Page 102 of Of Heartbreak and Harmony
“I’ve wanted to see them live forever,” Pike says over the roaring crowd, and I nod.
Me too. It feels different now. Like I’ve got a secret. I’ve got a connection to The Hometown Heartless that no one else does, and the thrill makes me almost lightheaded.
When the spotlight shines down on a familiar silver head of hair, the screams become nearly deafening, and then her low, raspy laugh booms through the speakers. As jealous as I am of Sav Loveless, her voice still gives me chills. She’s an icon. She’s one of a kind. And in this moment, I feel it more strongly than ever before.
The fan posts are right. You don’t get it until you see them live. Not truly.
“That’s what we like to hear,” Sav says, punctuated by a drumbeat from the back of the stage. They haven’t turned on the rest of the stagelights, but I can picture the drummer, Mabel Rossi’s bright pink hair without them. “ArtFusion, how the fuck are you feeling tonight?”
More screams. So many screams. People are whooping and jumping and going crazy, and she’s only said two sentences. I strain my eyes to focus on the shadowy figure just to the side of her. That’s where Torren is. My pulse thrums rapidly in anticipation of finally seeing him.
“We’re The Hometown Heartless. We’re so happy to be here. Now let’s fucking rock.”
The stage lights come on with the opening chords of their first song, and I zero in on Torren. No one else on that stage exists the moment I see him.
God, he looks good.
Black, curly hair hanging in his eyes. Black ripped jeans hugging his long legs. Black vintage band T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, showcasing his tattooed arms, and I can’t help but focus on the way the muscles in his forearms flex as he plays his bass.
I had those hands on me last night.
I had that mouth on my neck. On my breasts. I have the bite marks to prove that it wasn’t a dream.
My smile is borderline creepy, and I let out a giggle that sounds more twelve-year-old girl than nineteen-year-old woman. When Torren sings harmonies into his mic, it gives me chills.
“You think we’ll ever be that good?” Ezra asks in my ear, and I shrug.
“I hope so.”
I’m so enraptured by him that when he steps up to sing with Sav into her mic, my jealousy doesn’t surge right away. They do it all the time. That doesn’t mean they’re back together.
But then the longer I watch, the sicker I start to feel.
The way he looks at her. The way he smiles at her. It’s like she’s some sort of goddess. Like she’s the love of his life. And then that song ends, and it’s like I imagined the whole thing. He goes back to his mic, and I feel like an idiot.
It was nothing. Nothing. They’re broken up.
I repeat this over and over for the rest of the set, but something doesn’t sit right with me. When the lights go down, just before theycome back out for the encore, I slip out of the crowd and head to the back of the stage.
I listen to the encore song end, and when I attempt to make my way behind the stage, security stops me. This guy I don’t know, and I sigh.
“I need to get back there,” I say impatiently. I flash my musician badge. “I just played my set. I’m a musician.”
“Sorry, ma’am. VIP performers only.”
My nostrils flare.
“Look, I know Torren King, okay? I’m supposed to meet him.”
It’s a lie, and this guy doesn’t buy it. He just folds his arms and stares at me. He thinks I’m a groupie. I can tell. Hell, I’d think that, too, if I were him.
“I’m not a groupie. I was supposed to meet him. Radio him or something and ask.”
He still doesn’t budge.
I flick my eyes behind him, then survey the surrounding area, looking for a different way in, and then just like last night, an arm drops over my shoulders.
“With me,” Jonah clips out, and the security guy steps aside with one last judgmental glance at me. Jonah leads me behind the stage toward the Heartless bus, but this time there’s a second one.
