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“Just give it one night,” Simon had said, cornering me in my bedroom on the bus. “If you can't do it after tonight, then we'll come up with some excuse to cancel the tour, but don't throw in the towel until you try.”
So, I tried.
And what I found was, I had strongly—and embarrassingly—underestimated the ability our fans possessed to look beyond the exterior and simply enjoy our music. With every scream and round of applause, they didn't seem to care that I had to sit for half the show or that I couldn't exhibit the type of energy I’d had before. That was when I had known without a doubt that I wasn't ready to throw in the towel.
Not yet.
Hell, maybe not ever.
“Well,” Madi said, offering a small, sad smile, “I, for one, am glad to see you guys back with one of the greatest albums I've ever heard in. My.Life!”
We all nodded, offering our thanks and gratitude for the compliment as she clapped her manicured hands enthusiastically.
“This one is for the books, guys,” she went on, dropping her hands to her lap. “Listeners, if you've ever wanted to hear a love story told to the tune of some killer ‘90s-inspired grunge-rock, youhaveto get your hands onWhen Karma Met Destiny, which is out to-day.”
It was pointless to try and stop the jolt of electric excitement that zapped my bones at the reminder of our album's release—as if I could've forgotten.
It had already been streamed more than any of our others, and it'd only been ten hours since it had launched at midnight.
If anything could kick-start my confidence into overdrive, it was that.
Madi's smile shifted into something coy and suggestive before she asked, “Now, all I have to ask is, who's the lucky lady? And does she know she’s stolen your heart?”
A deep, burning flush rose from the collar of my black T-shirt as I hung my head and chuckled while the other guys laughed and hollered, encouraging my obvious embarrassment.
Madi gasped with dramatic flourish. “Oh my goodness, is Dylan Pierce actuallyblushing?!”
“Allow me to answer for him,” Simon said before clearing his throat and leaning closer to the mic from his stool.
I looked up abruptly and glared at him with wide, warning eyes, and he winked.
“All I'll say is … if she didn't know before, she sure as hell does now.”
***
I wasn't sure when I'd hear from Lennon, if I would at all. The lines of communication between us had been all but incinerated since she'd kissed my mouth and dropped to her knees, and I assumed it was by Peter's command that she had cut me off.
Still, I hoped she'd tell me what she thought of the album. Because no amount of critically acclaimed praise could compare to her honest opinion.
It was the only one that truly mattered as far as I was concerned.
Alone in my room, I held the body of my acoustic, wishing it were hers and wondering if she'd given the album a listen. What did she think? What emotions did it inspire? Which songs made her cry? Which songs made her remember the seamless beauty of our bodies as they had moved together?
Did she touch herself, thinking about us, as she listened?
Would she tell me if she did?
I closed my eyes, strumming Anna as I thought of the intense black waterfall of her hair cascading over the entirety of her back. How its silky length had felt, wrapped around my fist as she got down on her knees. How she had taken me in deep and groaned when I applied a little pressure, tugging and pulling.
“Fuck,” I muttered, dropping the guitar to the bed and tipping my head back against the wall of the bus, rumbling along the asphalt.
It had been a month since I’d last tasted her lips and tongue. A whole month, and it was only now that I regretted the decision to make her stop.
At the time, I couldn't stand the thought of being something that she’d regret. But now, when I was hard and lonely instead of celebrating with my friends outside of this room, I didn't care.
I just wanted her.
Knock, knock, knock.
