Chapter One
CHAPTER ONE
BONNIE
Behind my closed eyes, I feel the music’s heartbeat strumming through me. I know the time. The double-beat. The way I would drum this song, were it mine. My hands move on their own, sticks hitting against the dressing room counter and twisting in the air between my fingers in a show habit I’ve formed.
The cat-ear, noise-cancelling headphones over my head drown out the rest of the room—not that any of our before-show habits are particularly noisy, but still… My playing on the counter is probably the loudest of all. I know Zeb, our guitarist, is air-punching the wall with his true crime podcast playing. Reed, our maniac lead singer, is in the corner meditating and stretching. And Mads, our bassist, is more than likely walking laps around the backstage area wearing his mask and blasting classic rock tunes in his headphones.
The anticipation leading up to the show is one of my favorite parts. A half-hour completely uninterrupted. No questions. No press. No worries other than clearing our fucked up minds of the shit normally weighing on them so we can get on that stage and lose ourselves.
Joining the metalcore band, Young Decay, was the best thing I ever did.
I love this band—our wild little family.
Four dumb fucks who have saved each other’s lives in one way or the other, all pouring that energy into the notes and lines of our music and hoping to hell it heals our fans the way it heals us.
A gold arrow logo with the text New message - shesatrackstar1988 displays on my phone. The vibration alert is barely noticeable with the 90s grunge playing through my headphones.
I smile at the notification. Warmth rushes through me that has nothing to do with the fact that we’re fifteen minutes from headlining metal’s most popular music festival in the United States—DeathFest.
I shouldn’t answer the text this close to stage time. It’ll be a distraction…
Still, she’s really fucking cute.
shesatrackstar1988
Do you think we can finally video tonight?
She and I have only chatted a few times. Dating apps are the only form of “s extracurricular ” fun the band’s been allowed to have during this tour break.
For your protection , our former head of security, James, told us.
Of course, Reed and Mads haven’t minded. They’re already married. Zeb and I really haven’t complained either. Not after the shit this band has been through last couple of years. First, when Mads murdered his wife’s ex-boyfriend, and then this past New Year’s Eve when our lead singer was kidnapped by some poser mafia idiot.
Our leashes have never been tighter.
It’s been fun texting random strangers. Yet even with all the gorgeous selfies and insanely hot exchanges… I really fucking miss sex. I’m craving it. And not just any sex. I want rough sex. I need to be choked. Touched. Slapped. Handled— without care. God, the last time I had bruises on me from a good fucking, it was from a too-small bathroom at a sex club’s masked rave where I met a gorgeous black-haired goddess wearing teal feathers on her eye mask who let me spit in her mouth and then called me a dirty slut while she kneeled on the filthy tile floor and licked my cunt until I cried.
I still think about that sometimes.
I wonder what her name was.
A hand slaps the counter beside me twice, and I take off my headphones when Zeb makes himself comfortable atop it, kicking his foot up to tie his Converse on the arm of my chair.
The moment the real world hits my ears again, I realize it’s the sound of the crowd that’s vibrating my feet, and the three syllables they appear to be chanting are the name of our band.
Young Decay.
Young Decay.
I feel my eyes light up when I look at Zeb. “Holy shit,” I say to him.
“Fucking right?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Mental. I’ve never felt the crowd like this before. Not all the way back here.”
My phone buzzes again, and Zeb leans over to check out the message with me, but it’s just a reminder of Trackstar’s first message.
“A little play before work?” he asks suggestively, and I grin as I pick up my phone.
“She’s pretty cute,” I say.
Not tonight. Working.
Send me a few pictures to get me through, baby.
“Is this one through Cupid’s Arrow?” Zeb asks, pulling his vape from his pocket.
“Yeah. Started chatting after the Summerween party a couple weeks ago. We matched on the ‘ anonymous and strictly casual ’ options,” I say about the filter I chose to look for matches on the dating app.
My phone vibrates again, this time a picture comes through of the girl I’m texting, and I almost whimper at the photo of her wearing fishnet tights so snug that they’re creasing her skin and a cropped shirt that shows the underside of her breasts. Those cute ass black glasses framing her bright eyes and apple cheeks make me melt a little in the chair.
I wish I could see her bite her lip in person like she’s doing in this photo.
I turn the phone around to show Zeb, and he sucks air through his teeth.
“Damn. You found a hot, nerdy goth? You know that’s my type,” he says.
A laugh leaves me. “Too bad you’re not hers.”
“Ah, shots fired.” He jokingly clutches his chest. “So, you’ve been bored?”
I toss my phone defeatedly onto the counter. “So bored,” I groan, head falling back. Even as hot as she is, I can’t do anything except put on a mask over video chat and tell her where to touch herself—something that has yet to happen.
