Chapter 31
thirty-one
Kate
Every time you think of him, think of this instead:
You’re not his anymore. You’re free.
And holy hell are you powerful.
I smile and peel the Post-it off the bathroom mirror.
You’re free.
I stare at the words, letting them take root somewhere deep.
He didn’t write You’re mine. He could have, but he didn’t.
He knows I don’t need to be someone’s to be someone.
He understands I’m still figuring out how to stand on my own, how to stop basing my self-worth on how others see me.
He’s not telling me I belong to him; he’s reminding me that I belong to myself.
Even though I am his, that’s not what makes me whole. I can be his and still be mine. I can be loved and still be free. I can be held without being caged.
It’s subtle, but it’s everything.
As I brush my teeth, I walk the note out into the bedroom and tuck it into the back of my notebook with the others, running my fingers over each of them as I read them again, reminding myself who I am and what I’m capable of.
You’re not too much. He just wasn’t enough.
(Also: You look really hot today. That ’s unrelated but important.)
You’re incredible.
I have a secret.
In D.C., when I held the mic out to the crowd and let them sing the first two lines of Fall, it was because I saw you in the crowd during the intro and forgot my own lyrics.
That is your power. Use it responsibly.
The last one is my favorite, because I remember that night. It was the second show they did after the event in Cleveland. Nothing had happened between us yet, but if just looking at me was enough to affect him like that, it means he saw me before I believed I was worth seeing.
I’ve had a lot of memorable nights with Josh since we decided to cross the line from friendship to something more, but last night was…different.
The way he looked at me. Took care of me. It was almost like he—
I’m pulled out of my thoughts by the sound of the door clicking open behind me. I watch Josh enter the room in his workout clothes, a thin layer of sweat glistening on his body.
“You went without me,” I say, pouting a little.
He crosses the room and places a kiss on my forehead.
“Last night was a lot and I thought you could use the rest.”
I smile at that, because he’s right. I did need it.
“I need to grab a shower,” he says. “Interview’s at ten, which means I need to be ready by nine thirty at the latest.” I tilt my head to the side, and he grins. “What?” he asks.
“It’s like you don’t even need me anymore,” I tease.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll always need you.”
The bass from their entrance track hits first, pulsing up through the soles of my boots and straight into my chest. The crowd erupts before the guys even appear on stage, a chorus of voices screaming in anticipation.
The energy inside the arena is palpable, alive in a way that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end.
Dani, Ty, and I are standing front and center, just behind the pit. My lanyard is tucked into my back pocket, and a plastic cup of cold beer is sweating in my hand. I could be back in front of the sound booth, but tonight I want to see him. Experience him the way the fans do.
From here, I can see the barricades and the bodies pressed tight against them. I can feel the collective heartbeat of thousands of people waiting for the first note to drop.
I used to wonder what it would feel like, watching a significant other perform in front of a crowd this size. If it would be nerve-wracking or overwhelming. If I’d feel small standing in the middle of their world. But tonight, as the lights dim and the crowd goes wild, I don’t feel small at all.
I feel lucky.
The moment the arena explodes in light and sound, he’s there—flying into the air from under the stage and landing front and center, microphone clutched in one hand, the spotlight highlighting the gold paint splattered over the matte black covering his upper body.
Josh Calloway really is a rock god.
And he’s mine.
His powerful voice cuts through the air, igniting the crowd like a match to gasoline. The band surges into their opening song, the entire arena shaking beneath the weight of it, but I barely register the music. I only see him.
The way he moves.
The way he owns the stage like it was built for him.
The way he commands the attention of every single person in this room.
The way he curls a hand around the mic stand and leans into it, eyes sweeping across the crowd until his gaze finds mine.
It’s fast, barely a breath, but I see it. I feel it.
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Not for the fans or for the cameras, but for me.
Then he winks.
It’s stupid how something so small can make my stomach flip the way it does. But it’s Josh, and he’s looking at me like he’s still thinking about what we did in his bed this afternoon before sound check. Like he’d do it all over again right here in front of sixty thousand people.
A blush creeps up my neck, but I can’t look away. Not when he’s up there in his element, giving every single part of himself to a crowd that will take anything he offers. I watch as he tears through the first few songs, sweat glistening on his skin, hair growing damp and sticking to his face.
During the third song, he props his foot up on one of the monitors, leans forward and lets the crowd sing the chorus back to him, and the smile that spreads across his face is one of pure, uninhibited joy.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this happy.
The song ends and he takes a step back, head tilted up to the ceiling, chest heaving. He lifts the mic to his lips and the arena quiets.
“Las Vegas!” he shouts, greeting the crowd for the first time. They roar, and he lifts his arms out at his sides, taking it all in. He laughs as the crowd continues to scream, and then he tilts his head back down and his eyes find mine again.
His gaze travels down my body and then back up. He licks his lips and that sinful smirk curves at his mouth before he turns away and dives into the next track.
The rest of the show passes in a blur of sound and movement and heat. I watch as he struts across the stage, as he pours himself into every note, every lyric, every interaction with the crowd. He’s charming and filthy and bold and so damn good at what he does.
Every once in a while, he glances my way. Just for a beat. Just enough to remind me that no matter how loud the crowd gets, I’m the one he’s looking for. That even in a crowd of thousands, I’m the only one that matters.
By the time the final encore ends and the arena lights begin to come on, my throat is sore from screaming and my heart is full. I weave through the crowd with Dani and Ty and head backstage, slipping past security with a nod, leaving the stuffy air and noise from the arena behind.
I find Josh in the greenroom, chugging a cold bottle of water from the mini fridge.
“Hey,” he says, eyes raking over me like I’m the best thing he’s seen all night.
“Hey,” I echo, smiling through the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. Anxious to get him out of here and back to his bed.
He grabs the towel out of his bag and moves to start wiping his paint off, but I grab his wrist. Looking around to make sure no one is watching, I shake my head, hoping he catches on to what I’m trying to tell him without me having to say it out loud. His eyes flash as the realization hits.
“Leave it?” he asks.
I nod.
“Fuck,” he says, keeping his voice just above a whisper. “Are you serious?”
I nod again, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. A satisfied hum rumbles low in his chest, and I feel it between my legs.
He folds the towel and shoves it into his bag before sliding his zip-up hoodie carefully up his arms, leaving it open in the front and slinging his bag over a shoulder.
Then we wait for everyone else to decide they’re ready to head back up to our rooms, the tension between us pulling tighter with every second that ticks by.
And I can’t wait until it snaps.