Page 10 of Wild Obsession

“Tonight, everyone is going to see who’s the better drummer,” I say. “I’m making that my personal mission on every single tour stop. By the end of this, we won’t be some no-name opener, you got that?”

“Fine, Keannen. I understand.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I get it,” Tim says, voice rising a little. “I getthat you’re angry, okay? You’re right. I just … I don’t want to fight with you for the next six weeks.”

I snort. “Oh, how gregarious of you. Must be easy being so magnanimous when you’ve gotten everything.”

A frown creases Tim’s lips, lips I’m trying really hard not to notice. When he doesn’t respond, I brush past him, bumping him hard with my shoulder.

“Whatever,” I say as I walk away. “Watch me tonight. You might learn how to drum.”

He doesn’t retort. I escape back to my band. Even the annoying makeup artist who wants to touch up the work she already did to my face is better than standing there watching Tim cringe and flinch like some contrite little choir boy. If he felt so bad, why did it take him eight years to say it? No way. I’m not falling for the innocent act so easily. He’s the one who chose to leave. He doesn’t get to be hurt and sorry after all this time.

The preparations pass in a blur. I do what I’m told, stand where they want me to stand, wear what they want me to wear. It’s all worth it when finally, after what seems like years, we’re walking out onstage.

The lights blind me, but I know the way to my drum kit. I take my place and pick up my sticks, and the whole world settles into place. It doesn’t matter how big this stage is. This is the thing I do best in the world.

When I glance at the edge of the stage, Tim is there, watching from within the shadows behind the curtains.

I grin. Just for him.

It’s time to show him what a real band looks like.

Chapter Five

Tim

I CAN’T LOOK AWAY.

The moment the music begins, the world transforms around me. Baptism Emperor launches into an aggressive, high-energy song to kick off the night, and it whips the crowd into a frenzy. The fans might not be as familiar with this band, but it doesn’t matter when Jacob’s voice blasts through the venue with his entire band backing him up.

My eyes remain fixed on Keannen. Sweat drips down his forehead as he slams his sticks into his drums. I can tell he doesn’t see the rest of the world. Me, the audience, his own band — they disappear as he plunges himself into his music. He drums with a wild, reckless glee, arms swinging and hair flying. At times, I’m sure he’s going to miss a beat, fall out of time, but he always makes it back, his drumming asimmaculate as it is entrancing. Every note reverberates through my chest, like Keannen is punching me with every beat, demanding,commandingmy attention.

He has it. He has all of it and more. I should be preparing for my own part in this show, but instead I stand off to the side of the stage gaping. I watch the entire set, every single song, never once taking a break to sit with my own bandmates in the greenroom. The whole time Keannen is out there drumming, I watch, my eyes fixated on the muscle straining in his arms as the set goes on and the way sweat mats his hair to his cheeks.

When the final song warbles into silence, Keannen finally looks up, blinking like he’s waking from a trance. His gaze flickers to me, and he flashes a predatory grin full of triumph and teeth.

I shiver, heat seeping through my body, my hands unsteady. I’m supposed to go out there and drum in a few minutes, but all I can think about as the crowd explodes for Baptism Emperor is that that stage belongs entirely to Keannen. He was right. By the end of this, The Ten Hours will be nothing. We can’t hope to measure up to what just happened on that stage — or, rather,Ican’t hope to measure up. Erin and Cameron and Kelsey are easily this good. I’m the only one who will be left behind by this.

I don’t have time to wallow, however. Baptism Emperor is exiting the stage, and my own band is clustered around me, preparing to head out. I hang at the back, hoping to gounnoticed while I collect myself, but, of course, Keannen notices. The moment he slips backstage, he veers toward me, that razor-sharp smile slicing open his mouth. I back up a step only to find a wall at my back. Keannen slams his hand on the wall beside my head, caging me in while he grins down at me. A wave of musk hits me, the sharpness of his sweat and deodorant leaving my head light and knees watery. My cock wants to plump, and I have to plead desperately with it to hold myself back.

“First lesson’s free,” Keannen says, low and far too close.

I can’t remember how to be angry with him, not with his body heat lapping against my skin and his words brushing against my face, not while pinned against the wall at his mercy.

He must notice because his eyebrows flicker up, then he barks a harsh laugh.

“Still thinking about me even after all this time?” he says. “I thought you ran away to move on. Don’t you have a nice girlfriend or something by now?”

“No,” I manage thinly.

Keannen clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “I knew you were sad. I didn’t know you werethissad. Jesus, Freckles, that’s downright pathetic. We never even fucked. Don’t tell me you’re a virgin.”

I can’t talk about this. I can’t talk about this withhim. I can’t talk about thisnow. I can’t talk about this with my heart beating in my throat and my cock stirring in my too-tight pants and my whole band waiting for me to go out there and play a set with them. I can’t think about thisever, but right now is undeniably, absolutely, definitely the worst possible time for Keannen to be asking me about my sexual history — or lack thereof.

His grin spreads. “Holy shit. It’s true. Oh, this is gonna befun.”

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