I’m fucking miserable.
“I miss sex— good sex. I miss touching and kissing and handling and all the things ,” I admit.
“I’m sure you’ll find someone to play with after the show. Or maybe at the Masked Mayhem party tomorrow night. It’s DeathFest. Best weekend of the year,” Zeb says.
I wipe my face and pause to massage my jaw as I suddenly realize I’ve been clenching it. “I think I’ve been too nervous about today to think about anything else.” Though that isn’t the only reason I’ve avoided going alone into the masses this weekend. I slump back in the chair and grin at him. “We’re fucking headlining, dude.”
“Yeah, we are.” He takes another drag from his vape. “Have you talked to James? He’s bringing in the new crew today, right?”
The statement makes my ears heat. I tap on the counter with my drumsticks, hoping to hide my nerves. “Yeah, I think that’s what he said.”
Zeb leans down, trying to catch my gaze, and I swat him with a stick at the smirk on his face.
I know why he’s being an ass. It’s because the new security lead is someone I knew in high school—who I secretly crushed on for years, though I was too scared to say anything at the time.
“Shut the fuck up. She probably doesn’t even remember me,” I tell him.
“We have a bet about that, actually. I’m betting she’s been stalking your socials as much as you have hers. Reed thinks she’ll put it together when she sees you.”
“And how are you two going to tell which it is?” I ask.
He points to his own eyes. “It’s all in the gaze.” Zeb’s attention shifts to the door, and he jerks his chin that way.
I start to swivel in my chair but pause as my phone vibrates again.
UNKNOWN
Can’t wait to see you onstage, rockstar.
I’ve missed watching you perform.
The hair on the back of my neck stands.
She’s here…
Fuck. I can’t think about this right now.
“Hey, heads up,” Mads says, and I abandon my phone to peer his way.
He pulls his skull-face gaiter mask down and smirks between Zeb and I, yet even the smile on his face isn’t enough to make me forget the texts.
“James and the new lead are on the way back here,” Mads says. He kicks Reed’s bent knee, making the tall singer jump slightly and straighten from his butterfly pose position.
Reed pulls his earphones out and grins at his best friend. “That time?”
“Yeah, man. James and Gemma are on the way,” Mads repeats.
As Reed jumps to his feet to shake out his long limbs, I make my body move and grab a couple of energy drinks from our cooler. It’s hard to shake the messages from my mind, but I have to do it.
You can’t let her get to you today.
It’s fucking DeathFest.
Even if there’s something about her possibly being here that has my stomach twisting in knots that aren’t out of fear, but rather… God, is that a weird happiness? Why do I want to smile right now?
What is wrong with you?
She’s here.
She’s fucking here.
My stalker is here.
I swallow and try to dissociate from it. I should have turned my phone on airplane mode earlier. My heart is pounding in my ears already. It’s been years since the last time I saw her sign in the audience—
Get out of your head.
“How’s the crowd?” I force myself to ask Mads. “We can already feel the vibrations back here. Gotta be a madhouse, yeah?”
Reed jumps to his feet and shakes out his limbs.
“Fucking insane,” Mads replies. “Sun is completely down. Big lights up. Last year we weren’t even close to the sunset. This year…” He sighs heavily and grins. “Dream come true.”
“We manifested that shit, man,” I say, shaking Reed and I’s energy drinks. “Next full moon, we’re going to the ocean and dancing around a fire. Celebrating and accepting all the good shit. Banish the bad.”
Mads scoffs. “Andi will approve,” he says about his wife.
“Probably her fucking idea.” Reed jerks his chin my way. “You ready?”
“Let’s do this,” I reply.
Reed and I link arms and pop the tops of our drinks, spraying bubbles and fizz all over us and the rest of the room as we poorly attempt to chug them. Zeb and Mads jump back, laughing, and just as the cool, bubbling liquid ignites my throat, the door opens again.
Stella, our tour manager, smiles at us from the door. We may not be on an official tour, but there was no way we were going anywhere without her guidance both onstage and off.
“I’ve missed this,” she beams.
“Get in here!” Reed nearly spits his drink out as he throws his hands up, crosses the space to her, and then drags Stella inside to our little jumping circle where her laughter rings through the room.
I’m so fucking glad to be back.
We’re all so excited about it that we barely notice when the door opens again, and it takes James’s loud whistle to gain our attention.
“James!” Reed calls out.
James holds up a finger like he knows Reed is about to jump and hug him. “Hold that thought—I have someone I need you to meet.”
“What, do you think we’re going to scare her?” Reed asks, beaming.
“ You fucking might,” Mads tells him. He nods at James. “Did you warn her about the overly excited puppy?”
James chuckles deeply. “I gave her the leash his wife bedazzled for him,” he replies.
