Page 109 of Love Me Steadfast
I’m looking everywhere but at the crowd when Morgan leans in close. “Nic’s here.”
I follow her gaze. Across from us, his hands crossed over his chest, stands Nic Salazar with his flock of scantily-clad groupies. His blonde hair is shaved close on one side and long on top so that it hangs into his eyes. That night we played at The Limelight together, I caught him practicing flipping it back in a mirror. Though I haven’t talked to him since then, he played at The Limelight last year, and he and Dad keep in touch. Tonight, he’s wearing his typical ripped black jeans, combat boots, and black T-shirt printed with some logo too faded to make out. When he sees us watching, he arches one eyebrow and gives us his cool guy chin lift.
Morgan grips my arm and squeals. “He’s going to watch our set!”
My stomach flutters. In the last year, Nic’s blown up. Record deal, an album recorded, a thirty-two-stop tour that kicks off next month. I’ve heard two of his songs on the radio already, “Candle,” which is still my favorite, and a new one since our Limelight show that is definitely catchy but feels…lacking. Like he’s already selling out. Or maybe he’s not as talented as everyone thinks?
Morgan gets occasional DMs from him on Instagram that make her downright giddy. They talk about music and he sends her shots from his gigs. She’s shared some of her journey with him through the songs she’s written, and I guess he’s been encouraging. I haven’t been shy about telling Mo that once Nic’s tour kicks off, we’ll likely never see him again.
Dad’s murmuring something to the stage manager, and then he clasps him on the shoulder, like they’re sharing a private joke. Applause erupts from the audience, slamming my ears with sound.
“Thank you!” Ari says into the mic, raising one of her arms in gratitude.
The lights go out.
One note at a time, I remind myself.
Emmie’sjust finishing the last curl in my hair when my phone buzzes. I snatch it up.
“Hey,” I say, my voice breathy.
“How’d it go?” William asks.
“So good,” I gush while Emmie cheers, “They were AMAZING!”
I laugh. “The crowd was great.”
“Wish I could have been there,” he says, his tone edged with regret.
Emmie slips the curl from the curling iron and unplugs it, then bounces out of our bathroom. Dad let Emmie and me share a night in the hotel instead of going home with him and Morgan after the festival.You’ve worked hard, pumpkin. Enjoy a night with your friends. It’s bittersweet because in just a few weeks, Emmie and I will be going separate ways. We already said goodbye to Wren, who left for the University of Wyoming last week. At least Crosby and I will be at Cornish together. And I’ll have Professor Massey as my advisor.
I swing the coda medallion back and forth on its chain. “You were with me in spirit.”
We talk a little more about the show, and he shares stories from his brutal practice and getting to know his new team. He sounds tired but happy.
“Call me when you get back to your room tonight,” he says as we’re wrapping up.
I scoff. “You’ll be asleep.”
“No sleep for me until I know you’re safe.”
Still so protective, even from hundreds of miles away. “Okay.”
“I love you, blackbird,” he says. “I can’t wait to see you.”
“Love you back, QB.” I smile at my reflection, because my whole face lights up when I say those words to him. “Twenty-two more days.”
He groans. “That’s twenty-two too many.”
I sigh because I’m the luckiest girl on earth. He may not be here, but a part of him is. The part that lives inside my heart. And that’s all that matters.
I finish getting dressed, going for a black tee with a thin ruffle along the cap sleeves, dark jeans, and suede ankle boots Emmie calls my “uptown booties.” Emmie look like a million bucks in a navy blue dress and cowboy boots.
We stop by Crosby’s room down the hall. His parents, Sally and Ted, are here too, staying in an adjoining room.
“How do I look?” Crosby asks, his face a little pale. He’s wearing jeans and white sneakers, paired with a blue dress shirt rolled up to his elbows.
“Like a professional,” I say with a grin.
