Page 152 of The Bridges I've Burned

One word, and chaos ensued. Girls were screaming and calling out his name.

Finally, after what felt like five fucking minutes later, he said, “If you haven’t heard, we added a new member to our motley crew. You might have seen him lurking around onstage if you happened to join us on tour this year. He’s an American, but we won’t hold that against him. ” Asher grinned, that Scottish brogue working its magic over the crowd. He turned, his mouth still pressed to the mic. “Meet our new lead guitarist and backup vocalist, Zander Tate. Isn’t he lovely, ladies?”

Zander did a little medley on his guitar before the camera panned the audience. There were women everywhere, waving signs in the air, screaming his name.

Marry me, Zander!

Asher and Zander, you be the bread. I’ll be the jam.

Zander! Remember me from Tucson? Call me!

The last one actually had a phone number the camera had to blur out, but it was enough to make me nauseous. It wasn’t like I hadn’t known he had a past. But I also didn’t want to be reminded about it on live television.

I pulled the jacket I still wore tightly around my body.

The camera was back on the band. Specifically Zander. He was looking at Asher, shaking his head, laughing.

He looked happy, and I found myself swimming in doubt.

He’d spent his entire life chasing this dream, and he’d found it.

He didn’t need me riding his coattails.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ZANDER

“Okay, guys, let’s take five,” Asher announced.

“What about we say more like ten?” Darius suggested, spinning a drumstick between his fingers.

“I need at least fifteen. Daddy needs a protein bar,” Evans said, setting down his bass.

“If you refer to yourself as Daddy one more time, E—Asher pinched the bridge of his nose. “Seriously, no one needs to hear that.”

Evans cackled as I muffled a laugh. He headed toward the snack counter to grab a water bottle from the mini-fridge.

If there was one thing Asher excelled at, it was providing ample snacks.

We never went without food when he was around.

Since the charity concert, we’d been practicing nonstop in preparation for the tour. It wasn’t that there was much difference between the US and the international tour, but it had been a while since we’d played together. It was important that we came together as one on that stage.

Asher had a penthouse in New York, where we’d been staying, and it came complete with a private recording studio and practice rooms.

It’s the rock-star starter package, honestly.

It had been a crazy few weeks. I couldn’t go out on the street without being mauled by fans. People magazine had dubbed me Rock’s Newest Hottie—whatever that meant. Macon had said Ocracoke had been flooded with tourists, wanting to see where the Zander Tate had been born.

Hard eye roll.

It was easy to see how someone could become addicted to this—the heady feeling of fame. But I wasn’t worried. I had enough people in my life to keep me humble.

Almost enough.

I pulled out my phone, and after a moment, it was ringing. But once again, it wasn’t her.

It never was.

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