Caught in the Glow (The Glower Chronicles Book 1) (19 page)

I was pulling into our driveway when the enormity of what I’d just done fully hit me. I’d chewed out my direct supervisor. I’d compared him to the demons we were dedicated to fighting. I’d refused the job he’d wanted me to do.

And he’d backed down.

A startled laugh burst out of me. I tipped my head forward almost to the steering wheel and squeezed back the tears that tried to follow. After several shaky breaths, I felt more like myself again. But also, as I stepped out onto the pavement, so much lighter.

Mom wasn’t home. She’d started with a new client a few days ago, one who required overnights at least to begin with, so I might not see her for a while. I ambled through the house we’d moved into a couple years after Dad’s death. Though he’d never inhabited it himself, his presence lingered in the framed photos on the mantle, the platinum records hanging in their place of honor over the stairs, the worn armchair I could still remember curling up on his lap in, snuggling against his broad chest. And then, of course, there was the drum kit in the spare bedroom, which Mom had never gotten around to moving into storage even though I hadn’t played on it more than a few times a year since I’d left Rushfield.

I stopped in the doorway, looking at it. That familiar itch crept through my fingers as I remembered playing on Joel’s kit at Colin’s studio. The memory brought back Colin’s smile when he’d caught me, the way
his
fears had seemed to ebb as I talked about later chances to rework songs, the heat of the connection between of our bodies when we’d been pressed together against the wall. A tingle raced over my skin, followed by a wave of grief.

I hadn’t been lying when I’d told Sterling I wasn’t going back to work with Colin, but I hadn’t been lying when I’d said I didn’t want anything happening to him either. I’d said everything to him I could think of. If only there were a way to make him
see
what he’d be sacrificing, that he didn’t need to...

Instead of resisting my earlier impulse, I let my feet take me into the room. I sat down on the stool, picked up the drumsticks, and spun them in my hands. That old fear shivered through me again. What would I end up willing to sacrifice, if I let myself be drawn in to the passion for music the way Dad had?

Then I thought of standing in Sterling’s office, telling him where I drew the line. I thought of kneeling over Fee’s prone body and making the call to get her to the hospital. A resolve hardened inside me.

I didn’t need to be scared. I was strong enough to stand up for myself, for what I knew was right. I’d proven that.

Maybe the question I should be asking was, how much was I sacrificing if I let fear stop me from following my passion?

My mind tripped back to my last conversation with Colin.
I can’t be scared like that
, he’d said. But he
was
scared. He was terrified—that he didn’t have the talent, that he couldn’t deliver the album he desperately wanted to. It was fear that had driven him to this point, not ambition or greed or ego.

And why would he listen to me telling him to be brave, to face those fears, when I was still cowering myself?

An idea blossomed inside me. As I brought the sticks down on the drums, it spread through my body with the gentle but eager warmth of hope. At first I struck the drums’ taut surfaces tentatively, but I gathered energy as I settled into the rhythm I knew by heart.

I didn’t have time for caution. I had five years of practice to catch up on and only three days to do it in.

16.

E
ven during the opening act, the concert hall was packed. I was pretty sure my ribs were bruised where some guy near the bar had elbowed me, and I’d narrowly escaped a stiletto to the toes, which had prompted the memory of that first night in the club when I’d gotten my foot bashed up and Colin had tended to it.

It was hard to stop my thoughts from cycling back to him, over and over. After weeks together, I hadn’t seen him in nearly four days. I hadn’t really been prepared for the way my heart would leap when he walked onto the stage with that usual cocky cool, the overhead lights turning his amber eyes to gold. As his fingers danced over the guitar strings, I remembered them running over my skin. When he closed his eyes as he launched into the first chorus, losing himself in the song, I saw the generous, yearning boy I’d gotten to know outside the spotlight, and my heart outright ached.

The band was onto the fifth song now, Colin pouring his enthusiasm into the microphone as he pelted out the second verse, bleeding his joy into his guitar. I didn’t know why he couldn’t hear what he did, unaided by any supernatural power, for everyone listening. All I could hope was that he’d start to believe after tonight.

I’d hung back from the stage during the first few songs, not wanting him to see me—and not wanting someone else to see me either. The Glower was here, back in her redheaded form and corset top, gleaming and swaying right by Colin’s feet. He bent down to clasp hands with the fans he could reach as Kevin charged into a solo on the keyboards. When Colin’s fingers touched the Glower’s, even from across the room I saw how their eyes locked. My breath caught in my throat.

Colin nodded, but when he straightened back up, her spark didn’t travel with him. She hadn’t marked him yet. But I didn’t think I’d imagined the agreement he’d offered her either. He was going to give himself over soon. Maybe even tonight.

Unless I could change his mind.

I glanced down at the grimy piece of paper I’d begged off one of the roadies: the set list for Colin Ryder’s opening act. Six songs and then, as I’d hoped, one encore. He’d been mixing his established material with some of the new songs, and the encore was one of the tracks I’d heard them recording. But there were still at least a couple obstacles up ahead.

As the band launched into their sixth song, I headed backstage, flashing my Society ID at the security guy guarding the door. I found a spot in the wings on the side of the stage near Joel’s post. Music always sounded different backstage, when you were standing in the eye of the storm rather than being washed over by the forward surge of it. It felt more real, hearing the parts weave together around me.

I pulled my hair into a ponytail as I waited in the shadows. The song ended with a final chord and a crash of the cymbals. Colin waved to the audience and made a show of walking off stage—in the opposite direction from me, to my relief. Joel ambled toward me, gulping from a bottle of water. He stopped just beyond the curtain, his forehead furrowing when he saw me.

