Page 37 of Rescue

Ransom is good. That’s about the only cognizant thought I can come up with as I stare down at him. They play off each other brilliantly, completely in synch—not the easiest feat when the crowd is cheering loud enough to bring the house down. Daltrey can really sing, his voice bluesier live than I was expecting. Cash seems to have good reason for the cocky swagger—he can play guitar like nobody’s business. I’ve always considered him a mere pretty boy, assuming the guitar fills in their albums were helped along by some studio trickery. I was wrong. Cash is good. And behind them all, Reed keeps the beat, his arms a blur on his drum kit.

These thoughts come to me as if through a haze. Because really, all I can focus on is Lennon. Lennon with his broad shoulders, the strength in his arms visible from here. With his dark hair and dark eyes, so beautiful he makes my chest hurt, standing so still to the side of his more exuberant brothers. Lennon, whose gaze rarely drops from my face.

As the show continues, as the fans scream themselves hoarse, as the girls and my bandmates chatter happily in our box, one thought runs through my mind again and again—why in the hell did I think I needed to stay away from this man?

I can feel Layla smirking at me as we finally make our way back to the dressing room, but I can’t make myself care. I’m sure if I turned to James I would see him watching me, that concern, so familiar these days, on his face. But I don’t turn to James, and I don’t look back at Layla. Instead I go straight to the showers, washing my hair quickly. I’m too excited to spend much time on drying it, instead pulling it up into a messy bun. As I hurriedly apply my makeup, I can’t help but notice that my hands are shaking. It should frighten me, probably, that he’s having this effect on me when we’re not even speaking, but I can’t make myself care. All I want to do is get ready, make myself look good, and go find him.

I don’t have to look far. He’s standing in the hallway right outside our dressing room, waiting for me. His dark hair is damp and curling at his neck, fresh from the shower, and I suppress a little shiver at the thought. “Everyone’s about to head out,” he says, holding out a hand. “I thought I’d wait for you.”

I take his hand without a second thought, knowing that I’m smiling like an idiot as he leads me down the hallway through the chaos of roadies and venue staff.

“You watched,” he says, his voice soft amongst all the noise. Somehow I have no trouble hearing him.

“I did. You guys were…” I release a long breath. “You were good.”

“Yeah?” He sounds a little shy, a little proud. God, it’s cute. My brain is still functioning enough to remind me that I don’t normally go all soft and gooey for adorable, but I firmly ignore it.

“Reallygood.”

He squeezes my hand a little, and I feel a flutter deep in my stomach. Then we step through the stage doors, and the noise and flashes surprise me so much I stumble. Lennon’s hand slides up to my elbow, steadying me, and he leans in close to my ear to shout over the noise. “You okay?”

I nod, trying not to wince as the crowds of fans push against the barriers that provide a narrow path for us. Up ahead I can see Daltrey and one of the other boys—Cash I think—ducking into a van. I remember what I said to Lennon back in that alley in New York, about not liking crowds. How he admitted that he felt the same way and how we laughed about our choice of career. As if thinking the same thing, his hand tightens against my arm. “Come on,” he yells in my ear. “I’ve got you.”

I nod again and step down to the pavement, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other. I can do this. It’s no big deal. Even if the fans are close enough to touch. Even if they do look completely determined to break down the barrier and—

I take a deep breath, trying to still my racing mind. Get it together. I try to remember my earlier excitement, how eager I was to go out with Lennon and have a good time.

Suddenly Lennon pauses, leaning down to me, so close I can feel his breath against my neck. “You look really good tonight,” he says.

It’s so unexpected in the middle of my near panic that I laugh. He grins down at me. “You’re laughing at my compliments?” Lennon’s smiles, I’ve come to find, are kind of a rare thing. Maybe that’s why it makes me feel so damn good when his lips tilt up at me.

Of course, it would happen when I was happy. When I was laughing, when my fear and anxiety are eclipsed by Lennon. When my guard is down.

A hand reaches into our path, grasping my free arm, pushing against me so I’m trapped between Lennon and the metal barrier. For a fleeting second I can see that it’s a girl, not much younger than me. She’s not screaming for Ransom. She’s screaming my name. “Haylee, I love you! I’m your biggest fan!”

And then her face is gone, replaced by towering height. Dirty blond hair, watery blue eyes. The crowd disappears, and I’m back in my house, the old house, cowering on my chair, and I know, Iknow, that this time it ends differently, this time no one comes to find me, this time Randy manages to—

“Haylee!” Lennon’s voice seems to come to me from very far away. I’m vaguely aware of him pulling on my arm, trying to get me to cross the last few feet between us and the car. Between us and safety. “What’s the matter?”

You’re not in the house, I tell myself desperately.You’re outside. You’re okay.

But Lennon is pulling on my arm, and I don’t feel like I’m okay. He’s stronger than me, bigger, and I feel like I’m about to lose it, like I’m seconds away from falling to the ground. Cowering in a ball sounds really good right now and—

“Haylee!”

That voice isn’t Lennon’s. I spin, panicked, and there’s James, coming toward me. I’m so relieved I could cry. He throws his arm around my shoulders, and my face automatically goes to his chest, the same place I’ve found refuge countless times before. “I got you,” he whispers into my hair, pulling me along. I’m vaguely aware that Lennon has released me, but I have no idea where he is, only that James is here now and he’s pulling me into a car, pulling me to safety. The door closes behind us, and the sound dims a little.

“You’re okay,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

“Who else is here?” I whisper into his jacket, not wanting to look up, terrified all over again that Louis will see me like this or, God, the Ransomes—

“Just Dylan and Layla,” James says, and I release a shuddering breath. They’ve seen it before.

“You’re fine, Haylee,” James says, and I hear Dylan say something to the driver. Then we’re pulling away from the curb, away from the crowd that continues to scream. Away from Lennon.

I didn’t hear where Dylan told the driver to go, but it doesn’t matter. I know that we’re not going out tonight after all.