21. The Howling Ravens
Chapter 21
The Howling Ravens
Rafe
We roar down the back roads toward Boston on my bike. I wear enough layers that the wind doesn’t cut me hard, only over the sliver of exposed skin between my leather gloves and my jacket. But even through the layers, I can still feel the pressure of Bonnie’s arms hooked around my waist.
Her chest is pressed against my back. Her thighs press into my legs. I haven’t been this close to someone in a while, and she has that type of warmth you could sink into on a summer’s day— sitting on the back porch, watching the sunset type of warmth.
I’m admiring her too much. Admiring her delicate fingers, linked together in my jacket. Admiring the freckles running up her wrists. Admiring the black nail polish that yells rebellion in the most private form of protest.
I couldn’t resist inviting her here. I wish I knew why I couldn’t deny her little pieces of satisfaction. Maybe it’s because she beams when I do it. Maybe it’s because I didn’t like how upset she got with that tourist. I like when Bonnie smiles. Anything that changes that is a problem for me.
She tried to talk to me about that woman, as if we were buddies, discussing latest one-night stands. We never really talked about being exclusive, but I assumed it was implied. I was wrong, and that’s on me. If that’s the decision she wants, then that’s the deal.
She decides. Not me.
My fists tense on the handles. I wish I’d clarified that up front though. Regardless of what she does, I’m not seeing other people. That’s not me and never has been. I’ll leave those types of moves to my dad.
It’s start-stop traffic once we enter the city, up until we reach the venue. I rumble into the loading entrance, where the dock doors are already rolled open.
A white RV is parked with a steel staircase extended out. I stop us beside it and cut the engine. Popping the kickstand, I hop off the bike and grab Bonnie’s waist to help her off as well. Her palms go to my shoulders, and when I set her down, the front of her body slides down my chest the whole way.
Christ.
My spare leather jacket hangs heavy on Bonnie’s small frame, swallowing her whole and making her legs appear to run for miles.
She fumbles with her helmet’s strap, so I unhook it for her, gently removing it off her head. I’m convinced Bonnie can’t look bad. Her messy helmet hair only makes her look wild and free.
“That was so fun,” she says breathlessly.
I take off my helmet and hang both of them over the handles. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Now I need to figure out how to bribe you to drive me everywhere.”
I don’t say that she doesn’t need to bribe me at all, but I do stare too long at her giddy grin, to the point where she covers her nose.
“What? Is something on my face?”
Before I can answer, a sharp whistle cuts through the air behind us.
“Oh Christ, who invited you?”
I immediately recognize that playful voice and which cocky guy it belongs to.
Leo, in all his flannel and tight pants glory, takes the small stairs from the open RV door down to the speckled concrete.
“Some asshole invited me,” I respond.
“What an idiot that guy is,” he says with a grin, complete with the small gap where one of his canines used to be poking back. It’s the type of smile that seems like it’s permanently plastered on his face and even a well-timed slap might make it only grow wider. I think a punch might be how he lost that tooth to begin with.
“You’re lucky I even showed up,” I say.
“I don’t see Blondie with you, so how lucky can I really be?” Leo pulls me into a quick hug with the requisite heavy pat on the back. “Nice to see ya, man.”
I snort. “Remind me to bully you later about your mullet.”
Leo tucks some of the newly layered locks behind his studded ears. “It’s not that bad. Right?”
“It’s terrible. Get a hat.”
“I’m not a hat person. And you know what? I hate your new neck tattoo. You’ll never get a job now.”
I bark out a laugh and push him. After he pushes me, too, his eyes look over my shoulder. They instantly shadow over.
“And who is this?”
I turn and find Bonnie unzipping herself from my leather jacket, sliding the heavy coat down her freckled shoulders. She’s wearing a white crop top, trimmed right above the hem of her loose jeans. The pants reveal nothing about her figure, but the top does twice the work to accentuate her tight waist.
“Izzy, you sure look different,” Leo jokes.
“This is Bonnie,” I say.
“The intern?” He’s smiling wider.
My body heats, and suddenly, I could punch that Cheshire cat grin right off his face and make him lose another tooth. Unfortunately, we don’t have time to go to an emergency room tonight.
“Your contestant,” I add.
Bonnie holds out her palm. Her thin bracelets rattle over her bony wrist. There’s a slight shiver in her fingers as she beams at Leo.
“Nice to meet you,” she says. “I’m a huge fan.”
He takes her hand in his, giving it a firm shake. “No, no, pleasure is all mine. Bonnie, you said?”
“Siobhan,” I clarify. “She entered your competition.”
“Heard you first time,” Leo says from the corner of his mouth, continuing to shake her hand. When he lets go, he reaches behind her ear, flicks his fingers, and presents a shiny coin.
I groan. “Seriously? You’re still doing magic?”
