Page 21 of Beyond the Bright Lights

I watch her like a predator, ready to attack and consume her, as she weaves through the packed house. I hope it’s intimidating, but if I’ve learned anything in the past twenty-four hours of knowing this woman, not much scares her off.

Except the past and her grief.

How I wish I could fix that for her.

After telling the band her song, Lana takes center stage and tenses. Her body is rigid as if she’s never done this before. Still, she holds her head high, takes in a deep breath and closes her eyes as the band starts playing.

I laugh out loud the moment I recognize the song.

You’re So Vain by Carly Simon.

Oh, this song is most definitely about me.

Lana belts out the lyrics, her smooth and melodic voice weaving through me like I’m being possessed.

“Holy shit,” I mutter underneath my breath.

Ginger nudges my arm. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?”

I nod but refuse to take my eyes away from the siren on the stage. She sounds exactly like Carly. No, better.

“How is she not a star by now? She could sing professionally.”

Ginger chuckles like it was the dumbest statement I could ever make. “You see, Mylan Andrews—”

“You know you can just call me, Mylan, right?”

“—Lana has stage fright. She hates singing in front of strangers. It’s usually not a problem here but,” Ginger surveys the crowd, “yeah lots of strangers here tonight. She's got to be a wreck up there.”

One of the bartenders I briefly met last night, Zack—a lanky emo dude with swooshing brown hair—sets down a tray of drinks. Ginger picks it up, winks at Bruno who blushes, then walks off to serve a group of fans who keep waving at me and taking pictures from afar.

“They are getting antsy boss. Should we let them over here now?” Bruno asks over his shoulder.

The moment we walked in, people crowded us asking me for selfies and autographs, but Bruno rushed Eloise and me to our seats at the bar. Then he stood behind us, arms crossed and looking intimidating enough that people backed off. Up until this point, and it’s only been thirty minutes, they’ve kept their distance. However, I love my fans, and I don’t want to snub anyone eager for a meet and greet.

Lana finishes her song, and everyone claps and cheers, possibly louder than what they did for me, rightfully so. She offers them a shy smile, cute as fuck, and I want to pull her to me and hug her and let her scent wash over me as I caress her hair while kissing the top of her head.

What the hell?

That’s not who I am.

It’s not, but it’s what I’ve always wanted. I just never allowed it.

My addiction never allowed it.

Lana struggles to make her way back through the crowd, and I nudge Bruno for him to help. He does without questioning me and brings the two officers along with him. Of course, the moment Bruno walks away, the fans descend. They swarm me in a near suffocating way, attempting to take selfies with me or holding out pictures for me to sign. I spot a few of my headshots, photos of me modeling for magazines, and even paparazzi photos that people printed out.

Eloise is by my side, helping manage the queue, and one by one, I scribble my name, pose for pictures, listen to fans share their love for my movies or for me. I smile and laugh, genuinely, with every last person until, after what had to be an hour, the fans disperse.

I turn around in the stool, exhaling a long, deep breath and rub my hand over my face and hair. When I lift my eyes, I find Lana staring at me with something like . . . approval? Or respect?

I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “Hi.”

The corner of her mouth twitches. Not quite a smile, but I still claim it as a victory.

“You’re good with your fans,” she says while pouring a beer from the tap in front of me.

“They’ve always believed in me, even when I don’t believe in myself. I’d be nothing without them.”

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