Reed laughs and flips him off. “That’s just supposed to be for her,” he says, and James grins wider.
“Alright, guys. Round up,” James says as he steps aside. “I’d like to introduce you to the lead of your new crew.”
“Crew?” Zeb repeats.
“He probably thinks we need an entire team at this point,” I say.
“Considering the last few years…” James huffs amusedly. “Whole army, honestly.”
Reed says something that makes James chuckle again, but I barely hear their conversation as another tattooed, muscled guy falls in step after James, and then behind him…
Fuck .
My gut empties, chest heating.
It is her.
“Guys, this is Gemma Thomas,” James says. “Your new security lead. Gemma… This is Young Decay.”
Gemma Thomas.
The last time we were in the same room, we were seventeen and at a friend’s graduation party. The two of us avoided one another as if looking at the other for more than a few seconds might make one of us burst into flames. She used to wear her dark curly hair in a tight half-ponytail, with silver oval metal-frame glasses that did nothing for her face shape. I always thought she was so pretty—shy, good girl, honor roll, computer wiz…
Fucking hell, now?!
Universe help me.
I might cry.
How is this the same person?
She’s wearing combat boots and black cargo pants that the curves of her firm hips seem to be straining against. The black “SECURITY” tee she’s wearing is snug on her muscled biceps, showing off the freckles and tattoos dotted along her light golden-brown skin.
I can hardly stop staring at her thick, strong legs.
God, her fucking legs…
I wonder if she can crush a watermelon with those things—or maybe my head.
Yeah, fuck that.
I wonder if the view from beneath them is as spectacular as this one.
Shit .
I seriously need to get fucking laid.
Her long, loose ringlet hair is bouncy today and pushed over to her left shoulder. I can see streaks of burgundy embedded in the dark strands that I hadn’t seen in any of her social media photos, and I grip the drumsticks in my hands to keep myself from fidgeting too much.
“How’s it going?” Gemma asks casually.
A smile licks at Reed’s lips as he glances, very obviously, over his shoulder at me, before then extending his hand to Gemma. “Reed,” he introduces himself. “I hope you brought your running shoes.”
Gemma scoffs, throws the hoodie she had draped over her arm to a nearby chair so she can shake his hand. “So I was told.” She exchanges a look with James, who smirks at her before she addresses the rest of us. “I just wanted to come backstage and meet all of you before the show. My partners, Kade and Liam, will be at the Radio Eleven festival with us, but I plan on introducing them to all of you when we’re together for the album lock-ins next week.”
Her gaze moves around the room until it lands on me, and when it does, air escapes my lungs.
Those bright, golden hazel eyes might be the goddamn death of me.
They have me in such a fix that I hardly notice the fine line leaf tattoo creeping up from her neck to in front of her ear.
I can’t think straight. I can’t even bring myself to fidget with my drumsticks.
“Hey, Bon,” she says, and there’s no trace of nerves in her velvety voice. “Long time.”
Long time.
It was an entire lifetime ago.
“Ah… yeah. Yeah. Long… long fucking time,” I manage.
I don’t know why my voice sounds so far away.
A smile curves the right corner of her lips. “You don’t remember me,” she says.
How could I forget you?
“You two know each other?” James asks.
Gemma shifts on her feet, her amused eyes narrowing in on me as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Middle Madison High. What, a little over ten years ago now?”
Ten years that feel like a haze.
I clear my throat in an attempt to shake off whatever nervous hell my body is putting me through right now. “What? Yeah, no… No, of course I remember you,” I say.
Why is my face itching?
“You sat in the front right corner of Ms. Wilson’s AP Physics,” I go on. “Probably the only person who passed that one.”
A look of delight flashes in Gemma’s eyes. “Everyone complained about the grading curve when I scored high on that final.”
“You scored like a 97,” I say, remembering how pissed everyone had been.
She laughs, and I think my knees wobble at the noise. “All luck,” she replies. Her mouth opens as if she’s going to say more, but our manager, Avie, opens the dressing room door before she can speak.
“Are we having a circle jerk in here? What’s happening? You’re on in five. Get your shit together,” and he’s back on his phone without so much as waiting for a response.
Reed snorts. “I missed him being an ass.”
“That’s because you don’t have to deal with him every day like me,” Mads says. He glances at James. “Are we good here? We have a couple of things to do before set time.”
“Very important things,” Zeb says, tossing the bean bag up and down in his palm.
“All good if you all are,” James says as he peers between us. “Gemma is running full point today. I’m just here in case she needs anything since her team won’t be here until the next festival,” James says. “If you guys need anything onstage, I’ve shown her your signals. She’ll be watching.”
“But you’ll be with us at Radio Eleven, too, right?” Mads asks James.
“You don’t trust me?” Gemma asks, smiling as if she fully expected some pushback.
