30. Thirty
Thirty
Luke
The roar of the crowd is deafening, a relentless pulse of energy that rattles through the walls of the amphitheater in Tampa Bay. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, adrenaline, and anticipation—thousands of voices chanting, screaming, demanding the music.
I roll my shoulders, exhaling slowly as I grip my keyboard, fingers hovering over the keys. The lights are low now. The arena shrouded in darkness except for the glow of phone screens and the stage lights flashing in tempo with the drumbeat that signals our entrance.
This moment, right before we step into the light, is always electric. Always exhilarating.
But tonight, there’s something else humming beneath my skin.
Lila. She’s here. She’s watching.
And just knowing she’s backstage, standing only feet away from me, is a distraction—a wonderful, dangerous distraction.
She’s standing off to the side with Emily, wearing all-access credentials and an outfit that shows off her generous curves and makes my heart thud loudly in my chest. Our eyes meet across the crowded space, and she mouths, “Good luck,” with a smile that takes me right back to that cabin in the woods.
The cabin—Just thinking about it brings a wave of peace. The morning, we left, watching the sun rise over the trees one last time, I’d made her a promise. “When it gets too much,” I’d told her, holding her close, “when we need to escape, we’ll come back here. Just us.” The way she’d melted into my arms made it clear she needed to hear those words as much as I needed to say them.
The cabin was our escape, the one place where the outside world didn’t exist. But now, we are back in the chaos, and I have to keep my head in the game .
A hand claps down on my shoulder, yanking me from my thoughts.
“You good?” Cass asks, his voice barely audible over the crowd.
I nod, rolling out the tension in my neck. “Yeah.”
He gives me a knowing look but doesn’t press. Instead, he lifts his mic, signaling to the crew.
The lights explode to life.
The crowd erupts.
And we launch into the first song.
The performance is electric.
The music pulses through my veins, syncing with the rhythm of my heartbeat. The crowd is alive, their energy feeding into ours, making every note sharper, every beat heavier.
I fall into the music, my fingers flying over the keys as Cass’s voice booms through the speakers, raw and powerful. The band moves together like a well-oiled machine—Sam’s steady bassline grounding us, Nate’s drums pounding like a heartbeat, Vince’s guitar shredding through the air like lightning.
And through it all, I feel her. I know exactly where she is.
Just offstage, her presence burns through the haze of flashing lights and deafening sound.
When I steal a glance between songs, I spot her watching me with wide, mesmerized eyes.
The sight sends a jolt through me, a surge of something heady and addictive.
I want her here. I want to pull her into this moment, into the chaos and the rush and the sheer high of performing. I want to play just for her.
And maybe I do.
Because the next song—one of our slower, more intimate ballads—feels different as my hands move over the keys.
More personal. More hers. I pour everything I’m feeling into it, and I swear I can sense her smile.
After the encore, we barely make it backstage before the adrenaline catches up with us.
Vince is grinning like an idiot, already reaching for a beer. “Damn, that crowd was insane.”
Nate wipes sweat from his face, still catching his breath. “Yeah. That energy was next level. ”
Cass claps me on the back. “You were on fire tonight, man.”
I nod, still buzzing. Still wired. But my eyes are already scanning the room, searching for the only person I care about seeing right now.
And then, there she is. Lila, standing just a few feet away, looking up at me with something I can’t quite name—pride, admiration, and something that makes my heart pound harder.
I cross the space between us before I even realize I’m moving.
“Well?” I ask, unable to hide my grin. “What’d you think?”
She just shakes her head like she’s still trying to process it all. Then, finally, she exhales a breathless laugh.
“That was... unbelievable.”
A rush of satisfaction rolls through me, followed quickly by something warmer, deeper.
I step closer, lowering my voice. “Yeah?”
She nods, looking up at me like she’s still caught in the spell of the show. “You were incredible, Luke.”
I should say something. Should play it cool.
But I don’t.
Instead, I reach out, brushing my lips against hers, sharing this heady moment with her. “Incredible, huh?”
Later, we’re gathered in the private lounge of the hotel we’re staying at—a sleek, dimly lit space reserved just for us. The band is still riding the post-show high, beers in hand, laughter echoing through the room.
The hotel has been good to us, giving us a top-floor suite with panoramic views of the city. Everything about this place screams luxury, from the custom drinks menu to the private security ensuring no crazed fans break in.
But even with all of that, we still have to hide.
There are reporters camped outside the hotel, fans lurking around the lobby, and people who would kill for a photo, a quote, or a sliver of gossip to spin into something bigger than it is. Especially now with what happened with Marcus, Crystal, and Sterling Motors.
I get the feeling that this—is the calm before the inevitable storm .
Vince has already picked up some girls, draping an arm around each of them as he escorts them to our table. They look starstruck. Meanwhile, the rest of the band is having fun.
I glance over at Lila, who’s perched on the armrest of my chair, sipping a cocktail and watching the band with quiet amusement.
She’s seeing it now—the real Wild Band. The way we celebrate, the way we wind down, the way we live this life.
And she hasn’t bolted yet.
That has to mean something.
I reach for her hand, lacing our fingers together.
She glances down, then back up at me, her expression softening.
“You good?” I ask.
She nods, squeezing my fingers lightly. “Yeah. Just... taking it all in.”
I lean in, my voice just for her. “You still sure you want to be part of all this?”
Her lips curve, and without hesitation, she says, “Yes.”
