Till There Was You: Rock Star Enemies To Lovers Romance

by Elizabeth Grey

  The lights came up, and Ronan's name flashed across the mega screens on and around the stage. He rose from the bottom of the stage – a tech move they had debated for 45 minutes – and the screams grew even louder. He kept it simple: fitted black jeans that always had his female fans screaming and a white t-shirt.The man looked like he had just rolled out of bed.

  Amy let out a heavy sigh, annoyed that she was so familiar with that particular look. She didn't want to think about what Ronan looked like anywhere near the proximity of a bed. And yet spending weeks on the road with someone, it was impossible not to develop a certain level of familiarity.

  A flash of movement caught Amy's eye. Away from the crowd, a couple held each other – her in front, him behind her as the opening chords played. The girl had a plaid shirt tied around her waist. Judging by how far the shirt dragged down her legs, Amy assumed it was the boyfriend's.

  Amy glanced away as the man buried his face in his girlfriend's neck. It felt like a dropkick to the stomach.

  Amy forced her gaze back to the stage. Usually, she allowed herself to fall into the show, even if she had seen it handfuls of times. But like a magnet, that couple kept pulling her attention.

  That was the hardest part of watching the crowd: seeing happy couples. Even though it had been two years since she and Brian split, it always felt like a taunt. You'll never have this. She cleared her throat. Ronan raised his hands, getting the audience to clap along with him. The vibrations carried along the floor as the strobe lights painted the crowd in pinks and whites. She had made her choice two years ago: she had chosen her career over her boyfriend. She wanted to make that sacrifice worth it.

  Going on tour was part of paying her dues. No matter where Amy was – the merch table, the doors to make sure no one tried to sneak in – she loved the energy of a live show. But pair that with being away from home, from her own bed, and she knew she was on borrowed time.

  She had a plan. If it worked, she would be able to keep doing this work, all while staying in LA. She could do the local tour gigs – going from LA to San Diego or San Francisco. But she wouldn’t be responsible for keeping herself sane on a 10- or 12-week city tour extravaganza.

  The tours that brought her out of the city for days at a time had been a good distraction at first. Her chest had been all but blown apart after Brian had moved out. She had been desperate to be anywhere other than Los Angeles – and eager to dodge the calls and texts from her mom and sister. So some indie artists needed her to hop on a bus and do two weeks in New York, Boston, and Albany? No problem.

  By the time she finally told her sister that she and Brian had split, she was in a parking lot in Chicago.

  Her sister had been properly shocked when she heard.

  By now, the pain had dulled. She could manage to drive through Palisades or Santa Monica without getting hit over the head with painful memories of her failed relationship. She was ready to settle into her own corner of the city. She pushed any lingering doubts about it to the back of her mind.

  With each new song, Amy kept the couple in the periphery of her vision. It was the pain-pleasure of pressing a bruise. They raved and danced. They laughed at everything each other said .

  Amy crossed her arms. She and Brian had been like that when they first moved out to LA. The city was supposed to be their grand adventure together: from college in the Midwest to West Coast living. A carefree life on the beach.

  But living job to job with a boyfriend and no real plan got stressful real quick.

  She remembered looking up at him from the breakfast nook. Her banking app glowed on her phone, trumpeting that she was overdrawn. Again. Her mother’s voice insisted she should be happy and excited. Yet one look at Brian lounging on the couch made her want to yell or throw a pillow.

  Who knew living carefree was so stressful?

  When she had stumbled into that dive bar, she found a place for all those feelings to go. Angry thrashing drum beats leeched some of the anger boiling inside of her. She was surrounded by people who wanted to be anything other than sunny and carefree.

  There were too many heartbreaking memories mixed up with the good ones.

  “Looks like everyone is behaving themselves.”Sarah sidled up next to her.“Last time we said that, the meet and greet turned into a keg party.” Amy harrumphed.

  Key lesson: never add a concert stop in Jersey.

