Page 74 of Fallen Stars

Sleazeball’s message in the chat from yesterday flashes in my mind.

As much as I want to watch Oliver play from the side of the stage, I can’t miss the opportunity to meet this person.

Maybe I should cap how long I wait. Give them fifteen minutes, twenty tops. If they don’t show, it is safe to assume they stood me up. Honestly, wouldn’t shock me if they do.

My stomach twists as I make a poor excuse to not join him. “Mind if I look for Tymber first?”

Hurt shadows his features for a split second. “Of course not.” He licks his lips then swallows. “Work?”

Technically, waiting for this creep is work-related. “Yeah.” I take his hand in mine and lace our fingers. I let his warmth and strength soothe my sudden nervousness. “I’ll come backstage soon.” I lean in and press my lips to his. “Promise.”

Trailing a finger along my jaw, he gives me one more kiss. “’Kay. I’ll let the event staff know.”

Oliver gathers his trash, rises from the table, and ambles away from the table. I follow him with my eyes, not missing the slight slump in his frame.

When he disappears in the crowd, my gaze drifts back to the table. Phoebe openly studies me with a quizzical expression. Her keen, icy stare makes me want to crawl out of my skin. Good to know she hasn’t lost her touch.

I check my watch and note I have less than ten minutes. The last place I want to be when I meet this asshole is near friends. But I don’t want to rush away from the table and garner more attention from Phoebe.

After eating a few more chips, I ball up my sandwich paper, wipe my hands, and collect my trash. All eyes shift my way as I push back on my chair and stand.

“You’re welcome to stay with us, Levi,” Delilah offers.

I scratch my temple and nod. “Thanks. I’ll be back in a bit. Going to look for Tymber.”

Delilah gives me a kind smile. “Okay. We’ll be near the stage if we’re not here.”

“Cool. Thanks.” Not wanting to prolong our temporary goodbye, I walk off and toss my trash in the closest garbage can.

Weaving through the crowd, I head for the opposite end of the food tents. When I no longer see our friends, I pull the folded hat from my back pocket. At the farthest tent from everyone I know, I stand off to the side and put the hat and my sunglasses on.

The soul-vibrating sound of Oliver’s drums echoes throughout the amphitheater. I let the familiar beat ease the expanding knot in my gut.

Feet rooted to the earth, fingers twitching at my side, I scan every face in the crowd. No one pays me any attention as the first Hailey’s Fire song booms from the speakers.

As song one ends, a middle-aged man approaches me, says hello and asks if I know where the bathrooms are located. I point him in the general direction and he walks away.

Midway through song three, my stomach rolls and I swallow down the sudden urge to vomit. I survey the nearby crowd and search for the source of my unexpected dread. Not a single soul looks my way.

When the fifth song starts, I check the time: 12:18 p.m.

“No-show,” I mutter as I rip the hat from my head. “Dammit.”

The pang in my stomach grows exponentially as I walk off. I do my best to ignore it as I wander toward the stage. I inhale one deep breath after another and attempt to clear my head. As I pass a garbage can, I throw away the hat.

By the end of the fifth song, I pass the event staff and head for the side of the stage. Before the next song starts, Oliver meets my gaze and smiles. It’s an instant balm to my soul and I mouth,Hey.

The rest of their set goes by quicker than expected. When Hailey thanks the crowd and tells everyone to join them atDalton’s tomorrow night for an encore, cheers and whistles ring through the air.

We hang out near the stage while the next band plays and Oliver cools down. Every now and again, a twinge in my stomach steals my attention. And every time I search for the origin, I come up blank.

For hours, we meander the amphitheater, play games, win prizes, and chat with people at a few tents before joining our friends. While they talk about Hailey’s Fire’s set, I zone out and try to bury the residual pang that just won’t end.

All too soon, the sun dips beneath the horizon and people crowd the lawn. A sense of claustrophobia smacks me hard in the chest.

As if he picks up on my discomfort, Oliver wraps an arm around me and pulls me into his side. “What’s wrong?”

I close my eyes, lean into his comfort, and rest my head on his shoulder. Absorb his warmth. Breathe in his scent. Melt into his touch. “Just feel off.” I turn and kiss the side of his neck. “But this helps.”

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