Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Dean
Creep
Radiohead
Salt Lake City looks like a place people come to be good. Blue sky, clean air, mountains pretending they’re God’s personal bodyguards. The kind of place where families take holiday photos and no one screams at you for ruining their childhood by dropping an f-bomb in public.
In the middle of it all is a stadium that exists like some alien landed and decided to charge admission.
Kids in band shirts and parents in sensible sneakers are already milling around the block when we pull in.
Daylight makes everything look softer. Cleaner.
Doesn’t fool me. I’ve been in this circus long enough to know better than to be fooled by the illusion.
I step off the bus and immediately hate how calm it all feels. Calm makes my skin itch. I prefer noise and chaos. Give me screaming fans and rattling rigging over the sound of my own thoughts any day.
“Welcome to another day in the life, sunshine,” Mikey sings, knocking my shoulder as he passes. He’s already dressed like he’s posing for a magazine: ripped jeans, vintage tee, hair perfect in that messy, I-totally-didn’t-spend-twenty-minutes-on-it way.
“Blow me,” I mutter, shoving him away from me with a playful push.
He snickers and heads toward load-in. I rake a hand through my hair, stretch until my spine pops, and start walking. Crew is already moving—case stacks, cables, Cherry barking orders like a stressed-out general. She’s a bad-ass and we’d be a mess without her.
And then I see her.
Sadie.
Camera strap tight across her chest, lens cap already off, hair in that messy knot she pretends isn’t intentional. Black tee. Denim shorts. Boots she could kick someone’s teeth in with. She’s talking to Cherry, nodding like she’s been on this tour longer than half the veteran techs.
I should walk the other way. Stay away from that which seems to be the catalyst of my lack of sleep and brooding mood. But, like the idiot I am, I heed my instincts and keep going.
“Busy?” I ask, because apparently my self-control died the moment she walked on our bus.
She lowers the camera and gives me a look that borders on flat, unimpressed, and beautiful, all at the same time, causing something in my rib cage to shift.
“Considering everything happening around us,” she arches a brow as she scans the area, “yes.”
I blink lazily at her, not letting her believe her response is going to change my course of action in any way. “I don’t have to tell you to stay out of the way.”
“Relax, Romeo. I’m not going to get run over by a crate.”
“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” I muse out loud, not smiling.
“Awe.” She tilts her head. “Would you miss me?”
“No,” I lie between my teeth.
Her mouth twitches like she knows exactly how big that lie is too. Before I can say something smart, or possibly stupid, a white SUV pulls through the backstage gate and comes to a stop next to one of our big semi’s.
My chest loosens a little without permission. Lily, Luc’s girlfriend and baby momma, is back. Luc told me she’d be joining us again when we got to Salt Lake, and would probably stay with us for the rest of the tour.
The crowd near the back entrance erupts as Luc jogs over to the vehicle. The SUV door pops open, and Lily steps out with Larkin on her hip and a diaper bag dangling off her elbow like a weapon.
Sadie lights up the second she sees them. Not pretend light either. It’s genuine - warm and soft in a way that makes the air around her look different. She doesn’t wait to see what I’m going to do, already walking toward them.
“Lily!” she calls, waving to her.
Lily beams in return. “Sadie! Thank God! I was hoping you’d be here!” She struggles with the bag on her shoulder, as she tries to balance Larkin on her hip. “This bag is trying to kill me.”
Sadie laughs, reaches out, Larkin leaning toward her with open arms, Lily transferring her over like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And it is. Because I saw the way Sadie talked Lily down from a panic attack backstage a few nights ago. Calm voice. Slow breaths. Steady hands.
Now that Lily has her hands free, she wraps them around Luc’s neck to hug him tight, his arms circling around her back to pull her close. He looks whole again.
I notice more than I should. Sadie settles Larkin on her hip like she’s been doing it for years. The kid grabs a fistful of her hair and squeals. Sadie just smiles and adjusts her grip.
And something inside of me pulls tight. Not because of the kid. And not because of Lily. But because Sadie seems to fit there, next to them, with them, like she belongs in Luc’s orbit. So much like something I had once upon a time. But Luc is my family. Not hers.
“Bro,” Mikey asks quietly at my shoulder. “You see what I see?”
“Nope,” I grit through clenched teeth like denying it will make it less real.
“Keep lying to yourself, dude,” he mutters under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear.
“Fuck off.”
He grins and wanders away, too smug for someone who’s barely a functional adult.
I watch from a distance as Sadie snaps a few photos. Not invasive ones. Not face shots. The soft in-between moments: Larkin’s hand fisted in Lily’s shirt. Luc brushing hair off Lily’s temple. A family, unposed.
Sadie captures that better than anyone I’ve ever seen. It pisses me off.
And I don’t know why.
Soundcheck starts normal. Hayden is half-asleep, Mikey is bouncing on his stool like he’s done ten lines of coke, which maybe he has, Luc keeps wiping his hands on his jeans because he’s nervous with Lily and Larkin on-site, and I’m doing what I always do; pretending I’m fine.
