Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” I say like it's all no big deal. Because, truthfully, it isn’t. She could freak out or cry all night, and I wouldn't judge. I wouldn't run. I have a capacity for chilling with emotional wreckage.
I let her gather herself in silence for a beat then offer, “We could go to a party tonight.”
Her gaze lifts to mine in a sort of shocked wonder. She’s wearing a pink-gold lip gloss that makes me want to kiss her pretty bowtie mouth.
“After the show. I already know of at least two parties. We could go to both. You know–try it out. See how you do.”
I know she was already writing tonight off as a failure. Maybe she was waiting outside for a ride to go home. But I figure the night is still young. Panic attacks pass. The best thing to do is just move on. Try again. Not make a big deal out of it.
Her full lips part.
“Nadia!” A male voice bellows in the alley.
Only because I hear the panic in his voice–like he’s afraid something bad happened to her– do I kick open the back doors to the van and call back, “She’s in here!”
I climb out to find the guy I think is her brother striding toward me like he’s about to kick my ass.
Nadia follows me out and stands beside me, which makes the guy slow his step. “I’m here, Adrian. I’m fine. It was cold, so we sat in the van for a minute.”
He’s definitely her brother–there’s no mistaking the resemblance. I’ve seen him in the building a few times. Another one of the lethal-looking tattooed Russian mafiya members. I’d be more wary if my sister, Story, wasn’t living with one of them.
I guess her boyfriend normalized the mob for me.
His girlfriend runs up behind him and hooks her arm through his like she’s trying to slow his roll. “She’s okay. Let’s go back in, Adrian.”
Adrian doesn’t move. He gives me a glower before turning his gaze back on Nadia. “What happened?”
Ugh.
Does this guy not know that bringing it up is only going to bring her down?
“I invited her outside for some fresh air,” I lie, looping my arm behind her back like this was some kind of flirtation and not a near-emergency.
He ignores me. “We should go.”
I draw Nadia closer. She lets me. She fits nicely by my side, her smaller purple Converse beside my black ones. I like the feel of her against me.
She glances up at me uncertainly. “I-I’m going to stay.” She looks back at her brother. “Flynn and I are going to a party after the show.”
Adrian’s girlfriend’s face splits into a smile. “That’s great! See? She’s fine. Let’s–”
“No.” Adrian squares off like he’s going to fight me if I try to convince him otherwise. I can’t tell if he’s protective or controlling or both. I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt and say he’s concerned because he knows about his sister’s social anxiety, but I don’t think making a big deal about it does her any favors. If anything, it reinforces the feedback loop that there’s something wrong with her.
It’s Nadia who takes charge. She pushes me toward the building, simply walking away from her brother.
“Nadia!” he yells, but he doesn’t follow.
I sense both their gazes on our backs as I take Nadia’s hand and lead her in through the propped stage entrance door.
Inside, Story is waiting with the rest of the band, her electric guitar looped over one shoulder. She thrusts my guitar at me. “Jesus, Flynn, where in the hell–oh.” She sees Nadia and chops her own tirade off. “Hey, Nadia. I think Adrian’s looking for you.”
I shrug off my jacket and toss it over a chair. “He found her,” I clip, sliding the guitar strap over my head. I catch Nadia’s gaze and see she’s starting to turn frantic again. I tip my head toward the stage. “Come here, I want to show you something.”
Her body goes rigid. “What?”
“Flynn, we're going on now,” Story says with impatience.
I ignore her, stepping close to Nadia, right into her personal space. “Do you trust me?” I meet her gold-flecked eyes with mine.
She locks onto my gaze like I’m a lifeline. Like she’s walking on a tightrope, and if she dares to look away, she’ll lose her balance and fall.
I shouldn’t take offense that her answer isn’t immediate. We don’t really know each other. We’ve never even been alone together before those few minutes in the van. She’s just a girl who comes to my shows. An acquaintance.
But I know my intentions are good. I know down to my bones that I speak her language. Not Russian. But another one. The emotional one. Or energetic. I may not know anything about her, but I get her completely.
“Flynn!” Story hisses over her shoulder as she and the other band members go out on stage. The crowd cheers.