Page 72 of Misconception (Unrequited 2)

This was what I deserved. To be loved and adored. Wanted by everyone in this room, in one way or another.

Microphone in hand, I scanned the audience. They were thick tonight, packed into the club, pushing toward the stage.

“Yo, NYC, you’re looking real good tonight.” I found Michaela to the right of the stage, pressed close to Yael. Raising a brow, I said, “Real,realgood.”

She threw her arms over her head and screamed with the rest of the audience.

That was the last time I focused on Michaela, although I stayed aware of her—always aware of her. Her presence and the appreciative fans lit a spark inside me, and I rocked it out. Unrequited went hard, some songs veering into heavy metal territory. The four of us sharing a stage was what dreams were made of. Maeve kept us in line with her slick, expressive beats. Santi strummed a powerful rhythm with his bass. And Murray…the kid killed every guitarist there ever was. We were a well-oiled machine, but not packaged together from some record label. No, we were friends who started in a garage, making music together. Now, we got to travel the world in first class or private jets and shred in stadiums and clubs.

Prowling the stage, mic stand clutched in my hand like Freddie Mercury, I licked up the praise my audience gave me while I sang their favorite songs. I got high off it, needing, wanting, desperate for more.

We did three encores, and the crowd begged for more as we left the stage—as Murray dragged me off, like he always did.

“Yes. Shit yes. We killed that,” I said, dancing around on my toes in the dark hallway.

My hands were shaky, my jaw clenching and unclenching as adrenaline coursed through my system. I was always this way post-show. Needing a drink and an outlet to release the built-up steam inside me.

Clark intercepted us as we returned to our dressing room. “We’ve got Sarah fromRolling Stonewaiting to talk to you, plus a couple local affiliates. I need you to give them each a few minutes of your time. They’ll snap pictures, but I told them only candids. We’ll attempt to get through with this in an hour or so.”

“I have twenty minutes,” I said.

He reared back, steps faltering. “That won’t cut it, Mo. There are several people you need to speak with.”

“Tell them to talk fast. I’ve got places to be tonight.”

He snickered. “Da clubswill wait. Last call isn’t until four a.m.”

I flipped him off at the threshold of the dressing room. “Twenty minutes, that’s all you’re getting.” He sputtered a protest, but fuck him. Twenty minutes was generous.

Privacy wasn’t a thing for us after shows. We were swarmed by fans with VIP passes and reporters waiting to pounce. The second I stepped foot in the room, I felt like a slab of meat thrown into a cage with hungry lions. Mac was immediately at my side, keeping the predators at bay, at least until I got a drink.

“Will Ms. Ashwood be joining you this evening?” he asked.

“Yep. She’s with Yael. Keep an eye out for them, okay? I’m gonna be busy for a while, but I don’t want to miss them.”

I was served a drink—beer this time. Anymore of Maeve’s concoction, and I’d be sprawled out on the nearest soft surface singing show tunes. Murray and I sat down with the reporter fromRolling Stone.He did a handstand for her, because he was Murray and that’s what he did. He entertained, taking some of the weight off me in the process.

“Can you tell me anything about the new album?” she asked.

I chuckled, pushing back the nerves churning in my gut. “It’s gonna be lit. That’s all I can say.”

She raised a brow. “Does that mean you’ve got songs ready? Are you heading into the studio soon?”

“We’ve got time booked. Music and lyrics are being worked on.” My lyrics were jumbled and disorganized. I was praying Santi would work his Santi magic and make sense of them, like he always did. Hell, if he could get inside my brain and do the same, that’d be swell too.

Murray slung his arm around my shoulders. “What this kid is trying to say is we’re not some manufactured boy band. Sometimes we know exactly what we’re doing, but other times, we have to get into the studio and let the magic happen. We’ve found a couple producers who know our sound. They take our ideas and melodies and make that shit amazing.”

I nodded with vigor. “Yep, yep, that’s exactly what I was trying to say.”

Murray pressed a finger to his forehead, then mine. “Mind meld, bro.”

We talked for a few more minutes, and I finished my first beer and started in on a new one. When Mac suddenly became alert beside me, I did too, turning my head in the direction he was staring.

There she was. Shiny with sweat, curls wild and tangled around her face, I’d say she’d never looked prettier, except a frown was pulling down her lips. Yael was right beside her, red-faced, smoke practically billowing out of her nostrils.

“Oh shit,” Murray mumbled.

Yael stormed toward us, already yelling. “What the fuck, Moses?”

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