up that memory and store it next to one of Leo playing piano and Wes working on his awful scrapbook and Joyce mastering her piano chords.

Bad memories often overshadowed good ones. Unless you locked down the good. Reveled in them. Saved those moments for when things got tough, as things always would. And she knew how to make this memory extra special. At his big show tonight.

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24

Weston peeked through the curtains and scanned the hopped-up crowd for Annie but couldn’t spot her through the growing crush. The two-level club was filling fast. Neon lights lined the stairs. The balcony was packed, the massive iron-wrapped disco ball illuminating the dancing bodies on the main floor. He searched every woman through the pulsing lights to no avail.

Tons of merchandise flashed up at him from the crowd, though: Falcon shirts, Falcon hats, Falcon glow sticks flashing in pumping fists. Mick had certainly come through with the last-minute merch. Weston’s cut would fund local shelters, and his plans to distribute QR-code cards at the exits, with ways to help gun control movements, would touch many hands, as long as his video feed had the desired impact. The turnout and energy couldn’t be better. All signs pointed to success. But Annie should be here, and he had no clue if she planned to come.

Agitated, he slipped behind the two sets of curtains, checked the monitors and cables again.

“All good?” one of the stagehands asked. The kid looked nervous, shifting on his feet.

Falcon’s reputation had preceded him, his eccentric silences and demands known and respected. Weston wore the same black outfit and Falcon mask he’d worn to his other shows, hadn’t alerted Mick or anyone to a change in status. He’d normally nod, not chance speaking, but his father knew the score now. He actually looked forward to telling Rosanna and seeing the shock on her face. She’d always teased him for being a stuffy country-club boy.

He was uneasy about the story leaking to the press, as it no doubt would. Heir to Aldrich Pharma has Wild Side, or some other salacious heading. Assuming he got fired, he believed other pharmaceutical companies would hire him, but it wasn’t certain. Still, there was no reversing this trajectory.

To the skinny kid, he said, “I could use a glass of water.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. Right on it.” Eyes bright, he skittered off.

Thirty minutes later Weston stood behind his mixer, finger on the dial, nervous energy pulsing through him. If Annie didn’t show, he’d search her out tomorrow. Fix this. Fix them. Make sure she knew unequivocally she held Weston’s beating heart in her small hands. He loved her. He wouldn’t mince words. He’d tell her straight and true and make sure she never had reason to doubt him again. But he wanted her to see the video feed’s first steps. The audience’s reaction. Leo’s tribute. Their collaboration. He couldn’t have created something this powerful without her.

The sound system cut out. The crowd hollered from the other side of the two curtains, the crescendo rising into a roar. His body vibrated with the thunderous sound, and all he could think was this. This is who I am. If he’d quit DJing as planned, he would have missed this unparalleled rush.

He kissed two fingers and pressed them to the photograph of Leo he’d attached to his mixer. “This one’s for you, man.”

He signaled the skinny kid who’d brought him the water, and the outermost curtain sailed up. Weston was still hidden behind the second curtain, but he felt the descending quiet, the crowd’s excited anticipation.