Page 75 of Hidden Truths

“Yeah. We want to give my dad as much time as we can to dig into the drug theory. It’s still going to be the first episode, though.”

“How’s the website coming along?” Willa asks as she wiggles into a black lace bodysuit. It’s low cut with long sleeves. She pulls a deep red leather skirt on and then black combat boots. Her outfit combined with her dark and smoky make-up makes her look like a badass.

“Great actually. We hired a woman who’s going to not only design a website but also an app. We still need moderators, but we’ll deal with that once we have a better timeline on theplatform.” Cal funded the platform creation. He’s refusing to let me pay him back. He says it’s an investment in our future. I can’t argue with him when he says things like that, and he knows it.

A knock sounds on the door before a bald head pokes in. “Fifteen minutes, ladies.”

“You got it, Nate.” Willa says. “This is Harlow. She’s Cal’s girlfriend. He doesn’t know she’s here, but she has free rein of whatever she needs.”

“Nice to meet you, Harlow,” Nate says before closing the door.

“Nice to meet you too?” I tell the worn wood.

Belle snorts. “Nate is straight to the point. I don’t think he’s capable of small talk.” She’s wearing a matching body suit to Willa’s, but in dark blue and instead of a skirt she has black jeans on.

“Are the guys wearing lace too?” I ask, jokingly.

“I think Mav might be. He has a few lace shirts he bought when we got these,” Willa says.

“Kai won’t be. He wears these silk shirts you’d see on a pimp from the 70s. Says it feels nice on his nipples,” Belle says, laughing so hard she snorts.

I open my mouth to ask about Cal. I didn’t think to ask him about his tour wardrobe. “Five minutes!” Nate yells without knocking or opening the door.

“The opener must be on time if he’s yelling like that,” Willa says, checking her look in the floor-length mirror on the back of the door. “Stay in here for now. I’ll have Nate grab you once we’re on stage.”

I agree as Willa and Belle leave the room. The reason for most of my nerves, that I didn’t share with them, is the amount of women that are going to be throwing themselves at Cal. The guys were joking about it all week leading up to this show.

I’m a jealous person. I didn’t know that about myself until recently. Until Cal. But the idea of another woman trying to get his attention makes me see red. I’m hoping I’ll get used to it. It’s not like I think Cal will entertain any advances. I know he won’t. I know that man is mine. But the urge to tackle him on stage and mark my territory is new and getting hard to ignore.

“Alright, Harlow. They’re starting the show. Follow me,” Nate says from the door. I stand and follow him. He’s a lot shorter than I realized. Not that there’s anything wrong with being short, but the lights are bouncing right off his shiny head and into my eyes.

“Can he see me from here?” I ask, standing on the side of the stage where Nate pointed.

“If you stay there, he won’t. You’re kind of in the shadows. He might notice someone there, but he’ll just assume it’s one of the many people working backstage right now.”

I thank him and turn my attention to the stage. Cal is front and center, welcoming the crowd. Mav is to his left and Kai to his right. Belle and Willa are behind them on the keyboard and drums, respectively.

I think my mouth hangs open the whole show. I’ve seen Cal sing at the studio and at home. I’ve seen him sing in the woods and in videos of their concerts. But Callahan Griffin live and on stage is a whole different experience. He’s wearing a tight white shirt, jeans, and brown boots. His brown hair has grown out in the past few months and it’s floppy as he moves with the music. He said he let it grow because he noticed how much I like to run my hands through it.

The set is a mixture of their old songs with mostly the new album. Kai and Belle sing two of them alone, but other than that, it’s Cal’s show. The lights beat down on them, the fans scream with love and adoration, and . . . is that a tattoo? I inch forward, trying to get a better look. Cal’s white shirt is almost see-throughwith the amount he’s sweating, and I swear I can see a tattoo on his chest. He doesn’t have any tattoos. I saw him shirtless last night, but he was out of bed before I woke up this morning.

I must have inched too close because Cal’s head whips in my direction and the larger-than-life smile that he reserves just for me crosses his face.

“Oh shit,” I mutter, trying to back into the shadows.

“We have a special guest, Boston!” Cal yells into the mic.

Oh no. No no no.

“The love of my life and the inspiration behind Firecracker!”

Oh fuck.

“Come out here, Harlow!”

I shake my head and look at Willa for help. She just shrugs and gestures for me to come on stage with her sticks.

Cal jogs over, leaving his mic. “Firecracker,” he says, his voice low and full of wonder. “Please come on stage with me. Let me show every single person out there that I’m yours.”

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