  “Hey, as long as no women throw their bras on stage again, I’ll be happy.” Sarah nudged her friend. “Though he is cute.” This was Sarah’s big thing: she thought Amy and Ronan just got off on the wrong foot. For this entire tour, she had been trying to get Amy to admit that Ronan was attractive.

  “He is an ass.” Amy snorted.

  “Okay, you’ve got me there.” Sarah exhaled in agreement. “I heard he was okay to work with before he went off the grid a few years ago.”

  Amy watched Ronan jam with the backup guitar as the crowd roared, trying to imagine having a pleasant conversation with him. She had seen him through the windows of a recording studio just a few months ago. He had his massive headphones on, singing into the mic. Crooning, really. It was like he had been singing it in the quiet to a new lover..

  “You listened to that?” His expression went slack.

  “It sounded wonderful.” Amy nodded. “Really different than your earlier stuff.”

  “No one else is allowed in here.” His face soured.

  Did the man not have any manners? She slipped into her Friday night security role.

  “Take it up with Danny. He sent me back here.”

  Ronan had grumbled and stomped off to find his manager. The music producer had stayed stubbornly silent the whole time. It had been an auspicious start, to say the least.

  But now, in the middle of a show in front of a wave of raving fans, he looked relaxed and happy. It looked possible that in a different world, they would be able to get along. He seemed younger than thirty. In this alternate timeline, he might even tease her or make a joke about a crazy show.

  But no, instead, he was more likely to throw his hands up in the middle of rehearsal and stomp off. Why couldn’t he act like the guy he pretended to be once he stepped off stage?

  “Maybe you should try throwing your bra at him,” Amy yelled over the crowd. “See if that helps.”

  Sarah stuck her tongue out in response.

  Soon enough, Ronan was coming out for his encore. When he screamed

  “Thank you, good night” into the mic, the entire space was dipped in black and filled with noise. Amy moved away from the merch table to her usual spot near one of the exits. Some people were eager to be the first ones to the parking lot.

  The lights of the house slowly came up. Amy watched for any drastic movements: running for the doors or flailing for a bag. Nothing. Instead, she saw teens tumbling out together, taking selfies by the concert entrance, which Amy suggested they move away from as not to get trampled. After forty minutes of snapshots of conversations passing her by, the room was finally empty. The echo of screaming fans still lingered.

  Unlike most nights when they would have to break down the set, everyone piled into the van and headed to the nearest bar. Except Ronan. He waved them off and tapped his way up the steps of the tour bus.

  Amy breathed a sigh of relief when she slid into the booth with the rest of the roadies.

  Most of them were still in their show clothes: all different versions of black. The lighting techs wore long-sleeve black shirts with the subtle logo of the tour on the upper left breast.

  Amy felt the adrenaline from the show drain out of her body onto the leather seats. She had missed this.

  Working in such cramped conditions had its benefits. Sarah and Amy quickly learned to discard their embarrassment at undressing in front of one another while the techs learned the minute kitchen habits of the rest of the crew. Sometimes it was nice to pretend they didn’t know everything about each other and could congregate around a few tumblers and pitchers of beer.<
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  Working under the ridiculous conditions of the tour did funny things to a person. Amy wanted to take these amazing, wonderful people with her when she transitioned into a different job, which was not a common thing on this side of the music business. It didn’t matter. In this grand plan of hers, she wanted to bring Sarah and the rest of the crew with her. It added another challenge that she was eager to take on.

  “What’re you all going to do with your day off tomorrow?” Sarah asked the table.

  A few different answers swirled together. Some were going hiking, others were eager to explore downtown away from the group. Amy had plans to put together her pitch. If she could show why bringing her entire team with her would make the most sense for a place like The Hollywood Bowl, she would be set. She could do more of the fun, social things once she was back home, once she pulled off this plan.

  “You know what a day off is, right?” One of the guys gave her a playful nudge.

  Amy laughed. But she was determined to make the worst heartbreak of her life worth it.