Mads gaze fixes on her, and I almost snort.
I know that fucking look.
“We’ll see how you do tonight,” he tells her.
“Didn’t realize this was a test,” she replies.
James clears his throat as if trying to clear the air, and he nudges his chin at Reed. “She’s on you tonight. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Yeah fucking right,” I say. “Maniac.”
Reed grins at Gemma. “No promises. Might want to put your hair up,” he tells her.
“And now, he’s going to do it for the fuck of it,” Zeb says. “Happy running,” he adds to Gemma.
She laughs, the sound entirely too melodic for my ears, and I know it’s going to echo in my mind throughout the entire show.
“Gemma, did you have anything?” James asks her.
“I just wanted to say, I know it’ll take a bit for you to trust me like you do James, but we’ll get there. All I ask is that you respect me and give me a chance. It’s my job to keep you alive and safe, and I intend to do that. If there’s anything you need or things I should know, we’ll chat.”
She glances at each of us as if waiting for a response, yet when none of us reply, James claps his hands together.
“Okay, we’ll see you out there,” he says. “Gem is going to hang back outside the door for you, Reed. She’ll escort you to the sound stage. Try not to run away from her.”
“Sounds like a dare,” I mumble, knowing Reed is thinking the same thing.
Gemma’s gaze fixes on Reed. “It’s in your best interest to do as I say.”
The stern look on her face strikes something within me, and Zeb whistles before I can.
Reed is beaming so much that I pinch him in the side, shaking my head in Gemma’s direction. “He likes it when you’re mean,” I tell her. “Just ask his wife.”
“Surprised he has one of those,” Gemma teases him.
Mads tilts his tin of gummies over and shakes one out. “So, you’re taking him through the middle without any protection?” he asks her.
Gemma stares at him for a beat before elbowing James in the side. “You didn’t tell me I’d be micromanaged,” she jokes.
“Mads has trust issues,” Zeb says as Mads passes him a gummy.
“Hey, that’s fair.” Gemma smacks the other guard in the chest. “Give him your hoodie. I don’t want to take any chances with people figuring out it’s him.” She looks at Mads. “Do you have a mask he can borrow?”
“I do.” Zeb rushes into his bag and pulls out a ski mask, to which each of us stares at him over.
“A fucking ski mask, dude?” Mads asks, smirking.
“How else is he going to get his ‘stalker’ on?” I taunt the guitarist.
“Down to three,” Stella announces.
“We’re just going to be late at this point,” Mads says. “We can’t perform without rituals.”
Stella nods. “I know. I’m just giving you the time,” she replies calmly.
“Okay, put the mask on. Get the hoodie. I’ll meet you outside when you’re ready,” Gemma says to Reed.
Gemma’s eyes meet mine again as she presses her hand on the door to leave, and my chest caves at the smallest reaction of her eyes drifting over me like she’s remembering these same stolen glances from so long ago.
Shit.
“See you out there,” she says.
Young Decay.
Young Decay.
The chant echoes through the open door, prompting goosebumps on my arms.
I grin at Zeb, who grabs his chest at the sound of the chant. “So beautiful,” he says.
The door clicks closed, and as it does, my bandmates all turn in my direction, each grinning like madmen. I don’t need to ask what they’re being weird about. I’m already losing my mind enough.
Between the hot trackstar girl, my stalker, and now Gemma… shit.
I need to get behind my drum kit ASAP.
I have to get this feeling out.
“ Gemma and Bonnie, sitting in a tree, F-U-C-K —”
I throw the bean bag sack at Reed’s taunting face, making the rest of the band laugh. “Fuck all of you,” I say, much to their amusement.
“But that was so adorable,” Reed taunts.
I flip him off.
“What I would give to be there when the two of you finally catch up,” Zeb teases me.
“Barely anything to catch up on,” I say as I change my shirt. “We never even spoke in high school.”
“Star-crossed lovers,” Zeb coos. “It’s a cute story.”
“I don’t think that’s what star-crossed lovers means,” I say.
“It’s like fate brought the two of you back together,” Reed adds, pushing on his Vans.
“Shut the fuck up.” I laugh nervously, feeling my cheeks heat. “Come on. It’s showtime. No more talk about my nonexistent love life.”
“Something tells me you’ll be remedying that later,” Reed says as we huddle together for our game.
“Fuck off, dude,” I shove him.
“Did you see the way she looked at you?” Reed asks. “She was definitely checking you out.”
“Of course she was. Look at me,” I say.
Though I’m fucking losing my mind trying to keep my smile contained.
“Alright, alright.” Zeb claps his hands together. “Let’s see who’s lost their skills over the last few months,” he says, referring to the hacky sack game we play before our shows. “You ready, fuckers?”