Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
“I fucked up so bad.”
Trey paced the narrow space between the side of their van and the back of another group’s box truck, out of sight of the camper and the guys hanging inside. Danielle watched him with open sympathy. She also didn’t disagree.
Despite Dominic’s warning call, getting ambushed with those videos had put Trey’s survival instincts on red alert.
He didn’t want to get outed by some voyeuristic pervert at a music festival, and his evasion tactics sucked.
Blowing it off without denying anything wasn’t as easy as Dominic made it out to be, and Trey had lost his temper.
He’d wanted the asshole to go away and leave him in peace.
So naturally he’d said the absolute worst thing possible at the worst possible moment.
The moment Dominic came close enough to hear Trey deny their relationship—the one thing Dominic had made Trey promise never to do.
To never make what they had together some kind of skeevy secret.
To never say Dominic didn’t mean something to him.
Because he did. He meant the world to Trey, and Trey had seen the complete betrayal in Dominic’s eyes, even if no one else did.
“Why the hell did I say that?” Trey’s question was rhetorical, because he knew why he’d said it. He’d said whatever he needed to say to get the guy off his back. Survival was in his blood. “Even if Dom wasn’t standing right there, I shouldn’t have said it.”
“This is why secret relationships never work out,” Danielle said. “Sooner or later you have to confirm or deny, and your instinct is to protect yourself.”
“My instinct should be to protect Dom, too. Shit.” He kicked at one of the van’s wheels. “I suck.”
“So go find him and apologize.”
“Bad idea.”
“Why?”
He stared. “Did you see the look on his face? He’s pissed. He’ll probably let Lincoln beat me up for the fun of it.”
“You think?”
“I don’t know.” Lincoln had seemed momentarily furious, and then bottled it up fast. Dominic had to have told Lincoln about them for Lincoln to step in and try to make things normal as quickly as he had.
And he’d gone off with Dominic without asking any questions about the sudden drop in temperature around them.
“Well, as Dominic’s best friend, I say Lincoln has every right to punch you in the face over this.” Danielle knuckled his shoulder. “However, as your best friend, I reserve the right to intervene on your behalf.”
“I don’t deserve it. Dom’s only ever been amazing, and I shit all over him today.”
“And shit washes off, Coop. Look at me.” She physically turned him so he had to face her. “Give him time to be pissed, then apologize. Grovel. Make it up to him. Do whatever you need to do to make this right, even if it means losing the band. But only if you think he’s worth it.”
“He is worth it.” Trey didn’t have to think about that one.
He’d known Dominic for a month, but time didn’t matter, because they’d connected on another level.
A personal level that didn’t care about time or physical constraints, because they knew each other.
They complemented each other, and Trey would fight for that.
He wasn’t even twenty-one years old, but Trey knew that the connection he had with Dominic was rare. He couldn’t lose it over one bad decision.
Trey palmed his cell and started typing: I’m so sorry. So so so so sorry. Didn’t mean it. He frustrated me and I wanted him to back off. Tell me how to fix this. Please.
He stared at his phone for so long that Danielle took it from him and turned the screen off.
“Come on,” she said. “He’ll answer when he’s ready.”
“I guess.”
Unless he’d totally blown it.
The last of the afternoon melted into evening, and Trey’s text went unanswered.
He tried to eat dinner with his bandmates, but his stomach was knotted up so tightly he barely managed a few French fries.
Nerves over the eight o’clock announcements and nerves over Dominic’s continued silence.
The final performance ended at six thirty, which gave the judges time to deliberate on the two categories.
Upbeat music was piped over the speakers, keeping the anxious crowd going.
At seven, everyone who had performed was supposed to head to the backstage area so the winners and runners-up could go onstage when called.
Trey spent most of his downtime scanning the crowd for Dominic.
Every head of black hair or flash of golden skin was him—except it never was.
Bobby and Andy probably chalked his craziness up to anxiety over winning tonight.
At one point Tyson, Benji, and Joshua passed by and wished them luck, and Trey’s crew did the same. Trey resisted asking where Dominic was.
No one mentioned the run-in with Voyeur Guy.
Tension hovered over everyone like a thundercloud, anticipation buzzing like lightning. Trey kind of wanted to throw up.
At quarter to eight, he texted Dominic again: Good luck. I hope you guys win. Sincerely. I’m sorry I hurt you. I mean it.
A moment later, a reply came through: Leave him alone. —Linc
Hope of fixing this before the end of the festival shattered, leaving an ache in Trey’s chest. He’d fucked up the best thing he’d ever had outside of Fading Daze. He didn’t deserve to win tonight. Anyone else did. Not him.
