1. Tatum
1
TATUM
A FEW YEARS LATER…
“ S eriously, I cannot believe you did this,” I muse.
“It’s your birthday, and you’re my best friend,” Rory reminds me. “I literally had to do this.”
She didn’t, but I appreciate her thoughtfulness nonetheless.
I kind of hate my birthday. I kind of hate a lot of things, but I especially hate my birthday. It’s another reminder that a year has passed and he’s still gone. To be fair, a lot of things remind me of Archer Buchanan’s absence. Specific dates. Holidays. Smells. Books. Honestly, my birthday is pretty low on the totem pole, all things considered. Doesn’t make it easier, though.
Slipping out of the Uber, I hook my arm through my best friend’s, who also happens to be Archer’s younger sister, and peer up at the venue. Rough brick exterior with glowing windows peppered across the front. Music echoes through the air. The band must’ve already started playing. Tilting my head, I listen to the familiar beat while the scent of weed mixes with the beer and sweat clinging to the air. Not a great combination, but I won’t complain. There are so many people here. They crowd the front of the building, creating a long line from the main entrance out to the dark road. This is insane. The energy really sells the place, though. Hell, it’s electric. I bite the inside of my bottom lip to keep from grinning like a full-blown lunatic.
“See? I knew you’d love this,” Rory adds.
“Who are we seeing?” I ask. “Because it kind of sounds like…” I pause, listening to the muffled, almost-familiar chorus filtering from the building.
“Like…your favorite band?” Rory finishes for me.
My jaw drops, and I stop midstep, twisting my best friend to face me fully. “Are you serious?”
“Maybe.”
With a squeal, I grab Rory’s biceps and jump up and down. “You have no idea how excited I am!”
“I thought you might be,” she laughs.
“Are they headlining?” I hesitate. “What am I saying? Of course, they aren’t headlining. Doomsday isn’t big enough for that. If they were, I’d know about it. Who are they opening for?”
Looking down at the ground, she kicks a pebble with her sneakers. “Well, uh, IndieCent Vows, actually, but…”
My brows pull down, and she peeks up at me.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t call in any favors, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she rushes out. “We can even slip out before Dodger and the guys take the stage if you’re really worried about it. But it’s your twenty-first birthday, Tate, and Doomsday is your favorite. I would’ve made this happen even if they were playing in a ditch across the world.”
She’s right. She would’ve. Rory’s sweet like that. Thoughtful. Caring. Maybe even a little self-sacrificing to a fault, if I’m being totally honest. She’s the opposite of me in every way, and I couldn’t be more grateful. Honestly, I can barely stand my own presence most days. Having two of me in a friendship? Yeah, we’d kill each other.
Lips pursed, I push, “You promise you didn’t call in any favors?”
“Promise. I even got the tickets on a shady site instead of calling Raine or Dodge to get them for free, so if my credit card info is stolen, it’s all your fault.”
With a laugh, I loop my arm through Rory’s and walk us toward the entrance, grateful our whereabouts are still hidden from my family, thanks to a shady website and Rory’s bravery. “Come on. It sounds like they’re already playing.”
“Yeah, because someone couldn’t get her butt in gear at the hotel.”
“When you said our activity started at seven, I thought you meant it in a it-starts-at-seven-but-the-cool-kids-show-up-at-nine kind of thing.”
“No, I meant it in a get-your-butt-in-gear-because-we’re-going-to-miss-your-favorite-band-if-we-aren’t-on-time-but-I-don’t-want-to-ruin-your-birthday-present-so-I’m-trying-to-play-it-cool kind of thing.”
My mouth lifts. “You’ve ruined nothing. And thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Let me be clear. I have nothing against IndieCent Vows. Actually, their music is pretty awesome, but the main singer, Dodger Anders, is the older brother of Raine Anders, and Raine Anders is best friends with my older sister, and well, let’s just say, the connection is a little too close for comfort when I haven’t had an actual conversation with my sister in who knows how long, and I’d like to keep it this way. It isn’t personal, it’s just… Oh, who am I kidding? Of course, it’s personal. It’s Ophelia. The one person who’s shadow I’ll never be able to step out of. Like a piece of hot coal, my phone burns a hole in my purse, acting as a reminder of the unanswered text Ophelia sent wishing me a happy birthday.
I shake off the mental intrusion as we open our purses for security, walk through the metal detector, and head toward the ushers scanning tickets.
After Rory shows the tickets to an old man with a bushy white mustache, he says, “ID please.”
“ID?” Rory squeaks.
