The Stage (Phoenix Rising #1)

by Shelby Rebecca

  “Okay, so you both are going to walk in, shake hands with the coach and guest coach. There’s no freaking out. Remember.”

  Both of us nod our heads in agreement. Damn it! I’ve already chipped my freaking nail polish. Stupid nerves. I freaking hate this habit!

  “Go, go,” Amy says. Two other contestants come out as she feeds us through the door for the rolling cameras. I smile and shake hands with Rania, holding back my inner fan girl. When Kolton reaches for my hand, I have to pretend not to notice the little shiver that runs up my arm. This time he doesn’t make me look him in the eye.

  Kenny and I stand on our marks on the other side of the white piano with Rania and Kolton sitting in directors’ chairs. I have to remind myself to breathe. She’s beautiful but from this close her hair looks fake, and she’s got on a lot of make-up. Too much. But then again, so do I. We need it for the cameras.

  “Alright, let’s get started,” Kolton says, clapping his hands together. “We’re taking on a Justin Bieber song and turning it into a duet.”

  “Let’s hear what you’ve got so far,” Rania says, leaning back into her chair.

  After giving each of us a chance to sing our parts, Kolton models a change he wants Kenny to make. “If you want to win, you’re going to have to be consistent with the key you start in. Move down to the lower key so you can move up into the falsetto a lot easier for the chorus.”

  It’s really the same problem he’s had all along.

  “Mia,” Rania says. “There’s a give and take when we have to share a stage with another artist. When he does that part, you come in and do yours a little too fast. Take a breath in between or you’re going to start too soon,” she says, glancing at Kolton who’s nodding his head. “Like this,” she sings, “you love, you love, you loooove,” she emphasizes the last word.

  “That’s not what I was going to say, but you’re right,” he says, smiling and looking at her like she’s the smartest woman in the world. She leans toward him, looking him in the eye, her tongue touching her top teeth.

  It’s then I know they’ve slept together and it’s like we’re sitting in on some private moment between the two of them. It makes me feel like a volcano is bubbling under my skin, so I take the beanie and the scarf off and throw them on the table behind us.

  Kolton looks at me a little puzzled. She’s beautiful, rich, perfect. He’s been with so many women; I bet he doesn’t even remember all of them. All of this—everything he’s done is because he feels sorry for me, and I feel foolish, like a child with a crush on a real man.

  “You try it,” Rania says, but Kolton’s eyes hone in on me. Something like anger boils behind them. I can’t read him at all.

  “You love, you love, you looooove,” I belt out, feeling everything at once. Kolton’s mouth drops open and Kenny claps.

  “Wow! I don’t stand a chance,” Kenny says.

  “Can somebody—Where’s Melody? Somebody needs to fix her hair,” Kolton says, about me. I run my fingers through it, and the ends start to separate out of ringlets.

  “There’s no time for that,” Amy says, walking over and fixing my part. “Your hair got a little messy when you took the beanie off,” she says to me.

  “Sorry,” I say, trying to fix it the best I can with my fingers.

  “Well, she needs to put the scarf back on. Who let her put on that low cut shirt? It shows everything,” he barks out.

  “There’s nothing wrong with her top. She looks sexy,” Rania Steele says. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Nothing,” he says, switching on the smirk and the dimple for her. She smiles at him and he says, “It’s going to be a long day. But I’m cool.”

  “Yes, you are,” she says, leaning over and touching his knee. I squint my eyes at him and bite the inside of my bottom lip.

  “Let’s get started. Thank God for editing,” he says, clapping his hands together. Knowing it’ll get a reaction, I straighten my top so it shows even more cleavage. His eyes dart down to my breasts and then up to my eyes like daggers. But then he smiles again, “One more time through,” he says, still looking tense.

  I’m really not into the rest of the session. I do what he says. I make the changes she suggests, like emphasizing that third ‘love.’ I watch her giggle at all his jokes and his chest puff up every time she touches him.

