Page 29 of Before Now

“What? Does my name make me too real?” I erase the space between us until she has to tilt her chin to look at me. “Was it easier in the dark, Remi? Not having to see me?” My thumb skims the skin between her shirt and skirt, her breath hitching. “I could finally touch you, and you could still pretend?” Her chest rises faster, my graze dipping under the top of her skirt and chasing more, and we both watch every pass lowering. “Maybe next time I play with your shadow, I make it come.”

Her eyes flutter closed, lush lips parting on an inhale. I’ve seen parts of her this way more than once. Only now we’re minus the phone screens, and the full view is even sexier.

I told her you never truly see something until it’s right in front of you, and she’s no exception. It’s why I can’t resist her in the dark. When I can’t really see her, I can hide in the lies a little while.

My thumb stops, eyes trailing off while I chase the words instead of her skin.

“Foster?” Remi says, more hushed this time.

She touches my arm, near my wrist, and I look up at her.

The first line’s right there.

I snag the black frames from her head, walking out with notes and syllables swimming. Christian stands by the door separating the viewing room and rehearsal space. I pass him while sliding the spy glasses on. I press the flush button without thinking. Muscle memory. Dev’s on his bass on the sectional. I swipe the notebook and pen and barely hit the cushions across from him before ink hits the page. He stops playing, and all noise cuts out of the room after he shuts the door.

I write in fragments at first. Kill more lines than I save. I rework the same words three different ways, letting myself drift into the alternate reality that is creating—wrong builds to right and what fits perfect one time lacks the next. Then for no apparent reason at all, everything exists exactly as it should.

Everything flows in absolute harmony.

* * *

As Christian poundson the door for a third time, demanding we get the fuck out, I drop back on the loveseat. I lazily launch my pen toward our manager. Itplinksoff the glass, but he gets my point.

It’s been hours since we came back in here. My mind feels empty in a way that soothes the deepest parts of me. The paper’s a mess of crossed-out words and circled ones. But what I want in the end remains mostly legible.

“You have enough lyrics to admit we wrote a chorus yet?” Felix asks.

I stare down at a chorus plus two possible verses and then smirk at him. “No, I might throw them all out.”

“That’s why I can’t believe you recorded it,” Dev says. “You. The dude who refuses to even let hisbandmatesin his notebook, and you just showed the entire doc crew.”

“Only one of them,” I mutter, sliding off the glasses and powering them down.

We take our time packing up, mostly to spiral Christian longer. He has his manager frown on when we come through the glass door. “We were supposed to be out of here two hours ago.”

“You want an album or not,” I counter.

Remi’s dragging her camera bag onto her shoulder, and I hand off the glasses. I put on my shades and drag on the black baseball cap, jogging down the stairs and leaving the rest of them. Except for Colt, who’s always a few inches from having his dick up my ass. There are worse things than being required to bring your best friend everywhere you go.

I walk outside into the same Seattle drizzle from earlier and the hum of Pike Place Market. Like a good boy, I stay on the cobblestone by the nondescript door.

The space is tucked in a little nook of the historic market but no less alive. No one on the sidewalk spares me a second glance with the sunglasses and hat. Everything else demands their attention, including the iconic neon Pike Place sign acting as a beacon in the distance. I have no issue leaning against the brick and being lost in the movement.

Colt’s head is on a swivel, and I catch him glaring at a fishmonger farther down.

“Don’t worry about him.” I gesture to a flower vendor across the crowd. “If anyone’s a pap, it’s her.”

“Ha. Ha,” he says dryly, but he checks out the granny for a camera anyway. “You know I’d be less stressed if we took the alley exit. Or if the van wasn’t parked in fucking Narnia.”

A two-minute walk is hardly through a wardrobe, but I let him have it. Dev, Felix, and I might need additional security and disguises to breathe in public, but Colt’s on the ride with us. He went from winding cables and drinking at our shows to holding back increasingly aggressive fans and coordinating with a security team.

The others flood out along with the other bodyguards, Anton and Henry. I push off the wall and grab my guitar case. We navigate through the throng of people. I’ve only been to Seattle for shows, never having a chance to explore. I’m tempted to check out every side street and dip into the coffee shops. Other than when I ditched Colt in Prague, I haven’t gotten to wander for a while. I feel it now. The restlessness.

I glance at Remi up ahead, strap falling off her shoulder.

A street band blocks out the buzz of voices once we get to the corner. The music drowns out everything while we wait at the pedestrian light. Colt’s scanning ahead, Christian is on his phone, and I almost miss the panicked, “Hey,” right before Remi crashes into me.

I catch her as a guy in a denim jacket dashes between tourists with a camera bag. “Shit.” Then I have to grab Remi again when she starts running after him. “What?—”

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