Page 41 of The Second Deal

Shannonturns, facing me with a brilliant beam on his face.Ihaven’t seen it from this angle in so long—a sight for sore eyes. “Thankyou,Stephani,” he says into the mic, almost tumbling over into his dad voice.

Ilaugh, giving the crowd a bow, and the lights cut off, allowing us to slip off stage.

“Holyshit,”Shannonexclaims as soon as we step off stage.Hethrows an arm around my shoulders. “Steph, you still got it, girl!”

“Yeah, well,”Istart, glaring over atAdriana little more playfully thanIintended.

Thatshit-eating grin isn’t coming off his face any time soon.

“Itwasn’t bad.Iguess.”

“You’rea little rusty, butIbet one more show would get you back to the best of your heydays,”Robbiesays with his arms crossed over his chest.Thegleam in his eyes is warm, saying what he doesn’t say out loud: he missed me being on stage with him.

EventhoughI’veburned everyone and thoughtI’dnever play withTimelessagain, it seems like they missed me.Theguys, the fans—they all loved me being back.

Ithink they may evenwantme back.

EveryoneexceptZak, who practically stood me up tonight.

“Seriously,Steph,”Shannonsays. “Thanksfor doing this.Itwas really great having you back out there.”

Nodding,Imake myself turn away before my guts spill out.

AsIrush down the cool hallway,Ialready know he’s following.

Burstingthrough the door, into the stormy night and the boiling rain,Istart to run.Iforce myself to run faster, digging in my pocket for my keys to unlock my car, and not because of the rain drenching me from head to toe.

Islam the door shut just in time.

Adrianappears in the window and strikes against metal, making me jump. “Goddamnit,Steph.Openthe door.”

Thebackdoor of the bar swings open, distractingAdrian.Istart the car and his wild eyes come back to me.Rainpours down his head, dripping onto his face and down his shirtless, toned torso.

“Wherethe fuck are you going?”

Icrack the window so we don’t have to yell and garner attention from passers-by.Raintrickles in. “I’mgonna go findZak.”

Adrianpurses his lips, nostrils flaring. “ForgetZak.”

Ifrown. “Whatif he’s hurt somewhere?”

“He’sfucking fine.”

StaringatAdrian,Irealize: “Whydidn’t he come with you tonight?”

“Idon’t fuckin’ know.Hewas off doin’ his own thing.”

“Youtwo always come together to gigs.”

“Steph, you haven’t been here in a while.Youdon’t know shit anymore.”

Glaringat him,Ithrow the car into drive. “Y’allare joined at the goddamn hip.Stopfucking lying.”

Heslaps the roof of my car and shouts asIspin off.

Therain falling in sheets over the windshield fragments streetlights in weird, nebulous ways, especially when the realization sinks in:Ijust played guitar for the first time since that fatefulNYBconcert.Ijust played aTimelessshow, and everyone fucking loved me.

Maybe… maybeIcould make a comeback, after all.MaybeIcould pick guitar back up and give music another shot—maybeIcan rejoinTimeless.

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