Page 13 of Electric Wounds
"Keep going!" Lily cheers, laughing and clapping as Dylan keeps his balance for the full four minutes. By the time he comes down, his face is red from exertion, but he’s grinning triumphantly. We’re all cheering as Dylan strips off his wet pants and collapses next to Lily, the game continuing with a lighter mood.
The bus is filled with laughter and camaraderie, the fight from earlier completely forgotten. For the first time in a while, it feels like the old days—just us, having fun, letting loose.
As the final round of dares dies down, we start to part ways, preparing for a nap before the show. But I notice Lily slipping past Jax, avoiding his gaze as she heads to her bunk. Jax watches her, confusion and frustration clear on his face.
I catch up to her just before she disappears, lightly gripping her arm to slow her down. "Hey, you alright?"
She nods, but her smile is tight. "Yeah, just tired. I need to rest before the show."
I tilt my head, searching her eyes. "You sure? You don’t have to handle everything on your own, you know. I’m here if you need me."
She hesitates, then nods. "Thanks, Marcus."
I release her arm slowly, letting my fingers trail down her skin for just a moment longer than necessary. "Get some rest. We’ll talk later."
As she slips into her bunk, I head back to mine, my mind racing. There’s more going on with Lily than she’s letting on, and I’m not about to let it slide. Something about her pulls at me, makes me want to protect her, to take care of her.
Jax, Dylan, Enzo—they’re all drawn to her. She needs someone to keep her grounded. And that someone’s going to be me.
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath, knowing I’ll be keeping an eye on her. Because no matter what’s going on in this band, I’m not letting anything—or anyone—hurt her.
NINE
THE NEXT STOP
Lily
The bus finally rolls to a stop, signaling that we've finally arrived at the next venue. A mix of excitement and nerves courses through me. This is the part of the job I’ve been looking forward to the most—seeing the band perform live again. Their last show was incredible, and tonight promises to be just as electric.
The after-parties, though? Those were something I could do without. That niggling worry of being dragged into another chaotic post-show celebration lingers in the back of my mind. And then there’s Jax. Avoiding him has been harder than I anticipated. He’s magnetic, and every time I try to pull away, I’m drawn right back in. I need space from him, but tonight isn’t about my unresolved feelings. I shake my head, pushing my concerns aside. Tonight is about the show, and I’m not going to let anything ruin that.
I gather my things and step off the bus, the shaded backstage area offering a cool reprieve from the afternoon sun. The arena looms large, casting long shadows. The crew bustles around, setting up equipment, and I can hear the faint buzz of fans queuing outside, their energy already palpable.
“Alright, let’s get to it!” Dylan announces, his voice carrying his usual upbeat energy. He’s already bouncing on his toes, clearly eager to dive into the day. His tousled brown hair giving him a boyish charm, contrasted by his sleeveless shirt that shows off his muscular frame. His biceps flex as he gestures animatedly toward Marcus. Marcus listens with a smirk, his black shirt clinging to his chiseled frame, the tight fabric stretching across his abs.
I let the rest of the guys pass me, trailing silently behind Dylan and Marcus. As they make their way inside, I follow, observing the organized chaos of the setup. Roadies haul heavy cases, adjust lighting rigs, and check equipment. The air is thick with sweat, anticipation, and the undercurrent of excitement that always seems to accompany show day.
“Lily, sweetheart, can you check with the sound guys and make sure everything’s on track?” Marcus calls out, flashing me a quick, warm smile.
“Sure thing,” I reply, grateful for the task. It gives me something to focus on other than Jax’s looming presence. I head over to the sound booth where the technicians are busy tweaking levels and fine-tuning the system.
“Hey, how’s everything going?” I ask, injecting confidence into my voice despite still feeling new to this world. I hadn’t been backstage at a concert before joining the band, so most of my approach to this job involves a healthy dose of fake it ‘til you make it.
One of the techs glances up, nodding. “We’re good. Just making the final adjustments. The band’s set for soundcheck in about ten minutes.”
“Awesome, thanks,” I say before heading back to find the band. When I reach their dressing room, it’s empty. After asking around, I make my way to the wings of the stage, where the guys are already getting into their pre-soundcheck groove.Instruments are being plugged in, and the familiar routine of pre-show preparation is in full swing.
Enzo is tuning his bass, the deep, rumbling notes vibrating beneath my feet. His dark hair falls into his eyes, giving him a brooding look as he adjusts the strings. Enzo is shirtless today, perpetuating my theory that there is a severe shirt shortage amongst the band. His bare torso shows off his tattoos and I find myself lingering on one in particular—an intricately detailed skull on his chest, its hollowed eyes seemingly staring back at me.
A cymbal crashes behind me, pulling my gaze to Dylan, who is adjusting his drum kit. He’s always meticulous about it, making sure every piece is exactly where it needs to be. Further down the stage, Marcus is strumming his guitar, the sound filling the arena as he runs through a few chords. His blond hair is styled effortlessly, and his intense blue eyes are focused solely on his instrument.
And then there’s Jax. Standing at the mic, eyes closed, he’s lost in his vocal warm-ups. His dark brown hair frames his face, his chiseled features making him look more like a model than a rockstar. An Electric Wounds shirt clings to his body, highlighting his toned frame, and his tattooed arms hang loosely by his sides. His green eyes snap open suddenly, locking onto me with laser focus.
I inhale a deep breath, willing myself to stay professional. I turn away from him, refusing to let his presence rattle me. “Soundcheck in ten minutes,” I call out, uneccessarily, my voice steady despite the way my heart races.
Jax nods, his gaze still trained on me. I can feel his eyes lingering, but I refuse to look back. Every time I try to keep my distance, it feels like he’s pulling me back in, and I’m not ready to deal with that yet.
The next hour flies by in a blur of activity. The band runs through soundcheck, playing snippets of songs while the crew makes adjustments. I keep busy, coordinating with the staff, ensuring everything is on track. But every so often, I catch Jax watching me, and it takes everything in me to ignore it.
