Chapter 17 Jagger
SEVENTEEN
Jagger
“Why do we have to do this?” Nash scowls at me. “I thought you wanted to blend in like a normal student.”
“I do.” I drum the pads of my fingers against my knee. “But this concert was part of Dean Rivers’s conditions for letting me enroll mid-semester, remember?”
He grumbles something unintelligible under his breath.
He’s only pissy because I tore him away from whatever project he’s been working on in the workshop.
I’ve hardly seen him since his encounter with Delilah, but I thought it better not to ask why.
Tae told me that when something is on his mind, he tends to retreat into a quiet cave while he hashes out his thoughts.
Speaking of Tae, he’ll be at the show, but he won’t be joining us backstage. He hopes he’ll get to spend more time with Delilah if she decides to show up and go to the VIP area, which is where her seats are. As usual, my thoughts wander to my captivating omega, hoping that she’ll be here.
“Holy fuck.” Nash looks past our driver, who has slowed to a crawl. A massive crowd has gathered, all wearing Pack Fire T-shirts with a flame through the letter P, forming a barrier that blocks the entrance to campus.
I check my phone to see a text from Valerie, wishing me good luck with the show.
She wasn’t particularly happy about me performing solo and would usually be here, but she’s having some complications after her recent nose job.
As shitty as it may sound, I’m glad she’s stuck in bed.
I already have enough weight on my shoulders as is.
“Is this…?” Nash gapes. “Normal?”
“Yep.” I barely blink at the blinding flashes, leaning back. “Welcome to fame.”
I forgot that he’s never toured with me before. As soon as we approach, there’s a collective scream from the crowd as they surround the car. Although he’s starting to get used to the attention that follows me, he hasn’t seen the Fireflies on full throttle.
The tinted windows offer us some privacy, but faces still press against the windows, hammering against them with fists and smearing the glass with kisses. The high-pitched, excitable shrieks are enough to give me an instant headache.
It’s funny to think about how many people dream of the life I have.
It’s what I was made for. What my parents pushed me to do.
Ever since I could walk, I was paraded around like a show piece.
A product. I felt like I belonged to other people more than to myself, and there were certainly perks to it, but no one tells you how lonely it can be… Or how confusing.
I don’t catch what Nash is saying as he calls SVU security to encircle our car to help disperse the crowd and clear a path. Thankfully, beyond the barriers, the road is pretty clear as we continue the rest of the way to Club Knotty, where another crowd of groupies wait.
Nash gets out first. His giant frame provides a shield for me as I follow, putting my sunglasses on and pulling my baseball cap down.
“Jagger!” they scream. “We love you, Jagger!”
I smile and raise my hand in a wave. Give them what they want. It’s the motto that’s been drummed into me.
“Can I get your autograph?”
“Can I have a selfie?”
Most people don’t even ask permission for photos anymore, so I pause and smile next to the young alpha, who looks close to fainting.
My face feels like a wax sculpture as I scribble a few signatures onto items that are thrust into my direction.
Ordinarily, I’d stroll right past, but I don’t want to jeopardize my place as a student here, needing to make sure Dean Rivers is happy with my performance.
“Time to go.” Nash’s strong hand grips my shoulder. “Come on.”
“No!” Desperate, clawing hands lunge for me as he hauls me inside. “Come back!”
“Enjoy the show!” I wave goodbye, a wave of calm washing over me as me, Nash, and two other security guards enter the safety of Club Knotty.
Although the door slamming behind us blocks out most of the noise, Nash rubs his ear and winces. “I should have worn earplugs.”
The club manager and sound guy come up to greet us, going over the plans for the show.
I snuck in to do a soundcheck yesterday, and everything is already set up.
This is the first show I’ve done without Brad and Drew in years, so naturally, there’s a lot of interest. It also means that things are going to have to be a little different than the usual theatrics that’ve become synonymous with Pack Fire’s performances.
Instead of a full band, cringe-worthy dance routines, and thousands of dollars of special effects—from fire to fog to the time we had a flying jet ski—it’s going to be stripped back.
Raw. Just me, a single spotlight, and my acoustic guitar.
“I could do with a drink,” I say.
“Coming right up!” an assistant chirps, hurrying away and returning seconds later with a beer.
I wave it away. “Do you have anything stronger?”
