“There’s a difference between ‘Miss ya’ and ‘I miss your face’. And there’s a difference in ‘What’s going on? and ‘Baby, how was your day?’. Yeah, there’s a helluva difference in saying three words or kinda just meaning two. And there’s a difference in ‘Love ya’ and ‘I love you’. I wanna be the difference.”
♪ The Difference by Tyler Rich
As the song continued, I twisted my fingers in my lap, wringing them together. Beckett’s presence only added to my distress.
When Dawson hit the final chorus, the instruments stopped, and he crooned into the mic. His eyes sparkled as he sang, “I love you.”
Then the guys were leaving the stage, promising to return.
How was I supposed to go backstage, after that? How was I supposed to face my boyfriend when those lyrics were floating around in my mind? Sparking questions and highlighting answers.
Before I could get too swept up in the hurricane of my thoughts, Beckett grabbed my hand and gently pried open my fingers. His strong fingers clasped mine. “Isabelle, I think we need to talk.”
I blinked rapidly as my gaze met his sincere one. “Don’t you want to go backstage now?”
“Maybe in a minute. This is important.” His lips pressed into a thin line.
“OK.” I was filled with trepidation.
Joe walked up in front of us, motioning for us to jump over the barricade.
“Hey, Joe, can you give us a few minutes?” I asked.
“Sure. I’ll wait right over there. But intermission is only fifteen minutes long,” he said, tapping his watch.
“We’ll be ready before then,” Beckett assured him.
Twisting in my seat, I turned to face him better, my knees bumping his.
His free hand cupped my cheek as sadness took over his features. “Isabelle, this isn’t working anymore.” He sighed deeply, then continued, “Maybe it never really was, and we just didn’t know it.”
♪ Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve
“What do you mean?” My brain was still reeling from my emotional hurricane. I couldn’t process what was sure to be a serious conversation.
“We aren’t working. And I think you’re starting to sense it too,” he said in a somber voice.
“I know I’ve been confused and distracted. I never meant to shut you out or hurt you,” I started, feeling the need to explain.
“Shhh. It’s OK. This isn’t me blaming you for anything or mad about anything. This is me finally accepting the truth that’s been niggling in my mind for a while now. You and Dawson…” he trailed off, waiting for me to expound.
“Used to be a couple. Before I got sick. I hadn’t seen him in two years until my parents’ party. I swear, nothing’s happened.” My heart raced. I never meant for Beckett to get hurt.
He frowned at me. “I know that. You aren’t the kind of person who would cheat.”
Not physically at least. Internally, I beat myself up for emotionally cheating. Tears gathered in my eyes, ready to spill my guilt.
“Don’t cry—” Beckett’s voice was alarmed.
♪ Don’t Cry by Guns ‘n Roses
“Izzy, if you’re going to come back stage, we need to get going,” Joe called from where his large frame rested against the stage.
I held up my finger. “One second.”
“Look, we can talk more tomorrow. I’ll come by your place. You think you can get a ride home tonight?” Beckett asked.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice full of hesitation. I still couldn’t process what was happening. “Why now though? Why right before you get to hang out with the band?”
“Because I did like Dawson said. I listened to those lyrics. And I get it. There is a difference. And you and I don’t have it.” He squeezed my hand as a tear slipped out from one of my eyes. “But we both deserve it. And I think the difference is waiting for you backstage. I’m not going to stand in the way of that. Love like that doesn’t come around often. I want it for you. Hell, I want it for me.” His lips tipped up in a sad smile.
He reached up and wiped a stray tear from my cheek. “You don’t have to go,” I protested, not wanting to let go of the force that had kept me calm through so much chaos over the past couple of years.
“I might recognize love and encourage you to go for it, but I’m not strong enough to want to be surrounded by it right now. Please understand and forgive me for bailing on you,” Beckett pleaded.
“I understand,” I whispered.
Joe walked over.
