Page 92 of Shattered Chords

There was a long pause. On the stage, Cassy’s brother tapped the head of the microphone and said, “Check, check, check.” He grinned to himself. “Raise your hand if you can hear me, folks.”

Slight feedback came from the speakers.

Almost the entire party followed his instructions, their hands jerking into the air.

I didn’t. I continued to watch the kid from the corner of my eye, but my attention was mostly on Camille.

“It’ll get...weird,” I tried to explain the lack of privacy using words that wouldn’t terrify her, but my stomach was suddenly twisted and sick with nerves.

“What does that mean? For us?” she asked simply.

“That I’m going to do everything in my power to shield you and Ally from this shitstorm,” I replied, pressing my palm to the side of her neck.

Then my entire arm and then the rest of my body came to life. I waited for her to say something, to put the brakes on it, to contradict me, to ask for some time alone, but none of that happened. We just stood there, in the shadows, surrounded by the drone of the party and the rumble of the ocean, and stared at each other.

Frank’s voice, amplified by the microphone, echoed through the yard and I turned to glance at the stage, where he’d taken his place right in the middle. He wore a pair of black pants and a black shirt, the dark colors offsetting his tan, his sandy blond shoulder-length hair, his bright blue eyes.

Fucker was good-looking and he knew it. He’d used all that he’d been given to gain us millions of fans.

I never minded. I’d only cared about my guitar, first and foremost. The need to dress well and have my own style was a necessary evil for the greater good of the band and had come a little later. Eventually, I’d gotten so used to it that I’d forgotten how to be a regular guy.

I was learning now.

Frank cleared his throat and turned around to check on Carter, who emerged from behind to the kit. He was the youngest one and a real menace on drums. But the main reason we’d picked him out of hundreds of guys who auditioned to replace Quin was his nonconfrontational personality. He didn’t add drama to our already dramatic outfit.

Johnny stepped on stage next, and as always, he was calm and collected. Story, the kid from Izzy’s band, was the last to show up. He seemed uneasy in the company of adults and I couldn’t help but smile at that. Then I thought about Ally and how comfortable she’d been around Malik during the barbeque at my place.

“First of all, thank you all for coming,” Frank started.

Cheers rose from the small crowd.

He surveyed the back yard, his gaze sweeping over the guests and pausing on me for a second. A quiet understanding passed between us. We weren’t exactly on the mend. Our friendship was still a raw wound, but we were a united front again, going against our biggest enemy—the label that had turned us into superstars.

“I’ll be right back,” Camille whispered as Frank continued his speech.

She walked over to a table sitting near the pool to leave her plate, then returned to stand next to me.

“Cassy, doll, come here,” he urged the woman he was about to ask to marry him to get on stage, his hand outstretched to her.

A gentle murmur streamed through the air as she took a spot by his side, all flushed and embarrassed. I had to give it to them. They were good together. She was a furious slip of a thing and he was a brooding type of a guy with a heart of gold.

“I prepared a speech,” Frank said, the microphone shaking in his palm. “And you look so beautiful tonight that I think I may have forgotten it.”

The crowd burst with laughter.

Fucker was nervous, which, honestly, surprised me. He could easily entertain twenty thousand people, but in front of Cassy, he was as insecure as a prepubescent teenager who didn't know how to talk to a girl.

I chuckled, a barely audible sound.

Next came some really cheesy lines about love and forever, then he fished a small box from the pocket of his pants, got on one knee, and asked Cassy if she would do him the honor of being Mrs. Wallace.

The guests swooned collectively at their embrace that was followed by a kiss.

I stared at them, unable to move, my boots glued to the ground. Something strange took root in my stomach, moving up to my chest and finally to my throat, tightening my vocal cords and binding my tongue.

I felt Camille shift. She glanced at me, her eyes big and green and frantic. There was some sort of expectation in her gaze, a question.

Why did you bring me here?

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