Page 38 of #Moonstruck

“He has met you, right?” Parker asked. I went over and took the check back, then stuck it in my bra for safekeeping while we did our sound check. I punched Parker on the arm, as he so rightly deserved. “Ow! I need that to play tonight.”

“How long are you planning on pretending to be his girlfriend?” Fitz asked.

“It will be for just a little while.” With a twinge of unease, I realized Ryan and I hadn’t really discussed terms other than not sleeping together, and a rush of blazing heat reminded me that he expected us to touch and kiss. But I didn’t know how long this would last and whether we would date or pretend to date or what he expected from me.

Cole moved his keyboard slightly to the left. “Don’t get all Ice Queen and weird on him and wreck it. I don’t want to be fired.”

“Don’t call me that. I’ve already had the ‘Don’t get us fired’ lecture this week, thanks. And if I’m weird or an Ice Queen, that’s your guys’ fault.”

“How is it our fault?” Fitz protested.

“Two words. Russ Karn.”

At that, they fell silent, as well they should have. Russ Karn, captain of our high school football team, had been my prom date senior year, and he had been a very nice boy. A nice boy who was respectful and a gentleman the entire evening—opening doors, pulling out my chair for me, dancing to both fast and slow songs. When he took me home, he confessed he’d been dying to kiss me the entire night. Which I thought was awfully sweet, so we stayed in the back of the limo and made out a little.

Up until the moment my brothers practically yanked the door off its hinges and hauled him out to the front yard.

“What kind of girl do you think our sister is?” Cole demanded while holding Russ by his tuxedo lapels.

I got out of the limo and screamed at them to stop, that they were ruining everything. Fitz dragged me inside without even letting me say good night. Monday morning at school, Russ sported a black eye and never spoke to me again.

Cole looked just as angry as he had been that night. “We didn’t tell you this at the time, but Russ Karn had made a bet with the offensive line that he was going to score with the Ice Queen on prom night. Which I didn’t find out about until the night of, and I ditched my date to go looking for you. I went home and told Parker and Fitz, and we tried to call you, but you had your phone off. We were all worried he might try and force you to do something you weren’t ready for. So when you showed up at home and he was all over you, yes, we overreacted. But he deserved it. You’re welcome.”

Shock flooded my limbs, making it difficult to blink, chased by an overwhelming sense of guilt. Here I’d been mad for years about something they’d done, but they’d done it not to be interfering or overprotective, as I’d assumed, but because they cared about me and didn’t want me to get hurt. I’d rushed to an unwarranted conclusion.

Before I could say that I’d been wrong, Kenny returned with our inner-ear monitors. Santiago worked with each of us to figure out which parts of the band we wanted to hear and which we didn’t.

“You mean I can tune out the drummer?” I asked. “Parker couldn’t hold on to a steady beat if he married it first.”

When my brother smiled and shook his head while Cole and Fitz laughed, I knew things would be okay between us.

Sound check took a while as Santiago learned our preferences, and we learned to trust his suggestions. The music in my IEM sounded off, and Kenny explained that performing in clubs and arenas were two totally different beasts. Not only that, but the arena was currently empty, and Santiago had to account for the bodies that would be there, the sounds they’d be making, the wind currents—all kinds of stuff. If Santiago didn’t do his job correctly, then it wouldn’t matter how well we played. We’d sound like garbage.

“Which is why it’s fortunate for you that I am the best,” Santiago intoned over the speakers.

We played through our set list, and Santiago instructed us to play softer or sing louder or vice versa, then checked the levels. About an hour and a half later, we had it all arranged to his satisfaction.

“Next time will be faster,” Kenny promised. He got somebody else to show us to our dressing room. We had only about an hour and a half until the concert started. There were assorted snacks and water, juice, and Gatorade waiting for us, along with my carry-on so that I could get ready.

“We never did get a rider,” Fitz said, a note of disappointment in his voice.

“Right. How else are the venues going to know I need fresh-cut Casablanca lilies, fruitless baskets, two boxes of cornstarch, imported Versace towels, and a twelve-foot-long boa constrictor before I can even think about going out onstage?” Cole asked as I headed into the bathroom.

I changed into a tight red shirt and black leather skirt that felt more rocklike to me (more binding and less comfortable than my regular clothes) and did my makeup and hair. One of my brothers might have possibly changed his shirt, and that was it.

Totally unfair.

With an hour left, we started warming up our vocals. We’d done this for so long it was second nature—no thought or concentration required. Even though the warm-ups felt comfortable and routine, a nervous energy permeated the room. Parker kept twirling a single drumstick between his fingers while Fitz paced and Cole jiggled his right leg up and down.

Finally, there was a knock at the door telling us it was time. I watched all the people running around, doing what needed to be done to make this show a success. I thought of all the other crew members I couldn’t see, all the people who were reliant on Ryan for jobs. I listened to the twenty thousand fans currently chanting his name and thought of all the money they’d spent to watch him perform. He was busy and important, and it occurred to me that what he had done for me earlier was really special. How he had sat and talked to me, let me whine and complain, and then helped me with my problems. It caused a pulling sensation on my heart that I had neither the time nor the inclination to examine too closely.

We went under the stage to where we would be lifted up after we were announced. Kenny helped us with our IEMs. Once he finished, I grabbed Fitz’s and Parker’s hands, and Parker reached out for Cole, bringing him into the circle. The lift went up slowly, the bright stage lights beaming down on us.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Yesterday!”

“This is for Mom,” Fitz said with a smile.

We walked onto the stage, waving to the polite applause we received. We were not who the audience wanted.

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