There's no going back,
no yesterday, no tomorrow.
There's only right now,
and baby, I'll take away your sorrow."
God, he's so not over her. As the thought crosses my mind, my eyes look for her ring, but there's a huge cross around his neck. The ring isn't there, and come to think of it, I've never seen a picture of him wearing it. He keeps that part of his past a secret. I suppose I could have Googled him and looked up who he was with when he was discovered, but that's his life and nothing about it is private. I want him to tell me about her when he's ready and right now he isn't—that day may never come. I realize it, but I still hope he'll tell me, that he trusts me the way I trust him.
My feelings for Trystan are skewed. He's a young Sean to me, a shadow of the man who has his arms around my waist.
Why do I pick such damaged friends?
Like calls to like, soul calls to soul, echoes in my mind despite the deafening music.
I don't want to leave Sean's side. The pit of my stomach drops like it's the last time he'll hold me and I can't help but feel like it's an omen. I don't belong here. The killer is in the crowd. I don't know how I know, but I know. I try to tell Sean, but it's too late. They're already pushing me onto the stage with the other dancers.
I head for Trystan and pretend he's Sean, young and scared. The man sings his heart out, holding back nothing. No wonder his fans love him so much. I dance provocatively around him until he grabs me, pulling me toward him so our hips mash together. He tips me back and I bend so that my hair dangles on the floor as the band blares behind us. I see Sean in the wing, watching.
When Trystan pulls me up, his blue eyes burn with passion. He means every word he sings and I finally realize how much of a release this is for him, to be on stage like this and bearing his soul. It's his catharsis. His eyebrows flick up when we enter the part of the song where I'm supposed to slide down the front of his body and slip my tongue over his abs. The other dancers would die to be in my spot, but I can't do something so meaningful as if it were nothing.
Trystan smiles at me, like he knows. He changes the act and grabs my wrist, spinning me around and holding me in front of him, locking our bodies together tightly. I face the audience, but I can't look out at the crowd. Jealous women in front of the stage scream insults while others just scream hysterically. Trystan begins singing again, forcing my head to tip to the side. He licks my neck between breaths. The sensation startles me. I spin around, ready to slap him, but he stops me and pushes me away. The crowd eats it up and screams louder. The song is about how he doesn't need me—or her. For a moment, I'm the girl he's singing about and he tosses me away. It's what the girls in the crowd want, because a hurt, unloved Trystan in need of attention, is so much more appealing than a happy married man.
Everyone can see how broken he is, Trystan doesn't try to hide it. It spills over his lips and rolls off his tongue. He's the polar opposite of Sean in that regard.
I continue to dance around him, approaching and then being rebuffed by the rock star. We're close to the edge of the stage when I stop and place my hands on my hips. I plan on giving Trystan a death stare when something catches my eye. There are a million things glinting and glowing, so I don't know why I look to that spot, but I do.
Marty stares back at me and ice licks my spine and fills my stomach with dread. Everyone around him is moving—dancing and screaming—but his stillness is wrong. Something is going to happen. Marty's eyes lock on mine, before drifting to the wing where Sean stands.
I was wrong.
No, no, no! I glance over at Sean and look wide-eyed at him as fear floods through me. They weren't trying to kill me all this time, someone was gunning for Sean, and the killer is standing in the audience unnaturally calm with his hand in his suit pocket and his hair slicked back the way it was earlier today.
The world stops as the realization slams into place. The pilot, Amber, the hookers, and Naked Guy—they were all attempts to kill Sean. I got in the way and the man who orchestrated it is standing in the crowd with his features filled with jealousy and rage.
Four things occur simultaneously—I turn to run off stage and warn Sean, a shot is fired, and Sean runs at me, knocking me to the ground. Even though screaming ensues all around me, the world blurs and I'm deafened to the chaos.
The first sound I hear is my voice and the ear piercing scream coming from my throat. Sean is on top of me, his massive body shielding mine. Trystan is fighting his bodyguards to get to me as they pull him away. He's swearing like he'll kill each of them for dragging him out of there, but they do. Another set of guards surround us as the houselights come on. People are running, trampling each other, trying to get out of the stadium, but I don't look at them. I whimper and wonder why Sean hasn't moved or spoken. He should have carried me away by now, but he's not moved an inch since he knocked me to the stage floor.