Page 113 of Tell Me When It's Over

Biting my bottom lip, I crisscross my legs under me and wiggle into the hard cushion. You’d think for the money they’re sure to have here, they’d buy more comfortable furniture, but I guess style is more significant.

It’s the twenty-five-minute mark when one of the crew member’s tells Mia and Garrick they’re getting ready for them after the allotted commercial break. Ky and I walk out to wish them luck.

When Mia and Garrick are introduced and make the walk onto the stage, the crowd’s noise level increases so much I have to cover my ears to drown it. Ky nudges my arm before dipping his chin toward the dressing room again, so I nod and follow him back to watch them from the TV instead.

The interview they do has both Kyler and I laughing so hard there are tears in my eyes. At some point throughout the fifteen-minute segment when they talk with Penny, play a get-to-know-you game where Garrick and Mia have to guess each other’s favorite things (which they both got almost all wrong), Kyler is planted so close to me our thighs are touching. I feel the fingers from his hand thrown over the back cushion, playing with the loose strands of my hair. I’m not sure he knows he’s doing it, or if it’s an absentminded action, but I’m hyperaware of each time his fingers curl a piece of hair around it and tug ever so slightly.

When Penny tells the audience that Mia and Garrick have agreed to perform their new duet, they all get on their feet. I smile when Garrick helps Mia up like a true gentleman and guides her over to where the crew set up two microphones and stools. There’s a band off to the side that the camera turns to, making sure each member is shown, before zooming into the two singers.

The song is perfect for them. Mia’s voice is light and airy, whereas Garrick’s is low and seductive. I know Dylan, who’s in the front row of the audience with a huge, goofy grin on his face as he watches his wife, told Garrick not to get too much into the performance. I wasn’t around when they practiced, but according to the man Mia took her last name from, Garrick was doing anything to flirt and get a reaction from him.

From what Kyler said, seduction is the key to capturing listeners’ attentions. And the performance they’re putting on is definitely worthy of starting rumors that Mia’s baby might not be Dylan’s after all. That’s how good it is when they face each other and sing, eyes never breaking apart during the entire time.

I shake my head. “They’re amazing,” I whisper, unable to look away from the screen. Goosebumps cover my arms when callused fingers brush the crook of my neck, tracing the line of my shoulder and collarbone.

“They are,” he agrees quietly, working the muscles in my shoulder until my head rolls forward from the blissful sensation of knots being undone.

We sit like that until the song finishes, the audience claps and yells out in praise, and Penny gives both her guests hugs before saying they’ll be back. Kyler only withdraws his hand from my shoulder when Mia’s and Garrick’s voices grow nearer, entering Kyler’s room where we both stand to greet them.

They don’t need us to tell them how amazing they are because both singers already know. The hug I give Mia is tight and the smile I offer Garrick is sheepish because, no matter how much time passes, he’s always going to be my first crush—an idol I’ve looked up to for so long and loved every song of.

The way he watches me now is still with a teasing tone, his eyes bright and up to no good, his smirk somehow different as his eyes dance between me, Kyler, and Mia. We talk for a while before Mia says she needs to get off her feet and leaves to her dressing room.

Garrick and Kyler chat for a few minutes while I listen to Penny playing a game with the audience and doing a segment about some new movie coming out that she’s endorsing. It’s just Ky and I again for a few minutes before he has to go on.

I follow him out like we did for Mia and Garrick, saying, “You and Garrick seem to get along better.”

He chuckles, lifting a shoulder. “He’s never been a bad guy.” The tip of his tongue swipes across his bottom lip before he glances down at me. “I’ll still deny it if you tell him that.”

Not able to stop the giggle, I remind him of what the media claimed not long ago. “Every couple has a lover’s quarrel at one time or another, I suppose. Maybe your guys’ is over.”

Glaring, his amusement counters the otherwise deadpan expression. “You spend too much time with Mia. She’s corrupted you.”

All I can do is smile, not bothering to hide the way his thought amuses me. Maybe he’s a little right, but he doesn’t seem fazed. “There could be worse influences.”

His silence agrees.

“Mr. Bishop,” the crew member calls, waving him forward. Ky winces, still not okay with the name. He, like always, doesn’t correct them. “They’re getting ready to call you.”

I’m busy looking out at the waiting crowd, what little of them I can see from here, when I startle over a hand capturing mine. Long fingers thread through mine, warm and callused from guitar strumming, and I glance down when he squeezes our palms together as Penny calls his name.

“See you after,” he tells me, brushing a kiss to my cheek that lingers dangerously close to the corner of my mouth until the last second he has to make his walk into the screaming crowd of mostly women admirers.

His kiss lingers, my fingertips brushing the area he touched, a feeling buzzing through my system as I watch him stroll out with unblinking eyes. Kyler is confident and eased as he waves to his many fans. They’re louder with him, more desperate because of how little he makes appearances these days. I wonder if he’ll decide to do a show or two, maybe plan a concert, after seeing their reactions. Selfishly, part of me doesn’t want him to because that means having to see him leave, but I know how important that is to a singer’s career and I’d support him no matter what he chose.

When Penny hugs him, they exchange a few words before she tells everybody that he’s going to sing his newest song, and when he walks over to the lone wooden stool, picks up his trusty guitar, I melt along with every person in the audience, holding onto the lyrics that caress the air.

I don’t realize I’m not alone until halfway through his song, one I’ve heard so many times because I’ve asked him to sing it to me all the time since my birthday, until Garrick appears in my peripheral.

“Do you like my little brother?” the Australian asks, leaning against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other.

I blanch. “Of course I do.”

He studies me. “Really like him.”

All I can do is blink because I’m not sure what prompted the question. He’s looking at me like Kyler used to look at Beckham when I first brought him around—guarded.

“You know I like you, Little Bishop,” he says when I don’t reply. “But I’m sort of obligated to like my brother more. Which means I need to look out for him.”

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