Chapter 12
TWELVE
I tug on my shirt, trying to cover more of my skin, but it’s no use.
The contract stipulates that we have a wardrobe department who chooses all of our clothes, and in this case, that means barely any.
I wouldn’t usually mind, but there’s a crowd waiting for us outside.
The interviewer is discussing the latest rock and pop news before we are announced.
Every eye will be on us, and they want us to look perfect.
“Here.” Ryker steps before me, close enough that I can smell his expensive cologne, and tries to fix my shirt, or lack of one, for me.
It’s more of a cape with sequins, draped across my shoulders and tied with a bow at my neck.
Luckily, the black pants they gave me have a high waist. I’ll admit, it looks good, but I feel very exposed.
Ryker smiles at me shyly and brushes some strands of my purposely messy hair away. It’s supposed to look wet, whatever that means, but it keeps falling into my eyes and face and probably smudging all the hard work the makeup team did.
They aimed for light and dark. While I’m all in black, looking every inch a rock villain, Ryker is in all white.
His shirt is floral with pearls, and it’s tucked into white pants.
His hair is pushed back, making him look like a model, and he’s barely wearing any eyeliner or makeup, mostly just a highlighter that glitters under the light, making him look ethereal.
I can’t drag my eyes away from his glowing skin revealed by the sheer parts of the shirt.
The fucking glitter on his lips drives me crazy, and I have the insane urge to lick it off to see what it would taste like.
“It’s smudged here.” Licking his thumb, he reaches up and brushes it under my eye. I pull back a little, and his smile drops as he steps away. “Sorry, I was just trying to help.”
I nod and avert my eyes. We haven’t spoken since this morning, and I don’t particularly want to.
I’m still mad at him—not for reading my messages, but because of how he acted.
He believed he had a right to be mad, like he doesn’t put his dick in every available hole, but the idea of me doing so pisses him off?
Dash and Strike join us. They wear a mix of white and black, blending us together. “You ready?” I ask them.
“As we will ever be.” Dash nods, looking between Ryker and me. I’m sure both of them can feel the tension, but I can’t seem to stop my simmering anger.
“Okay, one minute,” one of the headphones-wearing staff members calls as he appears before us. “When I signal you, walk out, wave at them, and take your seats, okay? Your manager has already handed over the list of questions.”
“Sure thing,” Strike answers with a wide grin as he tries to change the atmosphere. This is an important night for us, yet we all look like we would rather be anywhere else.
Is my mood really affecting the band that much?
Strike once told me Ryker is the heart of the band, but I’m the head, and what I feel affects them all. I’m starting to realize he’s probably right.
“Okay, thirty seconds. Big smiles,” the man instructs, and then he starts to count down
“Fox, I’m—” Ryker starts, drawing my gaze to his face just as the man points to us, letting us know it’s our turn on stage.
I walk past him, ignoring his words, but I swear I hear the end of his sentence float to me as I step out into the spotlight. “So sorry.”
I force a smile, waving and winking at the crowd as they shout for us.
When Ryker appears, it becomes so loud, I can barely hear.
Heading to the curved sofas, I sit next to Dash, and Strike takes the spot next to him, leaving the space next to me, nearest the crowd, for Ryker.
When he sits, we laugh and wait for the crowd to calm down.
When it does, the interviewer, Henley, fans himself.
“What an entrance, am I right?” The crowd cheers, and he nods. “I have the great honor of having the up-and-coming rock band Sanctuary joining me tonight. Are we excited?” The applause and shouts last for a while, and I smile tightly through it all.
It isn’t their fault. They are here to support us, and we wouldn’t be here without them. I remind myself of that over and over to change my mood, not wanting our fans to feel it.
“Alright, alright, before we get started, let’s get comfortable,” Henley says. “Strike, right? Drum king.”
Strike stands and bows as the crowd cheers.
“And then we have Dash, the bass wizard.” Dash waves and blows kisses as Henley looks at me.
“And of course, the sex symbol himself, Fox!” The crowd’s screams are so loud, I laugh as I stand, smirking and winking at them as they continue shouting. Even when I sit, my name is yelled, and we have to wait.
“And last but certainly not least, the silken singer, Ryker!” The crowd screams even louder as he gives them a little twirl and a wave before sitting. His hand lands on my thigh without him meaning to, and when I glance at it, he snatches it back with a guilty look.
