Page 15 of On the Power Play

Delia nodded with childlike excitement. Those were the moments she loved. She would never forget going to an Avril Lavigne concert when she was in middle school and standing outside afterward praying she’d get an autograph. Avril had walked out and connected with as many fans as possible on her way to her tour bus. Delia still had that signed poster.

That was the role music played in her life. Not only transporting her beyond the current reality, but driving her closer to someone else. Filling gaps and soothing aches.

Since it had just been the two of them for so long, music had been a balm on both of their hearts after her father passed. Every morning, when her mom got home from her night shift, she’d start up one of her favourite songs in place of Delia's alarm clock. It was her cue to wake up and their neighbour Tenille's cue to vacate her mother's bed.

Tenille was in her fifties at the time with no living relatives that Delia knew of. She slept overnight at their apartment so that her mother could work and not worry about Delia waking up in the middle of the night to an empty house. Delia never noticed the exhaustion in her mother's face because, by the time she dragged herself out of bed into the hall, she was already dancing.

To that day, whenever she heard a song by Elton John or The Beatles, that invisible thread between her and her mother tugged. Now she had the opportunity to create songs that would pull people together and lift their spirits. Delia didn’t take that responsibility lightly.

Which was why she was so anxious to push past that first year with IndieLake. None of the music on her first record or the new one about to be released was written by her, and she was dying to make that a possibility. But artists always had to sacrifice until they proved themselves, and she was grateful for the platform she had already. She just had to hold out a little longer, continue making the label happy, and continue to make herself invaluable to their bottom line. If agreeing to this fake relationship wasn't signal enough about her level of dedication, she didn't know what was.

Delia grabbed her guitar out of the trunk as Mary paid the driver. They’d already checked into their hotel for the night, so there weren’t any other bags to retrieve. They walked to the back door, and Delia's stomach churned as they waited for one of the theatre staff to open it for them.

Waiting was never a good thing. It gave her too much time to think, and for the past twenty-four hours, her thoughts had been on a constant, aggravating loop. Jack was going to be there tonight. What did he think about this whole arrangement? What had Tony said to him to make him even willing to consider it? Could it be that he was already interested in her?

Delia mentally swatted at them like flies. Who knew, she didn’t want to know, and no, for the love, he was an NHL player. Those guys fell hard for cheerleader types. Models. Perky, happy people who didn't write songs about the macabre thoughts that ripped them apart in the middle of the night.

Delia sat her guitar in the wings to the stage, then told the tech crew they’d be a moment. She grabbed Mary's hand and pulled her back to the door they'd entered through and was already giggling when they rounded the corner and strode toward the bundled up fans.

“This will be awkward if they're here for some totally different reason,” Mary muttered. Delia elbowed her and didn't even have a chance to respond before one of the girls looked up and spotted her auburn waves. The girl screamed, and her friends scattered like someone had just dropped a cannonball in the pool.

"I'm dead!" The girl looked to be in her mid-twenties. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head in two messy buns, and they bobbed as she swooned into the guy standing next to her.

"I told you it paid off to show up early!" Her friend, wearing a toque over her long, jet-black hair, grabbed the sleeve of her boyfriend’s coat like a toddler trying to get her mother's attention.

Delia stopped next to them and grinned. "I'm always floored when people are willing to wait out in the cold for one of my shows. Just wanted to come say hi."

"Hi!" The blonde girl straightened, then jumped up and down, flapping her arms. "I saw your post last night and couldn't believe you were coming back to Calgary for an acoustic set. I missed the one you did last summer and was devastated, especially because they wouldn't shut up about it." She motioned to her friends.

"You were all there?" Delia asked. She searched their faces, trying to figure out if they looked familiar. When she was up on stage, she definitely noticed people and a few faces still stuck with her. A tween girl with tears in her eyes who looked to be there with her older brother singing every single lyric from the fourth row. A group of five women who had to be her mother's age wearing halter tops and getting sloppy drunk. They laughed maniacally at everything, and it was contagious.

And she especially remembered the weird ones. The guy who kept staring at her and flicking his tongue between his lips whenever her eyes landed on his side of the audience, or the couple she thought looked adorable swaying in each other's arms until she noticed that the guy's hand was down the front of his girlfriend's pants. She needed to get over her fear of making personal videos on her social media channels because stories like that had a good shot of going mini viral.

"I've been to two of your live shows. The one here in Calgary and then the one in Victoria," the girl with the toque said.

Delia beamed. "You travelled all the way out there?"

She shook her head. "No, I was visiting my parents. So yes, road tripped, but the show was a happy coincidence."

"Well, I'm honoured regardless." Delia motioned for Mary to pull out her phone. "Should we get some pics?"

The girls squealed with delight as Delia joined their group, and Mary started snapping shots. They passed over their phones and had her take a few more, then they all grabbed a few selfies.

"You're the literal best!" The blonde girl with messy buns stared at the photos on her phone.

Warmth bubbled up in Delia's chest. At home or before a show, she'd sit in front of a mirror and worry about whether her hair was too flat or her makeup washed her out. She'd agonize over the right outfit for a show and fret over how her mouth looked when she sang certain vowels. But when she was with her fans, she didn't think twice about what she looked like in her photos. It was easier not to care when she wasn't the only one standing in the spotlight.

When they finished, Delia waved and told them to enjoy the show while Mary reminded them to tag Delia's account in their posts, and the two of them jogged back to the rear entrance. They didn't waste any time in the green room. It was cramped and smelled faintly of wet cement, but the staff had stocked it with almonds, herbal tea, and freshly sliced lemons. She wasn't one to eat before a show—her stomach got tied up in knots, and she'd found it was better to stuff herself after a set so as not to Barden Bellas it on the first row. Not that she'd ever actually thrown up, but she'd come too close for comfort after eating a BLTA once. That moment still scarred her.

"Jack's ticket is waiting at Will Call," Mary started as Delia clipped in her in-ear receiver battery pack on stage.

"Mmhmm." She shielded her eyes from the glare of the lights, peering toward the sound booth to ensure she didn't miss the thumbs up for their sound check. Stagehands wrangled cords and equipment behind her, clearing out instruments and amps they wouldn't need.

"Are you nervous?"

Delia shot Mary a look. "If I were, would talking about it help?"

Mary held up a hand. "Hey, I just didn't want to sweep this whole thing under the rug. You get in your head about these things."

---