  My stomach hurts by the time our hour of shooting is over and we say our goodbyes. “Thank you for all your advice,” I say.

  “I like your make-up today,” Kenny says to me as we walk toward the entrance.

  “Thanks,” I shrug.

  “She’s a serious one,” I hear Rania remark as I’m walking out the door. “But her voice-”

  “I know,” Kolton says. “She’s like dreaming with your eyes open.”

  The rest of the day, all through the after-coaching interview, and through dinner with Deloris and Riley, I can’t get that out of my head. Them flirting. My temper tantrum. Him looking at me like he didn’t understand why I was ripping accessories off, then getting mad about my hair and cleavage. Him giving me that compliment. Here I am, in his house. But he doesn’t own me. No one does.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Midnight Song

  I’ve been sleeping in my own bed upstairs. Riley made herself at home and doesn’t need me so much anymore. Having Deloris around is like having a grandma or a parent. We both really like her.

  I put my earphones in to listen to music. Soon, my breathing slows, and I’m falling into a dream. What makes me stir are my ear buds coming out. I rub my eyes with both fists. It’s completely dark. I’ve been in a deep sleep because it takes me a second or two to stabilize my vision. When I do, I see a dark figure sitting in the corner chair. Am I dreaming? I blink. No, it’s still there.

  “Who’s there?” I rasp.

  “I want you to call me Kole,” he says, his voice deep, controlled. I bolt upright, but he doesn’t move.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. “You can’t just—we can get in trouble.”

  “Did you like the song I wrote you?” he asks.

  “What?” I ask, swallowing hard.

  “Why didn’t you say anything to me?” His voice sounds halfway between hurt and angry.

  “I don’t owe you any explanation.”

  “Don’t you?” he questions, standing up.

  “Just because you write a song and send it to me doesn’t make up for you thinking you have the right to bring us here without asking.” I pull my legs up to my chest.

  “I did all of this for you,” he says. “Don’t you see?”

  “No. No, I don’t. I have no idea what you want.” I smell him now. That scent. Sandalwood? I’m quivering, here in the bed he owns.

  He can have any woman—and he does, often. He probably just slept with Rania Steele, and now he’s here—for what? To try and take advantage of me? He’s probably insatiable.

  “You’re shaking,” he says. I try to make it stop, but it only gets worse. He stands up, moves closer to me, and I feel my eyes widen.

  “If I’m scaring you—if you want me to leave, tell me now,” he says. I can’t say anything. His proximity. All my witty comebacks are gone. “Mia,” he says, like a plea. “Breathe. You need to breathe,” he says, sitting down on the bed, taking my hand during a moment of weakness.

  As I purposely inhale, I feel more alive than I ever have before. I can sense his warmth, taste the mint from my mouthwash still in effect, take in his distinct scent—cigarettes, cologne, and something uniquely Kolton. He smells like sin. I feel his steady hand as he touches mine—pulling me into his voodoo spell. “I’m sorry,” he says.

  I shake it off and then remember why I’m mad. The nerve he has, showing up here in my room without permission. But why does the simple way he touches my hand and caringly reminds me to breathe make my want to cry? He’s acting so gentle, so considerate, even though he was so arrogant to think he could come and I wouldn’t mind. It’s like he’s oblivious to how to
treat people.

  “What are you doing here, Kolton?” I say, not masking my shaky voice enough. He pulls his hand away from me. “You can’t come into my room. If you’re loaning it to me, it has to stay a private area.” It’s obvious he doesn’t understand this simple truth.

  “I came all the way here,” he says. “I wanted to talk to you, and I will.”

  “Wow!” He’s so haughty. “There’s nothing here for you. Shouldn’t you be with Miss Steele,” I say, hinting at the title to her last album.

  “With who?” he asks.

  “Rania Steele,” I say, moving away from him even more.

  He chuckles a little. “You’re jealous,” he decides, leaning back on his arms.

  “Not at all. You two deserve each other.”

  “We do?” he chuckles. The sound of his laugh makes me so mad I see flashes of color coming out of my eyes.