Except winning wasn’t only about him. It was about Bobby and Danielle and Andy, and about their dreams, too.
The canned music faded out, and an uproar from the crowd told him that Anthony Kross was taking the stage. He launched into one of his best-known hits to rev the audience up even more.
Trey wanted to climb out of his own skin.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and everyone in between,” Anthony said, “welcome to our final night of Unbound!”
The cheers were deafening, even from the other side of the stage. Danielle grabbed Trey’s hand. All around them, musicians stood in nervous clusters, everyone waiting for names to finally be called.
“First our runners-up for each category,” Anthony said. “As a reminder, the runners-up will still be attending the national Unbound competition in New York City. Each group will have the chance to play a set during the opening-day showcase, in front of a live audience of ten thousand people.”
Despite not being eligible for the grand prize and record deal, those eight bands would get phenomenal exposure. Not only to the audience, but to any attending producers, agents, and managers.
Anthony took his time introducing all six of the panel judges, industry professionals in some capacity, including a well-respected member of a retired Hall of Fame metal band.
Trey had read the roster of judges ahead of time, but for some reason, hearing their names booming over the loudspeakers made everything more real.
“I’m going to be sick,” Danielle said.
Bobby grabbed her other hand. “Don’t you dare, sis.”
Andy closed ranks, and they stood together. Hoping.
Anthony read four categories and congratulated their group members before he finally said, “In the indie rock category, the runner-up is—”
Trey held his breath.
“Fading Daze!”
Surprise punched the air back out of his lungs. People were slapping his shoulders and shouting congratulations at them, and it finally sank in. They hadn’t won, but they were still going to New York.
Danielle screeched and yanked him toward the stage.
Trey couldn’t do anything except let her lead and try not to fall over his own stumbling feet.
Up the rear stage steps. Across the floor to the black curtains, and then beyond.
Into the hot, harsh lights and the roar of the crowd.
He let her bully him into a bow with his friends, and then they were off to the side while the next category was announced.
Runner-up.
The promised recording contract died in front of his eyes, but they weren’t done.
Anyone could notice them during the opening-day showcase.
Trey was going to New York City to play for ten thousand people.
Pride surged hard and fast, and he started laughing.
He grabbed Danielle and swung her into a tight hug.
It wasn’t first place, but it felt fucking amazing anyway.
Trey let Danielle go, then went in for hugs from Bobby and Andy. They’d played their hearts out, and they were going to perform at nationals, and knowing that almost made up for what he’d lost today.
Almost.
He glanced around the crowded stage, seeking a face he knew wasn’t there. Dominic was backstage with his bandmates, waiting to hear if they’d won or not. He wouldn’t care that Fading Daze placed second. He wouldn’t care how proud Trey was of himself.
Except . . . maybe?
Anthony finished the runners-up, then asked for another round of applause from the audience.
They were all herded offstage to the roar of the crowd.
Lauren and Rose met them on the ground and gave out hugs.
They hadn’t placed runner-up in their category, but neither girl looked too terribly worried.
Over the celebrations behind the scenes, Anthony’s voice rang out, ready to announce the first-place winners. The bands who would be competing against each other for both the audience and a panel of judges, on a national stage.
Anthony went in the same order as before, including the folk category. Lauren and Rose didn’t win, and they shrugged it off. “Getting here was reward enough,” Rose said.
Trey looked around. He spotted Tyson in the crowd.
“Our winner in the indie rock category is—”
Tyson turned, giving Trey a clear view of Dominic, who was hugging Lincoln from behind. Both of their eyes were shut tight.
“XYZ!”
Trey let out a whooping scream he barely recognized, so stupidly happy for Dominic that he couldn’t contain himself. Dominic swayed in place a beat, then charged forward with his bandmates. Trey watched him get swallowed up by the stage, his heart thundering, pulse racing. Dominic had done it.
He’d proven himself to his father, and Trey couldn’t be more proud.
Danielle smacked a wet kiss on his cheek. “Good for them.”
He couldn’t help it. He texted Dominic: Your dad will be so proud of you. I know I am.
Trey couldn’t think of a single other thing to say, so he texted Beatrice about their placements, and then put the news on his own Insta.
Bobby was furiously typing on his phone, probably updating the band’s Facebook page and Instagram account.
Trey’s phone started pinging with replies almost immediately.
Somehow today had become both the worst and best day of his life.