2. Kade
2
Kade
The view from the wings is perfect for watching the crowd. I am always on high alert during Gia’s concerts for rabid fans, venue breaches, and suspicious activity. Thankfully, Gia draws a mostly respectful crowd. Mostly. Because when it comes to fame, no one is immune from attracting a few weirdos. There have been a handful of concerts where I’ve interrupted fans who managed to breach the security barrier, intent on being as close to Gia as possible. They never turned out to be anyone dangerous, thank goodness.
Still, though, I can’t get too comfortable.
The view of Gia from the wings is a little less perfect. Depends on the venue, of course, but thanks to all her equipment, she often disappears out of my sight. Sometimes, she’s ducking behind the wall of amps. Other times, she’s working the front of the stage with her guitar. On occasion, she’ll plop down on her bottom and do her set from there.
It’s hard to tell when it comes to Gia. She’s a firecracker. An unpredictable wild macaw twirling through the air, showing off her rainbow of colors .
However, in moments like this, I get the perfect view.
She’s seated at her piano, playing one of her ballads, “Go For It.” Half the time, she doesn’t have to look at the keys as she plays, but for this song, she always watches her hands, long lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. It’s like the audience isn’t even there when she plays this one. Her long, dark tresses fall in front of her face. If I was sitting in the audience, I wouldn’t be able to see her features. But from here, backstage, I get a clear view of her, framed between the piano and the lid.
If they could see her like this, pensive and giving her everything—and I mean everything—from the deepest parts of herself, they would give her a standing ovation every time.
Instead, I like to imagine that this small part is only for me, even if she doesn’t know it.
“ Go for it. Break me in two.
You fell for someone
Who’ll write songs about you…”
It’s obvious. The meaning behind the song. It’s about her ex. Mars Floyd. Yup. People actually call him Mars. Whether or not that’s his given name or just something he uses for his rock’n’roll persona remains a mystery. I’ve always thought it was pretentious and stupid, but I’m biased. In the whole three years he and Gia were an item, I never figured out how to tolerate the guy. I tried. Lord knows I tried. But I couldn’t stand the on-and-off-again nature of it. One week, it would be her having a crisis of faith; the next, it would be him frustrated she couldn’t spend more time in London with him.
I know there are so many worse guys she could date. Mars, at the very least, respected her as an artist. Once he broke her heart, though, I felt very righteous in my dislike of him, and I’ve never looked back .
If I’m honest with myself, the real reason I didn’t like him was because I was jealous of him.
Which is why I tend not to be more honest with myself than I have to be.
“Psst. Kade.”
I jerk my gaze over to Bryn, afraid I’ve been caught daydreaming or something.
Instead, her expression is taut with annoyance. I’m about to ask why, but in classic Bryn fashion, she shoves her phone in my face. I jerk my head back, the screen too close for me to see what she’s trying to show me.
“Read this,” she whispers.
When I adjust my eyes, the headline screams at me in bold, capital font.
Mars Floyd’s Surprise Album Drop: Everything We Know
I furrow my brow as the news washes over me.
Bryn jerks the phone away and starts tip-tapping away, shaking her head. “It’s already on all streaming services.”
“Just in time for the holidays,” I say wryly. We’ve been waiting for this moment—for him to announce his album, which would probably be a funeral for his relationship with Gia. Or worse, not acknowledge it at all. No one considered a surprise drop just before Christmas. “They’re going to be crazy out there tonight.”
“They” being the paparazzi. They’re always crazy when it comes to Gia, but after concerts, we can sometimes get away unscathed. Not tonight.
Bryn lets out a tiny growl. “Why doesn’t anyone have a track-by-track breakdown yet? I don’t want to listen to it and give him the streams…”
I glance back at Gia, who is in her own little world, untouched by this news, still singing about him with her whole chest. Throughout the tour, I’ve seen how the ending has transformed. It used to be a sad lament, but now it’s a triumph.
She’s over him. I really think she’s over him.
Which means she’ll find someone else soon. And I’m not sure I can handle it again.
Gia chugs the ice-cold water bottle as if she’s competing for the Guinness world record. It’s an even more impressive feat, considering how she’s walking while she does it.
Bryn and I flank her as we head toward the stage door. I keep glancing at my sister, waiting for her to deliver the news about Mars’s album, but I can tell she’s still trying to figure out the best way to say it so as not to ruin Gia’s after-show high.
Gia rips the empty bottle from her mouth and inhales deeply. “They were a great crowd,” she wheezes.
“Yeah, they were great. What a great way to finish off the first leg of the tour, huh?” Bryn adds with a bit too much enthusiasm.
Gia looks askance at me with a sparkling grin. “And no problems like you thought there’d be, huh?”
