28. Margot
28
margot
Jackson keeps his arm around my shoulder as we head into the venue from the back entrance. The band’s sound check is about to start, and I have no idea why I’m nervous. It’s not like I’ll be the person on stage tonight. There’s something about seeing what Jackson’s life is like first-hand that has my heart racing. This is his world now—his world without me for the most part.
As soon as the heavy door shuts behind us, my eyes adjust to the backstage lighting. Before I can fully see Dave in the distance, I hear him.
“There’s my favorite redhead!”
Jackson lets out a huff of laughter next to me, but I pull out of his grip to run up to Dave and give him a hug. He’s definitely my favorite member of the band. There’s something about Dave’s energy that’s contagious. It’s a gift I know has worked its magic on their fans, and I think it’s why they draw a crowd so easily. Everyone is a moth to Dave’s flame.
Wrapping me in his arms, he briefly lifts me off my toes before setting me back down and releasing me. “How was the flight? ”
“Fine,” I answer with a grin.
Brady walks up with his drumsticks lightly thumping on his legs, and I rush over to give him a hug, too.
“Margot!” he cheers as he gives me a tight squeeze.
Marty catches my eye and gives me a wave that I return over Brady’s shoulder. I don’t exactly have a hugging relationship with Marty. Jackson may be the youngest member of the band, but I think Marty has the most growing up to do. Plus, Jackson is still on the fence about him, and that’s enough for me to want to keep my distance.
Once Brady lets go of me, Jackson is back to having his arm around my shoulder. I love being close to him. Especially in a setting like this. The way he stays by my side backstage warms something inside of me. Turning me slightly, Jackson nods to a clean-cut man in a suit. “Brian, I’d like you to meet?—”
“Margot, I take it?” the man says with a gentle smile as he holds out a hand for me to shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Where’s Mya?” Jackson asks, looking around. My heart stutters at the name. I think out of everyone, she’s the one I’m most nervous to meet.
Brian steps toward Jackson. “She’s setting up out front.” Looking back at me, he adds, “I think she plans on putting you to work tonight.”
Jackson scoffs. “Margot will be backstage.”
“I don’t mind helping,” I offer, even though I’m not sure what exactly I’m signing up for. Walking back over to Jackson, I wrap my arms around his waist and look up at him. “Might as well make myself useful, right?”
He hesitates, scratching the side of his head before he says, “Uh, yeah. Sure. Whatever you want to do.”
There’s an edge to each word as it leaves his lips. Is he nervous? What could be so bad about me spending time with Mya during the show? He said I’d like her, right?
He must sense my scrutiny because he looks at me and gives me a smile that doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
“See you guys in a bit,” I say to the rest of the band and Brian as Jackson takes my hand and leads me to the front of the venue. We occasionally pass staff walking with different cables and equipment, so his sound check must be soon.
“Oh my god!” The words echo throughout the mostly empty venue as soon as we open the black metal door. It’s easy to spot the source when there are only a handful of people in the large open space, and one of them has pink hair and is headed straight for us.
“She might be a little excited,” Jackson mutters under his breath, and I let out a light laugh.
We meet in the middle, closer to the stage than the table she was setting up since she practically ran to us. Her pink hair is down in shoulder-length waves, and she’s wearing jeans with a black American Thieves oversized pullover that I desperately need now that I’ve seen it. It’s not one I’ve seen on the band’s Instagram yet.
She’s beautiful and looks like the last person you’d want to fuck with at the same time. I kind of envy her for it. It’s a delicate balance that she pulls off flawlessly with tattoos, a nose ring, and sparkling green eyes.
“This is probably going to sound creepy, but I don’t care. I’ve heard so much about you and thank God you’re here because I am long overdue for some feminine energy.”
Jackson shakes his head. “Margot, this is Mya. She handles all our merchandise. And Mya, this is . . . Well, you know who this is.”
“Do you design everything?” I ask as I marvel over the design she’s wearing. It has their logo in its usual font, but flowers and vines wrap around the letters giving it a more feminine touch.
“Yeah!” Taking note of my stare, she stretches the sweatshirt so I can see the design better. “Like it? It’s a brand new one I plan on rolling out tonight.”
“I love it. I was actually just thinking I should buy one.”
On stage, the other guys in the band emerge for the sound check, and Jackson kisses the side of my head. “Get anything you want.” Looking at Mya, he adds, “I’ll cover whatever she picks.” His eyes dart between the two of us with a shred of uncertainty and the uneasy pit in my stomach returns. “I’ll be back as soon as we’re done,” he reassures me.
“She’s in good hands!” Mya hollers after him. With a shake of his head, he faces forward and jogs toward the stage to meet up with the other guys.
I’m mesmerized watching him get his guitar and take the stage as he slings the strap over his head and gets positioned. It feels like it’s been so long since I’ve seen him in his element like this. The last time was at the festival before he left, and even then, it wasn’t the same as seeing him in a venue like this. They may be opening for Crooner Sins now, but they’ll be headlining their own tour soon enough. I can feel it.
“Come on,” Mya says, pulling me toward her half set up table. “You’re going to love this stuff.”
I have no doubt I will. It’s safe to say I’ve become one of American Thieves’ biggest fans, so regardless of what the designs looked like, I’d still probably want it all.
When we make it to the table, I take in the items she already has displayed. There are a few T-shirts, both long and short sleeve, the pullover sweater she’s wearing, a hat, a group photo of the band with everyone’s autographs, and then individual photos of band members with their respective signatures.
Picking up the picture of Jackson, I take a closer look. It’s a black and white photo I’ve never seen, but he’s gorgeous in it. The shot is candid. He’s relaxed as he holds his guitar and looks off to the side with a genuine smile that was probably taken mid-laugh.
The corners of my mouth lift at the sight, and I look up to find Mya watching me carefully.
“He’s thriving,” she says with a smile of her own. With a laugh, she adds, “He misses you like hell, but he’s made for this.”
“I know,” I agree, not feeling offended in the slightest. Anyone who knows Jackson knows he belongs on stage with a guitar.
“I’d never tell the other guys, but I have to order almost double the photos of Jackson. He’s gained a lot of admirers, and it’s only getting worse.” She laughs. “Or better, depending on how you look at it.” She shrugs. “It’s great for business.”
“Somehow, I’m not surprised,” I say with a laugh. The memory of going to his gig alone last year flashes before my eyes, and I remember the group of girls that surrounded him even then. Carly, in her teal dress, slipping him her number.
Fuck Carly.
The way he kissed me then is something I’ll never forget.
“That’s why I came up with these new designs. Most of the newer fans are women and girls fawning over the guitarist. We’ll see how it goes tonight with sales, though.”
Picking up the pullover off the table, I hug it to my chest. “I guess that means I should get mine before they’re gone?”
Mya grins. “Consider it a uniform. We’ve got work to do.”