Page 43 of Her Dark Angel

My face falls as the excitement I felt for Nash a moment ago slips away into the darkness. “What do you mean? This is great news for the band. I get it’s super last minute, but it’ll be a big step toward performing at larger venues in the future, right?”

Nash turns the steering wheel sharply, jolting me sideways as we join the traffic on the highway. “It’s a nightmare because everything is happening so fast. When we have shows booked for tours, it’s always in advance so I have time to prepare and make sure everything is in order, but when I only have a week's notice, I can’t do that.”

Glancing over at Nash, I see the worry in his eyes as he stares straight ahead. I’ve never known Nash Beck to be the worried type about anything, so to see him filled with anxiety over having to perform at a last-minute concert is a new side to him. One I never expected to see considering he is so confident and outgoing.

Or is it just a facade for something deeper?

His comment about having panic attacks before we walked the red carpet at the award show three weeks ago comes to mind. I thought it was a one-off comment to make me feel better or that maybe he was referring to when he was a child. Now I’m wondering if he knows how to stop panic attacks because he still gets them.

“It’ll be okay,” I tell him. All I can do at this moment is reassure him this little bump in the road won’t be the end of the world. “I’m not a musician, so I’m not even going to try to attempt to understand how you feel right now, but I will say I understand the overwhelming sensation of not being in control of a situation.”

Nash’s mismatched eyes dart to mine, holding my gaze. I’m helpless as I stare into the depths of his blue and green eyes, searching for the darkness he claims we both share. But in the blink of an eye, he turns to the road, breaking eye contact.

“I don’t have a control issue if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Everyone does,” I say and turn to look out the window. Tall buildings and pedestrians rush by in a blur as the rock music playing softly from the radio fills the small space. “We all want to be in control of our lives and what happens within them. So you can tell yourself you don’t have a control issue, but deep down, you do.”

Nash huffs in response and leans his elbow on the door handle, staring straight ahead. I smile to myself. He knows I’m right, and for once, he doesn’t have a witty comeback or snarky remark.

I managed to shut Nash Beck up and it feels good.

The rest of the drive to the restaurant is silent besides the soft rock music playing from the radio. Now and then, I felt Nash’s eyes linger on the side of my head. If he wanted to say something, he decided against it. I’m grateful for that because I am content to sit in silence.

When Cedar Pine comes into view, my stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten in hours. I’m ready to devour Matt’s delicious food and drink a glass of wine.

Nash parks the car in front of the restaurant just as a man in a crisp black suit hurries over to us. I had forgotten Cedar Pine has valet parking.

I feel the cameras pointed at us before I see them. How the hell did the paps know we would be here? This was a last-minute decision, so are these guys just waiting outside establishments across the city in the hopes they would catch a glimpse of a celebrity to photograph?

Nash exhales sharply and swings his door open. “Let’s get this over and done with.” He hands the valet man, who appears to be around my age with acne scars and a wispy mustache, his car keys.

Flashing lights from the bushes next to the restaurant almost blind me when Nash walks around the car and opens the passenger door. He surprises me by extending his hand to help me out of the car. As I accept it and he hoists me out, I remind myself this is all an act for the cameras. My fingers shouldn’t tingle with warmth when engulfed by his large hand and a shiver shouldn’t race down my spine as he wraps an arm around my shoulders and holds me against his side, mostly protecting me from the cameras.

I breathe a sigh of relief when we step into the bright restaurant. Matt went a little crazy on the white and gold decor, but somehow, the pairing works. The silverware and candle stick holders on the round tables give off a luxurious vibe, but the plush cream chairs make the room feel cozy and quaint. Stunning artworks adorn the white walls, making it feel like I just stepped into an art exhibition.

Nash drops his arm from my shoulders and takes a step back. But not so far that the paps still taking photos through the glass door would think something is off.

“Thanks,” I murmur. Although, I don’t know what I’m thanking him for. “I just… the paps are always so fucking crazy. They’re relentless.”

The paps may be annoying, but at least they keep their distance from me, only taking photos from afar without getting too close. Likely because of my incident with a pap when I was eighteen. My vision clouded over as something inside of me snapped that day, forcing my hand forward in a blur. Once I had regained my vision, the guy who had been following me was scrambling away with his camera tucked under his arm while he nursed a broken nose.

To this day, I don’t know why I snapped. I think it had something to do with the BO emitting from him and the stench of fries clinging to his skin.

“Tell me about it,” he mutters as his gaze sweeps across the room. His shoulders stiffen and his jaw tightens.

Following his gaze, I notice everyone in the room is watching us intently without shame. They’re not even trying to hide the fact they’re openly gawking at us. This isn’t new for me since I get this kind of attention everywhere I go these days, but I don’t know why it has Nash so on edge.

“Kin!”

My eyes snap to Matt as he walks out from a corridor to the right with his arms outstretched and a larger-than-life smile on his face. His deep chestnut eyes are lit up with excitement as he approaches me. It’s as if his presence snaps the patrons out of their deep stares because they all go back to their conversations and eat the food in front of them.

“Matt,” I greet with a warm smile. Nash is still as stiff as a plank of wood beside me, but I try not to pay too much attention. Matt pulls me in for a tight hug but doesn’t linger too long. He must be aware of the paps standing right outside his restaurant. “Thanks for getting us a table at the last minute.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He grins as he takes a step back, his warm eyes meeting mine. He’s dressed casually in black trousers and a black long-sleeved button-up shirt. His dirty blonde hair has grown a lot since I last saw him, and is now long enough to tie back in a ponytail.

I place a hand on Nash’s shoulder, remembering I need to keep up appearances, even in front of my high school friend. “This is Nash.”

Matt smiles at Nash. “I know who you are. Nash Beck. Lead singer of Dark Angel. I love your stuff, man.”

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