by Casey, Ember
She’s a princess. Rock god or not, maybe she doesn’t think you’re good enough for her. Not good enough to be seen with in public, anyway. That realization stings more than it should.
But I don’t have time to think about that now. It’s time to start. I jog over to the stage and climb up, then pick up my guitar. The room settles down, all eyes on us as we make the final few sound checks and make sure everything is in tune.
Finally, I lean forward toward my mic.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming out tonight,” I say. “We thought we’d play through some stuff from the new album. Give you a juicy little preview before it drops next week.” I glance back at my bandmates. Despite our differences, when we’re on stage together, we’re a team. We’ve got each other’s backs, and tonight we all know what’s on the line.
And for the first time in years, I’m suddenly nervous. This is the first time we’ll be performing any of this album publicly, and even though it’s a relatively small room, the weight of this performance hits me right in the stomach. My throat suddenly feels dry.
This is it. The first time these songs are really, truly going out in the world. And I’m fucking scared shitless. I dug deep for some of these songs, touching places and memories I thought I’d buried long ago. It was one thing to share those things with my bandmates and Mick and our producers—they’re all like family to me at this point—and another to hold them out for the rest of the world to see.
I’m not ready. Not ready at all.
I take a deep breath. Everyone is waiting for me. But my tongue feels thick in my mouth.
Finally, after what has to be an ungodly long pause, Rider steps up to his mic.
“We’re going to start with a song called ‘The Lost Night,’” he says. “Written by our good friend Pax here.” He shoots me a look that says, What the hell is wrong with you? before stepping back into place and giving his strings a quick strum.
I’m not ready for this, I think again as the others come in.
But the song has already started. There’s no backing out now.
Sophia
I suppose I shouldn’t have come to such a public venue. The only thing I promised Victoria was that I wouldn’t make a spectacle of myself—with Pax or otherwise. She’s my sister now, and the last thing I want is to cause her any more difficulties with her husband than I already have.
I duck into the booth Pax pointed out—it’s in the far corner of the room, and the lighting is pretty dim. The room is jammed full of people, and all eyes are on the stage as the band begins to perform. Even if there are members of the press here, I doubt any of them have any interest in this end of the room at the moment.
The song they’re playing isn’t the same one as I listened to in Pax’s apartment last night—this one is more up-tempo, but the lyrics are still dark, maybe even darker than the other song I’ve heard. I can’t quite make out everything, but there is definitely something about how hell is a place on earth—and death is for the lucky ones.
Something catches in my chest. If Pax did write this song, there is something inside him that is deeply disturbed. I watch him singing for the next few minutes—his gaze never even turns in my direction, but I still feel like he’s singing for me. It’s stupid, really—I’m his lay of the day or whatever—but I can’t help but feel something stir inside me when he sings.
That is what buying music is for… Of course I don’t need him right in front of me to hear him sing. I can purchase the album and listen to it at my leisure. But part of me… I can’t really explain it. It’s almost as though I feel some need to know what these songs actually mean. The part of me that likes to play amateur psychologist can’t help it.
I barely notice when someone slides into the booth next to me. For a moment, I think maybe someone sat here because it’s the only seat left in the room.
But as the song ends and everyone is applauding, the man tips his head close to me. “Amazing, right?”
I glance over at him and recognize him as the band’s manager—Mick, I think it was.
I merely nod, my eyes going instantly back to Pax.
“We really appreciate you doing this. You can have your publicist call me if you want.”
It takes a moment for his words to register, and in the same moment, the band begins playing another song—this one is the tune Pax played for me last night.
It’s difficult to try to process both things at the same time—whatever this song is about, it’s clearly difficult for Pax to sing. His voice breaks as he nears the chorus, choking on something I couldn’t quite understand.
But then the words the manager has said begin to sink in. What did I agree to do for him?
I turn to him, blinking a few times. His eyes are fixed on the stage, and he doesn’t seem to realize I’m looking at him.
“Exactly what am I agreeing to?”
It takes him a moment to turn to me. “Just have your publicist call. We’ll work out the details.”
“I don’t have a publicist.” The word drips off my tongue like venom. “You can work out the details with me.”
“You’re probably going to need a publicist after this.” His gaze slides between the stage and me. “I can recommend a few for you if you want. But we don’t have to worry about it tonight. I’m glad he brought you, though. After the set, we’ll get you on his arm before I have him talk to the reviewers. With any luck, they’ll mention you, too.”
“With any…luck?” My breath feels like it’s caught in my throat. What the hell have I gotten myself into now?
“Well…luck for Pax.” He chuckles, patting my hand. “Don’t worry your pretty head. We’ll make sure you both come out looking like rays of sunshine.”
“What…what are you talking about?” I feel like someone has punched me in the stomach, and I’m not even sure why.
The music stops again, and everyone is cheering loudly. Regardless of what is going on between Pax, his manager, and me, the crowd is clearly loving the music Twisted Throne is playing.
