Page 67 of High Notes & Hail Marys

You slide down a bit lower in your chair.

“I’m just surprised,” you clarify. “Disappointed, I guess.”

He narrows his eyes.

“Don’t be like this, Kai,” he says, cajoling. “I’m surprised we have to have this conversation. My fans come first. Always. This is my career that we’re talking about. That’s always going to be my priority.”

Maybe he meant it that way, maybe he didn’t, but the words hit you like a slap.

“I never said that it shouldn’t be,” you say quietly.

Sterling cracks his knuckles.

“Shit, Kai. That came out badly.” He looks offscreen, in the direction of where you’re guessing the bedroom door is. Discomfort bubbles in your stomach. You wish he had just texted you, or something. Maybe even that you had just read about the tour on the internet, just like everyone else. “I made it sound like…”

“I’m not asking to take priority over your career,” you say boldly. “I never would. Because it would be wrong, and also because I know what your priorities are. This doesn’t need to be a thing. I wasn’t trying to make it one.”

His face softens. Looks achingly, hauntingly appealing.

“You aredefinitelyone of my priorities,” he says.

The statement twists your gut up. It should be pleasant, all that unexpected sweetness, but youstill feel like you are wading in shark-infested waters, and you want out. So you duck your head.

“It doesn’t need to be a thing,” you repeat, in the direction of the ivory area rug under your chair.

Sterling pauses for a moment. You aren’t looking at the screen, but you can tell that he’s staring at you.

“Kaius,” he says.

“Hmm?”

“Kaius,” he repeats. “Look at me.”

You meet his eyes, brown to blue.

“What is this really about?” he asks.

His fucking eyes. They are so direct and forthright. They are capable of melting you like butter on a hot pan, or seeing straight through you. His gaze is disarming, and, not for the first time, you realize that you have no choice but to tell the truth.

“I wanted to spend time with you,” you admit. “I was looking forward to it.”

Sterling nods. “I see.”

“It’s not that big a deal.”

“I was looking forward to spending time with you, too,” he says. “The label suggested extending the tour, and that was actually my primary objection.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. It’s been a long run, and I’m excited to go home again, but I wanted some free time. And I wanted to see you.”

“Oh,” is all you say.

“Why don’t you come with me?” he asks, naturally as breathing.

You surely didn’t hear him right. “Excuse me?”

“Come with me,” he echoes. “Pack your bags, and I’ll fly you over. Come on tour with me. It will be better than either you or me crossing the ocean and making that miserable flight more than once. I’ll be away on the nights I’m performing, of course, but they’re putting me up in a house in London for the duration of the extension, so I have a home base.” His voice is growing in confidence, like the fomenting idea in his head is exciting even to him. “Seriously. Just come next week. Meet me in London.”

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