His voice, a throaty rasp, is all man and sexy as hell. My mind fights the attraction, but my body and ears are all in.
This guy can sing. I don’t enjoy his songs, but damn, I could listen to his voice all night, a cappella.
If I let this slip to Layla, she’d never let me forget it. I’m not one for change, and I’d never willingly listen to this band.
I’ve caught a few of their songs on the radio. Just enough to recognize them and switch stations. But not without Layla giving me those puppy-dog eyes, begging me to keep it on.
Whoever said bands sound the same live as they do on their albums was lying. I’ve never heard an artist sound so much better live than on their tracks.
His voice is breaking down my musical walls. But then he starts talking instead of singing, and every positive thought I had starts to crumble.
“Sweetheart?” His voice reaches me before I see him. It’s almost pitch-black, except for a single spotlight. It’s shining on me. I look around, hoping, praying.
He can’t be talking to me.
Anyone but me.
“Yes. You,” he shouts.
The lights come on, and he’s looking right at me. I stare back. He’s angry. What could I have possibly done to piss off a stranger this much?
“Why don’t you get your ass up here on stage?” It’s not a question, it’s a command.
I see a few people heading my way, his self-appointed minions. I glance back at the door. Maybe, just maybe, I can make it out before they reach me.
I look back at the crowd. Layla is on the edge of the crowd, still with Benjamin, her eyes begging me to just do as he says. She wants me to go.
Fight or flight.
I choose fight. No one is carrying me; I’ll walk willingly. I plant my feet on the floor and stand up. I look him in the eye, not in submission, but to show him I’m his equal.
As I make my way to the stage, the crowd parts to let me through. I feel eyes on me and look up to see who they belong to. Just as I thought. Steele.
He’s glaring at me, a tight smirk on his face. What’s his game? I wonder if this is part of their show, randomly calling women from the audience.
So, I walk slower. He can wait.
I study his face. He’s beautiful.
My heart is pounding. He runs his hand through his jet-black hair. It falls in waves, partially hiding his eyes. Eyes that I can see staring back at me.
They’re a magnificent ocean blue, but clearly filled with pain. It’s so intense I can almost feel it pouring out of him and wrapping around me.
My breath catches.
I reach the stairs, one step closer to this brooding stranger. I take the steps one at a time, as slowly as I can.
I straighten up quickly, my face turning red. I look behind me and remember the crowd watching my humiliation.
Not just my fall into his arms, but the fact that I was ordered to stand on this stage.
I look at the band with a “help me” expression. They don’t seem surprised I was called up here; they know exactly what’s about to happen.
This gorgeous man invades my space, grabs my hand, leans in and whispers in my ear, “About time you came up here.
“I’m Steele. You know, most women would have run up here.”
I step back, pulling my hand away, shocked and angry at his assumption that I should be honored to stand next to him.
I look around, searching for someone who isn’t okay with this. But everyone, including my best friend, is begging, pleading for something to happen.
Well, fuck it. I’ll give them what they want, then I’m out of here. I look at Steele, right into his tormenting eyes, and ask, “What do you want?”
Only he and I can hear what’s being said. Thank God.
“You obviously weren’t enjoying the show, so I thought I’d make you part of it, Minx.”
“Tell me, Steele,” I snap, “how did you figure that me being up here is going to make me enjoy your show?”
“Well, sweetheart, it’s going to work because you’re going to be singing a song with me,” he says confidently.
“You’re delusional. Lyrics? I don’t know one word to any of your fucking songs,” I say, laughing hysterically.
This guy is insane. He starts laughing, clutching his stomach, gasping for breath because he finds my situation so funny.
“I don’t think this is funny.”
After what feels like minutes, he straightens up and wipes the smile off his face, replacing it with a serious, downright dangerous glare.
“Now, why are you going to lie to me like that? I highly doubt you haven’t heard any of our songs, for fuck’s sake. You’re studying music in college.
“Let’s get this moving. You’re singing. With me.”
“What song?” I ask, resigning myself to this. If I just sing this damn song, then I can leave.
“‘Used By You.’” He smirks.
