Chapter Forty-Five
Cooper
“Hear that?” Cory whispers, our faces close as the final chord rides the air. “They freaking love us, babe.”
Turning to my home crowd, I wave, breathless and panting, my heart absolutely full.
The lights slam to black, and the arena ignites with high-pitched whistles and screams. I stay looking out over the darkness, watching the tiny dots of white flicker from phones still held high, the thunder of their love loud enough to feel under my feet.
I’m grinning so hard my cheeks ache, adrenaline coursing through my veins making my entire body tingle.
Hands reach out for me the second I clear the wings. Someone grabs my guitar, slapping my shoulder as another shoves a bottle of water into my palm, a third winding a towel around my neck.
“You killed it, Reign,” my sound guy yells.
Sweat runs down my temples, and I run the towel over my face and the back of my neck before drinking half the water in one go. I want a shower—no, need a shower—already heading toward the dressing rooms, when Liam steps in with his crisp suit and perfect hair, his phone glued to his hand.
“Reign.” His voice cuts through the noise, smooth as glass, the glow from his screen lighting the sharp angles of his face as he continues reading.
“Great set. Really had them going out there. But we’ve got the label reps waiting in the suite, a radio call booked, and VIP’s already at capacity.
” He glances up, blue eyes raking over me, wrinkling his nose slightly.
“So, no shower. We’ll freshen you up later. ”
“Two minutes,” I say, running the towel down the gap in my shirt. “I’m drenched.”
He gives me that polished smile that never touches his eyes. “Drenched in victory, my little rock star. Let’s ride it while it’s hot, yeah?”
He’s moving, phone to his ear, done with me already. “Have Lockie clear a path, and make sure the sponsors get whatever they want. Keep Reign visible at all times—no one loses sight of him.”
He shoots finger guns my way, before being swallowed by the backstage crowd.
The hallway is pure madness; crew hauling cases, cables being yanked up, a runner sprinting past with two unopened bottles of champagne like his ass is on fire.
Every dressing room I pass looks the same, with powder lines dusting vanities, half-empty liquor bottles, beer cans tipped on their sides.
The opening act clearly isn’t holding back tonight.
“You fucking stink.”
Spinning around, I bark a laugh, crossing my arms and mock glaring at my bodyguard. Lockie looks me up and down, all bulk and quiet authority, his expression unreadable.
“That’s the smell of success, asshole. Thought you’d be used to it by now,” I tease, holding out my hand.
He doesn’t blink, just digs inside his dark denim jacket and pulls out my chain, letting it pool in my palm. Reaching behind him, he tugs a fresh black shirt from where he’s tucked it into his back pocket. “Success or not, you need a shower before you meet your fans smelling like a locker room.”
“You spoil me.” I grin as I slide the necklace over my head. “And no can do on the shower. Daddy’s ordered me to get to VIP now.”
“I hate that you call him that,” Lockie snarls, his Scottish accent getting thicker.
“Why do you think I keep doing it?”
“Wee shit,” he mutters, already scanning ahead as we continue to where the meet-and-greets are taking place.
The short walk feels like a sprint as I start unbuttoning my sweat-soaked shirt, swapping it out for the clean one Lockie gave me, tucking the silver pick underneath, the metal pendant cool on my skin.
Pausing at the end of the hallway, Lockie’s hand splayed across the door, he looks at me, face serious.
“You ready?”
“I was born ready,” I shoot back, winking for good measure.
The adrenaline hasn’t let me go yet; it’s the crest of a wave, and I’m still on top.
I’m met with screams as Lockie steps aside—not without an initial check—letting me go first. Camera flashes and squeals follow the first person who notices me, all heads turning as I step into the room. Even though it’s happened a thousand times, the rush never gets old.
“Reign!” a woman gasps, thrusting a poster with will you marry me? written in what looks like lipstick at me. “Can you sign this?”
“Of course.” Scrawling my name, I add a crooked crown someone started putting on shirts years ago, the stupid design becoming sort of iconic now.
Lockie ushers me forward as more hands, more phones, more voices calling my name come in from all sides. I angle, pose, and grin, hug and sign, giving as much time as I can for each of my fans here for me.
“Keep him moving,” Liam hisses behind me, and I roll my eyes internally, keeping my megawatt smile firmly in place.
“Cooper,” Lockie whispers, forcing my attention to him as he nods down toward a kid with tears in their eyes, holding an autograph book.
“Hey, buddy, that for me?”
He nods and holds it out with a shaking hand.
Crouching down, I scribble my name in big letters, taking up the page, carefully putting my arm around his shoulder as his mom snaps a pic.
He grins at my signature, his eyes wide like I’ve just handed him a secret, and my chest feels too big for a second.
I’m back to moving, acknowledging as many people as I can, when the room shifts.
Not the sound, but something under it, like a pinprick of cool air in the humidity.
I see him through the throng of people, beyond a cluster of suits with champagne.
He’s standing a little apart from everyone else, lanyard twisted in his fingers, eyes on me like he’s trying to decide if I’m real or not.
It’s really me, Dec.
“I’ve got the press ready,” Liam says, grabbing my arm. But I’m already shrugging him off, my mouth curving as I start to move.
“Later,” I throw out over my shoulder, Lockie right behind me, creating a path without touching anyone. He’s kinda good like that.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, stopping in front of Declan, my eyes scanning his face.
