Page 97 of Living on the Edge

Let him eat his heart out.

Ryleigh, bless her loyal little heart, has already set up an unofficial meet and greet for eight o’clock, hoping to pull as many people away from them as possible. It may not do much since we can’t know how many of her fans are here, but it can’t hurt. And if we can steal even one fan away from Karnal Death, it’s a worthwhile endeavor.

The plan is to bring Kirsten out after our solos. I’ve just finished mine, and Mick is doing his. We have a shorter than usual set tonight so everything is slightly condensed, but the crowd doesn’t seem to notice.

And when Kirsten comes out they lose their collective minds.

To my surprise, Jonny gets out his acoustic guitar—something he rarely does—and sits on a stool next to Kirsten. As the haunting opening chords of the song fill the air, suddenly I see what looks like a million points of light. The fans have their phones out, using the flashlight feature to mimic lighters. It’s always great when it happens, but this is special.

Kirsten and Jonny sing well together, their voices blending seamlessly, like they’ve done this a hundred times, and it’s cool to watch. This tour has been amazing so far, and despite all the personal distractions, sometimes I feel like I have to pinch myself to remember it’s real.

“Who likes a guy who’s rough around the edges?” Jonny asks the crowd when the song is over.

“I sure do!” Kirsten says, playfully fanning herself as she gazes over at Sam, who winks.

“Anyone want Kirsten to do one more with us?” Jonny asks.

The crowd goes wild, and we wind up keeping her on stage for the rest of the set. She’s versatile, quick on her feet, and apparently knows our music, so she has no trouble keeping up, singing background vocals, and flirting with the crowd.

And they love her.

I don’t know how she’s walking away from this for four years to go to college. It seems counterintuitive to walk away from a sure thing, but it’s none of my business. She has to do what’s right for her—God knows, I always do.

The show ends with the crowd continuously chanting our name.

“Crimson-Crimson-Crimson!”

“Fuck yeah!” Mick holds up his fist, and I bump mine against it. “That’s what I love to hear.”

“We went four minutes over—they’re going to fine us,” Jonny says, but he’s grinning.

“Whatever.” Sam shrugs. “Sasha can deduct it from our first royalty checks.”

“Too bad you can’t get that kind of reaction without a gimmick,” Callum sneers, folding his arms across his chest. There’s a condescending smirk on his face just itching to connect with my fist, but I manage to swallow down the urge.

“Honey, be nice.” Taryn gently touches his arm.

“Mind your own business,” he snaps at her.

She shrinks back a little, and I see a flicker of something in Mick’s eyes I can’t quite decipher.

Anger?

Protectiveness?

That’s unlike him, but I don’t have time to worry about it.

“Kirsten, you want to do a song with us tonight?” Callum asks her.

She smiles so sweetly I almost think she’s going to say yes. “Gosh, I would but I have to save my voice. For the headlining show.”

He snorts. “Yeah, whatever. Come on, T.” He tugs Taryn away, and she casts an apologetic look at Ryleigh.

“See you later,” she mouths, and Ryleigh nods.

“Is it wrong that I want to strangle him?” Mick growls under his breath.

“I’ll help you,” Sam mutters.

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