Page 8 of Guitars and Mistakes
Lila Potter. I saw her talking to another guy and it broke me. I’d been flirting with labeling my feelings for her at that point and seeing her with someone else had hurt so badly, affected me so deeply, that I’d immediately shut down. It hadn’t been conscious or intentional. More like a defense mechanism. I’d realized how much I treasured her, even after only a week, and how much I’d suddenly come to depend on her. That smile. The laugh. The ability to eat nearly an entire pie by herself.
I’d seen how much I’d opened up to her and realized how dangerous it was.
Doubly dangerous for her. She was meant for the sun and I was a creature of the shadow. She’d been falling in love with me, and I was not the man for her. I would only hurt her, the way I’d hurt so many other people in my years. She couldn’t afford to have me in her life, but I didn’t think she’d ever see that—or go through with cutting me out.
So I’d done it for her. I’d made sure she’d be safe and clean, and I meant to keep it that way.
Sure, it was killing me. And I was sinking into the blackness. But I didn’t see any way around that. Was I worried that I was damaging The Global Authors’ chance at staying on the tour? Yes. I worried about my band mates—my best friends—every day, and knew that by damaging myself, I might also be damaging them.
Which was why I’d been working on a plan. It wasn’t a good plan. It wasn’t something I’d even fleshed out yet, and I certainly hadn’t committed to it. I didn’t know if it would work. But it was starting to take up more space in my mind.
And if I could pull it off, it would save not only my band, but Lila as well.
I watched her turn toward me, her eyes narrowed in thought, and I caught her gaze and held it for a long, tense moment.
When she nodded and turned away, I knew she’d already made up her mind. She was going to do whatever Taylor was asking her to do. She was going to play to the audience and get her fans. She was going to win her contract.
I closed my eyes and breathed out slowly, feeling my heart break and then mend itself together again.
And in that moment, I made up my mind. I didn’t know exactly what Lila was agreeing to, but I knew what my next steps were. She deserved everything. The fame, the fans, the contract. She deserved to be happy and successful. She deserved everything she’d set out on this tour to find.
And I was going to make sure that happened.
Even if it meant I had to leave the picture, myself.
LILA
The venue that night was freaking amazing.
Look, I liked the small towns. I loved the little music halls and the random bars we’d been in at almost every place we stopped. I loved it even more when the audience was right there in front of the stage, able to interact with the bands as they played. Those were the sorts of places I’d played a million and one times back in Nashville, and though I wasn’t on the stage right now—this wasn’t, after all, a tour that actually featured me and Anna—I adored being in the audience for shows like that. You got to see the performers more closely, laugh with them when they messed up, and the whole thing was just...
So personal.
But tonight, we were in a bigger city and that meant a bigger venue. It meant a huge room with a bigger stage and—let’s face it—better soundproofing. The first band, The Leathers, had played their loudest, most raucous music and wound the audience up with their sound, and by the time The Authors got read to go on stage, everyone was jumping and screaming and ready for some more rock and roll. Anna and I weren’t out there with the crowd, though. Instead, we were backstage, helping the stagehands move everything around and get the instruments and music equipment set up. I was rushing around with Molly, the girl who served as The Authors’ head roadie, responding to her shouted questions as quickly as I could.
“Where’s that fucking microphone Rivers likes so much?”
I rifled quickly through the sound equipment, knowing exactly which one she was talking about. For some reason, Rivers liked the oldest, most dilapidated microphone on tour and we were always having to switch out the newer equipment to stuff that vibed with that old thing when he went onstage.
It was ridiculous and sort of hilarious, and also a running joke with the crew.
“No clue,” I said, coming to the end of the sound equipment and not finding it. “It’s not in here.”
“Shit,” she cussed, the word completely at odds with her wide-eyed, curly haired look. Then again, I’d known the girl long enough now to realize that though she might look innocent, she was anything but.
She was best friends with the band and evidently had been since they were kids. And she was the only one who could put them all in their place, no matter how ornery they were being. She was particularly good with the drummer, Noah, who was just as tough as he looked and smoked about thirteen packs of cigarettes a day. He seemed like the kind of guy who never, ever took advice from anyone, and dared anyone to call him out on it.
Until Molly called him out on it. At which point he turned into a sulky little boy who’d do anything she told him to.
Which was, of course, hilarious.
She didn’t, though, have the same hold over Rivers, and I didn’t think she wanted to tell him that we didn’t have his microphone available.
“What’s the problem here?” another voice suddenly asked.
I turned and saw Taylor scooting through the backstage area, her hair coming down from her standard updo and her eyes bright and fiery.
“We can’t find Rivers’ microphone,” Molly said, hustling to another pile of stuff. “And we all know how he’s going to react to that.”
