Reverse (Bittersweet Symphony Duet #2)

THIRTY “Through the Glass”

THIRTY

“Through the Glass”

Stone Sour

Easton

S potting Natalie at the entrance of the hotel bar, I lift my chin as she searches and finds me, Tack continuing to prattle on beside me. He’s still playing off the remaining energy from the stage, as am I. The high of playing is better than I could have ever anticipated. The woman standing side stage sweetened the feel of it exponentially tonight. Her reaction was everything I hoped for, as was she. She’s everything I remembered but somehow even more beautiful, more alluring. Simply put, she’s just fucking more.

So much more. I’m sure she’s intent on ruining me dressed in tight jeans that hug her long, muscular legs, a plain white T-shirt, and a thin as fuck bra. Tack and I stand as she nears the table. It’s when I’m able to read her expression and sense the hesitation in her posture that all of my hopes for the rest of the night slip into murky territory.

Somewhere between the kiss we shared backstage—that left me hard and uncomfortable as we packed up—to now, something has shifted, and she’s back in the no-fly headspace she’s been forcing herself into since I picked her up in Austin. Knowing I’m up against reinforced mental barriers, I allow her to choose her seat just as Tack pulls the chair next to me back in offering.

I dip my chin at him in silent thanks. Tack and I have managed an easy friendship since we started touring, and it’s got a lot to do with the fact that he’s basically a better person than most of the musicians I’ve met. He’s got no bitter chip on his shoulder thanks to years of falling short of his dreams with his other bands. Like me, he plays purely for his love of music, and that fact alone earns him a lot of my respect.

Natalie takes a seat, freshly showered, her face only slightly made up, her curls still drying as a whiff of her clean, floral scent hits me. A scent she drenched me in and left me pining for after she opened herself to me. She gives me the opposite now, posture closed, avoiding eye contact before relinquishing a soft “Hi.”

“Hey,” I answer back, draping my arm along the back of her chair.

“My room is nice, comfortable, thank you,” she says, glancing around the restaurant. “Where are LL and Syd?”

“Preoccupied,” Tack offers up easily.

Hating the fact that she’s deducing exactly what my bandmates are up to, she glances over at me, and I feel her unease before she addresses Tack.

“And you didn’t want to be preoccupied?”

“I’m good here,” he says. “I need a breather, and we have that thing tomorrow night.”

She looks to me. “What thing?”

“An after-party in Dallas,” Tack speaks up.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, we probably won’t be going,” I inform her.

“The fuck?” Tack asks as I stare back at him in warning.

“What am I missing now?” Natalie asks me directly, and I don’t reply because the answer is different for each question, and I don’t want to go there tonight since she seems to be on edge.

“Nothing. What are you hungry for?” I lean in, brushing her arm with mine, doing my best to put her at ease. “I don’t think they serve crab legs here.”

Her lips gradually start to lift as the waitress arrives, dropping us dark beers and water. “I’ll give you guys a minute.”

Natalie thanks her and turns to me. “You ordered for me?”

“Yeah, it’s cool if you don’t want it. It’s last call soon.”

“No, thank you, I do,” she says, glancing around, “I was wondering why we were the only ones in here.”

“No one else is here because your very close friend closed the fucking place down for you,” Tack interrupts as I full-on glare at him. He stands and jabs a tattooed thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to get us some shots before they close up. Order me a French dip?”

I nod as Natalie turns to me. “You closed the restaurant down?”

“A bit of an exaggeration. There wasn’t many dining. I’ve got this,” I reiterate, “so stop worrying.”

She studies me as I scan the menu. More than anything, I want her at ease, like we were. The fucked-up part is that the clock is ticking just like the last time. A clock I decided to kickstart the second she closed the door in my face in Seattle. Sadly, it is her unearthed fears for herself that’ve aided in my decision. I don’t want to die with regrets at any fucking age, and I sure as hell don’t plan on letting this crazy chemistry and undeniable connection go to waste if I have any say in it. I’ve never been so drawn to another human being, and I’ll be damned if I give up without a fight. Even if she plans on spending the weekend letting me down gently, by the time she leaves, she’ll know exactly how much those days meant to me.

If my efforts prove futile and this goes nowhere—which seems inevitable—I can’t fucking seem to stop wanting to explore it, explore more of her.

As crazy as the last two months have been for me professionally, I’ve spent a large part of all the combined moments quiet and otherwise absorbed by thoughts of her.

“What’s up?” I ask as she traces her coaster with her finger.

“Nothing, I’m good.”

“You spoke to your dad,” I conclude, her resistance too familiar, too easy to read.

“Yeah,” she floats her eyes around the table before lifting them to me. The purple around her irises hits like a fucking lightning bolt to the chest as memories of us without a trace of Nate Butler come to the forefront. I grip her hand beneath the table, and she gently pulls it out of reach.

“Already?”

“No, not already, always have been. Facts are facts.” She lifts her voice as Tack approaches, fully armed. “And the fact is, tonight, you all ruled that stage, and I want to celebrate that.” She taps the neck of her beer against mine.

“I’ll drink to that,” Tack adds, tabling a fistful of shots. We each take one and tap glasses before tossing them back.

