Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
“Is that it?” Madds asks.
“Yeah,” I breathe, relaxing into the tub as I scoop up my champagne glass and take a sip. “He’s so happy.”
“Just wait ’til it gets to his solo. He added bits, and with the live drums, it just hits differently.”
We fall into silence, and as I watch my brother play, the sweetest joy fills my heart, a joy I haven’t felt in so damn long. The whole band is incredible. Don’t get me wrong, Jett is a great guitarist. He could be a star in his own right, but it’s simply not the same as it was with Axel. When he and Ezra played together, the world felt their chemistry.
The camera pans to Ezra as he sings, and my heart races, loving seeing him like this, but when Axel’s solo comes, I find myself sitting up, gaping at the small screen. “Holy fuck,” I mutter, reaching around the iPad and turning up the volume as he hits a whole different melody while somehow keeping everything the same. I can’t describe it, not having the musical ear to figure out what he’s even doing differently, but when Ezra, Rock, and Dylan all grin at him, it’s clear that whatever he’d just done was something special.
“Oh my god.”
“Right?” Madds says, reminding me she’s still there. “Oh, next, search up his performance from their first tour in Colorado. That one is insane.”
Without skipping a beat, I start searching, and just like that, Madds and I fall down the rabbit hole of Axel’s greatest hits, and before I know it, my bath water has run cold and I’m all out of champagne. “Shit,” I say to Madds. “I better get going before more than just my fingers become pruney.”
She laughs, and I have no doubt she just pictured me with a pruney vag. “Okay,” she says. “Call me if you need me, but I know you won’t because you’ll be enjoying your wild balcony sex with your hot boyfriend while overlooking the beautiful Pacific Ocean.”
I grin to myself, not having the heart to tell her it’s the beautiful Atlantic Ocean I’ll be looking at while getting fucked within an inch of my life on the balcony. “Kay, have a good night, and remember, be chill when you text Dylan. Don’t go scaring him off.”
“I know. I know,” she says. “Night.”
With that, she ends the call, and I pull myself out of the bath, starting to shiver as I realize just how cold I allowed the water to run. Finding my towel, I pull it around me and quickly get myself dried off. As I’m searching through my clothes for pajamas, I stop abruptly. All those videos of Ax on tour make me feel as though I’ve missed out, and right now, Ezra is a short car ride away, putting on a show for thousands of people while I’m sitting in the hotel room sulking.
I should be there with him. I should be watching him rock people’s worlds over and over again. If roles were reversed, and I was the one on that stage, he would be there night after night, supporting me the best way he knew how. I need to be there.
Checking the time and realizing there’s still a good portion of the show left, I find something nice to put on before dashing into the bathroom and letting my hair out, thanking whoever exists above that I didn’t decide to wash it tonight.
After swiping mascara across my lashes, I grab my little purse and slip into a pair of heels to complete my look. Taking in my reflection, I picture the happiness on Ezra’s face when he finally sees me standing in the wing, and a beaming smile settles over my lips. Not wanting to waste another second, I practically run to the door.
Gripping the handle, I yank it open, only to barge right into a solid wall. I barely get a chance to react, to even lift my head and see who it is before a hand clamps around my throat, shoving me back inside the room.
My heart races, and while I can barely see his face, I recognize that scent.
It’s the smell of my past. The smell that sends me into a downward spiral. The smell that reduces me into a terror-filled child hiding in her closet hoping the monster wouldn’t come for her.
My father.
Panic claims me as I clutch his hand around my throat; his tight grip makes it almost impossible to breathe. He doesn’t release me, doesn’t even seem to feel the pain as I claw at his skin, digging deep grooves with my nails.
No. No. No. This can’t be happening. How did he find me? I thought this was in the past, and I would never have to see his face again. This can’t be happening.