I run my thumb over my worn guitar pick as Nash’s gaze burns into me. I’ve sung at the largest venues in the world in front of thousands of fans, yet a small club performance feels more paralyzing. I need something to take the edge off.
When the assistant returns with a bottle of whiskey and a glass, I take the bottle from her and take a swig.
“What?” Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I spin to see Nash shaking his head. I shouldn’t take my anger out on him, but I can’t help it. “If you have something to say, say it.”
He raises his hands in defeat. “You do you, Jagger.”
The whiskey burns my throat like liquid fire, hitting my empty stomach and searing away the hollow knot in my gut to dampen my nerves. Tonight’s performance is going to be all about my voice and the guitar. I’m bearing my soul for her, so I hope she’s listening.
“Jagger.” A guy who looks like a pirate joins us, flanked by another security guard.
“I’m Rook, and this is Damon.” Rook gestures to the alpha by his side with shaggy, brown shoulder-length hair and a sulky expression.
“We’re responsible for keeping everyone safe tonight and making sure no one gets too crazy. ”
Nash snorts. “With Jagger, everything is crazy.”
Rook points out the entrances and exits, explaining the plans for getting me out in an emergency, but I tune him out, taking another swig from the bottle.
When Damon checks his ringing phone, an image flashes over the screen of a pretty, smiling girl who looks vaguely familiar. “I’ll be right back. It’s Faye. I asked her to call when they’re about to arrive.”
While he steps away to answer the call, I rack my brain, trying to recall where I recognize her from. Then it hits me, my pulse skyrocketing.
After our chat at The Valley Voice, I might have stalked Kady’s social media profile for any hints of Delilah.
Although I can’t access Delilah’s profile directly—presumably because she blocked me—I did see her in a few of Kady’s photos, smiling while baking or posing with friends. And that girl was in one of them.
“Faye!” I blurt when Damon returns, making his eyes narrow in suspicion. “She’s your omega, right?”
Damon crosses his muscled arms. From his expression, it’s clear that he’s not my number-one fan. “And?” His voice comes out in a rumble.
“She’s coming here, right?” While hope builds in my chest, I see Nash’s shoulders straighten, wondering where I’m going with this. “Is Delilah with her?”
“That’s none of your business.” Damon huffs noncommittally. “My job is to make sure that no one hurts you. Nothing more.”
“Is she coming?” I grab Damon’s arm. “Please, tell me! I need to know.”
Damon’s nostrils flare in a silent warning.
Grabbing an alpha is a no-fucking-go unless you want your face re-arranged, but I’m desperate.
His alpha scent intensifies, becoming heavy, letting me know I’m crossing the line.
When his forearms tense, I quickly release him before he can wrench my arm straight out of my shoulder socket.
Rook laughs nervously. “Why don’t you go outside to wait for Faye, pussycat? I’ve got things covered here for now.”
Damon gives me one more menacing look before stomping away.
“Someone will come get you when it’s time for you to go onstage,” Rook continues, eyes darting nervously in the direction Damon disappeared to, as if he’s half-expecting him to come charging back at me.
“We’ll be watching in the background.” He claps his hands.
“That’s everything, so I’ll leave you to prepare. ”
As soon as Rook’s out of earshot, Nash grabs my shoulder and jerks me around to face him. “What the fuck was that?”
“Faye’s one of Delilah’s friends, if Faye’s here…” My words come out in a hurried frenzy, addled with simmering excitement. “Maybe Delilah is too.”
“We don’t know that.” Despite his negativity, I detect a hint of hope in Nash’s voice. “Let’s just get this show over with and get home, okay?”
Hoping it will calm the anxiety ripping through me, I take another long swig from the bottle. This is more than a concert. What if the song I wrote for her isn’t enough? What if nothing will ever be enough? I take another drink before Nash pries the bottle from my fingers. “You’re done.”
“Curtain’s up in twenty,” the stage manager calls, a finger on their earpiece. “Follow me.”
They lead us through heavy doors into the backstage area.
It’s small with a few leatherette sofas.
Beyond us, I can already hear the crowd stirring.
The whole building feels abuzz with anticipation.
I’ve always enjoyed playing for a crowd, and I intend to give them their moneys worth.
But there’s only one person I truly care about being in the audience, and I hope she’s ready to hear what I have to say.