CHAPTER SEVEN
GRIFFIN

I‘ve been singing for a long time and I’ve never had anyone push me as hard as London is pushing me now from behind the keys. Every time I think I know what she’s going to do, she flips it on its head and does the opposite. I can’t even hear myself anymore from the blood pumping through my veins, but the crowd loves it.

She’s ramping back up.

I’m matching her stride for stride, note for note—but she’s soaring now. I don’t know if I can keep up much longer.

And… just like that, she’s turned it back to rest comfortably in my vocal sweet spot. It’s hard to believe that her ear wasn’t professionally trained. I also can’t believe she didn’t accept the invitation to Julliard. Mental note: find out what happened there.

London slows the pace and leaves the audience reeling as she plays the outro. Complete and utter silence falls over the crowd as they process what just happened, much like I’m still trying to do. A sudden burst of applause and Fuck yeah’s! rumble and echo through the theater.

In less than four minutes, London has completely schooled me in how to push my voice to the brink and emotionally connect with the audience. Their cheers are louder and longer than they’ve ever been. It’s all for her. I reach my arm back toward where she’s still letting the music come to a stop. Everyone here needs to know who deserves the credit for the best performance of my career. “Give it up for…” I still don’t know her last name. “London!”

A hint of a smile peeks out from the corners of her mouth. She deserves every single bit of this moment. I hope she’s taking it all in and realizing how special her gift is. Her eyes dart back down to the keyboard and every muscle in my body tenses. That look is one of sheer terror. My heart clenches in my chest.

The sound of the last note is still ringing as the stage lights flick off and I can hear London let out a deep breath. My muscles relax just a little. Maybe she’s wrangled her nerves. Before I can even finish the thought, she’s turned her back to the audience… and me.

That’s not good.

I reach out, hoping to grab her arm before she bolts, but instead I pull back a fistful of air as she wiggles between the speakers. That’s a space I could not fit through to save my life. “Carly!” She’s sitting at the sound booth with her headphones still covering her ears, probably mixing the live audio for special behind the scenes videos to upload on our YouTube channel, and she didn’t hear a damn thing.

The door leading to the main auditorium slams shut behind London and my heart falls to my feet. I’m only a split second behind her, but it’s enough for her to disappear in what’s left of the crowd.

Devon waves me over to an empty spot at the other end of the fence. He’s got an arm around London’s friend. I know I heard her name earlier but I’m too focused on finding London to pull it from memory right now. “I saw her go through there just a second ago,” he says while nodding toward the exit door. 

“She just texted me, look for her at the main entrance.” Her friend shakes her head like she’s trying to decide what to do next. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”

Devon squeezes her a little tighter. “Don’t worry, Griff. I’ll keep Nigel out of your hair for as long as I can. I’ve got reports to go through with him.” The security reports from every show go through Nigel first, then to The Machine and then, if The Machine deems it necessary, we get a vague overview and a pat on the head that says, Everything is fine. Nothing to worry about. I make a mental note to ensure The Machine gives Devon a raise. 

“Thank you!” I hop over the fence and run faster than I ever have in my life. The heavy wooden doors slam into the walls of this old theater and I could swear I heard something groan, but maybe it was me. That door was heavier than it looked.

London’s neon pink shirt stands out and a wave of relief washes over me. She’s standing in the corner by the exit doors, just like her friend said.

Thank all that’s holy, the crowd is much thinner out here. It’s not unusual for crowds to clear out quickly after a show, and I have never been so happy that they do. I don’t have time, or the patience required for anything to get in my way right now. 

She still hasn’t turned around, which means she hasn’t seen me yet. I haven’t called out to her yet either and I’m not sure why. There’s something about the way she’s standing that makes my relief at seeing her transition into an oversized bundle of nerves and uncertainty. My jaw clenches as my heart pounds against my rib cage. I’m surprised the sound of the incessant thumping isn’t giving me away, but she still doesn’t seem to know I’m here.

She wouldn’t have bolted off the stage if she wanted to talk to me.

The last thing she probably wants is me barreling into her life like this.

I should probably swallow my pride and just go back to the bus. She swipes at her cheek with the back of her hand and just like that everything changes… again.

I can’t leave.

Everything inside of me is screaming.

The words are perched on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t force them to come out.

She’s already made me a better singer in just the few minutes we’ve had together. I want to thank her by making whatever is hurting her stop, or pummeling it to the ground, whichever she’d prefer.

I want to know what makes her smile.

To be the person she wants.

To be hers.

Who am I kidding? I’m already hers, she just doesn’t know it yet.

I know what I should do.

I also know what every piece of my soul is telling me to do.

I take a deep breath. Don’t screw this up.