  The next morning, Amy woke to an empty room with sunshine slanting across the sheets. It was wonderfully, blissfully quiet. If she managed to pull this plan together, this could be her every morning.

  She lounged for a while longer, finally forcing herself to get up and start her work. She brewed a cup of coffee and booted up her laptop.

  The spreadsheet was still up. She had managed to sweet talk one of the execs into giving her a budget from the last big tour that went through the Hollywood Bowl. Some bubblegum pop princess. She wanted to see how much the Bowl would spend on a security team. When she planned to negotiate with them, she wanted to do it with real numbers in hand.

  She thought about the team she wanted to bring with her. She only needed a few people; Sarah was on the top of her list. She needed another woman who understood the challenges of working security, facing down drunk people who weren’t afraid to get in her face.

  Within a few hours, her brain had turned to mush. She needed a change of scenery. She pulled on a summer version of her normal outfit: black shredded jean shorts, an old, cut-up t-shirt, and a jean jacket, and walked over to the venue. She didn’t need to double-check the space, but it never hurt.

  She heard stomping and clanging from the stage before she was even through the doors. Without a crowd, the inside of the arena looked barren. Cold, bland concrete stood out in stark contrast from the bright blue plastic folding seats. The stage stood like a hulking behemoth at the front of the room. Without the lights and the mega screens lit up, Ronan looked so small. But that didn’t stop him from slamming every mic stand he encountered. The sounds bounced off the walls.

  “Do it again. It’s still not right.” He carried a guitar slung across his back. As she came closer, she saw his hair was a wreck. He pulled his fingers through it every few steps he took.

  “I don’t know what to tell you.” One of the techs called out from the middle of the arena. “We haven’t changed anything since last night’s show.”“I said, do it again.” Ronan pointed.

  Amy arched an eyebrow. As if Ronan needed a reason to throw a temper tantrum. It was just like the first time they had met.

  The lights clicked on, then dropped low. The familiar ring of Ronan’s opening chords started. The lights aimed towards him and brought the stage into a whitewashed brightness. The beat from the drum resonated through the space. The beat echoed through Amy’s chest and the guitar burned through any distractions. It was an exact repeat of what had happened the night before. He came up to the mic, pressing his lips to it like he was whispering to a lover.

  He sang the first few lines of Burn, the song that every crowd screamed out for.

  “Can we turn down the fucking lights?” Ronan’s voice cut through the opening chords.

  “Turn... down the lights?” The tech stammered.

  “Yeah.” Ronan held a hand up to shield his eyes. “I’m getting fucking blinded.”

  I’m not caffeinated enough for this, Amy thought. She touched base with the roadies working merchandise, snagging a free button in the process. Pre-show was only a few hours away.

  Instead of returning to the shouting-Ronan-free room, Amy decided to camp out on the bus. A night away from it reminded her how small and sticky the space could get. She took a deep breath. She could make it work for the next few weeks. She just needed to get her act together. She was just about ready to settle in on the couch when she remembered she needed a few key things from the venue.

  When she returned, the lights were back to their full brightness. The stage was bare.

  “Okay, don’t freak out.” Sarah’s voice came up behind her.

  Sarah looked like a kid who had broken her mom’s favorite vase.

  “Nothing ever good starts like that.” Amy groaned.

  “Ronan... just bolted.” Sarah grimaced.

  “He what?” Amy’s eyes widenend.

  She was definitely going to kill him.

  “It wasn’t like before.” Sarah shook her head. “He just needed to get away.”

  “I’m not his manager.” Amy barked. “If he has an issue, he needs to deal with it before the day of a show.”

  “I let him go.” Sarah shoved a folded piece of notebook paper towards her. “He gave me this.”

  Amy examined the hurried hand written out: 134 Longview Avenue.

  “He gave you an address?” Amy tilted her head.

  “Are you gonna be mad or thankful?”

  “I shouldn’t have to be thankful.” Amy raked her fingers through her hair.

