The spotlight focuses on me, and the huge cameras in front of the stage begin to move. The backing music begins to play, sounding out the first bars. Listening for my cue, I start to sing a song I’d know in my sleep. The words pour out of me, but I don’t feel them. The song doesn’t match my mood at all.
A stabbing pain rips through my stomach, stunning me momentarily, but I push through. Professionalism has to be my priority. I’m making up for mistakes right now. I’m under the microscope, and the world is poised to notice even a tiny error.
The audience is in darkness, but they’re close enough that I can see people whispering to each other. My paranoia flares, imagining that they are saying negative things about me. Slut. Whore. All the things I might have thought about a girl caught with seven men before I’d been in that kind of relationship myself. My head begins to throb, but I carry on, feeling sweat prickling under my arms and running down the small of my back.
All I have to do is get through the last verse. I’m nearly there. This is the home straight, except it isn’t.
I know I’m falling before I hit the ground…then there’s nothing.
31
HUDSON
When Luna collapses live on TV, all of us are on our feet, hands flying to our mouths, eyes staring as an A-list Hollywood actor leaps across the stage to put her in the recovery position. The camera pans away, focusing on the host who's adlibbing while on the other stage, while our girl is unconscious.
"What the fuck?" Jax says. "Why won't they show what's happening?"
"For her privacy," Asher says. "Shit."
"I'll call Angelica. Find out what's happening." Connor begins swiping through his contacts, and heads toward the corner of the room so he can have a conversation away from the disruption.
"She'll be okay," Ben says.
"She's probably fainted because she's not eating enough," Mo says. "That fucking nutritionist had her on child portions."
"Whatever it is, we need to get down there," I say. "They'll take her to the hospital to check her out, won't they."
Connor nods. "Angelica says they're going to take her for a full checkup. With everything that happened in Australia, they're not ruling out foul play."
"Shit," Elijah says. "You think someone got to her food or water again."
"Those assholes were supposed to be checking everything she ordered." Connor's jaw ticks at even the thought of the rival bodyguards not doing their jobs properly.
"Do you know which hospital?"
"Angelica didn't want to tell me. She's pissed about what happened. The whole tour could have been called off, and that would have been money out of her pocket."
"Let's try the dancers," Asher suggests. "One of them will know what's happening. They're the kings and queens of the gossip grapevine."
"Okay," Connor says. "Everyone call somebody. Between us all, we'll find out what the hell's going on."
We each call out the name of a person who's part of Luna's tour and start to phone around. Within five minutes, Asher has a hospital name.
It takes us two minutes to get downstairs to the hotel reception and another ten minutes to get two cabs ordered. The hospital is only five miles away, but with London traffic, it seems to take hours.
My hands are sweating, and my eyelid is twitching with worry. I replay the moment that Luna's eyes rolled back over and over in my mind. I'm not a religious man, especially since my brother was killed, but I say a silent prayer for her safekeeping to anything out there with power.
"We should have been there," I say to Connor. "We should have been the ones there to catch her when she fell."
"We should have. We would have been if I'd just stuck to my guns."
"You think you could have resisted her? Luna was persistent and irresistible," Jax says.
"Infuriatingly persistent and irresistible," Connor mutters. "If those assholes have done anything to her, I swear to God."
"Let's just wait until we get there," I say, trying to keep tempers as calm as possible. No hospital is going to permit seven raging men to enter.
"How much longer?" Jax asks the driver.
"Five minutes," he says. “It's just further up this road."
Eventually, he deposits us on the sidewalk outside a huge modern hospital building. The inside is cavernous, and there are signs pointing in every direction for every type of medical department known to man. In the corner, there is a small reception. "Over there." I point.
The man behind the counter must be around sixty, with a shiny bald head and huge white eyebrows that tickle his eyelids. His eyes are bloodshot, probably a result of working the late shift at his advanced age.
"We're here to see Luna Evans. Can you tell us where she is?"
"Date of birth?" he asks, tapping her name into the computer.