Page 6 of When the Stars Rise
“Bet it’s gonna get even hotter on that tour bus,” Aiden says, waggling his brows.
“Only if you bring a bunch of random girls back.” I’m trying to deflect. They have their own tour bus, but they spend a lot of time hanging out on mine.
“Nah. We’re talking about you and Noah.”
I purse my lips and say nothing. I don’t want to broadcast the news that Noah and I will most likelynotbe having sex. We don’t. We never do. Not anymore, anyway.
Noah and I… we’re complicated. And that’s putting it mildly.
“Why are we even talking about my sex life?”
“Heisstupid hot,” Julian says in his smooth British accent.
“He’s straight, Liberace,” Aiden, the smartass, says. “And so am I,” he adds a little more defensively than necessary. Now I’m starting to wonder.
“Mate.” Julian shakes his head like he knows something we don’t. “You’re tempted.”
Aiden sizes him up. Julian is gorgeous—dirty-blond hair, green eyes, broad shoulders—and a lot classier than the rest of us. “Not even for you, Jules.”
Through it all, Caleb, my bass player, says nothing. He’s the quiet, observant type. Tall and lanky, dark hair in a man bun, brows knitted in concentration. The others have been with me since my first headlining tour four years ago, but Caleb replaced Scott halfway through this tour and mostly keeps to himself.
Meanwhile, we’re wasting precious time just standing around talking.
“Let’s do a run-through of the cover song.” I spin and grab my mic off the stand.
Whenever we’re in a new town or city, I try to do a cover song for the encore that mentions the town or holds special meaning.
For tonight’s show, I’ve chosen “House of the Rising Sun.” Cliché, maybe, but I belt out a bluesy version, and while I sing, I forget everything except the music.
Liam moves in close, making the guitar sing, and my whole body vibrates from the sound. Music is the biggest high. A rush like no other. It’s better than drugs and the pills I pop, and for four minutes, I forget all my problems, and Iamthe music.
“Damn, girl,” Liam says after the last note plays out. “You’ve got some pipes on you.”
“Yeah? Tell the haters that.” I should really let it go, but sometimes it gets to me.
“Haters are gonna hate. Fuck ’em.”
Easy for him to say. He’s not a “nepo baby.”
It’s the internet’s newest obsession. It started three years ago when I won a Grammy for Best New Artist, but right after my fourth studio album,Seeing Stars at the Drive-Thrudropped, it started picking up more steam. Now it’s all over social media. I shouldn’t even read the comments, but sometimes I can’t help myself.
Her voice isn’t even that good.
There are so many better singers/songwriters out there who don’t get half the recognition.
If Hayley Saint James wasn’t the love child of Dean Bouchon and Shiloh Leroux, she’d be a nobody.
Julian leaves the keyboard and moves to the glossy white baby grand, where he starts playing “Slow Dancing on a Starless Night.” I cross the stage and lean my hip against the piano, watching his fingers glide over the keys.
He gives me a wink when I start singing.
This song is about me and Noah. Most of my songs are either for or about Noah. But this one is an ode to our fleeting youth. It’s a ballad about love and heartbreak. The fragility of life and how quickly everything can change.
“… remember slow dancing on that starless night… the world was burning when you stole my first kiss… swore we would always know this kind of bliss… now you’re chasing new thrills, bound to get you high thrills… and I, ohhhh I… I’m dancing on the ashes and I can’t sleep without the pills…”
So it’s fitting when my eye catches on a movement backstage, and when he comes into view, I can’t tear my eyes away.
He’s wearing ripped black denim with a plain white T-shirt under a red, white, and black leather motorcycle jacket. Helmet in his hand. Angelic look on his face. Not that Noah is an angel, far from it.