  “Please, Kolton. Don’t tease me. I mean, here I am, like a kept woman in your house, trying to figure out what you’re doing,” I say, my lungs unable to keep up with my voice.

  “What I’m doing? I’m helping you take care of your sister so you can compete.”

  “Is that why you’re here in the middle of the night? Helping me compete?”

  “When are you going to learn to trust me, Mia?” he asks, leaning toward me, grasping my chin and running his thumb along my lips. It feels so good, but so, so wrong—like he thinks touching me solves all his problems.

  “Don’t,” I say, pulling away from him. “You can’t touch me unless I give you permission.” His eyes sparkle in the dim light and it makes my heart pound and my lip twitch.

  “I was just flirting with her to help you,” he says.

  “Sure you were.” I look away from him. I don’t want to hear it.

  “Look around. I’m taking care of you, of your sister. And what you saw between me and that fake bitch is called show business, Mia. We had to make up for how serious you and Kenny were during the shoot.”

  “Why?”

  “Aside from your voice, you were about as exciting as watching paint dry. This round, not every pair is featured on the show. I wanted to give them something to work with.”

  “Oh,” I say. I was so tense, jealous, serious. I make a mental note: I need to play to the cameras more next time.

  “I didn’t come to fight with you,” he says. “Tomorrow is a big day,” as he motions toward the pillow. “You should lie down.” I stay sitting up—a rage of conflict. Is he good? Is he bad?

  What am I thinking? He’s bad. Definitely bad.

  His hand moves up slowly, testing the touch-waters. He pauses before making skin-to-skin contact with my cheek. His eyebrow raise asks, “Do I have your permission?” He’s learning. I nod then close my eyes as he gently moves just the tip of his finger up to move the hair off my face behind my ear. I hear him kick off his shoes and he moves up to the other side of the bed beside me.

  “Is this okay? I won’t touch you,” he says. “Can I be with you for—just until you fall asleep?” he asks, as he lies down behind me so we’re almost touching—him on top of the covers, me under them. Finally, I lie back down. I’m stiff, untrusting. “Close your eyes,” he says like an order. So I do.

  He breathes me in like he’s scenting me again and hums a familiar tune in my ear. I feel a familiar comfort come over me as I start to snuggle up against his chest; comfort I haven’t felt since before the fire. I start to relax my muscles, one by one. He’s not trying to seduce me. He wants to help me feel safe, and it’s working.

  No one has held me like this since…

  Yeah. It’s been since my mom was alive. It hurts—aches in my chest. But this, it helps in a small way. I start to feel my body soften and my breathing slow as he puts his hand on the curve of my hip. Everything starts to change, though, as his hand moves to rest on my stomach.

  My eyes dart open and then his thumb brushes the underside of my breast. It’s immediate, this clenching ache between my thighs. I buck backward, inadvertently into his hips and find that he’s just as excited as I am. I jolt away from him, sitting up like his parts can bite.

  That slight touch from him and I’m already breathing with my mouth open. That’s when he chuckles again, low and deep in his throat and moves toward me.

  “You promised, Kolton!” I accuse. “Please, leave!”

  “I’m sorry, that was an accident,” he claims innocently, as he rises to an elbow so he’s looking up at me.

  “Please. Just go,” I say, turning away from him, feeling my face heat up in the dark of embarrassment. “It’s not right. The balance of power is completely off here and you know it.” I drop down into my pillow.

  “Don’t hide your face from me,” he orders, but I don’t obey.

  After a few seconds, he takes a deep breath and speaks. “I laughed because you’re just so different, so good. Innocent. I like that about you. Most girls would have—well—”

  “You like that about me?” I ask, my words coming out like a whine. But, yeah, I felt it. He did like that.

  “Yes, I’ve never met someone who—you treat me like a regular person. You’re mad at me. No one ever—” he says, as if he can’t figure out how to say that most women are fake with him. As I think about it, I turn toward him and lie on my back. “But, I’m sorry.”