“It’s my next big thing. Trust me.”
Bonnie laughs at us, and Leo smiles.
“Great laugh you got there.”
Christ, it is.
“How was the ride here?”
“It was my first time on a bike,” she says.
“And?”
“Already addicted,” she says cheekily. “I was just telling Rafe I’m gonna bribe him for future rides.”
I grin off to the side to avoid Leo’s pointed stare.
“Wow, what a natural,” he comments.
I shake my head. I don’t need to say, Shut up and cut it out , for him to get it.
But the best—and worst—part about Leo is that he doesn’t follow orders. If anything, his biggest superpower is doubling down.
“Also, I’m not a hat person either,” she whispers to him.
I roll my eyes as Leo laughs.
“Well, come on, sugar. Let’s get you introduced to the band,” Leo says.
He walks up the concrete ramp, skidding his fingers over the yellow railing as he does, tapping out a beat that runs rampant in his mind. Could be medical. Could be that he’s never been a glass-half-empty kind of guy; his optimism threatens to overflow the dam walls.
Bonnie leans close. “Does he always walk like that?”
“A saunter? Always.” I place my palm on her lower back as she giggles. “Let’s follow him before he causes trouble.”
“Only if I can saunter too.”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”
We enter the backstage area, where people dressed in all black with walkie-talkies or headsets—sometimes both—rush past. Amps and instrument cases line the walls; some are still being carried in by the stagehands. Wrapped cords hang under labeled electric tape stuck to the concrete walls. Onstage to our left, past rows of black curtains, a muffled voice echoes over the sound system.
I keep my palm on Bonnie’s back, guiding us both behind Leo. My fingers twitch when her crop top rides up, exposing the dips in her lower back to my touch.
“I want you to meet Teagan,” Leo says.
Bonnie’s eyes brighten. “Cut to a T?”
“You know it, sugar,” he says, and I swear if he calls her that again, I’m gonna lose it.
Feedback rings over the speakers. We walk between black curtains and hang back just before they end. Onstage, a woman holds her palm up to her forehead, shading her eyes from the stage lights.
“Want me to go again?” she asks.
Even from here, I hear her bangles clang over her wrist. Her blonde hair, teased and frizzy, is scrunched at the back of her head with a claw clip. Her loose dress is covered in a knitted cardigan. It would be sweet were the black combat boots not there to assert that dress was just a ruse.
A fuzzy voice over a speaker says, “Yes, one more, Teagan.”
“That’s Teagan?” Bonnie hisses in my ear.
I nod, and I halt my impulse to stroke over her shoulders as I finally drop my palm from her back.
Teagan sings. It’s hypnotic, like Stevie freakin’ Nicks’s long-lost niece or something, but all I notice are Bonnie’s mystified eyes.
I wonder what it’s like to meet a hero. I’ve never been one for idolizing others, but Bonnie’s world is built brick by brick from seeing the best in people.
“All right, that’s good, T,” the sound guy buzzes again.
Teagan is barely finished thanking him before Leo rushes onstage to get her attention, waving his hands like a total goofball. He leans closer to murmur something in her ear, and Teagan laughs. Maybe his humor is why she keeps him around.
He extends his palm toward us, and Teagan walks over. She doesn’t have the same saunter Leo does. Instead, she approaches us slow and kind, like a teacher might a shy student.
“Bonnie?” she asks.
Bonnie’s hands that were twisting together halt, and she shoots one out. “Yes. Hi. Wow. Hey.” The extended hand shivers more with Teagan than it did with Leo.
Teagan takes it with a kind laugh. “Leo keeps talking about your art. I’ve seen it. It’s really something.”
“You’ve seen it?” Bonnie gawks.
You’d have thought Teagan told her she was being gifted a puppy.
“You’re real talented,” Teagan says. “I’m rooting for you.”
“You’re rooting for me ?” Bonnie echoes.
My hand goes to her back again, and her taut posture finally relaxes into my palm. I didn’t know I could do that. I didn’t know someone could feel relaxed with me just from a simple touch.
Someone with a headset comes up and touches Teagan’s arm. “Hey, can we?—”
“Sorry, yes,” she says quickly, turning back to us. “Listen, I’ve gotta go, but good luck!”
“Thank you. Thanks. Oh, you too! I mean, break a leg!” Bonnie shuts her eyes tightly, her cheeks pulsing red.
Leo smiles at her, then slaps his thighs. “Oh, damn, sorry, Rafe, you didn’t get to say hey.”
“Nah, it’s cool.”
And I don’t care. I really don’t. Because I can’t stop staring at the joy on Bonnie’s face. It’s enough to fill my chest with satisfaction for days.
Next, Leo walks us through the backstage area, into the linoleum tiled green rooms, where I fist-bump his drummer, Jonah. Jonah instantly goes back to flicking through some dating app on his phone.
