Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Troy would be on that stage in a few hours, and I was so fucking thrilled for him.
I was walking on the outskirts of the floor seats when a golf cart with no roof rumbled by. Ardy was sitting up front with the driver, a guy wearing a black t-shirt with STAFF written in white across the back.
“Hey, kid,” Ardy said. “Want a lift?”
I smiled and eagerly climbed into the rear-facing seat. It was going to be a long day, so I’d take every opportunity I could to get off my feet.
“To the bunker, my good man,” Ardy said to the driver.
The cart took off, whizzing past the seats and up the banked aisle onto the concourse level. None of the concession stands were open yet, but tables were set up, and the merchandisers were clipping Stella t-shirts to wire displays.
The doors for ticketholders would be opening soon, and nervous energy buzzed in my bloodstream.
I turned sideways in my seat, so it’d be easier for Ardy to hear me. “How’s he doing?”
He knew exactly who I was talking about. “Oh, you know. It comes in waves. He reminds me of how Stella was in the beginning. One second she’d be fine, and then the next, she’d have her arms wrapped around a trash can.”
This afternoon Warbler had sent a car to pick up Troy, his parents, and his equipment, and I’d gotten notification they’d arrived not long ago. Ardy had been there to greet him and walk him back to the bunker suite where Troy could hang out until his soundchecks.
The cart slowed as it approached a set of double doors, which automatically slid open, and then we whirred down a quiet hall.
“How’d the thing go last night?” I asked. Troy had been invited to dinner with Stella and some of the executives at her record label.
Ardy turned his head so I could see his profile, but his expression was cryptic. “It went good.”
I was hoping for more info, but the cart rounded a corner and pulled to a stop. The doors to the private suites lined the wall, and he pointed at the first one. “He’s in there.” He leaned down and pulled a radio out of the box at his feet and passed it to me. “Anything before six-thirty, text me. After that, we use the comm.”
“You got it.”
As the cart backed up, turned, and drove off, I clipped the battery pack of the radio to the waist of my pants and hooked the earpiece in. It was quiet now, but give it an hour, I thought. There’d be a lot of chatter.
When I knocked on the door, Troy’s rich voice came from behind it. “Come in.”
The suite was called a bunker, and although it was windowless, it felt bright and airy and luxurious. The floors were oak, and the couch and two chairs opposite it were squared off and modern, covered in white leather. Over the bar, a huge television was mounted, and onscreen was a live feed of the stage.
Troy was at the back of the room, sitting at the high table, wearing jeans and a plain white t-shirt, an open can of Coke and his phone in front of him. He turned his head as I came in, and when he saw it was me, he pushed to his feet.
“Hi,” he said softly.
I didn’t use words. The smile that burst on my face was the biggest of my life.
I’d been happy before.
I’d been thrilled when Clark proposed. Ecstatic when I’d sold ‘Reckless.’ Elated after performing a huge show.
But this feeling now? It was something completely different.
Maybe you could only reach a certain level of happiness for yourself, but . . . happiness for someone else?
That was limitless. That was joy.
Oh, my God. I was going to watch his dream come true tonight, and the emotion I had couldn’t be contained. It detonated like a bomb, flooding me with its power.
Troy’s gorgeous face filled with worry, and his feet carried him swiftly toward me. “Oh no! Erika, don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry,” I blubbered. I tilted my head back and hurriedly wiped under my eyes, before shaking out my hands like it could dispel my emotion.
His arms wrapped around my waist and his tone was desperate. “Whatever’s wrong, it’ll be okay.”
I laughed softly through my tears because he thought I was upset. “No, I’m crying because I’m so damn happy for you.”
He exhaled, and relief washed through his eyes. It continued down through him as I threw my arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tightly. Holding onto him anchored me. It settled my emotions and I sucked in a calming breath.
“Okay,” embarrassment tinged my words, “sorry about that. When I saw you, it kind of hit me all at once.”
Slowly, I relaxed my hold on him but he didn’t let me go, making it so we could look in each other’s eyes. His were so deep and beautiful. Next to his hands, they were quickly becoming my favorite part of him, because of the way he used them to look at me.