It’s an odd feeling—something is warm in my chest with happiness for Pax and his band at this success, even though I don’t know any of them at all. But something still sits like a rock in my stomach—something about this situation I’m clearly missing.
The next song begins, and I can’t help but grin as Pax’s gaze meets mine. I could swear his lips turn up into the smallest of smiles as he starts to sing.
“He likes you. That’s good.” Mick’s voice is in my ear again. “I should give you one piece of advice, though.”
I turn to the man beside me. “I do not know what you are talking about.”
“This.” He waves his hand as though he’s motioning between me and something I’m not able to see. “The setup.”
“What…setup?”
He stares at me with his mouth slightly open. After another moment, he grins. “Oh, I get it. I’ve heard you have quite the sense of humor.”
I frown. “Have you?”
He nods, patting my hand again. “According to the London tabloids, you’re quite a character. Always pulling pranks on people.”
I raise a brow, but he’s barely paying attention to me. If this is some sort of joke, I’d appreciate being let in on it—at the moment, I feel like I’m the punch line.
“What is it you’re expecting of me?”
His gaze slides back over to me. “Well, it was going to be just the dinner—maybe a club appearance. But now…” He glances around the room for a moment. “Now that you’re official, we should do this right.”
“Official?”
He shrugs. “He brought you out in public. He never does that with women.”
“Ah.” I think I see where this is going. “So this…arrangement…is for the press?”
“As if you didn’t know.” He chuckles. “Don’t worry. You’ll get as much out of it as he does. You can probably leverage your share of the coverage into something—maybe get a spokesmodel contract or
something.”
Good God, I do know where this is going… And if I’m right, I need to get out of here—and quickly. If Pax is only after publicity he can do that with any minor celebrity. He certainly doesn’t need me. And I’ve already promised Victoria that I wouldn’t cause any sort of scene. I can’t…I can’t do that to her. I can’t be the cause of any sort of turmoil in the family. I don’t mind stirring the pot to make things interesting once in a while, but this…this stunt…would be going too far.
I smile at him as I begin to slide to the opposite end of the booth, meaning to leave before the end of the song.
But Mick reaches out, grabbing my arm. “Sophia, I really do have one piece of advice for you.”
“Oh?” I arch a brow, waiting to hear what gem of knowledge this idiot is wanting to give to me.
He smiles. “Don’t get attached. Pax doesn’t do relationships.”
“Oh, no worries.” I plaster a grin on my lips. “Neither do I.”
Pax
It takes several songs before I start to feel normal again. Well, as normal as I can feel when I’m essentially baring my soul to a bunch of strangers. It does get easier, though. My stage persona takes over, and I do what I always do—pour my heart into the music and perform. I want everyone in this room to know what these lyrics mean to me—even though I’ve buried the past, the feelings don’t die. They’ll never die. I learned that the hard way, after years of trying. No, the only way is to let them out. Crush the memories, but let the emotions they bring up escape through the music.
We’re halfway through the set when I notice movement out of the corner of my eye. I’ve carefully avoided looking in Sophia’s direction since we started, and I’m not sure why—it feels too intimate, somehow, singing these things while looking at her, and I try to avoid intimacy at all costs—but I can’t help but glance there now.
She’s risen from the booth. She doesn’t even look my way as she moves along the wall, heading toward the door.
She’s probably just going to the bathroom, I tell myself. No big deal. I’m a little insulted that she’s not waiting until the end of the show, but I guess when you gotta go, you gotta go.
But no, that doesn’t make sense. She’s not even looking my way. Not glancing at the stage at all. If anything, it looks like she’s avoiding looking in our direction.
I grip the mic. Rider’s doing his solo, which means I have a few bars of rest.
She doesn’t look like someone popping out for a quick break. She looks like someone sneaking out. But why would she agree to come here, only to leave halfway through the show? That makes no sense, unless…
Unless she doesn’t like the music.
That has to be it. She listened to us, realized it was crap, and decided to make her escape so she wouldn’t have to have an awkward conversation with me about it later.
I knew people wouldn’t understand this new album. That’s what I get for doing something risky. For putting some of those darker, more twisted emotions I’ve been repressing into my music.
I release the mic, suddenly remembering where I am and what I’m doing. I glance over at Rider, who’s staring at me with his What the fuck? look in his eyes. On the drums, Jameson looks just as confused.
I’ve missed my cue, I realize. I didn’t come in where I was supposed to. My bandmates are still playing, but none of them seem to have any idea what to do—in all our years of performing, I’ve never missed a cue on stage. Sometimes during practice, sure. But never when it mattered.
I strum at my guitar, finding the chords again, trying to jump in. I wait until the start of the next verse and then begin singing again, picking up as if all of this was planned, as if this was the way the song was always supposed to go. I’m not sure if our audience buys it or not.
