Page 117 of Starstruck
Isabella Cordova is a force to be reckoned with—she’s smart, strong, independent, beautiful…and she never fails to completely captivate everyone who dares to cross her path.
The woman was born to be onstage.
The crowd sings along to the songs they know and tries with the ones they don’t, and I watch in awe as my petite best friend fills every inch of the large stage. Before I know it, the intro chords to her final song start up. She meets my gaze from fifteen feet away and nods, signalling for me to join her.
“Alright, Toronto. Before I go tonight, I have a special surprise for you all.” I begin to make my way out as she continues talking to the crowd. “My best friend Lennon is going to help me with this last one. How’s that sound?”
The crowd goes wild as she reaches her hand out to me, and I take it.
Looking out over the crowd, I let my eyes fall shut. I shouldbe more nervous, I think. After all, this wasn’t planned. I’ve never performed in front of a crowd this big before, and I haven’t sang in nearly a year.
I should be panicking.
But instead, under the warmth of the spotlights beating down on me, I hold the microphone up to my lips and let myself remember my parents.
The performance is a simple one—just the two of us standing side-by-side, hand-in-hand, singing as if our lives depend on this very moment. I keep my eyes screwed shut, allowing all the memories of my parents that I’ve tried to force myself to forget come crashing back as the words pour out of me.
When the song comes to an end and I open my eyes again, I see their faces on everyone in the crowd. The tears spill out of me before I can stop them, and Isa wraps her arms around me.
But the smile that fills my face is the realest one I’ve felt in months.
“Thank you all for being here. It means the world to me, and it would’ve meant the world to my parents, too.”
With those words, I turn to make my way offstage, but Isa’s voice in the mic stops me.
“We’re not done yet—I have one more surprise for you all.”
I spin back around, a puzzled look on my face.
“Now, most of you probably don’t know this, but I’m a bit of a meddler. Over the past few months, I’ve watched my best friend fall in love with this guy you all know pretty well.” She smirks at me before she continues. “He’s here tonight, actually. Please give me a hand in welcoming Baxter James to the stage!”
My jaw drops when he walks out from behind the curtains onthe opposite side of the stage, his eyes finding mine immediately.
I’d caught a glimpse of him earlier in his trailer, but I knew the second I looked into his eyes, everything that’s happened over the past few weeks would fade away, so I avoided his gaze. I refused to turn around as he spoke to me out of fear that seeing him forrealwould damn near kill me.
I was right—my heart stops as I stare at him.
It’s been two weeks since I saw him this way—decked in his usual black leather jacket, jeans, and combat boots.
Two weeks since I tangled my fingers in his dark-brown hair, which is now mussed as if he’s been running his own hands through it.
Two weeks since I looked into his navy-blue gaze, currently surrounded by dark circles, like he hasn’t been sleeping.
But he still looks every bit like the Baxter I’ve fallen in love with over the past few months.
My brows pull together as I take him in. His eyes stay locked on mine, and when he smirks, I inhale sharply, all my anger dissipating.
I knew I missed him, obviously, but I was unprepared for just how much.
Throughout these last two weeks, throughout all my anger and frustration and sadness, one thought has been louder than all the others. Despite the lying, despite the way he hurt me, I’m in love with Baxter James. Nothing in this world could change that. And seeing him here now, looking lost and broken, I’m reminded of exactly why I fell in love with him in the first place.
Which is what I was afraid of.
All the emotions that have been running through me for the past two weeks fade away as I stare at him, slack-jawed and my feet frozen in place.
It hurts so damn much. Because now I know the truth, and I can’t figure out which is more important—following my heart or following my head.
And I don’t have time to figure it out, because when he stops two feet away from me and says the words, “Hi, Trouble,” into the mic for the whole audience to hear, I’m pretty sure I fall all over again.
