Page 40 of Game Winner
“I hope he is.” Gavin’s voice is as tight as the hold he still has on me. We don’t know if he hit anything important when he fell.
Blowing out a breath, Everett lays his hand on my shoulder. A slight tremor runs through it. “We have one song to go. He’s fine enough to at least stay in one place and sing. If he needs a doctor, he can see the medical team backstage when we’re done.”
The guards reach us. With his back to the crowd, and only the three of us in front of him, Layne drops his smile. The duck of his head is half-apology, half-embarrassment before he lifts his arms to Gavin and me so we can haul him on stage.
In the corner of my vision, Everett takes his guitar from the tech and slips the strap over his head. He plays something vaguely familiar, but I don’t bother trying to place it.
Layne is in front of me in one piece. I’m relieved and furious, but instead of yelling like I want to, we have to be professional and go on with the show. His hand is shaky in mine. I hold it tighter, ready to throttle him and hug him. “Can you sing?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you need to sit? A stool or something?”
He shakes his head.
“Okay.” Keeping him in my grasp, I walk him the few feet toward the mic stand, scanning him from head to toe as we go.
He squeezes my hand and sucks in a deep breath like he’s steeling himself for the next song. Then he lets go, grabs the mic, and spins to face the crowd. That showman’s smile is in place, brilliant as ever. “My trip to the pit took an unexpected turn. Let’s hear it for the security team for rescuing me.” When the cheers die down, he continues. “This is our last song. Let’s get unleashed!”
I maneuver behind the drum kit and grab my sticks. A nod at Gavin and Everett, and we’re thundering into “Unleashed.”
A fan favorite, loud and fast, a perfect outlet for my anger, frustration, and fear. As I play, I watch Layne moving around with more care than usual and feel the scrutiny and support aimed my way from Soren and Tyler.
I don’t know what to do about Layne. We need to have a band meeting, or maybe just the two of us is better. He’s always told me everything. That he won’t share this is both hurtful and concerning.
The song ends to whistles and cheers rolling over us in waves.
Layne places the mic on the stand. “You’ve been a great crowd. We’re Flame Shade, and we’d love to see you at one of our shows. Thank you and good night!”
Gavin, Everett, and I meet him at center stage. We join hands and bow. People are still cheering as we walk off.
As soon as we get backstage, I whirl on Layne. “What the actual hell? You could’ve been?—”
“Shh.” His gaze fixes on something over my shoulder. “Luke’s coming over.”
Tall, dark-haired, and dressed in leather, Luke Thompson shoots us a smile that’s graced countless music magazines and tabloid covers over the years. “That was a hell of a performance.”
“Thank you.” My pulse still thrashing in my temple, the words are sand gritted out between my clenched teeth and fury over my best friend—my brother—and his fucking stunt.
He shakes our hands. “I loved your energy. Scary moment out there at the end, but you came back strong.”
“It was scary.” And dangerous, and stupid, and irresponsible. Clamping my hand on Layne’s shoulder, I try to telegraph how much. “We’re lucky it ended with Layne back onstage and not on his way to the ER.”
“I’m indestructible.” With a cocky grin, Layne holds out his hands. Were it not for the fear I read in his eyes, I’d punch him right now.
Luke’s smile widens at Layne’s word choice. “Indestructible… I remember feeling that way. My bandmates and I had some scary times in our younger years. Hell, we caused half of them. Anyway, you put on a great show, guys. Really impressive. I’ll be in touch.”
He shakes hands with us again, then clasps my shoulder—maybe because he can see I’m concerned about Layne—before he walks away.
“Did you hear that?” Layne twists around, watching Luke go. “He liked us.”
“Did you also hear that what you did was scary?” My attention falls to the bruises on his arms. There’s another on his chin.
He shrugs off my question. “The scary part he referred to was me falling. That’s not somethingIdid. I’m not the one who dropped me.”
Dull pain throbs at my temples. Huffing a sigh, I scrub my hands over my face. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Sure it does. Anyway, I choose to focus onhell of a performanceandI’ll be in touch.”
