Page 25 of Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree
“Anyone check on Ev lately?”
“Evan? He’s here?” I ask.
“Bathroom.”
Milo’s one-word response is followed immediately by a groan from Chris.
“I thought he was over that.”
“Over what?” I ask.
Is he sick?
Finn snorts a laugh. “It’s gotten better. But no way will it ever go away.”
“What won’t go away?”
“Do you remember our first tour?” Milo asks, and both Chris and Finn chuckle.
“What the hell is going on?” Tired of being ignored, I raise my voice to grab their attention.
Chris looks at me for the first time. His eyes flash with the sudden recognition.Finally, he remembers that I have no idea what they’re talking about. How could I when I joined the band six months ago?
“Evan’s anxiety skyrockets before every show. He has an almost crippling fear of performing or speaking in public.” His explanation is matter-of-fact. Practically rehearsed.
“What?” I’ve never heard about it. Not in any article about them I’ve read over the years.
Chris nods. “During our first tour, Evan threw up before every show. It was so bad that he wouldn’t eat at all the day of a show.”
“But he’s our lead singer.”
“He is. But haven’t you ever wondered why I’m JOY’s spokesperson and not him? Why he doesn’t say much when he’s not on stage?”
I hadn’t given it much thought.
“I assumed with your parents’ background, it made more sense for you to take on that role,” I say.
He nods. “It played into it, but it wasn’t the driving factor.” He studies me for several moments, his brown eyes thoughtful, before he steps closer and speaks again. “Will you check on him?”
“Me?” I ask.
“He needs you.” The words are murmured, meant only for my ears, but based on the encouraging smile Jessie sends my way, she overheard.
He needs me.
Three small words, but they hold the power to drive me from the room with no other thought than to check on Evan. I find him leaning against the wall, head down, in the bathroom backstage. My heels tap against the tile in a slight staccato rhythm as I move closer. He tips his face up when I drop to my haunches in front of him. Dark circles mar the skin surrounding his eyes. He’s pale, almost green, and covered in a light sheen of perspiration, but I can’t think of a time when I’ve been as attracted to him as I am in this moment.
The one where he moves from fantasy to reality.
“Hey,” I say, my voice quiet in the echoing bathroom.
“Hi,” he croaks out.
Gone are all my thoughts about avoiding him, about what to say about our kiss in the elevator. All I want is to help him. I don’t stop myself from lifting a hand to cup his jaw, from loving the way he leans into my touch. I simply soak in the moment.
“You okay?”
Stupid question given the pallor of his skin and the deep purple smudges under his eyes. But my brain is recalibrating.
