Out of Tune

Avery

“ G od, you must be shit at your job if you don’t even know who the opening act is.

” Sure, antagonizing the man guarding the door leading to backstage with biceps bulging against his sleeves wasn’t the best way to get what I wanted.

But after a major flight delay in Dallas on my trip from my grandparents’ place in Connecticut to Vegas and the general anxiety that’s been building in my gut for the last eight months waiting for this moment to finally perform with Fool’s Gambit, I was certifiably in a bad mood. “I need to get backstage.”

“You and every other girl who has come up and asked.” He glanced at the carpeted floor and smirked, eyeing my luggage and guitar case. “Though you seem a bit more delusional than the rest, bringing all this shit like you’re ready to move in.”

My teeth ground together as I failed to contain my simmering temper.

Yes, I got that my best friends had tens of thousands of people desperate for their attention.

Fame claimed them over night, but I was there with them when we were all rehearsing in a garage and using fake IDs to play gigs at dive bars.

I earned my place onstage with them and after everything I endured, I wasn’t going to let some asshole who sucked at his job get in my way.

“Hey! Clarke, is everything all right over there?” someone called and the guard—Clarke, apparently—swiveled his head toward his buddy.

That act gave me the smallest opening between his bulky mass and the door. It was my chance, and I took it. I lunged for the handle. As it swung open, the door rammed into Clarke causing him to release a sharp bark of surprise.

“Stop!” he yelled, but I was already through. I raced down the hall, crew members toting cables and clipboards, the wheels of my suitcase rattling behind me.

I just needed to find someone who would recognize me. Ideally Wes, but any of the other band members, Jared, Luca, Garrett, or even Martin, the band’s manager, would do. Clarke was close, throwing curses at me as he closed the rapidly shrinking gap between us.

I turned the corner and pushed into the nearest room. I staggered inside and locked the door, my back slamming hard against the thick slab of wood. My chest heaved and my lungs burned as I squeezed my eyes shut.

Shit. It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Things would have gone so much easier if we could have advertised my name for the final leg of Fool’s Gambit’s North American tour, but I just turned eighteen today, finally able to sign all the necessary paperwork without the support of my grandparents.

Who knows what they’d do if they knew, and they could do plenty.

They had power as the leaders of Sloane Holdings and respectable members of high society with endless connections.

They were prepared to do anything they needed to stop me from becoming a “trashy rockstar” and utter disappointment, following in the footsteps of my father.

My throat tightened as I thought of him. It had been nearly a year since the accident, and it still didn’t feel real. If he was still here none of this would be happening. But it was and I had to accept that he’s gone and wouldn’t be upfront cheering for me the way I know he’d want to.

“Oh, there you are. I was about to put out a missing person’s report.” The sound of a familiar low voice caused my eyes to fly open to meet the tide pool blue ones trained on me. “What took you so long?”

“Wes,” I breathed as cool relief flooded my veins.

My best friend stood at the center of what appeared to be a dressing room.

Clothes were flung over couches and chairs, and empty food containers cluttered a table in the corner.

He was tugging down the hem of an intentionally tattered gray T-shirt.

A stripe of pale skin over his stomach vanished as he pulled it into place.

I couldn’t stop taking him in. The disheveled brown hair that had grown a few inches since I last saw him.

A dimple popped in his right cheek because of how hard he was smiling at me.

There was a flutter in my stomach. That had been happening recently when I thought about him.

It was annoying. He’d been my best friend since middle school, nothing more.

A hard pounding against my back knocked me from the moment. The force rattled the hinges, and I jumped forward to stand next to Wes. Being next to him was all it took to feel the safest I had in so long.

“I know you’re in there,” Clarke roared.

“A friend of yours?” Wes asked with a quirked brow. His smile twisted into a knowing smirk.

“Nothing special, just running from security.” I shrugged.

“I can’t invite you anywhere. I’ll take care of it.” Wes shoved his hands in his pockets, taking on a casual air as he ambled to the door and cracked it open.

“You—” Clarke snapped, before correcting his tone. “Mr. Hart. I’m sorry I thought someone slipped into your dressing room.” He looked around Wes, and I gave a flippant half wave.