  “Still, you should go. Or I’m leaving.”

  “First of all,” he says. “I came because I’ve never written a song for someone. And I did, and you didn’t say anything.”

  “I couldn’t. Nothing I could have said would have been—I don’t know—right, I guess.”

  “Do you really want to do this?” he asks. I’m having trouble following where our conversation is jumping.

  “I just want to sing, to take care of my sister. That’s all.”

  “Tomorrow, when you sing, you can go home, live a normal life, or you can stay here. But staying means something. It means that you’re ready for this lifestyle, that you can handle it.” His voice is like a fog light on the shore for me, who is lost in the darkened seas.

  “I’ve handled more than this—life and death kind of stuff. This is nothing.”

  “You know you’re going to win tomorrow.” He sounds angry with me. “Kenny doesn’t stand a chance. Don’t pretend I have a real choice between you two.”

  “I don’t want to win like that.”

  “I know you don’t; the producers paired you,” he says, breathing out in a huff.

  “You think I should give up then? Go home?”

  “Your life will never be the same,” he says. “Not with how talented you are. Yeah, there’s good stuff like money and all that crap, but it’s a trade-off for your freedoms. Simple things you do every day like going to the store, walking down the street, hanging out and having a barbecue at the park. How you spend your time—everything you do belongs to your fans. Everything about your life becomes fair game. They lie about you to sell magazines. They follow you around taking pictures. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is private. You can’t really trust the people in your life unless you pay them. It’s empty; just fucking empty. Is that what you want?”

  “I want to sing, Kolton,” I say, and he grunts, running his hands through his hair. “I don’t care about the rest of that.” Somehow I feel like what I do tomorrow means more than just choosing to continue in the competition. For him it means choosing his lifestyle—maybe even taking a step toward choosing him.

  “I just want you to know what you’re getting yourself into, to have all the information before you decide.” And the truth in his voice is achingly apparent. I don’t have to want to believe him. I just do.

  “This is what I want,” I tell him, rolling over and looking him in the eyes in the near dark room. He leans toward me. My heart is racing. He smells so good and feels so good next to me. His touch, as he runs his hand along my arm and up to my cheek, makes my common sense expire.

  “Tell me why you want to sing,” he whispers.
>
  “Because singing is the only time I still feel my parents. I can hear my dad telling me about the meter, teaching me to play guitar on his old Taylor. I can feel my mom coaching my voice—teaching me how to weave it around a note. When I’m on stage, I feel the audience responding to my singing, like my voice is food to their souls, and their happiness makes my life—it makes my life worth something.”

  “Holy shit,” he says, dumbfounded.

  “Did I say something wrong?” I ask, feeling foolish.

  “The opposite, actually.” He’s emotional, happy even. “Singing for me is about rising up the chart. Fans. Money. It’s never been about family values or love.”

  “I feel the people reacting. Like, did you know that music played under water produces a different effect for each note?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I feel that when I’m up there. The music has a feeling; the people do, too. I love it. It’s the only time I don’t feel alone.”

  “God, I want to help you feel that for as long as possible, Mia. I want to feel it with you,” he says, taking my hand, making my chest fill with warmth and heat climb up my cheeks, staining them red.

  “Why are you helping me?” I ask.

  “You. Are. Special.” I have to know, so I blurt it before I have a chance to decide.

  “I am, or just my voice?”

  He swallows hard and moves his hand from my face down to my arm as he strokes feather light up and down. “You need to rest,” he says, moving down from his elbow to help me spoon with him again. He’s ignored my question. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked it anyway. But then he starts to sing, a fluttering love song. It’s my song.

  You can pull back the layers

  I can show you what I’ve never known

  You can see what’s underneath

  This is what I’ve never shown

  He alternates between humming and singing softly. His voice is perfect, his pitch, the earthiness of it. It’s like the combination of the elements: light, earth, fire, water. My eyes flutter. They feel heavy and my heart beat drums in my ear.

  She was born in fire