Page 6 of Edge of Heaven

And because our success came on quickly, without enough time for our management team to put us out independently, unless we want to go back to playing clubs—which we don’t—Karnal Death is our only option. We picked up with them after the holidays, and it’s been a long month touring with them.

For me, the one bright spot—aside from my band and our music, of course—has been seeing Taryn every day.

I don’t get to talk to her often since Callum is so fucking jealous, but I do get to look at her.

Like now.

When I should be concentrating on the crowd. The pretty girl in the front row who’ll spend the night with me if I want her to. My band. The journalists waiting to talk to us after.

Instead, I’m stealing glances at the girl I’m hot for as she sways in the wings.

I don’t care what anyone says, she likes our music way better than theirs.

The song ends and our drummer, Angus, will do his solo. I run into the wings and accept the bottle of water my roadie hands me, gulping it down and mentally preparing for my own solo, which is coming up next.

“Ready for your solo?” Taryn’s voice seems loud amid the cacophony of noise around us.

“As I’ll ever be.” I grin.

“You guys are great. I try to catch your set whenever I can.”

“I like seeing you in the wings,” I say, keeping my tone light. “It’s nice knowing we have at least one fan on the nights no one knows who we are.”

“I’ve been a fan since day one.” Her blue eyes twinkle, and I remind myself I don’t have time to get lost in them.

I’m in the middle of a show.

I have my solo in?—

“Taryn!” Callum comes marching over to us, a scowl on his face. “What the fuck are you doing? He’s in the middle of a set.”

“She don’t bother me,” I say.

He yanks her by the arm, pulling her in the other direction, and I watch them whisper furiously to each other.

What the fuck does she see in that guy?

He’s always yelling, manhandling her, making crude remarks about their sex life… I don’t get it.

“Not your circus, not your monkey.” Our singer, Jonny Gold, nudges me. He knows I’ve got a hard-on for her, and while he shares my confusion about their relationship, he’s a lot more pragmatic.

“I know.” I take my bass from my roadie and bounce on my toes.

But first—I motion to one of the crew.

“Pretty girl in the front row. Red top, big tits, blonde hair. Give her a pass.”

He nods and disappears behind the amps piled up around us.

I have to stop lusting after the one woman I can’t have.

There are so many options as a touring musician.

Taryn made her choice, so it’s ridiculous to wait around, as if she’s going to change her mind.

“You ready?” Sam Fielding, our lead guitarist, is standing next to me, a towel around his neck as we watch Angus winding down.

“Yup.” I slip the strap around my neck and grin.

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