Wes stepped out of the way so I was in full view. “Oh, her? She’s trouble, but I can’t get enough of her. It would be a good idea to remember her face. One day you’ll be able to tell people you met the Avery Sloane.”

My heart skipped. I knew I was good, and I wasn’t going to apologize for it, but Wes’s faith in me was special. It made me feel like anything was possible.

“Understood. Thank you for your time, Mr. Hart.” Tight lipped, Clarke slinked away back to his post.

“ Hart. I forgot you rebranded.” I understood it from a business standpoint, but it was hard to take him seriously.

“What pop star gets girls with a last name like Gaflin?”

“Well, as a girl, I think it’s cute.” I gave an exaggerated flutter of my lashes.

“You don’t count.”

“Love to hear it!”

“I—Fuck. I mean you’re you. You’re just—” he stammered, and I smiled to myself, loving that beneath all the swaggering confidence he was still an idiot. My idiot. “Whatever. We need to get you on stage, we’re already late.”

“Nice save, Hart.”

Wes was right. Thanks to my flight delay and Clarke I really didn’t have much time to get ready.

He left me in his dressing room as I rushed to touch up my smudged makeup and threw on shorts over fishnets and a black tank top.

One look at my dyed wild cherry red hair and I knew it was hopeless to attempt anything, so I let it tumble around my shoulders.

It would end up looking like this anyway at the end of the set.

Before I was finished, a stage manager wearing a black headset around their neck, ushered me from the room, guiding me into position on the rising platform backstage. I was handed my guitar, freshly connected to the venue’s speakers, then the floor jerked beneath my feet as I ascended.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the beams of the stage lights.

My mouth went dry as the crowd came into focus.

Thousands of people filled the sold-out venue.

I’d never performed for so many people. They were here for Fool’s Gambit, wearing band merch and carrying homemade signs.

They were here to have their hearts stolen by the new boyband sensation, not an opening act nobody heard of.

It was obvious in the way half of them chattered as I stepped up to the microphone.

But I wasn’t someone who would be ignored.

“Hello, Las Vegas! I’m Avery Sloane. This might be the first time you’ve heard my name but after tonight, you’ll never forget it!”

I had eight songs. Eight chances to convince them I belonged on this stage, and I wouldn’t waste a single moment. My fingers danced across the frets of my guitar with an opening riff that tore through the space. Faces whipped up to watch and I wouldn’t let them look away. Not for a second.

The rush of performing surged through me, setting my blood ablaze.

On stage I felt powerful, in complete control.

I needed this after so many months of feeling like I was on the brink of drowning.

I lost myself in the music so much that when I found myself on the ground at the edge of the stage, knees burning and tights shredded from sliding across the ground, I didn’t want to stop. Not now. Not ever.

But I had to. I stood backstage and watched the guys.

They’d gotten better since the last time I’d seen them.

The show breezed by in a time-bending product of adrenaline.

Once we wrapped, we headed to dinner at a twenty-four-hour burger place.

It was near midnight but all of us had an excess of energy.

“And when Avery slid across the stage while playing the guitar, that was so fucking cool!” Evelyn exclaimed, shoving a handful of fries into her mouth. She slipped from the red booth and attempted to slide across the polished wood floor of the restaurant. “Like this.”

“Evelyn!” Luca growled, trying to hush his younger sister who was visiting for the weekend, and I laughed.

She was the opposite of her brother in personality.

Where Luca was reserved, Evelyn was more than willing to share every thought buzzing in her head.

They both had startling green eyes, tanned skin, and thick brown hair with a subtle wave.

She looked at him with an open innocent expression. “What?”

“He’s mad 'cause you got it wrong. It should have been more like this,” Jared leapt to join her on the ground. His hair was a blur of red as he landed, making a slight variation during his air guitar, which actually looked like he was playing since he was a rather skilled rhythm guitarist.

“No, neither of you are leaning back far enough.” Wes climbed on to the seat next to me, feet planted on the faux leather, ready to leap over my lap to join the others on the floor. “Let me try.” Mid-step, he was yanked down, an oomph escaping him as the breath was knocked from his lungs.