The bored expression vanishes from the usher’s face, and he looks us up and down with newfound interest. “This is a twenty-one and older venue.”
Well, shit.
Without a word, Rory stands there like a deer in the headlights, so I move closer.
“I’m sorry, it’s what?” I answer for her.
“A twenty-one and older venue,” he repeats. His eyes bounce from me to Rory, then back again. “Do you have IDs?”
“Oh. Uh. Yes, but, uh… One second.” Red hits Rory’s cheeks as she fumbles in her purse for her ID, her hands shaking more and more with every passing second. I don’t blame her. The line is building behind us, and it doesn’t matter how long she tries to stall, her ID still won’t magically show an earlier birthdate than the one I know it sports. Even though it’s my twenty-first birthday, Rory won’t be eighteen for another two months.
“You know what? I need to pee,” I announce. “We’ll be right back.” Reaching for Rory’s fumbling fingers, I drag us away from the line and back toward the curb in front of the building.
“Tatum, I am so sorry,” Rory squeaks. Tears fill her eyes, and she dabs at the corners, careful not to ruin her makeup. “I swear, I had no idea!”
“Rory, breathe.” With a light laugh, I roll my eyes. Not because it’s fun to watch my best friend cry, but because if she didn’t shed a tear or two by the end of the night, I’d be convinced she’d had her body snatched by an alien or something. “Seriously, Rore. Breathe,” I tell her.
“Yeah, but it’s your birthday, and I was trying to surprise you, and?—”
“Trust me. I’m very surprised.”
“Don’t be a smartass.” Her bottom lip wobbles. “But like, since when are there twenty-one and older venues?”
I bite the inside of my cheek in hopes of keeping my smartassery at bay and gently reply, “Since…forever?”
Her eyelids fall closed, and a tear rolls down her cheek, slipping past her defenses. I’d tell her to stop crying, but Rory’s Rory, and there’s a reason the family calls her Squeaks. The girl’s been a tear factory since birth. Puppy commercial? She cries. Old couple at a fast-food restaurant sharing French fries? Let me get her a tissue. Got a B on a test? Cue the waterworks, people.
Even though she hates that particular trait, I find it…endearing, almost. And reliable. I can always count on Rory Buchanan to feel . Meanwhile, people describe me as an ice queen most days. I’m not complaining. I’d rather keep my emotions in check than let them air out at the drop of a hat. But I digress. I should’ve expected this. Something messing up my birthday. The venue is for guests twenty-one and older. We’re not allowed inside.
Of course, we aren’t.
Grabbing her shoulders, I force her to face me. “Rory, I’m teasing. You’re totally fine.”
“No, I’m not,” she squeaks. “I feel so stupid!”
“It could’ve happened to anyone.”
Her bottom lip juts out even more, and she wipes at her cheeks. “I ruined your birthday.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” I argue. Determined to fix the situation just to stop my friend’s tears from falling, I scan the venue in search of…I don’t know. A solution, maybe? And then, it hits me.
I grin. “Come on. I think I have a plan.”
Keeping myself in full-alert mode, I sneak around the edge of the massive building to a large metal door. If it’s unlocked, we can sneak inside and no one will know. It’ll be perfect.
“Tatum,” Rory seethes behind me, realizing my intentions. “Tatum, this is a bad idea.”
I keep my head down, scanning the small alleyway one more time. Reaching for the door handle, I confirm it’s locked with a quick twist of my wrist. “Shit.”
“Did you really think they’d leave it open?” Rory argues.
Peeking over my shoulder, I find Rory with her arms crossed and her head cocked in challenge.
Who’s the smartass now?
Holding her gaze, I knock my knuckles against the thick steel.
She gasps. “You did not just knock.”
“I think I did.”
“What if someone answers?” she screeches while trying to keep her voice down as she glances over her shoulder toward the crowded front.
“Then someone answers.” I turn back to the solid door and make a fist, preparing for another round of knocking when the door pulls open, and a blond guy appears with a cigarette dangling from his mouth.
Well, shit.
I jerk back, nearly running into a stunned Rory behind me. Not gonna lie. The guy’s built like a god. Broad shoulders. Strong arms. A black shirt hugs his biceps, and light reflects off his warm, coffee-colored eyes and tan skin.
Did my tongue just grow three times its original size? I think—yup—it totally did. He’s…well, he appears to be a surfer-boy with a side of bad decisions, and the tattoos etched onto his forearm are enough to make a girl like me fall to my knees and worship the bastard right here, right now. That is, if I didn’t have my best friend three feet away from me, and I wasn’t already on a mission to sneak into the place.
