I force in a deep breath, exhaling it slowly so it doesn’t cause static in the mic. Then I force my smile to grow and look up at the crowd in front of me. “Good evening, ladies and gents!” I call out. There’s a resounding response as the crowd breaks out in cheering and screaming. I strum my guitar, effectively quieting them. “My name is Jace Beckett, my band is Tone Deaf, and tonight we’ll be performing just for you.”
The crowd erupts in excited applause, and my smile feels a little less fake as the sound washes over me. My heart starts pounding, just like it always does during a performance, and adrenaline spreads through my body. I strum my guitar again and then pick delicately at the strings, sending music surging out the stereo system. It surrounds me, fills me, envelops me.
Just like that, the music and I are one, and the show begins.
25
ALI
I PAD DOWN the short hallway, using one hand to rub sleep out of my eyes and the other to rub my cramped neck. After I woke up from my nap last night, I tried staying awake until Jace came back from his concert, but I gave up around three in the morning and crashed on the couch. It didn’t quite seem right to sleep in Jace’s bed without him there, but now I’m regretting the couch. My neck muscles feel like someone’s wrung them out.
I’m not really sure where Jace went to—he’s probably with one of the other band members, or maybe still out partying. That’s what rock stars do after a performance, right? They party wildly? It’s strange thinking of Jace doing that—he’s so tightly wound, I can’t picture him at a party at all.
I jump in surprise as I step into the kitchen and find I’m not alone. Jace leans against the counter, munching on a toaster waffle as he peers down at his smartphone. I have no idea when he got back, although it was probably pretty recently, because his eyes are bleary and dark with exhaustion. But he must be in a good mood if he’s willing to eat something as unhealthy as a waffle, even though I’m sure it’s whole-grain and low-fat.
Jace waves at me with the hand holding the waffle, takes a bite out of his breakfast, and then goes back to typing on his phone. His hair flops into his face, and as he brushes it away, I realize with a touch of surprise that this is the first time I’ve seen his hair unstyled. Usually, it’s in that fauxhawk, but now it hangs loosely around his face. It’s kind of cute like this, with the dyed tips almost reaching his chin.
The smartphone is the same one I’ve seen him with before, only now it has a bright-pink case. Huh. I didn’t take Jace to be a pink guy.
Jace types for a couple more seconds and then winks. “Catch,” he mouths, and tosses the phone to me. A yelp strains my throat, and I hastily snatch the phone out of the air right before it hits the ground. I glare at Jace, showing him the full brunt of my annoyance. What if I’d dropped the thing? There’s no way in hell I could ever pay him back.
Then I notice the phone has little purple present bows stuck all over the back of it. I blink a few times, sure that they’re going to disappear any second. They don’t. Flipping it over, I glance at the screen and find that it’s open to the contacts page. There are only five programmed in: Arrow Beckett, Jace Beckett, Kilimanjaro Johnson, and Jon McKinley. My breath catches as I read the fifth entry: Avery Summers.
Clutching the phone to my chest, I turn to Jace. “This is . . . for me?”
He smiles, and it’s an unrestrained expression that wipes the tiredness straight off his face. “Killer grabbed it for you on his day off. We don’t want you to have to strain to lip-read all the time, so we figured this would make things easier. I was just programming in the numbers you’ll need. You’ll have to add in Avery’s yourself, but I’m guessing you probably have it memorized, anyway.”
I nod dumbly. “Thank you.” There are probably a dozen other things I could say, but none of them could even begin to express my relief and gratitude, so I don’t even try. I miss Avery more than I ever imagined, and my fingers are already itching to send her a text message.
Jace chuckles at my expression and signs, “I’m glad you like it.”
I rush over to him and throw my arms around his neck. As always, he stiffens at first, and it takes a moment for him to relax. When he finally does, he hugs me back, pressing me close to his chest. He kisses my forehead and smiles at me.
I blush and look down. Again. That seems to be my unconscious reaction to anything sweet Jace does—blush and look away. I wonder if I’ll ever break that habit.
Jace tips my chin up—his own habit—and gently strokes my cheek with the back of his hand. “I’m leaving again today,” he murmurs, but he’s staring right into my eyes and doesn’t seem all that focused on his words or our conversation.
I take it as a chance to more closely examine his eyes. I think they’re really the only gorgeous part of him—the rest of him is handsome and masculine. But his eyes are so expressive, and with his thick lashes framing them, they’re beautiful in the best of ways.
I lean into Jace and press my cheek against his soft cotton shirt, realizing I have a conversation to finish. “Where are you going?”