Page 36 of Rescue

She rolls her eyes. “You should see the way you look at him.”

“I don’t look at him like anything!”

“Like I said, we need to work on your poker face.”

Before I can argue any further, she pulls me back into our rehearsal space, where the guys are waiting for us to get back to work.

***

The show goes well. It’s strange, sometimes when I’m feeling on edge I end up performing better than normal. Like the show gives me something to focus on, a way to collect and focus my anxious energy. That’s definitely the case tonight. Toward the end of our set, I could swear the fans are cheering just as loudly for us as they do for Ransom.

The band is pretty jubilant as we make our way backstage. “That was kick-ass,” Lance shouts, fist bumping Dylan. “Best show yet!”

“I think we’re hitting our stride,” Dylan agrees, slinging an arm around me and kissing the side of my face. “Good job, babe.”

“I’m all sweaty, Dylan.” I push him away, but I’m smiling. It does feel good, those nights where everything just comes together, almost like it’s outside of our control. Supernatural.

“That was really great, you guys,” a voice says to my left, and I turn to see Lennon and Reed passing down a side hallway. It was Reed who spoke—Lennon is merely watching me in that quiet, wide-eyed way of his, like the rest of my band isn’t surrounding me.

“You were watching?” I blurt out.

“We were up in the family box,” Lennon says. “It was a great set.”

“Thank you,” I mumble, feeling heat come to my cheeks, though I couldn’t say why. Reed and Lennon both wave as they continue on their way.

“Wow, Hay,” Dylan says, shooting me a strange look. “What’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re all mumbly and red-faced. It’s weird.”

I shove him. “I’m red-faced because I’m hot, idiot. The stage lights are brutal.”

“Can we stop bickering?” Louis calls from the door of our dressing room, earning a chorus of muted moans from all of us as we file into the room. I pause at his side, knowing there’s a good chance I’m going to regret asking this question.

“Hey, Lou,” I say, in the friendliest voice I can muster. “Are we allowed to use the family box to watch the headliner?”

“Sure,” he says, shrugging. “Grab a roadie, they’ll show you where to go.”

When I turn back into the room, both Layla and James are watching me knowingly, though their reactions couldn’t be less similar. Layla is smiling, James is scowling.Story of my life, I think as I grab a beer. “Hey, Dylan. You want to check out Ransom’s set with me?”

“Sure,” he agrees easily, collapsing into a chair.

“I think we’ll all come,” Layla says pointedly, and I offer her my most exaggerated eye roll. Let her think what she wants.

Twenty minutes later the whole band is sitting high above the theater in the family box. Daisy and Paige are already there, and they both welcome us—Paige a little more eagerly than Daisy. “The crowd is good tonight,” Daisy says as I take a seat next to her. “You guys really got them going.”

“It was a pretty good set,” I say, leaning over the railing a bit to get a better view of the stage. It feels like ages since I’ve watched a rock concert. Daisy was right—the fans are already going crazy and the lights haven’t even gone down yet. They scream and chant, stomping their feet in unison until the entire venue feels like it’s going to come apart. When the lights abruptly cut, the noise raises substantially. Daisy and Paige are both cheering, along with most of the members of my band. But I sit still, waiting and watching.

There’s a thudding of drums before the stage lights begin to flash, and then the Ransome boys all come into view, Daltrey at his piano, Reed behind the drums, Cash strumming his guitar and gazing out at the crowd in that cocky way of his. And there’s Lennon, standing to the side, his head bent over his bass as he plays.

Even from this distance, his fingers are mesmerizing. The bass line in this song must be fast, because his hands seem to fly across the strings, his head nodding slightly in time to the beat, dark hair covering his forehead.

And then he looks up at me.

I don’t know how he found me in the crowd. Don’t know how he even knew I would be up here. But there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s looking at me—not Daisy, not Paige, not my bandmates. Me. And I can’t look away.

The song ends abruptly, and I take a shaking breath, wondering what in the hell has gotten into me. The crowd is still going crazy as the band launches right into the next song, and I feel breathless, my cheeks warm. Lennon is still looking at me. And he’s smiling.