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“Uh, no.” I swallow and drag my fingers through the longer portion of my hair. “We were working on some music. I guess I didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”
I peek over at Z, who looks down at his hands clenched in his lap.
Why couldn’t Malek and Griff have stayed out longer? Should Z and I sneak into the back? Would that be too obvious?
There’s apprehension in Z’s face, especially when his gaze drifts to the back of the bus like he’s ready to hide. As much as I want him to do as he pleases, I also really want his company. I want him to be in our company, too. I want more of his smiles. His laughter. His happiness.
My fingers stealthily brush against the back of his neck, sliding into his hair. Is it wrong of me to plead with my gaze? To make demands of him when I’ve already injected myself into his life?
Settling deeper into the couch, Z finally asks, “What are we watching?”
Griff cracks a smile. “Buckle up. Tuesdays are for horror, my good sir.”
We arrive in Kentucky early enough to fuck around on set for a while. These are some of my favorite moments. An empty venue. No screaming fans. No pressure or structure. Just pure music streaming out in its rawest form during soundcheck.
I motion for Z, tinted in blue light on the side of the stage. He shakes his head, pointing to Liam.Working, he mouths back.
I envy his dedication. I really do.
“Liam, tell Z to get his ass out here,” I demand.
Liam doesn’t miss a beat. “Guitar! Now!” he orders Z.
Alright, so maybe I do have some influence over Liam, but Z earned his position with the crew. I didn’t meddle; I swear on my life.
Z rushes over, holding out Liam’s black Les Paul. Liam takes it from his hands, only to drape it over Z’s shoulders. My chest swells with pride at my chosen brother being acceptant of the guy I like. That’s a toasty fucking feeling right there.
Liam and I had a conversation about my obvious crush last night. He wasn’t judgmental. Just cautious out of his love for me. He warned me that I can’t fix Z. Can’t make him want to piece himself back together. Only Z understands the pattern of his wounded mind.
After a moment of hesitation, Z settles into the instrument, his fingers warming up over the strings. Satisfaction rushes through me.Thisis where he belongs. Not backstage. I know it in my bones. But for some reason, he backed away from it all. Human nature makes me curious to dig into that mystery. Respect for Z and the desire for his trust keep me from Googling and asking prying questions.
Z drifts under the spotlights at the front of the stage as they shift to a haunting red, looking like my wet fucking dream with his dark hair and perfect, angelic features. If any of my bandmates were watching close enough, they would catch me drooling.
Jesus fuck, fans would not have been able to handle him unmasked. With how feral everyone was over his hidden identity, he would have never had a moment of peace if they knew what he actually looked like, similar to Tim Henson in the looks and skill department.
Shit, if I hadn’t been so consumed with Atonement at that time, I might have jumped on that fan-wagon too.
We’re deep into the vibe of an endless, shifting jam, our sound reverberating through the old brick walls of the soaring hall. Some of the crew stop to admire us in between unraveling cords and shuffling boxes of equipment around.
And before I know what the fuck is happening, Z is singing. His deep voice echoes through the expansive space. Griff drops a stick, and I stumble over a chord on my seven string. Goosebumps spring up from head to toe.
It’s shocking the way he can drench his words with so much raw emotion, holding out admirable, lengthy notes. He could sing about the weather, and I still think he could move a stadium to tears. It’s no wonder Visage was on the verge of something revolutionary.
I am fucking lost. The raw talent of this man… it is on another level. Glancing over at Liam, he nods in agreement at the magic unfolding. I pray he can’t see through to just how far I’ve fallen for Z, but he’s known me since we were eight, for fuck’s sake.
We play for hours, sweat dripping from our bodies under the warm spotlights. Malek lets out a whoop when we finally cut off. “Leave some for tonight, boys!”
Then he and Griff hurry off in search of cold beer and BBQ. Liam’s fingers fly over his phone’s keyboard, and then he’s gone, too. Afternoon booty call, no doubt.
My gaze wanders to Z, my pulse thundering under too hot skin. He’s staring back with wide, panicked eyes, adrift in a sea he doesn’t know how to navigate without something to tether him.
I give him a smile and openly check him out. If I wasn’t afraid of scarring the crew for life, I’d take him right fucking here.
Damn it, I can’t help myself. This thing between us is probably a ticking bomb set to blow me apart from the inside out, but I don’t care. A guarded heart can never learn to love again, right?
Handing my guitar to my tech, Cora, and giving her a thumbs up for stellar effort, I stride over to Z. I take care to unstrap Liam’s guitar and return it to its case.
I give Z a nod to follow me. Desire reflects in his bright eyes when I flash him a sly grin. He glances around nervously, but everyone’s scattering for a break between soundcheck and the show.
