Page 44 of Filthy Rock Stars

“Then we owe him, don’t we?” Mare says, which makes me smile.

Star waggles her eyebrows at me, teasing. “Anonymous, huh? You’re full of surprises, Nico.”

I laugh. “I’m not sure about that.”

Case nods. “I used to be fundamentally opposed to committed relationships. It was purely hookups for me. But the last couple years, I’ve been open to something more.”

“What’s he like?” Mare asks.

I think about it for a second. It’s strange to feel like I know someone so well, like I’ve seen the core of who Solo is, but to still not know the most basic things about him.

“He’s kind of a bad boy,” I admit. “A little bit cocky, a little bit sarcastic. But he’s sweet, too. And gentle. Like when I’m on the back of his motorcycle, he always takes time to check in with me at every stop, make sure I’m doing okay.”

Star draws some more black eyeliner on. “Back of his motorcycle? Sounds sexy.”

I laugh. “It is.”

“And you’re falling for him?” Mare asks, a smile curving her round cheeks. “You think this might be something?”

I nod. “I think so. Maybe. It’s confusing.”

“Hell,” Case says, “if you need a way to show him how special you are, nothing like an appearance on a hit talk show.”

My mouth hangs open, but I’m not sure what to say. Maybe Solo will catch the band tonight, and what will that mean? The physical and erotic connection between the two of us is amazing, but once we move beyond that, once he knows the real me, will he still care about me the way I’m starting to care about him?

The lights flicker in the green room, and the band stirs to attention.

“Time to set up on stage,” Mare says brightly. “You ready?”

Before I can answer, a few production assistants appear at the door, and we all jump into action. They hurry us out, talking quickly among themselves and shooting instructions our way—don’t step out of your spot, give the audience time to applaud.

I’m really doing this, something I never thought I was capable of, never even knew to want. But I realize I do want it.

Not fame. Not glitz and glamour, although like Mare said, there’s plenty of that to go around.

But making music with Mare, Star, and Case? Being part of this band? It feels right.

“Ready to shine?” Mare asks, and a split second later, the lights go up on the studio. Cole, the host of the show, steps center stage to introduce us, and it happens. Mare counts us down, Case starts rolling the drums, and we’re playing.

It’s a new song for the band, poppy and bright, but with a moody undertone I draw out through the keyboard. The cameras rotate and zoom around us, a global audience watching, but somehow, miraculously, it’s just like back at the studio. It’s me and the band, totally in syncopation.

When we hit the last notes, I’m beaming. It feels like pure sunlight is flowing through me, like a million birthdays rolled into one. The thunderous applause from the studio audience roars, confirmation that this is real.

And then, my breath shaky and the high of the performance tingling my nerves, a curtain drops on the opposite side of the stage, and my world turns upside down.

* * *

SHADOW

The one thing I still truly enjoy about Forbidden Destiny is playing live.

Live music reminds me why I got into this in the first place. When I was a teenager, rock shows were my salvation. At its best, live rock is cathartic and raw and pure. It busts open your life, or at least your night, and lets you feel free.

Elle and Adrian might have ripped the heart out of our songs, but there’s still some of that initial magic left with an audience, and I crave it every time we step onto the stage.

We stand behind a big black curtain, ready to surprise the crowd. My guitar hangs on my shoulder, and Elle holds her mic, more pumped for the set than I’ve seen her in ages. We’ve got on these noise-canceling headphones attached to mics—I don’t understand why—and it makes her voice echo in my head.

“You excited that everyone is finally going to see my new haircut?” I ask.

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