He looks older in a way that suits him, jaw a little harder, covered in stubble, shoulders broader, eyes still the same dark pools that anyone could get lost in.
I don’t think before I’m in his space, hands finding his arms on autopilot.
“Hey,” I say, breathless for a different reason.
His mouth twitches and gives me that half smile I used to love.
I laugh, stupid and happy, and drag him in.
He’s solid, clean soap and faint scent of deodorant clinging to his skin instantly transporting me back in time when it filled my lungs more times than I could count, the moment I want to grab with both hands, yet is just out of reach.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I murmur into his shoulder.
He’s all tension, tight and unmoving, but after a beat, I feel it, the exhale, the slow give of muscle as his arms come around me. The mayhem of the suite blurs out, and for a minute, it’s just us, the rhythm of his heartbeat pressed against mine and something that feels like home.
Stepping back, I keep a hand on him, because letting go feels…wrong.
“How are you?” My thumb brushes his sleeve without thinking. “How’s your—” I make a circling motion, trying to pull up the name from the part of my brain that used to have all things Declan filed, but suddenly, I’m drawing a blank. “Your little sister. Shit, I’m spacing on her name, Gracie? Grace?”
“Grace,” he says softly, that one word heating up my skin from the inside out. Fuck, it’s been years since I heard him speak.
“Right. Grace. She must be huge now.” I grin, but there’s a flicker in his eyes I can’t read.
That’s new.
“And your folks? My parents say they’re good?”
He nods. “Yeah. They’re good.”
“Reign, we need a soundbite for Capital Radio,” Liam says, appearing unwanted and completely oblivious to the situation. He offers his business smile to Declan as his hand lands on my shoulder. “We’ll just borrow him.”
Tugging out of his hold, I don’t look away from Declan, shaking my head. “Gimme five.”
Liam exhales through his nose, that tight lip-press he does when I don’t listen to orders making an appearance.
“Reign? One selfie?” a fan asks, tugging at my sleeve.
“Sure thing,” I say, mouthing sorry.
Declan steps back, hands shoved into his pockets as the young girl smiles into her camera.
Straightening, I’m about to ask Dec more questions, wanting to know what he’s been doing over the last few years, when someone calls from behind him.
He turns as Levi weaves through the crowd, his grin wide enough to split his face.
“I was hoping we’d run into you.” He laughs, clapping me on the shoulder. “You fucking killed it out there.”
“Levi,” I say, trying to hide my surprise as I pull him into a quick hug. “Didn’t expect to see you here, man.”
“Are you kidding? You think I’d miss this?” He leans back, eyes bright as he glances over me and shakes his head in disbelief. “I think half of Taunton Falls tried to get tickets for tonight. You made us proud.”
Frowning, I glance at Declan. “Us?”
“Oh shit.” Levi chuckles. “I thought you knew? I moved here after college.”
I blink, taken off guard. “Huh. Shows what I know, right?”
“Hey, my life isn’t as exciting as yours, Mr. Rock Star.”
Glancing at Declan, his smile slips as his attention catches on something behind me.
“Babe, there you are.” The words boom through the suite before I can even turn.
Cory’s voice, unmistakable and warm, rises above the chatter.
Sliding in beside me, he wraps an arm around my waist, grinning up at me.
“I never got to say it earlier, but that show was definitely your best. Even without me being on stage with you.”
He leans up and kisses my cheek, paying no attention to the two others standing with me.
“You think?” The tiny slice of self-doubt I’ve never managed to squash comes out a little needy.
“Best,” he says, before turning to Declan, head tilted as he stares at him. “Hey, I’m Cory.”
“Declan.”
“And I’m Levi,” he says when it’s clear that’s all Dec’s going to say. “You were amazing.”
“Thanks.”
Dropping his hold, he steps closer to Levi, the pair spiraling about guitars and sets and a festival Cory played at last year. He’s good with people, keeps the conversation flowing, unlike me, who just wants to get Declan alone for a second, his silence unnerving.
“I’ve gotta make the rounds before Liam decides to put my balls in a vise in, like, two minutes,” I say finally, catching his wrist and pulling him a half-step closer.
“Look, I know I’ve really sucked the last few years with keeping in touch, but I really want to make it up to you.
I’ve got so much to catch you up on, and I want to hear all about you, too. What are you doing after this?”
He blinks. “Uh…nothing.”
“Great,” I say with a sigh, relief quicker than it should be. “Come by the hotel? We can actually talk.” I pat my pockets, realizing I don’t have what I’m looking for, and glance back at Lockie, who gives a small nod. “I’ll text you the room. Still got the same number, yeah?”
He nods, but it lands wrong. He’s quieter than I remember, less open.
He’s standing in front of me, but he feels like he’s miles away, that warmth he used to carry just for me…
gone. The spotlight does weird things to your brain; you start expecting people to react the way strangers do—loud, excited, electric. But Declan’s never been like that.
“Perfect.” I squeeze his forearm, shoving down that twist of insecurity, trailing my fingertips down until I reach the warmth of his bare skin, each brush creating sparks like always. “I’m really—” Happy doesn’t cut it. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Reign,” Liam says again, the softness in his tone a cover for how furious he looks. “Photos.”
“On my way,” I say, not taking my eyes off Dec. “I’ll see you later.”
Cory laughs at something Levi says before looping his arm in mine, leading me as I step backward, keeping Declan in my sights for as long as I can until the rush of people and post-show obligations drown him out.