Something inside me settles.
Emily drops into the seat beside Lila. “So, I see you’re still here after the show. That’s a good sign.” She glances over at me, then back to Lila. “You being here sure puts Luke in a good mood.”
“Luke’s always in a good mood,” Vince chimes in, grumbling, “It’s annoying, really.”
Sam looks over at Lila. “You weren’t bored?”
She laughs. “Bored? I’ve never seen anything like it. The way you guys lose yourself in the music... it was amazing.”
I lean back in my chair, watching them all interact. The easy banter and genuine affection make my chest feel tight. This is what I want for Lila—to feel as much a part of the band as Kendrick and Emily do.
The night has wound down, and Lila and I are heading back to our suite. But as we step out of the private lounge and into the dimly lit hallway leading back to the hotel’s elevators, that’s when it happens.
The flash of a camera. The shuffle of footsteps as a figure steps out from the shadows, a recorder already in hand .
“Luke!” A voice—sharp, eager, hungry—cuts through the quiet.
I instinctively step in front of Lila, shielding her with my body.
“Care to comment on the rumors about your breakup with Crystal Davidson?” the reporter asks, eyes gleaming as she shoves the mic toward me. “Sources say it wasn’t mutual. That she’s devastated. Care to set the record straight?”
I clench my jaw.
Of course, they’d spin it that way.
Crystal could probably be sunbathing in the Maldives right now, sipping a martini and not giving a damn, but the press will make her out to be some kind of tragic, scorned woman just for the drama of it all.
Lila stiffens beside me. I can feel it—the way she takes in every word, the way her fingers tighten into fists.
I exhale slowly, keeping my expression neutral. “No comment.”
The reporter doesn’t let up. “What about your new girl?” She turns her attention to Lila, zeroing in like a predator sensing fresh blood. “The woman you’re with tonight—so soon after Crystal. Are you two—“
“That’s enough,” I cut in, my voice firm.
The reporter barely has time to react before chaos erupts behind her.
A rowdy group of fans stumbles out of the hotel bar, loud and drunk, already buzzing with the high of seeing us in person.
“Luke! Oh my God, it’s Luke Sterling!” one of them calls out—a woman in a slinky dress, her voice slurred as she practically drapes herself over me. “Can I get a picture? Please? Just one?”
Before I can answer, another girl grabs my arm, her grip way too tight. “Damn, you’re even hotter in person.”
Lila takes a small step back, her expression shifting from mild discomfort to something sharper.
The third fan—clearly drunker than the rest—turns to Lila with a sneer. “And who’s this?” she slurs. “Are you his new plaything?”
Lila freezes.
My blood boils.
“Back off,” I say, my voice calm but dangerously low .
“Come party with us.” The girl laughs, eyes flicking between us like she’s enjoying the show. She turns to Lila. “What? You don’t like sharing?”
“We don’t mind sharing—do we girls?” The first girl giggles, leaning forward.
That’s it.
I move, gently but firmly untangling myself from their grips, and pull Lila closer, shielding her from the pandemonium.
I hear the lounge door behind us open.
“Girls,” Nate’s voice cuts through, his tone easy but warning. “I think maybe you’ve had enough for one night.”
The drunken girls pout, then huff, clearly annoyed, but they stumble back to the hotel bar.
The reporter, still lurking, leans in again. “Quite the scene, don’t you think?”
I glare at her. She smirks.
I grab Lila’s hand, not giving a damn who sees, and guide her down the hall.
The elevator feels like a sanctuary when we finally reach it. We don’t speak until the doors slide shut, trapping us in silence. Lila’s silent beside me, her face pale.
“I’m so sorry,” I start, but she shakes her head.
“Don’t.” Her voice is steady, but her hands are still shaking. “This isn’t your fault.”
“Lila—“
“Is it always like that?”
I wish I could lie. “Sometimes. It’s not always that bad, but yeah. It happens.” Glancing down at her, I try to gauge her reaction. “Mostly when I’m out or during performances. That’s why the duplex’s location is kept private.”
She nods slowly.
“I love the music and performing. But it’s this—the personal intrusion. The fans who think they know you because they know your music, the reporters who build entire careers off twisting the truth—that’s hard to take.” I admit in a low voice, watching her.
She takes a deep breath, straightening her shoulders. “Okay.”
“Okay? ”
“Okay, I understand now. I understand why you needed me to see this side of things.” She meets my eyes. “They don’t see you as a person, do they? They only see your fame.”
The elevator opens to our floor, and I pull her into my arms the moment we’re in our suite. She clings to me, and I can feel her heart racing.
“I meant what I said,” she whispers against my chest. “This doesn’t change anything. But... I’m glad we have the cabin.”
I press my lips to her hair, relief flooding through me. Because she gets it now—really gets it. Not just the glamour and the music but the cost that comes with it. And she’s still here.
“Always,” I promise. “Whenever you need it. Whenever this becomes too much.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me, and despite everything that just happened, she smiles. “You’re worth it, you know. Worth all of it.”
And at that moment, with the echoes of chaos still ringing in our ears and tomorrow’s tabloid headlines already being written, I realize something: she’s stronger than any of them. Stronger than the fans who grab, the photographers who stalk, the rumors that swirl.
She’s stronger than all of it.
And this is just the beginning. The first of countless nights like this, the start of our own stories to tell.
And I can’t wait for every single moment.