  “My theory?” Sarah hesitantly tapped the paper. “He knew you weren’t kidding about the full security detail. He told me you could find him here.”Giving her an address wasn’t what she meant when he said that he would keep her in the loop. Leave it to someone used to dealing with record execs to find the loophole.

  In the most frustrating moment of déjà-vu, Amy headed towards the van. She was getting real sick of having to play tag with a rock star.

  Whatever she had expected the address to be, it wasn’t the building in front of her. It was a storefront shop with a cute hand-painted sign and a red awning: Salt Lake Pet Shelter.

  Amy rested her head against the steering wheel. Ronan had likely given her a bad address to throw her off his trail. She checked the car’s dashboard clock. It was only 2 PM. They still had a few hours before either of them needed to be back.

  She took a deep breath. If she was going to run her own team, this would be a good dress rehearsal for the kinds of decisions she would have to make. She pushed her shoulders back. She could double-check he wasn’t in there and then go from there. Simple.

  An older woman smiled at her when she walked in. Apart from the din of yelps and howls, the space was quiet.

  “I’m looking for my friend—,” she halted. Would Ronan have used a fake name?

  “Good-looking guy with a leather jacket?” the woman asked. Amy nodded. “He’s in the back with the puppies.”

  Amy made her way down the hall into a small room full of the sounds of skittering pawed feet. A circular pen – the kind Amy had seen her sister use with her niece – was set up in the center. A thin Brindle pup with floppy ears tussled a rope toy away from one of the bigger dogs. Another bigger dog lazed in a corner on his side. All adorable – but no Ronan.

  A door in the far corner of the room opened up. Ronan stumbled through, his arms full of… was that dog food?

  “Yeah, buddy, I know you’re hungry. Come on.” Ronan stepped over the excited mutt. The dog yipped and jumped up towards the food. Amy instinctively kept to the wall. There was something soft about Ronan at that moment. She didn’t want to spoil it.

  The dry food pinged on the metal bowl; the sound had every other pup in the pen perking up.

  Soon enough, all the other dogs were scampering over for mealtime. Ronan’s shirt hitched up to reveal a slice of his tanned stomach when he bent over to pour another portion out. When he stoo
d, the muscles in his shoulders bunched.

  Oh, fuck. Sarah was right.

  With all of the dogs surrounding him, Ronan couldn’t feed them fast enough. Another stack of bowls waited beside them, this time for water

  Amy strode further into the room. When Ronan’s eyes snapped to hers, she saw the same thing from the day in the recording studio. The same bright green eyes burned through her, withs a guardedness that told Amy to stay away. His lips -- fuller than she realized -- had been pressed together. But this time, his lips parted slightly, and he drew in a quick breath. Of surprise? Interest? And his eyes. He looked like he was in pain. Unlike that first meeting, she felt a flash of curiosity.

  He cleared his throat and dropped his gaze, patting a nearby dog. This moment was his. He didn’t want to share it.

  That was something Amy could appreciate. She moved towards the water bowls and filled them at the nearby sink, giving each dog a pat on the head as she set them down.

  Ronan seemed to come to some decision because, after a moment, he picked up the bag of dog food and continued moving. One benefit of not liking each other: They didn’t feel pressured to talk.

  Surprisingly, they worked well together. They moved quietly around each other, stacking empty food dishes when the pups ran back to the playpen. One Dalmatian took a liking to Ronan, licking his hand in search of more food. He shot Amy a conspiratorial glance. She furrowed her eyebrows together for a moment. And then, she flashed him a smile. Maybe they didn’t have to be enemies, Amy thought.

  Chapter 4

  Ronan

  He wasn’t sure what Amy was going to do when she walked into the room. He figured she would be pissed at him for sneaking off again. But when she picked up the empty bowls and filled them with water, Ronan relaxed.

  She petted the head of one of the smaller dogs after she set down his bowl. It was a tender gesture, something he would have expected from Di, not Sinclair.