Catching the unlit cigarette in his hand, the stranger scans us up and down before his eyes cut to the front of the building, his brows pulled low in confusion. “What are you?—”
“We’re with the band,” I rush out, snapping myself out of whatever daze his annoyingly gorgeous face put me in. But seriously. This guy is something else entirely.
“Uh, Tate?” Rory starts.
“I’ve got this,” I promise her while holding the security guard’s intimidating gaze. “Like I said, we’re with the band, so…”
His brows lift. “The band.”
“Yeah. We’ve actually been knocking for a solid fifteen minutes. I came out for a smoke, and the door locked behind us, and…” I paste on a syrupy sweet smile and hook my thumb toward the propped open door. “Do you mind?”
His eyes roll over my body again. “Which band?”
“Doomsday,” I answer. “Obviously.”
“Obviously.” His mouth twitches, though I’m not sure why he’s so amused by our conversation.
“Tate,” Rory repeats from behind me.
Ignoring her, I say, “Are you security or something? Because we left our backstage passes inside, so…”
Now or never, Tatum , I silently remind myself. Ask for forgiveness, not permission.
“You’ll have to excuse us,” I continue. “We need to at least catch the second half of the set.” Stepping forward, I start to scoot past him in an attempt to act like I own the place. Like I belong. Like I most definitely am not trespassing in hopes of easing my friend’s guilt over not reading the fine print when she’s the queen of following the rules.
The guy doesn’t budge. His big, rock-hard body blocks the entrance, barely leaving any space for me to move past him. The problem is, I’m in too far to turn back now, so where does this leave me?
Keep going.
I continue my quest to enter, but the stranger grips the edge of the door, blocking my entry while somehow keeping us chest-to-chest.
All right, so he’s not so easy to bulldoze. Good to know.
My gaze flicks up to him. “Is there a problem, Mr. Security?”
“You under eighteen?”
“Do I look under eighteen?”
He checks me out again and scratches his jaw with his free hand. When his gaze reaches my face, he shrugs. “Looks can be…deceiving.”
I roll my eyes. “No, I’m not under eighteen.”
His brow quirks. “Under twenty-one?”
“As of today, not anymore,” Rory chimes in from behind me. “It’s her birthday.”
Keeping his focus on me, he murmurs, “Your birthday, huh?”
“Twenty-one years young,” I answer.
“Happy birthday.”
His coffee eyes swallow me whole, and my stomach flips. “Why, thank you.”
“How long have you been with Doomsday?”
Doomsday. Right.
Sucking my lips between my teeth, I hold his gaze and mentally play out my options. Clearly, he’s onto us. But I think he might have a thing for me—or at the very least, he’s curious. Which swings the situation in our favor. However, I’d prefer it if he didn’t escort us to Doomsday’s dressing room, since I most definitely have never met anyone from the band. But getting inside the building is key if we want to actually watch Doomsday play tonight, so…
“Cat got your tongue, Birthday Girl?” he challenges.
“You know, usually, the security team isn’t quite this chatty,” I point out. “But if you don’t let us in, Cooper will be sorely disappointed by our absence, especially when he’s already on stage. I’m sure you don’t want that, do you?”
“Cooper does love his toys,” he agrees, repeating Doomsday’s lead singer’s name. His attention falls to my mouth as he lets the edge of the door go and pushes it open a little more, giving me space to slip beneath his toned bicep and forearm. As I move past him, my nipples brush against his chest. My lips part on instinct.
Well, shit. It’s like my body registers the friction before my brain has a chance to catch up and shut down. Or at the very least, hide my response. But nope. This stranger gets to witness it first-freaking-hand.
Fantastic.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me…” I wave behind my lower back, silently encouraging Rory to get her butt in gear. Like the obedient girl she is, she plays along without hesitation. As soon as I’m inside, Rory darts through the door, her fingers twisting in front of her. The question is…where do we go from here?
“You sure you know where you’re going?” the security guard asks as if he’s reading my thoughts.
“Yup.” I peek toward both ends of the hallway, debating which way to go. It’s a fifty-fifty chance. Left or right.
Come on, Tate. Pick one.
Left, it is.
I take a step toward the drum beat, praying it leads to where we’re supposed to go.
“That’s where the audience is,” Mr. Security offers.
I freeze and peek back at him.
“Don’t you want to be backstage with your boy toy?” he asks.
Yeah, that’s probably where a groupie would be, isn’t it?
Keeping my expression on lockdown, I counter, “I thought I was his toy, not the other way around. You know, since you said Coop likes his toys and all.”
