How do I silence these whispers
How do I face what I’ve becomeCastrated by your whims
I drown in my aspiration
Led astray by beautiful lies
You took my blood, sweat, and tears
Trapped in these walls I built
You filled your rivers ragingI’m so tired of feeding my enemies
I’m numb watching them grow
Why do I continue to kneel
No one’s keeping me downTaking all of the good
You left me nothing but hate
You want all I have
Watch me start a revolutionWe’ve waited (So broken)
To find change (Evoked it)
Do you feel it? (Emotion)After three months of rehearsing, I thought I’d be used to the chemistry between Braxton’s voice and mine. I realized now how irrational that was—about as insane as being struck by lightning and expecting it not to hurt twice.
It was no wonder she ran her mouth all the time.
She was impossible to ignore.
Calvin had been good, but Braxton’s vocals were infinitely stronger. She had the rare ability to deliver both transparency and power. Our pithy guitarist wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable. After seeing her perform at that festival, I knew she was holding back so as not to drown my own.
As soon as we finished the first song, we launched into the next. The adrenaline had set in, and none of us were willing to lose this rush. No matter how many times my gaze strayed toward Braxton, she never looked out of her element. Eventually, duty was no longer why I couldn’t keep my attention where it should have been.
She had me under her spell.
Our gazes met and held as she played, and I sang along to her rhythm. When it was time to deliver one of our harder riffs, she did this thing with her hair, whipping it before dropping into a crouch and letting the crowd have it.
I preferred to think it was all for me.
Hell yeah.
Usually, I didn’t approve of the showboating, especially from an amateur since it made room for errors, but at this moment, I could deny Braxton whatever she wanted about as well as I could deny my heart its next beat.
I wondered if she’d feel the same if I dropped my mic and hauled her someplace secluded.
Would she deny me?
I wanted it so much that I convinced myself the look in her eyes was daring me to do just that.
Before I did something stupid, I shifted my focus to the crowd and getting through the set. Nothing else mattered except giving these people the show they came for. Screwing my guitarist was a non-fucking-factor.
We blew through our setlist, and the moment we cleared the stage, Loren swooped Braxton into his arms and twirled her around like a lunatic. For once, I wasn’t annoyed by his antics. That show had been one for the record books. Flawless. If anyone had been in danger of screwing it up, it was me.
Her friends stood to the side, impatiently waiting to congratulate her for that perfect performance.
“Braxton whatever-your-middle-name-is Fawn, will you marry me?” Loren shouted after setting her on her feet. To make an even bigger scene, he’d gotten on one knee.
My heart stopped as a frown marred my brow.
I could almost swear Loren was serious. I’d caught the look in his eyes before he remembered he was only joking.
Since we were playing here again tomorrow night, the crew mostly had their hands free to stop and watch if this was real.
“Francesca,” she answered. Or rather didn’t.
“Huh?”
“My middle name,” she clarified. “It’s Francesca.”
That only made Loren’s brows dip further. “Your initials are B.F.F.?”
“Yup.”
Loren stood, signaling that the proposal wasn’t real, which prompted the crew to get back to work. “That’s too bad because I have no interest in being your friend,” he announced, sounding a little too serious for my liking. He looked a second away from defying my decree that Braxton was off-limits and making his move.
Xavier appeared before I could remind him that it wasn’t going to happen. All it did was delay the inevitable since there was always later.
“What the hell are you still doing here?” he shouted. “You only have a short window before that crowd you just finished riling finds you. Get moving unless you want to be followed home.”
With that, he was gone again, and so were we.
We made our way through the tunnels that led to a secret exit where two Suburbans were already idling and waiting. I grabbed Braxton’s elbow just as she started for one of the cars and held her hostage while her friends climbed inside. I had no doubt they were off to celebrate and envied the days when we were that carefree.
“Something wrong?” she asked me with a deep frown.
“You did great tonight.”
Even though I meant it, I could barely form the words. I didn’t want her to get comfortable. When she beamed at me, I briefly lost my train of thought. Could she hear my heart beating out of control? Could she feel my palms sweat from the effort not to break my own rules? If she looked down, she’d definitely see a bulge.