“Please thank the guys for inviting me. I’ll come by tomorrow so we can talk. But I’ll call first,” Beckett said as he stood and pulled me to my feet.
His strong arms enveloped me. They were stability, warmth, goodbye.
He leaned me back so he could look into my eyes. “Now go claim the love you deserve and start living life instead of existing. Don’t worry about me. Or us. We’ll always be friends. As your doctor, I’m ordering you to go take care of your heart.”
My heart felt heavier and lighter at the same time. I squeezed him tightly. “Thank you. And I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” he said as he lifted my body over the barricade and set me down next to Joe. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” I watched him squeeze past the seated fans and make his way up to the exit.
“Your boyfriend leaving?” Joe asked from beside me.
“He’s not my boyfriend anymore,” I mumbled, still in disbelief.
“Hmmm. New development?”
“Thirty seconds ago.” I shook my head at the chaotic turn of events.
“Come on, we have to hurry. You’ll have just enough time to say hello,” Joe urged.
I had to nearly jog to keep up with him. I’d forgotten how quickly he moved. We dodged people who were milling around until we got to where the guys lounged, guzzling bottles of water and mopping sweat from their faces with towels. For once there were no groupies or hangers-on.
Pterodactyls took flight in my belly as I took in Dawson, one leg drawn up on the wall he was propped against, a towel around his neck, lips glistening with the water he’d just downed, mouth set in a firm line. So much emotion swirled in his eyes when they finally met mine. A smile lit up his face before he schooled his reaction, trying to reveal nothing.
He forgot that I knew him—knew him better than I knew myself. He leaned to the side, peering behind me. Confusion marred his face.
On shaky legs, I moved forward, stopping a few inches in front of him. “That was amazing,” I breathed out.
“Thanks, Izzy,” Brooks said as he turned and moved down the hallway. He tugged Wilder with him.
“Catch you after the show,” Maddox said, following behind them.
Soon it was just me and Dawson.
“Where’s Beckett?” he tried to sound casual, but the tightness around his mouth and his clenched fists betrayed his true feelings.
“Gone,” I stated matter-of-factly.
“What do you mean gone? Like to the bathroom? Or he had an emergency? Or…” Dawson’s voice trailed off.
“Like he said you were right, so he left.” I shrugged.
“Huh? Right about what?” Dawson asked, hope lighting his amber-colored eyes.
“Right about there being a difference. And he and I don’t have it,” I whispered. My fingers twisted a lock of hair nervously.
“Oh. So, you guys what… broke up?” he asked.
“Looks that way.” My lips pressed firmly together, holding in everything I longed to say.
“Are you OK?” Concern colored his features.
“I’m still kind of in shock and trying to process it, you know? It took me by surprise.” I held up my hands in surrender.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “No, I take that back. He’s a good guy, and I’m sorry that he doesn’t get to have someone as wonderful as you.”
He reached out and grabbed my hand, linking our fingers, pure joy lifting his face. “And
I’m sorry your feelings might be hurt. I always hated when you were hurt.” He gave my hand a squeeze. “But I have to be honest. I’m not sorry that you’re here and your heart is free… It is free, right?”
The doubt on his face nearly broke my heart.
“I’m sorry it isn’t free,” I confessed quietly.
The crestfallen look made my eyes fill with tears. I stepped close enough to cup his cheek. “My heart hasn’t been free since I was a kid. When I was six years old, I gave it to my best friend. And he’s had it ever since.”
The storm left, and the sun broke through. He swept me up in his arms, spinning me around in a happy circle. My arms wound around his neck. “I know we still have a lot to work through and talk about before we can get back to where we were… If we can ever get back to where we were. But, I’m far too ecstatic to have you back in my arms again to talk about that stuff now—”
“Two minutes, Dawson,” Joe said from behind me.
“Damn. I wish the show was over. I’m not ready to let you go,” he murmured, his warm breath washing over my face.
“I’m not ready to be let go of yet.” I rested my forehead against his.
“Ninety seconds,” Joe warned.
