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Even if I wanted to escape, I don’t have my car, nor do I know the way out of the venue. Warm bodies press closely against mine. The crowd is only growing.
I can’t believe I let Fitz talk me into this. He’s a solid guy, and he usually makes good choices.
Unlike the call to bring me along for this tour.
No, that’s not fair.
Fitz has a killer opportunity. He pulled me along for the ride to help me boost my career.
My gaze falls to my camera, and panic blooms again. I’m supposed to be up there, getting pictures of the show, but the people backstage are very pushy. I got corralled so far back, I have no chance of getting the shots I’m responsible for.
“Excuse me,” I say to the massive guys in front of me.
Neither responds or even glances at me. My stomach drops. I’m going to have to try to shove my way through. I never should have let everyone elbow me out of the way in the first place.
I take a deep breath and shimmy next to one of the women. It has to be easier than trying to get by the giant guys…
Right?
Yeah, definitely.
This is a nightmare.
I’m failing at my job on day one. It’s going to reflect badly on Fitz, since he vouched for me.
The noise amps up as everyone gets even more energetic, and the commotion gets worse.
The huge guys in front of me take several large steps back. I try to do the same but end up stumbling over someone’s foot.
I’m majorly overstimulated.
I’m autistic with a dual diagnosis of ADHD. Things that are easy for other people to manage sometimes feel extra tough for me.
Everyone behind me tries to move forward while the people in front are still moving back. I cradle my camera to my chest. It’s the most expensive thing I own, and it was a graduation gift from my and Shanna’s families.
I try to breathe through the claustrophobic feeling I’m hit with. The scent of so many sweaty bodies in one place doesn’t help. I glance around, but there’s no clear path or exit.
My heart pounds erratically as people shove against each other. There’s a wall off to my right, and I unceremoniously toss myself toward it while the chaos continues.
Women shriek and several guys shout. Not bringing my earplugs was a big mistake, but I wanted to be able to hear Fitz’s performance.
Someone bumps into me, causing my shoulder to slam into the wall. A throbbing ache radiates down my arm. Okay, the wall hurts worse than the frantic bodies. I take two shuffling steps away again.
I have no clue how to get myself out of this mess.
There’s no way I’m qualified to be a photographer for the label. Fitz never should have used his connections to guarantee they’d hire me. My thoughts are spinning through the facts over and over again, but I’m frozen in place, completely unable to fix the problem.
Someone very heavy stomps on my left foot. I squeak, trying to pull the toe of my Converse free. Thank goodness I’m not in heels, like some of the women around me. I cradle my camera in my right hand, scooting back toward the wall, and finally, my shoe comes free. I bump against the paneling with more force than I’m expecting, and my camera nearly goes flying.
I throw myself forward, barely catching it, but I’m slammed in the gut by an elbow.
A whoosh of air flies out as tears spring to my eyes. Wow, I didn’t know there was a chance this would turn into a mosh pit.
“Watch whatthe fuckyou’re doing,” a low, gravelly tone commands. “No, don’t back up. Didn’t you hear what I said?”
The guy in front of me gets moved to the side by a set of tattooed hands. My eyes fly up, and there’s areallylarge man who stands nearly a head taller than all the others. He has dark wavy hair to his shoulders, a bright pinkish-red scar on his cheek, and another marring the side of his neck. He’s covered in tattoos from his fingers to his throat.
I recognize him instantly.