“Yup.” I hate that half the time the only thing I know to say to her is “Yup.” We’ve known each other for over a decade, and I’d consider her one of my closest friends, but it’s not because I know how to talk to her by any means.
We make it within ten feet of the stage door. Security looks at me, waiting for me to give them permission to open the door. I give them a subtle shake of my head and look at Bryn.
Before Bryn can speak, Gia’s eyes widen. “Uh oh. What’s going on? ”
Bryn’s laugh sounds like that of a Looney Toon. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re doing that twin telepathy thing. You know where Kade gives you a look like—” Gia puts her hands on her hips and hardens her expression. “And then you smile and act like you two don’t have mind-reading powers.”
“We don’t have mind-reading powers,” I say softly.
Gia pokes my arm. “You know what I mean.”
I rub the spot she poked like she burned me.
“Okay, I want to preface this by saying the album isn’t even that good,” Bryn says, holding out one manicured hand. “So, like, I really don’t think we have to worry about it hitting Top 40 radio or?—”
Gia puts her hands on her hips. “ Bryn . What’s going on?”
“Mars released his album,” Bryn says. Then, her lips twist to the side, and her forehead wrinkles, bracing for Gia’s reaction.
Gia isn’t erratic or volatile when it comes to her emotions. They just can be… big. Which is why, when she remains silent in response to Bryn’s news, I am immediately on edge.
“Can we go?” Gia asks, not waiting for permission before she heads toward the secured door.
I stride to get a step ahead of her, giving security the go-ahead.
The door swings open, and I’m nearly blinded by the flashing cameras. It's part of the job, something I’m used to—better than flashbangs.
Gia follows at my right elbow, ducking her head low as questions start to fly through the air.
“Gia, what do you think of Mars’s new albums?!”
“Is it about you, Gia?!”
“Will you ever get back together? ”
Gia doesn’t say anything, not even managing a limp, “No comment.”
And I don’t blame her. Tonight should be about finishing the final performance of the first leg of her world tour. They should be asking her if she’s excited to have a break, what her plans are for the holiday, if she has a message for her fans—anything other than asking about him .
Mars Floyd has usurped that with this little stunt he’s pulled. And I’m over the rails angry. But since I can’t give him a piece of my mind right now, I’ll channel my annoyance into keeping the paparazzi and reporters at bay. They swing their cameras too close and shove their recorders over the metal barriers lining the walk to the car like knives. They cry out for Gia to look at them. Yet she persists. She knows that would only be giving them what they want.
Bryn cuts ahead of Gia and me to the limo, opening the door for us to duck into as quickly as possible. We’re home free.
Until someone shouts out, “Are you still in love with him?”
Gia’s fa?ade of peace falters. “No,” she answers.
My muscles bristle. She knows all it takes is one word. They take one word, and they make it ten, twenty, a hundred, and spin her one word into a story.
“You sing about him every night. You sure you don’t still have feelings?”
“I don’t sing about him every night,” she answers, now planting herself in front of the pap taunting her with leading questions.
“Gia,” I say emphatically, trying to get her to snap back into reality .
The reporter won’t let it go. “Do you have someone new in your life, Gia? Have you really moved on?”
“I don’t need a man in my life to have moved on,” she says, her cheeks turning red.
A devious smile decorates the guy’s face. “So, do you think you’re going to listen to the new album?”
Gia’s mouth opens, but she says nothing. She’s doomed either way. If she says yes, the press will write that she’s lovesick. If she says no, the press will call her bitter.
The cameras are still flashing, and people are whispering. They’re getting a story.
I can’t let that happen.
I push myself between Gia and the “reporter,” if you can call him that, and reach back to touch her arm. I lift my chin, nose flaring. “Hey, buddy, back off .”
I feel Gia’s fingers dig into the back of my shirt. She’s holding onto me; she needs to hide.
I don’t mind that. Not one bit.
“Okay, okay, relax, I’m just trying to talk to her,” the guy says, holding up his hands like he’s as innocent as they come.
“I’m sure you were,” I growl before turning and scuttling Gia into the car.
Bryn and I pile in after her. The three of us are silent as the reporters and paps still yell her name, begging for her attention. It’s not until the car pulls away that I feel compelled to speak. “I… should have stepped in sooner.”
Bryn neither confirms nor denies this. She just tries to smile.
Gia’s eyes are glued to the window, watching the world roll past. “I’m not still in love with him,” she says quietly.
“We know, honey,” Bryn says encouragingly.
“It doesn’t matter if you know it. When will the world accept it? When will they leave me alone?” Her last question is so pitiful it makes my heart break.
Her visibility is the price of fame. But while most of the world sees Gia as an untouchable queen of modern music, I see Gia DeLuca, the teenager working on math homework with my sister in our kitchen when she was just fifteen.
And she doesn’t deserve any of this.