Page 151 of Pierce Me

I’m fighting for her–for us.

How did this happen to me? How am I filled‘to the brim with hope’, in Dimitris’ words? But it’s true, I am. I am bursting with it. If I don’t talk to her right now, I’ll lose my mind.

But as it turns out, I can’t. We are two days away from the first Athens concert, and it’s nonstop work from dawn to midnight, and then passing out for a few hours so we can keep going the next day. We spend the entire day working our asses off in the stadium. Everything is a mess, the sound equipment, our instruments, Jude’s mood. We rehearse the choreography and test the sound systems over and over again, until the night drowns the town in stars and darkness.

There is so much work to do. This isn’t going to be just a concert; it’s a show. There are theatrical and cinematic elements incorporated with the songs. From the song transitions to the costume changes to the short films projected on the mega-screens… It’s all timed to the second. My team had help from film directors to create this overproduction, and it’s completely worth it. But it’s also a complete nightmare to set up. I need to know where I’ll stand with the precision of a ballet dancer and to rehearse all the instrument transitions as well as the outfit changes until I can do them with my eyes closed. It strikes me once again, how the hard work of so many people eventually comes together in the end, to create magic. I live for show night.

Well, I used to.

Now I have something bigger to live for. Or I hope I’ll have it.

The night before the opening show, we finish a little before eleven at night. Spencer texts me to tell me that he’s had to fly out to Vermont due to something that cropped up last minute about his movie, but that he’ll be back in time for my show.

The man is crazy, what can I say?

I snatch five minutes to grab lunch, too wiped out to do anything else but drag my ruined body to a chair next to the equipment crew. They are working non-stop, in deep silence. Perfect.

I open a container from the catering company, not even caring what’s in it, and begin to fuel my body for five more hours of nonstop work. After that, I’ll sleep until it’s time to sing. It’s tour time. That’s how it goes. Absorbed in eating quickly, I don’t notice Jude dragging his steps towards me until he’s sitting beside me, eating in large, hungry gulps.

“Sup,” I tell him.

He just smirks, his mouth full, cheeks puffed out, chopsticks digging into the paper box.

“Still feel like smashing my face in?” he asks when he’s swallowed a ginormous bite.

“Yep,” I say. “Sorry. I probably won’t do it.”

“Make sure you do it after the show, if you must,” he says casually, chewing, and it hits me once more how absolutely ridiculous I’m being.

“Listen, about Eden, I…”

“No, you listen,” Jude says, and he’s not chewing anymore. His mouth is empty and his eyes are flashing, looking into mine with animosity. “I’m not clear on what your deal is with her, but you need to stop hurting her, do you understand? Just stop. Not tomorrow, not next week. Now. This second.”

His mouth turns tight and he takes a deep, shuddering breath. What on earth is going on with him? Does he truly have feelings for her? I have seen how close they’ve become, but that’s just Eden. It’s impossible to be near her and not want to be her friend. She’s like the sun; she draws you in.

But is there more?

More than that kiss I almost witnessed on the boat?

More than the day he carried her in his arms? More than the day he was the one to rescue her from the mob as I watched, completely useless?

White-hot pain hits me in the chest, piercing me all the way down to my stomach.

“What are you telling me?” I ask.

His eyes widen. “Is it possible you don’t know what you’ve done?”

“WhathaveI done?” Wait, are we talking about me or about her right now? “Jude, what did I do to her? I mean, apart from being an ass to her, which I absolutely know I have been…” He’s nodding.

I hate it when he’s right, but this is none of his business. It’s between Eden and me. Except there is no Eden and me, is there? We are nothing. We’re strangers who just happened to work together on a few songs. He is herfriend. He is someone who rescues her, someone she texts when she’s in pain. Someone who can yell at me to leave her alone—someone she’s given that right to.

“Yes, you have been,” he says.

I think I will smash his face in before the show, after all. It can’t be avoided.

“But that’s your business,” he goes on. I push the container with the uneaten food away. No appetite. “I’m talking about her leaving.”

“She what?”

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