Page 119 of Severance

“Of course!” I pull back and look into his eyes. “You don’t even need to ask. I’d watch you rehearse my mom’s grocery list.”

Dakota cocks a brow. “Can that be arranged?”

“Yes, it can.” I giggle, touching his face.

He makes me so happy that I’m scared it’s going to hurt too much if we fall apart.

30. After

I get a strange inkling something’s off when I get back to the city limits and all three text messages I sent to Mikah are still unread. The lack of response does fit his typical behavior, but it seems like after last night, things should be different, shouldn’t they?

I hit a lot of traffic and spend a good hour struggling to get out of an industrial area that the GPS chooses to send me to, thinking it’s a great detour. After circling around the neighborhood of warehouses for what seems like hours, my mind isn’t in a good place. I arrive at the hotel at around six and rush to my room to clean up and change.

Once I get to the club, there’s no pass left for me at the Will Call window, and I have to pay for the ticket to get in, which only feeds my anxiety. I was under the impression Mikah would put my name on the list. My stupid heart that’s head over heels for him blames his busy schedule, but my gut tells me I might be giving him too much credit.

Inside, the floor is buzzing. There are way more people here tonight than yesterday. I recognize some faces from last night, but they’re mostly all new.

The band on stage is playing something very jazzy and people don’t seem too enthusiastic about the set. Forcing my panic down, I push to the opposite side of the club and approach the security guard.

“My friend is performing later on tonight and I can’t seem to get a hold of him!” I scream over the racket of the music and motion to the backstage area.

“Sorry, ma’am. Only if you have a pass.”

“Can you at least get him for me?”

“Sorry, ma’am.” The security guard shakes his head, his face expressionless.

Swallowing down my defeat, I step aside and dial Mikah’s number again. The line rings and goes to voicemail.

My anxiety levels are sky high and my mind’s racing. Part of me hates him, but part of me is just pissed at myself for being so stupid to believe that after last night, something would change.

Mikah Bennett is a jerk and always will be.

I stand against the wall and watch through my tears. My hands are trembling and my phone is charcoal hot in my palm, burning through my bumpy scars. When the band finishes their set, the crowd begins to thin out. People trickle outside one by one to take a quick break while the crew is resetting the stage. My nicotine craving is battling my Mikah craving, and I decide to give it one last shot. Drawing a deep breath to push back the tears, I return to the backstage entrance and ask security to get Mikah again.

If he chooses to continue his ignore game after this, I’m driving home.

“Ma’am, I really can’t,” the guard says, giving me a lazy headshake.

“I’m sure you get a lot of girls like me, but thisisactually important.” I try to keep my voice steady, but something tells me I sound just like any other groupie who wants to sneak in backstage, because right now, Iama groupie.

The door swings open and a cluster of people pour out onto the main floor, their chatter mixing with the clamor of everyone in the bar and the stage crew. My gaze catches only a glimpse of the back hallway, and it’s packed with some suits from last night but no Mikah.

“Could you please step aside, ma’am.” The security guard flashes his light at me. I do as he says to let another group out. They’re arguing, their voices pitching and jumping over all the noise.

“Hey!” Someone’s hand grabs at the sleeve of my jacket. “I’m Al. You’re Bennett’s friend, right? You came yesterday?” The man’s face swims into view and his eyes seek mine. They’re small and squinty and barely show from behind his plum cheeks. He’s not the kind of person you’d easily forget. I remember him fawning over Mikah last night. He’s the man in charge.

I nod, my heart jolting into doing insane acrobatics. “Yes.”

“Okay. Come on.” Al hooks his arm through mine and flashes his all-access pass at the guard.

Backstage is humming. I can feel the tension rising as we walk through the hallway in the direction of a door with an exit sign.

“What’s your name, babe?” Al asks, ushering me to a staircase.

My knees weaken at the sight of numerous security guards and the rest of the backstage crew and guests gathered at the bottom of the stairs.

“Alana,” I say, swallowing past the tightness in my throat.

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