“Call it a hunch, but I have a feeling you’re good at keeping boys like Coop wrapped around your finger.”
He isn’t wrong. I’m a sucker for leading guys on without giving in. Okay, sometimes I give in but not always. It depends on where my head is and how close I am to the anniversary of Archer’s death. Call me a fickle bitch, but it is what it is.
“Cooper will find me after the set,” I lie. “He likes the chase.”
With a smirk, he folds his arms across his chest. “Don’t we all.”
My lips purse. “Have a good night, Mr. Security.” Giving him my back again, I grab Rory’s hand and start leading us a little further down the hall when a two-hundred pound linebacker in a black shirt rounds the corner.
Another one? Seriously? It’s like we’re trying to break into the Pentagon or something.
When he sees us, his gaze narrows, making my heart thrum faster as I weigh my options. Okay, we can run, or we can…continue lying out our asses and potentially be arrested for trespassing. Not the best way to celebrate my birthday, but hey. At least it’ll be memorable, right? And I sure as shit am not backing down now, since we’ve made it this far.
“Hey!” the behemoth calls. “What are you?—”
“They’re with the band,” Mr. Security announces from behind me.
The linebacker’s attention snaps to him. “You sure they’re legal?”
“Checked their IDs and everything,” Mr. Security confirms. Listening to him lie through his teeth to protect me is kind of…hot. Or maybe I just haven’t been laid recently.
“Of course.” The linebacker’s head dips. “Would you like me to escort them to?—”
“I’ve got it,” Mr. Security tells him.
“Sure thing, Pax.”
Pax.
So he has a name. Interesting.
Part of me wants to face Mr. Security again, simply to taste his name while analyzing whether or not I find it fitting, but I don’t want to push my luck. Not tonight, anyway.
“They’re waiting for you,” the linebacker adds.
“Just like always, am I right, Herb?” Mr. Security tosses back at him.
I can feel Mr. Security’s footsteps over the thrumming music a few walls away. I shouldn’t be able to, but I do. Hell, maybe it’s my imagination. But it doesn’t change anything.
Step. Step. Step.
He’s coming closer.
Before I can overthink it, I grab Rory’s hand, then race along the corridor and past the linebacker. “Thank you!” I yell as our feet slap against the concrete floor. When we reach the arena, my heart is still racing. I slow to a walk and sneak us into the mosh pit near the front of the stage. All things considered, it’s shockingly easy, especially compared to our efforts since I knocked on the metal side door.
Once we’re past security, Rory announces, “You’re insane.”
I grin back at her. “You know you love me. And thank you for the tickets,” I add, glancing at the now-empty stage, “even though we missed Doomsday. This is amazing.”
“It’s memorable, I’ll give you that much,” she grumbles.
She’s not wrong.
And even if it was unintentional, sneaking into the concert and flirting with a cute security guard is giving me a high like no other. Basking in it, I listen to Rory chatter on about her plans this upcoming year and all the amazing things she’s planning to do. I have no doubt she will. The girl has the power to do anything she wants in this world. She’s smart. Beautiful. And has more connections than the Queen of England, thanks to her family’s fortune.
I’m not sure how much time passes before I turn back to the stage just in time to watch IndieCent Vows take their places. Or at least, that’s who I assume is up there. The only one I know is… There he is. Dodger Anders. We’ve never met. I’ve been cultivating distance from all things Lockwood Heights since long before Archer’s death. But Rory, not so much. As long as no one brings up anything to do with Jaxon Thorne, she’s an open book. This includes my family, her family, and all of their friends, including Dodger’s parents.
I study the man standing in the middle of the stage. Curly, light brown hair cut close on the sides and longer on the top. Freshly-shaven face to show off his chiseled jaw. Strong biceps and veined forearms as he cradles the mic. And the voice of a fucking angel, though he isn’t singing at the moment. Nope, he’s making a smartass comment about their guitarist being MIA, when a man with sandy blond hair appears. His head is tilted down as he tinkers with his sleek black guitar. When he lifts his head and smiles at the crowd, my jaw drops.
Well, if it isn’t Mr. fucking Security.
What are the odds?
Rory laughs beside me, clutching her stomach as her body threatens to topple over. Ripping my stare from the Adonis on stage, I glare at my best friend.
“You knew?” I screech.
“Of course, I knew! I tried to tell you when we were outside, but noooo,” she drags out through bouts of laughter. “Someone had to be a know-it-all and fix things without my help, now, didn’t you?”
Shaking my head, I turn back to the stage as Mr. Security’s long fingers begin plucking at the strings.
Damn.