Page 101 of Reverb
The words shot through David faster than any bullet he’d ever taken. He couldn’t even respond—didn’t know what to say. Elation and terror. The sense that his world had shifted.
In the next instant, Ray’s voice punctuated the air from down the hall. “Yo, Mish! We gotta do sound check! Where the hell are you?”
Mish—oblivious to David’s turmoil—rolled her eyes. “Duty calls.” She stole another kiss, then slipped away, heading in the direction of Ray’s voice.
Duty calls. David licked his lips, tasting Mish on them. Holy fucking hell. He should be out there, too. Watching over the band. Looking for Mish’s stalker. Instead, he was leaning against a wall, with absolutely no sense of himself anymore.
This wasn’t good. Nothing about this was right.
He peeled himself away from the spot and headed for the men’s room, aching from too many emotions and memories. He washed his hands and tried to rein himself in. The cool flow from the sink over his hands helped. So did a later chug of water as he headed out to watch the sound check.
Mish was in love with him. His own feelings echoed hers. That should have been a happy thing, the start of something grand. But he wasn’t cut out to be more than a rock star’s fling. Didn’twantto be more than that, really. He had his own life, his own sense of self.
At the same time, he wanted to give Mish everything in the world. She deserved that, someone who could sacrifice themself for love. Be willing to let go of everything for this one shot at happiness.
He wasn’t that person. He was fundamentally flawed in that regard. He—had to live for himself.
That inner turmoil, that war raging over this tangled mess he’d helped create was probably why he failed Mish again.
The concert was their best yet. Ray’s voice was back, the fans loved when he and Mish sang together, and every song they played was top notch. No problems with the fans, aside from some drunk shoving in the pit that was handled quickly by the venue.
Then the signing happened.
There was a dude eyeing Mish while he stood in line. David resisted the urge to roll his eyes because it was obvious he was checking Mish out, even as he went to the other band members. Kid needed to knock it the fuck off.
Heat and rage rose in David—and he mentally kicked himself in the ass for it. He wasnotgetting jealous of a fan, was he? God. Yeah, he fucking was, and that was an issue and a halfright there.
Still, he took a step closer to Mish’s table. Just in case. But not too close as to be the damn overprotective boyfriend.
Of course the guy asked for a selfie with Mish. Ofcourse. Not intervening took all of David’s professional demeanor. Didn’t stop him from gritting his teeth when they both leaned over the table and the guy wrapped his arm around Mish before snapping the photo.
Then the dude snagged the necklace around Mish’s neck and yanked.
Happened in the blink of an eye. One second the photo, the next Mish shouted and clutched at her neck as the guy took off.
David froze. He should have seen it. Should have stopped the dude. David had been right there. Horror and anguish at his sheerincompetencerolled through him. This was his job, and he’d failed completely. Breath halted in his lungs. Time stood still.
Holy fuckinghell.
He burst into movement after the guy and the venue staff, who’d been more quick-witted than him.
Thank god the chain had broken easily—must have been thin. ThankfuckMish hadn’t been hurt. Ray was going to have his head. Hell, the whole band would probably be gunning for him.
By the time David caught up to the staff, the guy was gone, vanishing into the crowds that were milling around and heading to the exits.
Fuck. Oh fuckinghell. Just like last time—only worse, because he’d noticed the guy. Seen him. Just been too damn caught up in hisrelationshipwith Mish to do anything useful. Now the dude was gone along with another one of Mish’s belongings, straight into the hands of her stalker. Who was probably here.
David resisted the urge to punch the nearest inanimate object and scream. All his muscles tensed, and his throat was raw with rage—at the dude, at the stalker, and at his damn self.
One of the venue staff ambled over. “Did you get a good look at him?”
“Yeah, but it’s not going to help.” This thief had been pretty nondescript. White. Mid-twenties. Medium build. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Black concert T-shirt and jeans. Matched half the men at the concert. They’d never find him.
The venue guy eyed David. “You were right there, weren’t you?”
David bit down on his tongue to keep from snapping back, then ground out, “Yep. Guy was fast.”
And David had been slow. Motionless, in fact. He saw the contempt in the other man’s eyes. He deserved that—and more.