I didn’t have much time to make my pitch. The crowd was already hollering for Colin’s return. “He’s going back on, right?” I said. “To do ‘Far Out’?”

Joel nodded. “Where’ve you been the last few days, Avery?”

“That’s— It’s complicated. This is going to sound sort of weird, but will you let me take over the drums for the encore?”

He blinked and glanced at his kit. “That’s kind of out of the blue. No offense, Avery, but, I mean, it’s my job.”

“I know,” I said. “And I’m not trying to take it. It’s just this once.” The shouts outside were getting louder. Colin walked back onto the stage, and the crowd cheered. “Please,” I added. “It’s for Colin. He’s... been working through some things. You know how he’s been acting since he got the deal. I think seeing me out there with him will help get him back to where he needs to be.”

Joel paused, visibly torn. Marcy and Kevin had already rejoined Colin on stage. Kevin was peering toward Joel.

“Please,” I said again.

Joel rubbed his face. “You’re right about him being off. And he was better when you were around. You know the song?”

“Well enough, I think. If I ruin it, you can blame it on me. Say I forced you at gunpoint.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said with a laugh. “All right. Go at it.”

I delayed for a second to grab him in a quick hug that left him chuckling and dashed to the kit. Colin turned just as I was picking up the sticks. He stiffened and then stalked over.

“What are you doing?” he demanded in a low voice.

I looked right back at him and raised the drumsticks to indicate I was ready. “I’m going all in,” I said.

He stared at me. I didn’t break my gaze from his. “Colin!” Marcy hissed, and he snapped out of his shock. He swiveled and strode back to the front of the stage, holding the microphone aloft in a salute before hooking it into the stand.

“Let’s end this party right!” he called out, and dropped his hands to his guitar.

With Colin’s back to me, my awareness of the massive crowd beyond him expanded, rolling over me. In that first instant, it was suffocating. All those shifting bodies in the hazy light past the reach of the spotlights. I sucked in my breath, my palms abruptly clammy. It was me they were watching now, even back here in my fortress of drums. I was part of the storm.

I almost missed my cue. The guitar’s chords penetrated my daze, and even as my pulse stuttered, my arms moved automatically. I’d practiced every song of Colin’s I could—the ones on his debut, the ones I’d heard in the studio to the best of my memory—for hours over the last few days. I knew this beat.

My hands stumbled once, and a cold sweat broke over me. But as the guitar and bass and keyboards swelled in their melody, as Colin’s voice carried through the hall, the storm rushed up around me, and I didn’t mind. I was here. I was adding my noise to the song, for all those hundreds of figures cheering us on. My throat choked up, but the rest of me was floating.

I hadn’t realized it at the time, but I’d lied when I’d told Sterling I’d done the best I could.
This
was the best I could give: the music that had hummed through my veins since before I was born. And as I threw myself into the seven stroke roll of the chorus, I knew that I was never going to give it up again. Not for fear, not for a Glower’s temporary promise. I wasn’t scared anymore.

At least not for myself.

Colin turned from the microphone, his eyes half shut, bending over his guitar as his fingers swept into the bridge. Then he shot a flash of a grin back at me. And if I’d been floating before, right then I started soaring.

“Good night, L.A.!” Colin shouted to the crowd as we waved our goodbyes. My arm wobbled, my body as shaky as if I’d played through a full set, not just one song. Giddy and nervous. Unsure of what would come next.

We headed off stage as the roadies hurried out to prepare for the main act. Joel clapped me on the back as soon as I reached the sidelines.

“I don’t think any tall tales are going to be necessary,” he said.

“There you are,” Colin remarked mildly. “Decided to take a little break?”

Joel shrugged, smiling. “Avery made a case I couldn’t dispute. You
were
always saying we should hear her play.”

“Yeah,” Colin said, and laughed. He took my hand, his fingers twining with mine, and gave me a tug that asked me to follow.

He didn’t speak to me as we ducked down the stairs and hurried along a narrow hall that smelled like Doritos and floor polish to the dressing rooms. There was just the rasp of his breath as he wound down from the show and a faint tremble in his muscles when his arm brushed mine. I wanted to hope, wanted to so badly it seared through my chest, but nothing was settled between us, not yet.

The Glower girl was standing beside one of the dressing room doors. Colin’s, I guessed. She smiled when she saw him, but her eyes glittered fiercely. My hand tightened around his.

Colin brushed right by her. “You should leave,” he said with dip of his head toward her as he opened the door. “I’ve got plans for tonight that don’t include you.”

“Do you think—” she started to purr, and reached as if to caress his arm. She halted when he raised his eyes. Something in them must have shut her down cold. She smiled again, sharply, her breath shimmering past her bright teeth, and spun on her heel. For a few seconds she was ambling away from us, and then she seemed to meld into the darkness beyond the stairs.

Plans for tonight
. The words echoed in my head as Colin ushered me into the dressing room. Just
tonight
. Was that an invitation for her to come back tomorrow?

He closed the door and locked it. My gaze traveled through the concrete-walled room, which was just big enough for a table beneath a well-let mirror, a furry rug, a rolling wardrobe, and a pair of metal chairs. Then Colin was standing in front of me, his eyes shadowed and familiar musky-sweet scent tickling off his skin with its sheen of stage sweat, and I couldn’t look anywhere else.

“Avery,” he said, and swallowed audibly. He didn’t move, as if he wasn’t sure what to do, what I’d accept. Where we were going. It made me think of the first night we’d kissed, his uncertainty that I’d want him. I set my hands on the table and hopped up, letting my legs dangle, knees splayed. Then I held out one hand to him.

Colin stepped closer, stopping at my knees. His fingers settled on my waist, and his head bowed, not quite low enough to reach mine. My pulse thumped.

“Missed me, did you?” he said softly.