Page 3 of Love is a Lyric
“You sure about that? Because you answered before I even asked the question.”
That pulled a laugh out of her. “Yeah. Some days… never mind. You’re about to go on stage. You don’t need to hear my crap.”
“I’ve always listened to your crap.” He sat on the corner of the makeup table.
“Not when you look like…” She waved a hand. “That.”
He stared down at his ensemble. Tight jeans with a rip up one leg. A fitted black t-shirt. “Piper Hayes, are you not a fan ofFate?” One corner of his mouth hooked up. “I’m the lead singer, you know. Girls are supposed to fall at my feet.”
“Nah, to me you’ll always be the guy who wears way too much flannel and spent a week pretending his horrible sight had been miraculously cured because he didn’t want to admit he’d lost his glasses.” She smirked.
He rubbed his forehead as if he could still feel the bruise from all the stuff he’d run into. “You’re mean.”
She shrugged, accepting the insult. Ben had known Piper Hayes since he was an eight-year-old kid running through the hospital with Quinn to meet her new sister. They’d always been a family, the Hayes and the Evans. The four parents were college friends, the best.
Yet, their idyllic younger years hadn’t lasted. Ten years to the day that Piper was born, her parents died in a car accident. In one day, her life had turned upside down. Ben’s family took in the girls, but it wasn’t long before Ben and Quinn left for college and then touring, leaving Piper to be raised alongside Ben’s little brother.
“Stop it.” She nudged him.
“Stop what?”
“I can see the dark thoughts turning in your mind.” Her lips parted as if she had more to say, but someone must have spoken through her headpiece because she paused and nodded.
“Five minutes.” She stood. “Just get through this last performance, Ben. One set, and then you’ll be on vacation.”
Well, a sort of vacation. They’d rented a beach house for the next three months to work on songs for the new album.
Ben stood, letting everything else fade to the back of his mind as he prepared himself for the performance. Nerves coiled in his stomach, and he reveled in the feeling. The day the adrenaline left him, the day he no longer got nervous, this wouldn’t be worth it anymore.
Luckily, today was not that day.
* * *
Connor’s drum beat kept Ben moving across the stage as he belted out their self-titled hit “Fate.” Quinn’s smooth voice joined his for the chorus before taking over the next verse as his fingers flew across the strings of his guitar.
This was where he belonged, under lights so bright they nearly blinded him, with screams of fans roaring in his ears. Next to Quinn.
She could sing anything, her voice having the produced quality one only gained from immense amounts of practice. His was rougher as it scratched the back of his throat, pulling every bit of emotion from him.
Quinn’s words ran through his mind. Was she right? Did he need to try harder to give the people the rockstar they so desired? Did he owe it to them?
It was just a shirt, right?
The song drew to a close, and Ben stepped up to the microphone. Piper had been right. Sweat poured down his face, soaking into his shirt, and now he wished he’d drank more of that water. He blew sweat from his lips and grinned. “Hello, Tampa.” He kept his voice low, seductive, so different from how he normally felt. He just had to remember none of this was real. This life, this persona. Maybe it did belong to the fans because it sure as heck wasn’t him.
His fans screamed his name as he chuckled into the microphone. “It must be fate that I’m here with you tonight.” It was his joke at most concerts, a line his publicist determined played well with their demographic. By the screams, he knew she was right. “You can thank Drew Stone for getting us here. We’ve been out of the country for months, but it is good to be home.” Though, Florida wasn’t his home.
He chuckled as if they amused him. “Breast cancer is a killer.” His voice sobered. “And we are honored to be here bringing awareness and raising money. But…” He paused. He was really doing this. “Before we continue, I need to get into our breast cancer awareness uniform.” He tried not to roll his eyes at his own words.
As he gripped the bottom of his shirt, the screaming intensified. Objectification, it was. With a sigh, he pulled the shirt over his head and flung it behind him. He caught Quinn’s satisfied smile before turning away from her, giving his back to the crowd as he started up a new song on his guitar. The bass player none of them had known before tonight joined in, and Ben faced the crowd again, giving them everything, keeping nothing for himself.
