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“All right, y’all, we’ve got a very special guest joining us tonight for Open Mic Night. He’s come a long way to be here in our little town, so don’t embarrass me like you did the last time he was here. Let’s give a big Silver Spur welcome to the one and only Jameson Lorde.”
My pulse picked up again the moment I stepped on the stage and the lights went down. It was always like this when I performed. That thrill, akin to the rush of a high. I’d never needed drugs to give me a blissful euphoria. Not when I had this.
All I did was sit on a stool with my guitar, but the crowd went mad as soon as I took off the cowboy hat I’d borrowed from Killian. I placed it on the small table next to me and strummed over the guitar strings. I wondered what it would be like if the audience thought I was just some random. I’d briefly considered putting on a fake beard and shades, maybe leaving my hat on and going up there and playing like I had when I was first breaking out. Back when I pretended I was of age so I could get into the pubs with a fake ID.
“Play ‘Sighs and Sorrows,’” somebody shouted.
“Play ‘Your Everything,’” another called.
I chuckled and dropped my gaze down to my scuffed pair of solid black Converse. Taking a deep breath, I pulled myself together and leaned into the mic, staring at a point on the back wall that I knew would make it look like I was focused on the audience.
“Thank you for having me tonight and letting me crash your open mic. I’m Jameson Lorde, and this is ‘Drowning in You.’”
The audience went crazy because, of course, this was my biggest hit, my very first number one. Angsty and filled with yearning, this song quickly became my brand. I liked it best unplugged. The studio version had too many bells and whistles for my liking, but that hadn’t stopped it from winning a Grammy.
I played my heart out, pouring every drop of passion I had into the music. I had to let it free somehow. If I didn’t, I’d pour it out all over Killian and make him think I could offer him more than a night or two. The concert went on, and that void inside me that could only be filled by performance was filled, and a sense of relief flooded me.
Once I played the last strains of my final song of the night, I allowed myself to look at the crowd. The woman I’d danced with the last time I was here sat at a table front and center. She was all smiles for me, her crimson lips a beautiful invitation. Those wide, deep brown eyes promised me we’d have a lot of fun together tonight if I was interested. Was I? She was a knockout, and it would feel good and perhaps release some of the tension that had been pent up between Killian and me, but that wasn’t fair to her. She deserved more than that from me, and I couldn’t give it to her.
The stagehand took my guitar back to the small greenroom, and I stepped off the stage to sign things for people, chat, and just sit back for a while with a pint. I wasn’t ready to go home and face Killian. Not yet.
Except, I felt it the minute he found me with his gaze. A twinge right in my belly as my eyes locked on his. The confusion on his face spoke volumes. He didn’t understand, and I needed to explain. Before I could get to him, a blonde hugged me against her and took my face in her hands, laying a kiss on me. Frankie was right there, stopping her, pulling her back.
“Keep your hands to yourself, Darlene.”
“What, he likes it.”
I looked at her, trying my best to remain kind. “No one likes being touched without their consent, love.”
That shut her down. Her shoulders slumped, but the damage had been done. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Killian rise from his seat and storm down the hallway toward the toilets.
“Excuse me,” I said, shrugging out of the grip of the others who wanted a piece of me.
I chased him down, stopping him in the hall.
“That wasn’t—”
He interrupted me. “What it looked like?”
“Exactly. You know how the fans get.”
“I don’t care that she kissed you, Jameson. That happens all the time. Fans are excited. They think they own a piece of us. You handled it exactly as you were supposed to.”
“Well, then, why are you cross with me?”
He let out a bitter laugh. “Why am I cross with you? Because you left me so you could what? Come play a solo gig without telling me? Why did you make me think you were doing a promo shoot without me?”
“I didn’t want you to think…” I didn’t know what to tell him.
“You didn’t want me to think that this between us was permanent? Didn’t want to lose your identity because of me? Because you’re being forced to be my partner.”
The way his voice trembled punched me right in the gut. “Killian, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“Well, then explain it to me. Because we’re either in or we’re out. We need to understand where the other one’s at. You sneaking off to do a solo show doesn’t feel like you’re being open with me.”
“Oh, that’s rich. You want to talk about open. I had to pry every note out of you. You’ve been so closed off I’ve almost packed my stuff and left multiple times.”
A crowd was starting to gather at the mouth of the hallway, so I snagged him by the elbow and tugged him into the greenroom. I locked the door behind us and raked a hand through my hair, wincing when my fingers tugged on the strands.
