Page 12 of Knot Just A Fan

“Eh, well, anyone without a zillion people to buy presents for?” I grin, trying to keep it light, but I can only think of the neon arrow pointing towardme. I’m the someone.

There’s still an aura of an unspoken connection between us, and the peek I had of that competitive board gamer, that silly karaoke-singing, gin-drinking happy-go-lucky guy with the huge laugh that I got at our flat that night, I know he’s in there. At least, I hope he still is.

He’s the rock star, so him calling me that feels like a holy exchange. Cami says I’m deluded, so I mostly laugh this off like it doesn’t mean what it really means to me. That I matter to him, even in the smallest way.

“You’re right. People would come. But I almost would feel bad being their reason.” He laughs, then looks out at the empty venue. ”Tonight’s going to go off, I think, though,” he says, a half-smile, half-grimace on his face.

I cock my head slightly. “That a good thing?” Then I reach inside the pocket of my camera bag and pull out a pair of noisemakers. I hand him one and then blow mine so that it extends and makes a vaguely sad honking sound.

Holding the one I’ve given him, he bends over, wheezing out a surprised laugh. “What in the hell is that?”

“An early Happy New Year, in case I don’t see you afterward.”

“I think you will. This is the smallest, most intimate gig we’ve done since the old days, so I think it’ll be much more relaxed than we’ve grown used to.”

At the wordintimate, my stupid skin lights up like a parade on fire.

“Well, ah, it’s the largest I’ve ever seen you do.”

Grayson grins. “You’ll see larger than this.”

I redden some more, feeling seventeen, trying not to read something stupidly sexual into every turn of phrase.

“Gray, over here!” comes Ronan’s voice from the other side of the stage.

Grayson waves back then turns to me. “Of course you’ll see me, you loon. I expect you to be in my face at midnight. Taking photos,” he adds quickly. “We’re doing a new song. Didn’t Ash say?”

“He said it was a surprise.”

Grayson groans. “He’s an idiot. I told him to make sure you were given the clear to be on stage at midnight.”

I raise my eyebrows but enjoy the cinnamon warmth of his scent as it envelops me. I can count on one hand the times I’ve been invited on stage during a performance. If I’m not in the wings, I’m right down in front, with security keeping the crowd from pressing in on top of me.

“I’d be happy to,” I say, my voice squeaking an octave higher than usual.

Cami’s texted words when I relay Grayson’s request:

He wants you to get all his best sides, which I’m sure he thinks there are twenty of like he’s a fucking Dungeons and Dragons die or something.

Tell me how you really feel, Cam. Xoxo. And P.S. make sure you flash your pass and get to the front of the stage so I can hug you in the first minute of the New Year.

Will do. See you then, weirdo. Xxx.

An hour and a half later, I’ve clicked away hundreds of photos into my memory card. I’ve snagged some crowd shots that I think are going to be killer—whipping hair and fake lashes for miles, light-up crowns and tinsel confetti flying like shimmering snowflakes in slow-motion. It’s five to midnight, and Grayson turns my way as he’s introducing the next song.

“This one’ll take us to midnight, with enough time to count down from ten so get those champagne flutes ready,” he says, his trademark half-mumble, half-friendly growl into the mic. “This one’s a new tune for an album coming out later in the year.”

The crowd screams in disbelief as Enzo counts the band in. The song starts, and it’s like shooting through space on the tail of a star. A new Arcadia Echo song. A new album to follow. I snap every shot I can greedily grab while selfishly wishing I could just stand here and watch my favorite band introduce the world to their latest creation, like everyone else here.

But when Grayson looks my way, singing into the mic abouttonight, something finally changing for the better, all I can think of is a future I’ve tried hard to lock away in a chest of impossibility.

All the effort of stuffing down my desire, of telling Cami and myself that it’ll be okay, it’s all unraveled. I can’t tie it back up. And I’m damn sure I can’t pretend it’s not there anymore.

All those nights of dreams, all the waking, sweat-soaked, chest heaving, core melting in the night—of thinking of him as I take myself over the edge, night after night after night. Of what that well-mannered, polite, unpredictable, just-out-of-reach, talented, mysterious, beautiful man would be like if he let go. If he let me make him let go.

Because I fucking would.

And then he beckons urgently toward me. I’m lowering to one knee along the way for various angles, various shots, but as he sings he shakes his headno, then beckons again, curling his finger toward me as if to say,Stop shooting. Just get over here.

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