Page 73 of Lost Love on 6th Street

24

LUKE

The venue is packed. I’ve been relegated to the backstage space where I sit on a road case, feet tucked onto the edge, my arms resting on my knees.

I’m a shell of myself. Going through the motions. Everyone knows something is going on with me, but every time they ask if I’m okay, I just tell them I’m fine. Not convincingly, mind you. But that seems to keep them at bay.

If Eleanor leaves Austin, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ve been in the moment as much as I can be, but I haven’t been able to keep my mind from drifting. All the things we could do together. The plans. The things people do when they share a life.

I’ve never been like this with someone. Not since I’ve gotten my shit together, and I’m not some bumbling twenty-something, trying to get by with no brain and a buck. I know in my gut that my connection with Eleanor is right. I’m not just trying to fill a void because I’m lonely. She answers something in me. Something I’ve been missing.

I’ll go back to being the old me if she leaves. And I don’t want to be him anymore.

But it’s her prerogative. Her life.

If she doesn’t want me in it, though, I’ll be devastated.

The band tonight isn’t really holding my attention. They’re a regional favorite, clearly on the up and up as far as labels go, right on that tipping point between living for the fans and living for the business. I couldn’t care less. Just want the job to be over. For today to be over.

I pull out my phone to distract myself, but there’s no fucking service back here. It’s like the universe is telling me that I have to sit in it.

Fuck the universe.

Through the fuzz of guitar and triplets on the drums, I hear the metallic clank of the stage flying open. One of the security guards on the circuit, Alan, gives me a nod. I’m needed. Thank god, because I need something to take my mind off things. Even if it is some rabid backstage drama.

I push myself up off the road case, straighten out my jacket, and head over to Alan. “What’s up?”

“Someone’s asking for you.”

I frown. “What?”

“Thought she was a disgruntled fan, but she’s asking for you. Maybe she’s a disgruntled fan of yours?”

The muscles across my torso tighten. “What’s she look like?”

“Glasses. Curly hair.”

I push past Alan to the door, rip it open, and find Eleanor flanked by two other security guards who are inches away from grabbing her and dragging her down the alley.

“I swear, I’m not a creep or anything, I’m just trying to see—”

“Guys, it’s fine,” I call off the guards.

Eleanor’s gaze shoots to me.

My brain can’t decide if I’m happy to see her. I want to be overjoyed, bouncing off the walls. But I’ve already started grieving what feels like an inevitability. So, I don’t smile. And I don’t glare. I just look at her.

“She’s with me,” I say. “Thanks.”

“She isn’t on the list,” Alan says from over my shoulder.

“Yeah, I forgot. I’m sorry.”

All the guys exchange a look, clearly peeved with me. Whatever. Add it to the list of grievances I have with the world.

I go toward Eleanor while the three of them post back up near the door.

“Can we talk?” she asks.

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