A stack of metal barricades crashes to the floor on the other side of the arena, the squeal of the material bending echoing loudly around us. The sound cracks through me like lightning and my whole body goes rigid. My lungs short circuit and I’m suddenly unable to inhale.
Past and present collide together. I lean over, my guitar swinging in front of me as I bracket both of my hands to my knees.
I finally suck in a breath too sharp, and all I can taste is asphalt, blood, and broken glass.
My heart pounds hard against my rib cage, threatening to break the cage holding it in place.
No. Not here. Not now.
“Dean?”
Muffled at first. A little clearer the second time it’s said. Her voice. Too close. Too gentle. Sadie steps into my peripheral like she’s walking up to a wild animal and doesn’t want to spook it. Her fingers come to rest on my shoulder, her touch featherlight.
“You good?” It’s gentle. It’s concern. It’s everything I don’t need from her.
I jerk back into myself. The room snaps into focus so fast it hurts.
“I’m fine,” I grit through clenched teeth, standing up straight, the guitar slamming into my center, her hand slipping off me.
She gives a short shake of her head, the space between her eyes crinkling. “You’re not.”
“Didn’t ask for your opinion.” I bite through my embarrassment.
Her cheeks flush a deep red as her jaw tightens. “Jesus, Dean, I was just trying to make sure you didn’t face-plant into the monitors. But sure, bite my head off instead.” She tosses a hand up in the air before twisting away from me, her boots stomping loudly against the stage floor in her wake.
Luc’s propped against the mic staring over at me. Hayden’s head is down, but he’s peeking up at me. Mikey’s drumsticks are frozen in the air, mid-beat, his mouth twisted in a strange expression.
Fuck this shit. I’m not doing this. I drop my guitar into its case and don’t look at anyone. “Soundcheck’s over.”
“Dean,” Luc calls out, but I cut him off before he can continue.
“I said I’m done.” My tone leaves no room for argument.
I walk off before I hear anything else. I make it into the hallway before my lungs seize up again.
Instead of letting it get the better of me, I make a fist and slam it into the closest door.
The pain causes a surging of breath to escape, and along with it, some of my sanity.
I stay gone the rest of the afternoon. Not hiding. Just… avoiding. That’s different, right? That’s what I pretend anyway. I’m good at pretending. A fucking master. By the time the show rolls around, I’ve rebuilt the walls enough to function. Mostly.
The set feels good. Loose in the right places, tight in others.
The crowd’s energy hits like gasoline. Luc sounds better than he has in weeks.
Lily’s somewhere in VIP, Larkin with Marie, Lily’s mom, on their bus.
I catch glimpses between lights, her hands over her mouth every time Luc smiles her way.
I should be more focused on the music. But every time I turn toward the wings, she’s there. Framing shots. Moving quietly, blending into the shadows like she was made for them. She watches everything, seems to miss nothing. And every so often, her eyes land on me. I feel it every time.
Once, during a solo, she lifts her camera. I expect her to track Luc or Mikey or the crowd. But I can see her framing me. I should hate that. I should glare. I should look away. I shouldn’t give her the satisfaction of capturing a single piece of me.
But, I don’t. I look right back. And the flash of her eyes behind the lens punches heat through my chest. It makes me play harder, sharper. Like I’m proving something I don’t want to name.
After the show, the greenroom is a mess of sweat, laughter, adrenaline, and roadies trying to store delicate equipment, while Hayden flirts shamelessly with someone he’ll ghost within the hour.
I hang back in the doorway. Sadie’s in the corner, laptop open, hair damp, one leg curled under her. She’s reviewing photos, jaw set, mouth soft in concentration. This is her MO after every show. She is a professional, if nothing else I can admit that.
I move so I can see her screen. I shouldn’t look. I look anyway. She flicks through shots, crowd, band, Lily, Luc. Then, me. She stops flicking. It’s a frame from side-stage, me caught mid-play, a light across my face. And I’m looking straight at the camera, right at her.
Her finger hesitates on the delete key. She doesn’t press it. I watch as she slides the photo into a separate folder, like it’s dangerous. My chest goes tight.
Before I can think, before I can tell myself not to, I move to go sit beside her, but Lily slips in ahead of me and claims the spot on the sofa beside her before I can.
They begin talking in low, soft tones that make Sadie’s lips lift.
They laugh about something; Larkin’s bedtime, Luc’s terrible lullabies, who knows.
I stand there, unseen. Watching Sadie’s shoulders relax.
Watching Lily glow. Watching them fit. And something hits me harder than jealousy.
I realize what it is and frown. Want. Not the simple kind.
Not the physical kind. The kind that scares the shit out of me. The kind I vowed never to feel again.
I back up before anyone notices. I disappear down the hallway, hood up, hands in pockets, heart beating too loud for a man who swears he’s made of stone. But even as I walk away, the truth sticks in my throat. She sees too much, and I’m starting to not hate it.