“Not so fast.”
Brute was standing behind us with a gun pointed at Emerson’s head.
Breathe, little girl.
People started yelling. Brute was demanding to know why Emerson was sneaking off. He wanted to know why Elijah was there and why the rest of us had come with him. There were no cops in the backyard. Not yet. A haze came over me. There was chaos everywhere, but I felt centered. Maybe I couldn’t handle what was happening, but I didn’t think that was it. It was something else, something I couldn’t explain.
A voice in my head whispered, “Family. It’s all about family.”
Ignoring the shouts, I left Luke’s side and took two steps forward. Brute was frowning at me, but that gun was still pointing at Emerson.
“Yes, the cousin that hates me.” My own voice came to me—when Luke picked me up at the police station—and then a second memory was right behind it—when I accused Elijah. “It’s because of you my cousin went to rehab last summer, wasn’t it?”
I swung my gaze to my ex-boyfriend now. He had denied my accusation, but I never believed him. I always blamed him. I’d been wrong.
“What are you so goddamn worried about?” Emerson glared at me.
“You might not want to start with me.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really.”
He folded his arms over his chest, turning the same loathsome focus back on me. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I’m fairly certain those guys are your drug dealers, and Elijah won’t like finding that out since you’re his best friend.”
I’d been wrong. Again.
Elijah had known. There’d been no way he wouldn’t have known. I thought I finally had ‘something’ on my cousin, but I hadn’t.
“No! You don’t even know, Luke. I’m sticking up for you. For you, man.” He jerked a hand to Elijah. “And my best friend, too.” He looked to me. “Bri, it’s gone on long enough.”
I looked at Luke. Emerson had been fighting for him. His hatred toward me had been about Luke and his best friend. I’d been the one who had been hurting them, and he knew the whole time.
“I just found out that I’m scared of heights, Bri,” he rasped out. Gone was the cocky jerk. This was my cousin, the one who had come to check on me when we were younger because I left and didn’t wait for them.
“Emerson,” I said. “We’ve done this before.”
“That was when we were in the seventh grade. Times change. We’ve gotten fatter.”
“Stop it. Look at me. Come on. You can do this. Just like before. Trust us.”
He had. He listened to me, followed my instructions, and trusted me.
I looked at my cousin one last time. His eyes were bleak, swinging back and forth between Brute and the gun. It was still pointed at him, but he wasn’t saying anything. There was yelling, either from Elijah or Luke. They were arguing for Emerson’s life. I felt someone tugging on the back of my shirt, but I ignored them.
I didn’t know what I was doing, but I had to do something.
Brute was yelling over my head at someone behind me. His gun was waving in the air, up and down as he kept shouting. A vein was bulging out from his neck. Then I took the last step and moved, so I was standing in front of my cousin.
I took his place.
Breathe, little girl.
It was my mother’s voice in my head. I could hear her again as she whispered into my ear. Plates had been shattered. The kitchen table was flipped upside down. Doors were ripped off their hinges. With each crash and roar coming from the other room, my little fingers had dug into her arm. That was the night he left.
I thought nothing could get worse.
I was staring down the barrel of a gun now.
I’d been wrong.
Then the gun went off.
The crowd was cheering. They’d been chanting ‘Sustain’ for the last fifteen minutes. Our time was up. It was so close for when we’d take the stage, and I couldn’t move. Playing with them for small town gigs or at house parties was one thing, but this stadium filled to capacity was another level. My hands were sweating and shaky. As a drummer, that was embarrassing.
“Hey.” Luke slipped into the room, and the chanting grew louder. It was muffled as he closed the door behind him, but it didn’t matter. I could still hear them. They were in my head.
I leaned forward, rested my elbows on my knees, and hung my head between my legs. I couldn’t believe I was nervous. This—playing for thousands of fans, playing with Luke, with Braden, as a drummer—this was my dream, and I was close to pissing my pants.
Luke sat next to me, and his hand grazed down my back. “You okay?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t talk. Even the sight of him wasn’t enough to distract me. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that hung over his form, molding against him, it was like the shirt had been created to make him more beautiful. No. Not even the sight of him could distract me. I had tried, through the entire rehearsal. Even afterwards, I pulled him in a back room, but the butterflies were still buzzing in my stomach.
“Hey,” he murmured, drawing me to look up at him. As I did, meeting those grey eyes of his, some of the butterflies settled down. Some kicked up, for another reason, but I couldn’t control how my pulse kept racing. His hand cupped the side of my face, and his thumb caressed my cheek. He leaned down, his forehead resting against mine. “You’re going to be amazing. I know you are.”
“Easy for you to say.” My lips brushed against his. “You’re already loved by millions. I’m new. They only know me because I kicked their beloved guitarist out of the band.”
He laughed, the sound and air coating against my lips. “They don’t. The true fans know you saved his life. When you stood in front of that gun, Brute hesitated, and the cops were able to shoot him instead. That’s public information.”