What a jerk.
“I’m not singing that song with you. It’s a song that cheapens love and degrades women. It’s everything I hate about mainstream music.
“No, I’m not going to fucking do it,” I spit out.
“Ha! So, you do know one of our songs!” he says, sounding way too pleased.
I feel defeated. I just want to get this over with. This is probably the only song I know well enough to sing, and once I do this, I won’t have to see him again.
Right now, all I want to do is leave. The only reason I’m still standing on this stage is because I’m about to wipe that smug look off his face.
He doesn’t know it, but I can sing. I’ve been compared to some of the best female voices of all time.
“Well, let’s get this moving,” I say.
He turns to the band members; they all take their places. Unfortunately, Steele and I have to share a microphone.
The song starts with the drummer pounding on the snare and bass drum. The bassist and guitarists join in, creating a rhythm that’s almost hypnotic.
The stage vibrates beneath my feet. It shakes me to my core.
I look into Steele’s eyes, and he looks into mine. Together, we start to sing every verse, our voices blending together.
The song ends. I look out at the audience, seeing their approval. I run off the stage, out of the auditorium, out of the college. I run. I keep running until I can’t breathe.
My ribs ache, but I don’t want to stop. Not until I’m home, where I can think about what just happened and what it means that I ran away.
So, I keep going. I run for over five miles, as if death itself is chasing me. When I get home, I rush to my bedroom and lock the door.
I know Layla is going to want to talk about this. I sure as hell don’t want to. I sit on my bed and put my head between my knees, taking deep breaths.
I can feel a panic attack coming on. My head feels light, the drink I had earlier is threatening to come back up, and every muscle in my body is tense.
This is when all my fears start to run wild in my head.
I feel trapped, forced to imagine every possible worst-case scenario that could happen to the people I love, or even to me.
My fears merge into one big fear. Pain and death. I’m always trying to keep people at a distance because anyone can die at any time, and I don’t want to feel that pain again.
The breath is knocked out of me, and my heart shatters into a million pieces. I’m the one left alive, wishing I could trade places with them. But I can’t.
Death is final. There’s nothing I can do to change it now.
It’s been years, and I still feel that emptiness that will never be filled. I’m stuck. Nothing and no one can ever fill the void in my heart.
To get through the panic attack faster, I have to let go of control. I have to face it. And eventually, everything will be okay.
I keep telling myself: It will be okay. One day, I’ll get over this. These feelings won’t control me. Maybe then, I can let someone in.
Slowly, my thoughts become my own again, and my fears are pushed to the back of my mind.
“As your best friend, I have to ask, are you okay?” Layla asks, trying to keep her voice steady. Benjamin looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just nervous and didn’t want to deal with all the crazy fans, you know.”
“Yeah, YEAH! Nat, I get that you messed this up for YOU, for US. Ryan Fucking Steele asked you—YOU!—to come up on his stage, and what do you do?
“You run off before he can even get your name, let alone talk to you!” she yells, emphasizing every word.
I underestimated her anger.
“I hope you’re joking, Layla. You are joking, right?” I say, my voice tinged with anger.
“I’m not joking,” Layla says, sounding annoyed.
“I know you wanted me to go up there. You were practically begging me with your eyes. But I was humiliated. He did it on purpose,” I snap back.
“You didn’t hear our conversation. He was taunting me; he was making an example of me because I wasn’t enjoying their damn show.” Now, I’m yelling.
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is you could have learned from a legend. His whole empire is made up of THE BEST in this business.
“But you have to mess up every good thing that comes your way.”
I start to respond, “It wasn’t what—”
She cuts me off. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m done talking about this. I’m going out with Benjamin. I won’t be back until Monday for class. We just came back so I could grab some clothes.
“Think about what I said.”
Just like that, she walks away. I’m left standing here, speechless. Layla and I, we don’t fight. Sure, we have our differences, small disagreements that pop up now and then. But we always respect each other’s space, let each other be.
We’ve never had a full-blown argument about our actions or choices.
Stunned, I make the decision to retreat to my room until they’re gone.