We wait for the crowd to calm again. “Okay, Sanctuary, I think we all fell in love with you online and have been dying to know?—”
“Fox, marry me!” My eyes widen as I look at the crowd. Ryker stiffens next to me, and I can’t help but be a little petty.
“Come here then!” I yell back.
“He’s taken, sorry!” Ryker chuckles, and the audience goes crazy.
My smile loses some of its wattage, but I play along, and when I look at Henley, he’s shaking his head. “I totally lost my train of thought. It’s clear you have some incredible fans. How has it been for you, stepping into the limelight?”
“Insane in the best way,” Ryker answers, crossing his legs. It puts his foot over my thigh, but I don’t move away, and neither does he. “We are so excited to be here and to share this night with you.”
“That’s right. It’s a big night. Do you want to tell them why?” Henley teases.
Moving aside slightly since we are cramped, I place my arm on the back of the sofa, accidentally brushing Ryker’s neck, and he leans into my touch. It’s a small movement, I don’t know how they even see it, but the audience erupts again, and I jerk back.
Henley chuckles, and I shake my head. “Y’all are the best.”
I laugh. “How about I tell them?”
“Go ahead,” Ryker offers.
“Well . . . Sanctuary will officially be supporting Dead Ringers on their upcoming, sold-out world tour.” My smile is real this time and wide. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, to travel the world and perform my music for people.
The response is immediate, and we drink it up. I glance over to check on Strike and Dash, who are smiling widely. No one deserves this more than them. They’ve worked so hard to keep us together. I’m just glad we could experience it as a band, as family, even if we are slightly broken.
“That’s amazing news! You guys must be so excited,” Henley says.
“Absolutely. Dead Ringers is such an incredible band, and to be able to play for their fans is a dream come true. We are pumped to go on tour with them, and we can’t wait to perform, so I hope you’ll come support us,” Strike replies.
“I’m sure we will. I know I’ll be trying to get a ticket now!” Henley laughs.
The interview circles around our songs and our upbringings, and I add as much as I can, my mood lightening with each joke. Henley is good. He makes me feel comfortable, and the vibes from the crowd are so insane, I couldn’t not be happy.
“Okay, how about one last game before we let you guys go? I’m sure you have a lot of packing and rehearsing to do.”
“Sure,” Dash agrees, and the screen to the right flashes with squares.
“Okay, I’m going to show you some pictures of you guys going viral, and you need to recreate it, okay?” Henley tells us.
Ryker laughs, but it turns into a cough, and I sit forward, grabbing the water bottle and uncapping it for him.
“Thank you,” he says as I tip the bottle for him, letting him drink. When he’s done, I wipe under his chin and cap it again. As I’m leaning forward to the table, the crowd screams, and I blink, wondering what we did.
“Okay, first picture.” It’s of us with Dash lying across our knees.
He throws himself across us, and we catch him with a laugh until it flashes green.
Another image comes up, and this time it’s Strike on my back, so I stand and he hops on.
Gripping his legs, I grin at the crowd as I spin us, remembering this moment.
When it flashes green again, I glance over to see it’s Ryker and Dash posing before a mic.
Sitting down, I watch as they copy the pose, and it flashes green before they sit and wait for the last square to turn over.
My heart skips a beat when the photo loads. It’s one we posted online ages ago, back before this all became too messy. Ryker is grinning into the camera, and my lips are pressed to his cheek as we pose for the photo. The crowd eats it up, and I glance at Ryker.
“We’ve done worse,” he remarks as he dramatically turns his cheek and pokes it for me. Swallowing my reservations, I order myself to do it.
It means nothing.
I lean in, the crowd and everyone around us fading away like usual when I’m with him. Does he know I framed this photo as well?
Does he know this was the day I fell in love with him?
Ryker turns his face at the last moment, so my lips press to his rather than his cheek. He keeps me there, kissing him, before I jerk away. The crowd is going nuts, and Dash and Strike are howling, but I stare at Ryker in shock.
He’s smirking, his eyes alight, but I feel sick all over.
He stole our first real kiss for a reaction from the audience.
Grinding my jaw, I bite back my anger.
I’ve imagined our first kiss for so long, and having it turned into a joke hurts a lot. It means nothing to him, just an act he puts on for everyone, but to me, it’s the person I have been in love with giving me a taste of everything I want and then snatching it away, laughing.
“Oh, wow.” Henley fans his face as he watches us. “The chemistry between you two is insane. I have to ask, is it real?”