Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
BONNIE
The wave.
The goddamn wave.
It’s illuminated by the stadium lights—fuckers as crazy as us, jumping up and down, on beat and off. From the platform, I can see the three pit circles, though there might be another further back.
I can’t even see as far as the crowd goes.
Sitting behind the drum kit is my favorite high… It’s the high that saved me from drowning beneath the numbness and hits of faux dopamine that the other drugs once gave me—even if some days, I miss that extra dose, that jump-off point when the voices disappear and the past feels like it never happened, and I’m so fucking fearless that not even the height of a skyscraper seems scary.
One fucking step.
That was a shitshow of a night.
Even so… feeling everything is a different high.
And performing on this stage, watching the guys work the crowd—especially Reed—I know I’m where I belong.
I never thought I’d make it this far alive, let alone see myself accomplish a dream as big as this one.
The last strum of Zeb’s guitar sings at the end of the song, the lights fade over us, and I sit back to take a breath and crack open the water bottle one of our roadies made sure to leave on the platform. The water is cool as I feel it move through my mouth and down my throat, and it’s just what I need to slow down the racing nerves.
All I can smell is the pyrotechnics smoke and weed from the audience.
The earthy aroma makes me chuckle as the spotlight hits Reed, and he brings the mic up to his lips, catching one of his heavy breaths and the noise of his chuckle.
The crowd screams.
“You fuckers are crazy,” he says to them. “It’s been a long day, yeah? How many of you can’t feel your feet?”
They reply in incomprehensible shouts. Zeb steps off the stage, probably going to take a hit on his vape.
Reed laughs at the crowd. “That’s too fucking bad,” he tells them.
Reed goes on, but I tune him out to get a better look at the audience. I love looking at the signs fans bring with them—lyrics, love you’s, jokes… even a few that read, You saved me .
It makes the world feel a little less broken and lonely.
Still, there’s one I’m searching for.
Where are you…
Where are you…
My heart skips when I see it. I knew it would be there. Of course, her sign is here. After that text, it had to be.
Black poster board with a yellow smiley face spray painted on it… X’s for eyes.
My stalker usually leaves it lying somewhere near the front of the crowd, and someone always grabs it to hold up during our set.
But I haven’t seen it in years.
I don’t know what it says about me that there’s a sick sense of comfort upon seeing my stalker’s trademark symbol. That buried deep beneath the fear of having her back in my life is a demon clawing to get free, to sabotage my sanity and safety for a glimpse of her face.
And knowing that one glimpse might be enough to drag me completely beneath her spell.
God, what the hell is wrong with me?
How am I romanticizing this?
Yet, I know the fucked-up answer.
She was a shadow following my every move that I could count on. A steady constant in my life for almost three years—maybe the only constant other than the band and my dad—and then she disappeared. Having her back in my life... I shouldn’t be as comfortable with it as I am. It’s fucking terrifying, but it’s the kind of terrifying that I’m continuously running toward. A burning car. A dark corner. Vomit-laced shoestrings and a dirty tile floor.
A shot of vodka.
I don’t know what she wants now, if it’s the same as it was last time or if it’s something new.
Ha.
As if I knew what she wanted last time.
Her presence is a weighted blanket tucked under every inch of my lying body and tightening around my throat, threatening to end me without a breath to grapple for.
And I’m addicted to that gasping struggle.
“Red flags, Bon ,” I can hear my dad saying with a smirk. “At least look both ways before you cross.”
Because even my dad knows red’s always been my favorite color.
I half expected my stalker to show up on New Year’s Eve when some Italian mafia idiot kidnapped Reed, and we, along with Reed’s wife, Wren, had to go rescue him.
What a fucking shit show that was.
Every other time I’d been in trouble before getting sober, my stalker was there. Without fail. And maybe it’s why I sabotaged myself for so long before realizing it was killing me—knowing she would be there if I fell, never worrying about the consequences because I had a sickening devil over my shoulder watching my every move.
And maybe I’ve since replaced one dangerous high with another.
Chase me.
Stop me.
Find me.
No matter how rattling any of her texts might be, no matter how much my heart drops to my knees each time I hear the ding of my phone or see a shadow that doesn’t appear to belong in its surroundings, I wait for her.
It’s fucked up how much the panic of seeing simply her sign has my thighs squeezing. Heat burns my cheeks that has nothing to do with the stage lights.
The person holding the sign takes it down to clap, and I’m pulled back into the moment, Reed’s voice entering my ears as he wraps up. He’s a pro at working any crowd he’s put in front of. I’ve always loved hearing him. His voice commands just enough attention, yet you know he’s fucking with you for most of it.
“—first time headlining this shit, can you believe it?” he asks.
I strum a little on the kit as Mads thumps a note on his bass.
“And because we’re celebrating this shit, I expect each and every one of you to do your fucking worst. Jump. Dance. Scream. But don’t hurt anyone. I will come down there—”
A few people screech in front, and Reed grins at them. “Oh, you want me to come down there?” He laughs. “Maybe later. You know I like a nice, long foreplay session first.”
I don’t need Mads to take his mask down to know the look on his face as he shakes his head.
“Okay, motherfuckers. This next song… Yeah, this next song… when I say jump, you fucking jump, got it?”
The audience screams in agreement.
“Are you ready?”
Louder.
“I said… are you ready?! ” This time he screams into the mic.
The roar back is gorgeous and deafening.
“That’s more like it,” he says, happy with the audience volume. Reed turns like he’s done. I set up, but I know he has more, and it makes me grin wider.
I love this part.
“Oh, and there’s one… one other thing,” Reed says as he faces the audience again, this time holding up a finger.
I double-tap on the bass drum.
The crowd goes wild as if they know what he’s about to say. It’s a line he’s said a few times that wakes people the fuck up. Reed’s grin widens, and he bends over his knees to look at Mads and laughs in disbelief. This feeling… I know that’s what he’s thinking about—the anticipation and awe of thousands of fans here to see us .
Fucking us .
It’s a long way from that first gig together.
When Reed straightens, he lifts one arm into the air, beaming at the audience…
“If music is the god you pray to—”
The horde loses their minds.
“—then get on your fucking knees.”
And they scream the words with him like it’s their dying wish.
Reed laughs into the mic and puts his earpiece back in. “Yeah, let’s fucking go.”
That’s my cue.
The song starts up. I’m lost in the beat, the vibrations, the absolute euphoria…
And yet, I’m searching for that sign again in the hopes she’ll one day be the one holding it.
Because I need to see her face.
I need to know who’s following me, texting me, watching me sleep, taking my photo, and stalking my every move.
And I need to know who saved my fucking life that night.