“Gah,” Dawson groaned and closed his eyes in resignation. Slowly, he lowered my feet to the floor. “Stay right here, OK? Don’t go anywhere.” He stared beseechingly at me.
“I’ll be right here when you’re done. I promise,” I vowed.
♪ In My Life by the Beatles
“I know it’s too soon, but what the hell.” His lips crashed into mine, branding and demanding.
The kiss was bruising and sent my heart into orbit. Our tongues had just begun to dance and reacquaint themselves with each other when a throat cleared behind me.
Exasperated, he pulled back.
“It’s like prom all over again. The chaperone breaking up our PDA,” I said with a chuckle.
Laughter burst from his lips, swollen with my kiss. It was enough to calm the energy crackling between us. I stepped back from him so he could go take his place on stage.
“I love you, flutterby.” He pressed one more sweet kiss on my mouth before he ran for the steps as the music started up on stage.
“Hey, Dawson,” I shouted at his back.
He turned around and quirked his brow at me.
“I love you too.”
The rest of the show passed in a blur. Dawson spent as much time looking at me waiting in the wings as he did at the crowd. Before I knew it, Dawson was shouting in the mic, “We love you, South Carolina. We’ll see you next year. Goodnight.”
Normally, the last one off the stage, tonight Dawson was first, not even waiting for Jett to come from behind his kit.
As he thundered down the steps, he was a man on a mission. Like a heat-seeking missile, he bore down on me, waiting off to the side, out of the way. Then I was home in his arms where I belonged.
Sweat made his shirt cling to his skin, showing off all his lean muscles. The fabric was damp against my fevered skin. It was familiar. I couldn’t count the number of times his sweaty body had pressed against mine after concerts over the years. I hadn’t even realized I’d missed it. What a weird thing to miss.
“You’re still here,” awe laced his words.
“Of course. I said I would be.” I beamed at him.
“I was halfway convinced I was dreaming,” he said as he burrowed his face against my neck.
“If we’re dreaming, I don’t want to wake up.” My arms tightened around him.
“Me neither.” Turning to Joe, he said, “I’ll be at the meet and greet after I give Izzy a fitting hello and change really quick. We’ll be in my dressing room.”
Stooping, he slung me over his shoulder like a cave man and dashed down the hall, yelling for people to move out of the way. Thankfully, his arm anchored across my thighs kept my dress from flying around and flashing everybody.
Laughing, I swatted his butt as he ran, bumping me up and down. I hadn’t felt so carefree in ages. His dressing room was dark, except for the light flooding in from the bathroom, like always.
He tossed me onto the couch, then braced himself over me. The weight of his lower body pressing against mine was deliciously familiar.
“And does it make me a total a-hole that I want to kiss the breath out of you given that you just got dumped a couple of hours ago?” he said, the words caressing my lips.
“Hey, now,” I admonished as I pouted. “Saying I got dumped sounds so terrible.”
He leaned down and kissed my pouting lips, nibbling on them until they fell out of their sullen position and into an elated grin.
“Does it make me a be-ya-tch that I really want you to kiss the breath out of me right now?” I asked against his lips.
“No, you could never be that, and I’m not an a-hole,” he confirmed.
“Well, now that that’s settled, what are you waiting for?” I teased.
“Love me like you do,” he sang as his mouth moved over my face.
♪ Love Me Like You Do by Ellie Goulding
Finally, his lips settled where I longed for them to be, fused with mine. Tentatively, his tongue dipped into my mouth, licking, tasting, seeking mine. When the search was over, the caution and shyness dissipated like smoke on a windy day. Our tongues tangled in a dance that was as instinctual as breathing.
My fingers wound in his too long locks, tugging him closer and making him moan. His hand grabbed my knee and squeezed before traveling up under my dress. I writhed, desperate to feel his touch on me.
Bang. Bang. “Ten minutes, D,” Joe shouted from the hallway.
With a groan, he pulled away from my mouth and fixed my dress.
