All I can do is nod against his warmth.
“It will be better. You will have a better life. I promise. No, I swear, Dix. I swear on their memory that you will have everything you deserve.”
“Dallas,” I say, clutching his shirt but pulling back to smile at him. “I already do. I have music and I have you. That’s enough for me.”
And I have Gavin, I almost say.
But you can’t really have fire. You can’t hold a flame in your hands without getting burned.
“You shouldn’t have to settle for enough,” Dallas says, his blue eyes meeting mine.
“Get to your mark, big brother,” I tell him with a wink, because any more heavy heart-wrenching promises might break me. “Let’s give these people a show.”
He nods and moves over so that I can play my opener.
I don’t look up until I’m done, but when I do, the crowd in front of us is significantly larger. And Afton and the members of his band are watching from beside the stage.
I don’t know why, but Afton doesn’t make eye contact with me through the entire performance. He keeps his eyes exactly where I wish mine could be. Where my heart is.
Firmly tied to Gavin Garrison.
So your drummer is kind of intense,” Afton says as we walk to the restaurant after his show. A light breeze blows, cooling my still-overheated skin. The show went well, even by Dallas’s standards, and the entire area around stage seven was packed to maximum capacity by the time we’d finished.
“Mm-hm.” Intense is a pretty good adjective for Gavin. And drummer is an obvious descriptor. Though he’s certainly not mine. I caught a glimpse of my least favorite waitress slithering up to him after our show.
“And, uh, he didn’t seem thrilled about me taking you to dinner.” Afton shoves his hands in his pockets and jerks his neck to move his hair out of his eyes. His curly hair is damp from playing out in the humid heat.
Gavin and Dallas stood like members of the Royal Guard, shoulders squared and effectively blocking me when Afton introduced himself after he’d performed.
Dallas had promised to hunt him down if I wasn’t back at our hotel by midnight, because I’m Cinderella apparently. Gavin had glared with all his might but as I’d slipped past him to join my dinner date, I’d paused, giving him one last chance to say something. Anything.
Once I was certain he was just going to try to murder us with his eyes, I shrugged and took Afton’s arm. At least one guy on the planet wasn’t afraid to touch me in front of my brother.
“They’re both just annoyingly overprotective,” I assure him, sensing that Gavin has somehow really intimidated him with looks alone.
“Yeah, your brother maybe. But the drummer—that wasn’t the overprotective brother vibe I was getting at all.”
Even though we’d walked out of sight, I was still wearing Gavin’s glare. It had penetrated my skin and clung to me as I tried to pretend I didn’t care why he didn’t want me having dinner with Afton Tate.
“And what vibe were you getting?” Baby butterflies flutter to life and I hate that this is the first time Afton has really piqued my interest. I am a terrible person. Worse, I’m a sick person obviously interested in masochism.
“He watches you while you’re playing,” Afton says thoughtfully, no trace of jealousy in his voice, as if he is simply making an observation. “Closely,” he adds, lightly nudging my shoulder.
My throat constricts and the words are trapped beneath the knot that has formed in the middle of my esophagus.
Does Gavin watch me?