Page 47 of Enticing the Enforcer
And then she sings:
“Used to hate the silence when the night dragged on,
Lonely hours stretching till the break of dawn.
But now the dark is golden when the screen lights up,
Every stolen minute, I can’t get enough.”
The air leaves my lungs.
She’s singing it to me. To us.
If I had any doubt, the way her eyes flick up to the box burns it all away. The arena vanishes. It’s just her voice, threadingstraight into me. Like she’s cracked open my chest and branded me with it.
I don’t even notice when the song ends. Or the one after. I just sit there, vibrating, waiting for the next glance. The next proof that I’m not alone with these feelings.
“Damn,” I hear whispered next to me. I glance over at where Nadia and Shelby share a covert glance, like they can see my heart threatening to jump out of my chest.
Damn.
Long after Ingridleft the stage, the Flock is still buzzing with the kind of post-concert adrenaline that feels like it’ll never fade. Shelby and Nadia link arms, swaying as they belt out one of Ingrid’s hits off-key, like they just stumbled out of the bar instead of a sold-out arena. Twyler is much more into emo music, so this isn’t really her vibe, but her hand is linked with Reese’s, and she seems really happy. The hallway smells faintly of popcorn and beer, and their laughter bounces off the concrete walls, sharp and careless.
I hang back, a few steps behind, soaking it in. The night’s perfect, better than I imagined. My ears are still ringing from the set, fromhervoice. The girls are giddy, alive, and for once, I’m not focused on finding a girl to spend the night with. I’vegotthe girl, and I’m being carried on the high of being with her.
A few feet away from the stairs, we hit the checkpoint.
Two uniformed security guards stand stiff in front of the exit, radios buzzing low. Their faces are wrong–serious, closed-off, not the relaxed kind of watchfulness I’ve seen all night. One glances at me, then away too quickly. Another shifts his weight, murmurs something into his walkie-talkie. The girlskeep singing, oblivious. But the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. The easy warmth drains from the air.
“Sorry but there’s no entry,” one says, giving a stern look.
“But we have passes,” Twyler says, holding up the special wristband that Ingrid sent us.
“I understand,” he says, “but due to a situation the entire area is under lockdown.”
My gut goes cold and in a heartbeat, I’m stone sober, fists clenched, staring at the door I can’t get to.
I fire off a text.
Jparks23:You okay? They won’t let us back.
No reply.
Shelby says something-her voice high, confused-but I can’t hear her over the pounding in my ears. Reid pulls her into his side, steadying her while more cops appear. Radios crackle, the words“threat… lower level…”filtering through the static. Nobody tells us a damn thing.
Then some guy in black, a handler or assistant, whatever, appears out of nowhere and orders the officers to evacuate the area.
“Anything?” Nadia asks, when I check my phone for the hundredth time.
“No.”
“The only thing I see online is that the concert was great,” Axel says. “Oh wait, here’s something. ‘Large police presence at the Intown Arena following Ingrid Flockton show.” His eyes skim down the screen. “But no details.”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Reese says with authority. He’s always the leader–a captain through and through–but I see the wrinkle in his forehead. He’s nervous too.
Me? I don’t think it’s nerves. It’s outright panic. Ingrid has intense fans. She’s spoken to me about the parasocial relationship that happens with someone at her level of fame.Hell, we’ve even felt it a little bit ourselves being high level hockey players, but nothing compared to the way her fans love her. They get her symbols tattooed on their bodies. They write her long letters saying that her songs changed their lives. And some get darker–scarier.
Is this one of those times?
