Page 7 of Opening Strain

I roll my eyes but agree. After all, we’re leaving on a stadium tour, and I need to be one hundred percent. “Fine. I want this fixed so I can go out and party.”

Luke clamps his hand around my shoulder. “Soon.”

Chapter Three

Kenneth hands Luke a bottle of Dom. The cork springs free and glasses are passed around to the band, our techs, and roadies. While not my first choice of drink, this news calls for a special celebration.

Chico, our guitar tech, approaches me holding an ice pack. “Luke said you needed this?”

I toss back the bubbly. “Yeah. Twisted something out on stage. The ice should help.” He passes me the pack, and I return to my chair to put it in place.

“You all rocked it out there. It’s great for you to be back on the big stage. Where you belong.”

The pack keeps falling off my thigh, so I put the glass down on a side table and position it better, keeping my fingers on an edge. “Thanks. It was a great time.”

“You had the audience in the palm of your hand,” Chico notes. “Like old times, right?”

I pause for a moment. “It was heady, for sure. Hearing them echo our lyrics never gets old.”

“I can only imagine.” He points to the pack. “Is this helping?”

Shrugging, I resist the urge to remove the ice pack. “I don’t know. It doesn’t really bother me when I’m sitting. It’s only when I’m up and moving.”

He looks like he wants to say something else, but the band joins us at my chair. Twirling his gold hoop earrings, Coop asks. “Leg still effed up?”

“Not when I’m sitting,” I reply. “If only it would stop hurting like a scorned groupie when I get up.”

“I bet it was that crazy-ass jump you did,” a shirtless Río pipes up. “Have to say, from my vantage point behind the drums, it was fire.”

I fidget with the ice pack. “Thanks. It certainly felt right in the moment.”

Tris fiddles with what appears to be a friendship bracelet. Never noticed it before. “Hope you didn’t do anything to your groin muscle, dude. That shit takes forever to heal. My uncle pulled his and wasn’t right for like a year.”

A groan from all of us goes up in response. 007 smacks him behind the head. He adjusts his studded belt—the one that used to be Darren’s—and in the worst Austrian accent known to mankind, says, “It’s not a tumor.”

The groans turn into chuckles. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” I placate the band. “A little ice and some Advil and I’ll be on the dancefloor in no time.”

“Sure hope so,” Río chips in, then takes one step to the side. “On second thought, with you on the sidelines, that means more girls for the rest of us. Hope your leg is out of commission for a long while.”

I purse my lips. “Then I won’t be performing at the concerts.” I shrug. “Guess you don’t want to go on tour.”

Río scratches his nose. “Hope your leg is back after the weekend. I have no problem picking up the slack and entertaining the fairer sex for the next few days.”

He bumps against Coop, who agrees, “Yeah. We certainly can take a few additional ladies each to make up for your being missing this weekend. It’s not a hardship.”

“Call dibs on a blonde!” 007 adds unhelpfully.

I turn toward Tris, who has yet to capitalize on his apparent good fortune. “Redheads are my favorite,” he murmurs.

I force a laugh over all their antics. “Sorry to disappoint you all, but my money’s on partying with you tonight. However, I might take my celebration to a private location and not share any of the women.”

Coop holds up his phone. “I know you think this is nothing, but do you want me to call anyone?”

“No.” Everyone who needs to know is right here in the room. I don’t have any other people in my life. It’s better this way. My small circle of acquaintances suits me.

Río frowns. “Are you sure? You never talk about other friends because, hey, when you have UC twenty-four seven, why do you need anyone else?” The group laughs. “But what about your mom? Shouldn’t she be notified?”

“There’s nothing to tell her. I’m fine.” I play with the end of the ice pack. In truth, she’s the last person on earth I’d call if I needed help.

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