“Who needs breath anyway?” I asked, panting deeply.
“I’d gladly give up breathing if it meant I died buried inside you.” Lust and heat simmered in his eyes, making the golden flecks sparkle.
“Then why’d you stop?” I brushed my fingers along his jaw and down to cup his neck.
He groaned. “Because ten minutes isn’t nearly long enough for what I want to do to you, what I need to do to you. With you. And I need to shower and change.”
“OK. Go get smelling good for your fans. We can raincheck for later,” I agreed easily. We had all the time in the world now that we were here together. I dropped my hand to my lap.
“Promise? It doesn’t have to be tonight. Remember, I’m a patient man. We can take things slowly and figure them out,” he said with a smirk at the flush of heat creeping over my skin.
♪ Anything by The Calling
“OK.” I reached up and cupped his cheek, unable to resist touching him. “I love you, but you’re all sweaty. Go.” I planted my hand on his chest and playfully pushed him back.
“Just admit it, it turns you on when I come off stage all sweaty and pumped with adrenaline,” he teased, waggling his brows at me.
“It does. But like you said, we don’t have time. Cold shower for you. Now, mister,” I said sternly.
As he walked towards the bathroom, he flipped the light switch. I gasped as I looked around the room. “What the hell?”
Half the surfaces in the room were covered in vases of flowers and underwear. Lots and lots of underwear. Hopefully, all clean.
“Oh my … Dawson, what is this?”
“Fans have gotten a little overzealous. Happens in all our dressing rooms. The record label had someone on staff before who would throw out all the underwear and take all the flowers to local rest homes and hospitals. We haven’t added someone to our staff to take care of it now that we’re independent. I’m so sorry you had to see all of this.” He waved his hand around, encompassing the colorful explosion of lacey scraps.
I wandered around the room, looking at the notes tied to the underwear. It was a literal rainbow of lace and cotton. I was dumbfounded.
“Say something, flutterby,” Dawson’s pained voice croaked.
“I had no idea it had gotten like t
his,” I whispered. Shaking my head, I couldn’t stop myself from stroking the petal on one of the roses.
“It means nothing, I swear,” his voice yanked me out of the trance.
“I’m fine.” Maybe. I swallowed hard then gave him a tentative smile. “Go shower.”
Once he disappeared inside the bathroom, I looked at one of the cards stuck in the flower arrangement.
Before I could read the message, the vibration of my phone distracted me.
Frowning, I answered, “Hi, Charles.”
“Isabelle, I’m sorry to call you so late. But I figured you’d want to know right away. The cleaning crew called to tell me the room where we have your pieces stored was open when they went in. I’m so sorry, but several of your pieces were vandalized,” he said breathlessly.
“What? How could that happen? Why? I’ll be right there,” I rambled in disbelief.
I shoved my phone back into my pocket and frantically searched for something to leave Dawson a note on. Once I found a pen and paper, I scribbled:
Got to go. Emergency at the gallery. TTYL. I love you.
As I ran down the hallway to the arena’s entrance, I used my phone to summon an uber. My mind raced as my heart broke. Which pieces had been ruined?
Thankfully, traffic wasn’t bad, so I was dropped off in front of the gallery in a matter of minutes. Charles was pacing the lobby when I leaped from the car.
“Which pieces, Charles?” I choked out.
“Two photographs and two paintings.”
His hand on the small of my back guided me to the room where most of my pieces were stored. The table was clear except for the four damaged works. A knife had been used to reduce one of the enlarged photos of the band and an image of a surfer in the distance to ribbons.
Tears trickled down my cheeks when I looked at the painting of the fans waiting outside the concert venue. Every fan had been covered in blood red paint, except one at the front of the line with bubble gum colored hair and a motorcycle helmet clasped in her hand. I moved down the line to the last damaged piece. A sob ripped through my chest as I took in the violently shredded painting of a young hand offering a gift of wildflowers.
Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series: Box Set 1 Page 56