When this disaster of a song finally comes to an end, I breathe a sigh of relief. Then I lean forward toward the mic.
“I think this is a good place for a brief intermission,” I say. “We’ll start up again in ten minutes.”
I know my bandmates have plenty to say to me, but I don’t want to hear it. I set my guitar on its stand and jump down off the stage, rushing across the room before anyone can stop me to make small talk. I need to find Sophia.
She’s not in the main bar. No surprise there. She’s probably halfway fucking home by now.
I dart outside, looking every direction. There—she’s just getting into a cab.
“Wait!” I call, running over. I grab her arm, pulling her back onto the sidewalk. “Sophia, wait.”
She pulls out of my grip. “This has been great, Pax, really. But I think it’s better for both of us if I leave now.”
This is it. It’s exactly what I was afraid of—she’s trying to avoid an awkward conversation.
“Is it really that bad?” I hear myself ask. I don’t know why I fucking care so much, but I have to know the truth. Better to have it out there, to know if everything I’ve poured my soul into this past year is complete and utter shit.
“Well, it’s not good,” she says.
Ouch. I guess she could have been more brutal, but it still stings to hear her put it so bluntly.
I rub the back of my neck. “So what, exactly, don’t you like about it?” Rider did say he thought a few of the songs were a bit melodramatic and moody—maybe we pushed it a little too far in that direction.
“I’d think that would be pretty obvious,” she replies. “I don’t like to be used, Pax. Maybe other girls don’t care, but I do. And yes—even if I’m just in it for fun. I have more self-respect than that.”
I blink at her. “What?”
“Don’t look so surprised,” she says. “You obviously knew I wouldn’t go along with it or you would have just been upfront about it. I don’t blame you for wanting the publicity, but I’m not the girl for it.” She starts to get into the cab again, then pauses. “You don’t need it, though. The extra publicity. The music’s incredible. The album is going to sell itself.”
I grip the car door. “Wait—what the hell are you talking about? You like the music?”
She looks at me as if I’m insane. “Uh, I just told you it was incredible. I think you’ve really done something great.”
Now I’m super fucking confused. “Then why the hell are you leaving?”
“Because I don’t like to be used.” She nudges my hand on the door. “Now let go.”
“How am I using you?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Don’t play dumb, Pax. It doesn’t suit you. I know that all of this is a publicity scheme. I’ve already told you I don’t want to play it, but you ignored me. Now you’ve got your manager making reservations for us—”
“That wasn’t my idea,” I growl.
“But you agreed to it. And I didn’t. I think that’s my cue to go. I’m not interested in being a publicity tool for you.”
“Is that what you think this is?” I demand. “Is that why you think I asked you here tonight?”
“Part of the reason. Maybe there’s more to it, but—”
“You’re damn right there’s more to it. I don’t give a fuck about the publicity. I just give a fuck about—”
“Fucking me?” She grins.
Hearing her say it so bluntly—and look at me with such an innocent smile as she does—shocks me speechless for a moment.
“Well…yeah,” I manage after a few seconds of silence. “Isn’t that what you want, too?”
There’s a flicker of something in her blue eyes—something passionate and hungry that makes my heart pound against my ribs. She looks away.
“This is a bad idea,” she says.
“So is everything that feels this damn good.”
“It’s just sex—”
“So who gives a fuck if we do it a few more times? Why deny ourselves?”
She’s silent for a long moment.
“Look,” I say. “I need to go in there and finish the set. But I still want to see you after. If you don’t want the p
ublicity, you can…I don’t know, hide in the bathroom or something.”
She laughs. “That sounds…fun.”
“I don’t care what you do. Just don’t leave.”
She hesitates again, considering her options.
Finally, she says, “I’ll consider staying. But first, you have to answer a question for me.”
“Anything.”
“That first song you did, ‘The Lost Night’… What’s it really about?”
Of all the things I thought she might ask, this was nowhere in consideration. I suddenly feel ill. “What?”
“You wrote it. And it clearly came from somewhere…personal. Where? What happened?”
I release the door and take a step back. “Nothing happened. It’s just a song. I made it up.” Definitely not something I’m going to talk about with a near stranger. The truth will stay buried forever.
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” I snap, eager to end this line of questioning. “It’s just a fucking song.” I jerk a hand through my hair. “Look, do whatever you want to do. I’ve got a set to finish.”
And then I spin around, stalking back inside.
Sophia
Whoa, I wonder what sort of chord I’ve struck in Pax to get that reaction. No matter how much I might like his music—or him—I certainly don’t need to be treated that way.
Let him slink away, I think. Clearly, he has a guilty conscience about something, and the last thing I need is to have to try to psychoanalyze some broken man.
I turn back for the taxi. I can’t even remember why I came back for him at all now. A quick and dirty fuck sounded nice, but truly, I can get that anywhere. And I wouldn’t have to worry about any other man using me for some publicity stunt.