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Amber drops out of my arms as I turn around. We stand side by side and peer down at Ellie. She’s on her knees behind the enormous bag she always totes around. The contents of the bag are scattered across the floor. Her head is bowed. Her shiny blonde hair is lying like a blanket across her face. If her back wasn’t rising and falling at a steady pace, I’d think she was frozen.
I drop to my knees in front of her.
“Elle.” I use her nickname even though I never have before.
My hand sneaks up to brush the hair off her face, and then remains to rest against her cheek. Her skin is ridiculously soft. The smell of cinnamon drifts around me as I lean forward. Why does she have to smell so edible?
“Are you okay?” I ask. It’s a foolish question because obviously she’s fine. She dropped her bag and it spilled and…why isn’t she looking at me? “Ellie.”
She shakes her head. “Amber Hope is not a normal girl,” she whispers so softly I can barely hear her.
I lean closer, intending to reassure her. She raises her head at the same time. The motion is quick and somehow her forehead connects with my nose. There’s a flash of pain and the terrible crunching sound that only happens when flesh meets flesh.
“Shit.” My hand reaches up to catch the blood that gushes out of my nose. I try to staunch it before it runs onto my face. It’s safe to say that a bloody beard is not a good look.
Blood drips through my fingers onto the floor. I’ve broken my nose before and it hurt way more than this, so I’m not concerned. Ellie looks at me in horror, then she sways a little and lists to the side. Her eyes roll back, and she sprawls against the floor.
Did she faint? Is she okay? What do I do?
My bloody nose is the least of my concerns as I stare at Ellie in shock. Amber drops to her knees next to me. She shoves a wadded-up t-shirt against my nose. Our eyes meet briefly, and I have an insane urge to laugh.
Holy hell—this backstage surprise is not turning out how I thought it would.
I clutch the crumpled fabric to my face as I shift my attention back to Ellie.
“What should we do?” Amber’s manager, Brian, asks calmly as he moves behind us.
“I’m not sure,” Amber replies as she leans toward Ellie. “She’s just squeamish, right?”
I shrug helplessly, my pulse rioting. I’ve never known anyone who fainted at the sight of blood, but I don’t think it’s dangerous. As long as she wakes up. Why isn’t she waking up?
I have the frantic urge to do something. Should I splash water in her face? Or move her to the sofa? Maybe like a fairy tale, I should lean over and give her a kiss?
In a game when a guy goes down, the medical staff rush out onto the field. The only people at Ellie’s side are a quarterback, a pop star, and a music manager. It sounds like the start of a bad joke.
I need her to wake up, so I reach out with my unbloody hand and shake her shoulder.
“Ellie.” My voice is way too loud, but it works. She groans and her eyes crack open.
After a second of silence, she gasps and says, “Amber Hope.”
TWELVE
ELLIE
Of all the times to faint.
I’m disoriented, but not so disoriented that I don’t know what happened. Thinking about the blood makes the wooziness rush back. I sway a little and try to ignore the memory, because I don’t want to faint again.
I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.
If it were possible to disappear, I would do it in a heartbeat. I can see Amber Hope hovering right in front of me.
Amber fricking Hope.
I’m in the same room, breathing the same air, as the greatest pop star of our generation. She’s not laughing at my wit. Nor are we gushing over our mutual love for crunchy french fries.
Nope.