“Wow, Jonah Grave, hi,” Bonnie says, holding out her palm for the third time.
I think she’s determined to shake hands with everyone. It’s cute.
I stare at Jonah for a moment, still browsing his phone, before clearing my throat.
Leo met Jonah after high school, and we’ve partied a couple of times together, but not enough to be close. Jonah’s got a brain the size of a goldfish, but he’s famous enough that it doesn’t matter much.
He finally looks up, blinking past the haze of browsing. “Oh. Hey, sorry. Nice to meet ya.”
But now, Goldfish Brain eyes Bonnie a bit too closely, and I find my arm aching to wrap around her waist once more. I stop myself before it does. It’s not my place.
“Hey, I wanna show you our seats,” I tell her.
She looks from me to Jonah, then back. “Oh, uh …”
“You can talk after the show.”
Her eyebrows furrow. I can feel my chest heat. It was rude. I know it came off that way too. But I don’t like how he’s looking at her.
“Yeah, sure. See you after,” she says, and after waving another time to whoever is in the room, we leave.
I take us farther down the hallway to a small alcove. Inside is a spiral staircase and a sign hanging on the chains across the bottom, reading, TECH ONLY . I unhook the link from one side and gesture for Bonnie to take the stairs anyway. She ducks under my arm, and I follow. I realize it’s a bad idea to trail behind her the moment we climb up the first stairs because then her ass is right in my face. If I’m honest, I try not to stare, but it’s hard not to. I’d say I’m a fifty-fifty kinda gentleman in that moment, but it is what it is.
At the top, the floor turns from carpet to metal. One step out, and it’s obvious we’re far above the theater, on the catwalk over the main floor. Bonnie looks back at me with wide eyes. I tip my chin forward.
“Keep going.”
“Seriously?” she says on a laugh.
“Best seats in the house.” At her continued shock, I chuckle. “Go on.”
Bonnie gingerly walks forward over the crisscross metal floor. She grips the railing tightly, as if she’s trying to avoid falling through the tiny gaps beneath our feet. We bypass stage lights hanging on either side until finally reaching the end of the space, nearly overlooking the large stage where Teagan was performing a mic check just moments ago.
I lower to sit and hold out my hand to help Bonnie shakily sit down beside me.
Once settled, I dangle my legs over the edge, resting my forearms on the horizontal safety bar. Slowly, she stretches out her legs and mirrors me.
“Oh my God, I hate this,” she says, closing her eyes but grinning through laughter.
“Nah, you love it.”
“I so do. Why up here though?”
I shrug. “You don’t like crowds.”
Her red lips part slowly, her brown eyes taking me in piece by piece.
“Thank you,” she says.
I nod in acknowledgment, then look down at the stage below.
And after a moment, she whispers, “You see me, don’t you?”
I don’t know what to say to that. It’s not a feat; it doesn’t feel hard to see her at all. I can’t help that everyone else is lazy.
A beautiful grin spreads across her face, and she nods, turning her attention down to the stage. Her feet pump out and back. She squeals at the drop below.
“Well,” I say, “if you’re stealing my soul, I’m obligated to steal yours too. At least for a little while.”
I don’t know why I tack on that last line, but I wish I hadn’t. Her face falls, and she looks away for an awkward moment. After a few seconds, she’s back to swinging her legs.
I’m making it too obvious this is temporary. I’m being an ass.
Once the doors open and fans start filing in, I realize just how good these makeshift seats really are. A couple people notice we’re up here, and we give an acknowledging nod whenever someone waves. When the music starts, it gets real interesting. The crowd swims below us like schools of fish.
When an inevitable mosh pit circle forms, Bonnie and I exchange a silent glance, as if to say, So happy we’re not down there.
Throughout the Howling Ravens’ performance, Bonnie watches Leo with awe in her eyes. And, God, while I love bringing Izzy to stuff like this, I’ll take Bonnie first every time. Her smile. Her laugh. Even her singing voice—slightly off-key but always enthusiastic—pierces through my chest, straight to my soul. I wish I had a pen and paper to sketch her like this—not even a figure study either. Because, sure, her body is beautiful, but her smile is even better.
I follow her gaze down to the stage again. She’s still bobbing her head to the music, and looking back up is Jonah. Even from here, I see a subtle wink aimed at us—well, at Bonnie.
Bonnie grins bigger. Her face flushes. She sways her shoulders to the bass of their song.
I love her smile, but I don’t love that she gifts her smile to him.
Jonah isn’t a bad guy. He’s good to anyone he meets. But that’s the problem—Bonnie isn’t just anyone.
The longer she stares down at Jonah like he’s some teenage dream, I quickly realize just how much I don’t like it.
I don’t like it one bit.