As if out of thin air, Syd appears with a tumbler full of liquor and vape smoke clouding around him. The man is a tank and seemingly unflappable. Although we’ve become acquainted enough, he’s still a bit of an enigma to me. His preference for the finer things is the only real defining thing about him so far. That and the fact that he’s a beast on the bass.

“Another?” Tack asks the table.

I shake my head as Natalie nods and Tack ushers Syd away from the table to accompany him.

“. . . feeling like a third wheel,” Tack says while they’re still within earshot, and I clamp my eyes shut briefly to summon more patience. I had no plan other than to capture Natalie and demand a conversation. But the discomfort—thanks to the need for explanation of what we are and aren’t—makes that simple tactic far more difficult to execute.

“He thinks we’re together,” Natalie utters.

“They all signed the strictest of non-disclosures. If they so much as utter a word about anything personal regarding me, or anything else to do with the band, other than regular interview bullshit, they’ll pay, dearly .”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I don’t want to make things weird. I just . . . you know.”

“I’m good, for now , being your dirty little secret, even if you’re refusing to be mine.”

She pinches my thigh hard beneath the table, and I chuckle. Seconds later, she flips the script. “You’re a real rock star.” Her hoarse declaration has me turning my head, and it’s when I see the look in her eyes that I’m struck by the same intensity I’ve come to crave from her. “You are , Easton. You were incredible tonight.”

We face off as the moment time stamps itself across my chest.

“You’re all just so insanely talented.” She lifts her voice, indicating our time alone is over. “That was the best concert I’ve ever been to.”

“Yeah?” Tack asks, dropping more shots at the table as Syd remains at the bar, no doubt clearing them out of the top shelf.

“Really?” I grin over at Natalie and nudge her. “The best, huh? Compared to what others?”

She bites her lip.

Busted.

“Who else have you seen live?” I prompt as Tack takes his seat, his eyes volleying between us in earnest.

“I’m not saying,” Natalie says, tossing her hair back as she pretends to study the menu.

“Come on, Nat. Now I have to know,” Tack prods playfully.

“Wait for it,” I mouth to Tack, lifting my arm and pointing over the top of her head.

“Fine . . . Dance Disney,” she spouts, palming her forehead as Tack and I burst into hysterical laughter.

“Oh, fuck right off,” she says between us. “Both of you.”

“It’s cool, baby,” Tack chuckles. “I’m flattered to be the front runner over Dance Disney.”

“Football,” Natalie interjects, neck reddening. “That’s my thing. My dad and I have season tickets and regularly attend UT games. It’s Butler tradition. I might not know much about music, but I know football .”

“ That we can get into,” Tack says as he looks over to me and dips his chin. His stamp of approval, not that I needed it. Even so, it doesn’t hurt he’ll watch out for her.

“You,” she snaps as I give her my attention. “Take a damned compliment from me already,” she grits out as Syd sidles up to the table with a goddamn tray full of shots.

“I would much rather shut you up while you attempt to,” I whisper back.

“I’m sorry I mentioned my dad,” she utters low for me.

“I’ve got nothing against your dad, Natalie.”

She narrows her eyes. “Speaking of, where is your room?”

“Okay, now maybe I have something against your dad,” I jest.

“Not funny,” she smiles.

“Same floor as yours,” I grin back. “Think you can handle it, or should I bolt my door?”

“Are you . . . planning on being preoccupied?”

I grip the edge of the table because I know I wasn’t fucking alone between those curtains. She’s already shrugging that kiss off—if it can be called that. It was more like a make-out session while hiding in plain sight. Though I loved every minute of it, she seems to have completely blanked it out, as if it didn’t happen. She reads my irritation and bristles in her seat next to me. “All I’m asking is, please don’t play me for a fool. I know what this atmosphere truly is about, and shielding me from it isn’t going to change my perception.”

My chest pumps with my scoff. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Yes,” she says without hesitation. “Don’t protect me. If some crazy fan wants to run in here, titties blazing with a sharpie in hand, I’m here for it.” She gives me the most sincere smile she can muster as more laughter bursts from me. I push a partially damp curl from the side of her face, hating the fact that I can forgive her so easily. Unfortunately for her, I won’t forget.

“What?” she grins.

“You’re beautiful.”

“But you feel sorry for me?”

“No, it’s clear you’re sleeping better now.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Then I guess I feel sorry for myself,” I scan the menu again and make a quick decision.

“Not that well,” she admits as I turn to see her lips parting slightly. It’s physically painful to stop myself from claiming them if only to shut her up. Seeming to read my mind, Natalie pulls a shot from the tray, deciding to numb away the red elephant, denying us both. After the few prompts this morning from my mother’s cosmos—not that I really needed them—I made a split decision to pick her up, knowing the attempt might have me making a damn fool of myself. The sight of her in the office instantly made the drive worth it before I dialed her.

Watching her let my call go unanswered felt like a glass bottle to the temple, while seeing her expression because of said call felt like a simultaneous jolt to the chest.

Minutes later, I watch Natalie pick at her food before she opts for more numbing. A few shots later, I give up the struggle. Whatever conversation she had with Nate ruined everything we were building up to during the drive and after the concert. Even with the clock ticking and a well-formed bone to pick, I decide to leave it untouched, at least for the night.