Starstruck (Heartstrings Duet #1)

32. back to you

[ 32 ]

BACK TO YOU

BAXTER

“WHEREVER YOU WILL GO” BY THE CALLING

“ E ncore! Encore! Encore!” the sold-out crowd at Lucas Oil Stadium shouts.

I smile to myself from where I sit on an amplifier backstage, listening to the crowd. As resistant as I’ve been throughout this tour, I will never get tired of hearing people scream for me. I may not always look forward to hitting the stage, but every night when the time comes, I’m on. That’s never going to change, even if everything else in my life does.

I take a sip of water as Colt pats me on the shoulder. “You gonna give them what they want?”

I chuckle. “’Course I am, man. Just gotta make ?em beg for it first,” I tease, shooting him a wink.

He shakes his head, smiling, and readies to head back out, too.

I take a deep breath and run back onstage. The crowd chants my name, and I soak in the way it makes me feel. The stage is my safe space, and I’ll never get sick of the feeling I get when I’m performing .

“Alright, Indy, one more for my favourite crowd,” I say into the mic, repeating the mantra I spew to every audience, making them all feel special, and they cheer in response. I signal to the guys to play, and then the intro for one of my most popular songs, “With You,” begins. It’s the song I always close with, and the only one I’ve ever written with my mom in mind.

I grab the microphone and say, “This one’s for my mom.” I point up at the sky as the crowd goes wild again, and then I let the lyrics pour out of me.

In the gentle cadence of the lullaby you used to sing

A melody that once promised forever, now a broken wing.

Through the faded scent of your perfume in the air

I'm reaching for your presence, but you’re not there.

The room is getting colder, the walls are closing in

In the emptiness of this place, where do I begin?

I can still see your face in the dark night’s blue,

With a longing ache, I wish to be with you.

I get lost in the lyrics and the vibration of my vocal cords. I bask in the warmth of the lights beating down on me, appreciating the sound of the audience singing along.

This is my moment, and no one can steal it from me.

As the song comes to an end, applause erupts around me. I wave and shout, “Thank you, Indy! I’ll be back!” before running offstage, followed by Colt and Levi.

We hand our instruments off to crew members to be put back into storage before making our way to the crowd of backstage-passholders. I sign a few autographs and take a few pictures before calling it quits and heading to the green room. Falling onto the couch, I pull out a smoke as Levi tosses us each a beer from the mini fridge.

“Well, that’s another show for the books. How’re you feeling?” Colt asks, taking the seat across from me .

I shrug, a puff of smoke falling from my lips. “Pretty good. Felt like the old me out there.”

“Acted like it, too,” Levi jokes as he lights his own cigarette.

Sixteen out of twenty-six shows are officially over. Nearly two-thirds of the way through the tour.

And honestly, the last ten shows can’t come soon enough.

I used to live for performing. I never cared much about the making of music as much as I did performing it. I’ve always loved what I do, I love my fans, and I love how my fans love me. I wasn’t lying when I said I felt like myself again tonight, and I think hearing Lennon come for me over the phone earlier had something to do with it.

But for the past few shows, I’ve been desperate for this tour to be over. Since the tour began, my head has been a mess. Every show has gone off without a hitch and the crowds are none the wiser, but I know. I’ve been off my game since the tour started back up. And now that tonight’s show is said and done, I’m back to wishing for it to end.

It’s an unwelcome feeling. I’ve never been one to turn down a chance to put on a show. It’s what I was made to do, and I’m one of the lucky bastards who gets to do it for a living. So there’s absolutely no reason why I’m so over this leg of the tour. Except for the fact that I was supposed to have completed this tour by early December last year—over six months ago—and now I’m back to doing two or three shows per night in random cities across central and northeast US for a bunch of songs I’m no longer focused on.

My mind is elsewhere. My new album has been my priority these last several months, along with a certain brunette who consumes my every thought.

The truth is, I’d rather be back in Toronto helping Lennon plan the benefit concert.

Because that’s a show that means something. These ones…they don’t.

And it feels stupid to be wasting what little time Lennon and I agreed to be friends with benefits for by being on tour, but I didn’t have much of a choice. My fans have been counting on me—waiting for these shows since they were postponed last October.

I’ll push through it. There are only two weeks left. Then I’ll be home and preparing for the benefit concert and spending as much time as possible drowning myself in Lennon before she inevitably calls us quits.

Though with each day that passes, I’m praying more and more that she won’t.

Maybe Colt was right.

Maybe I am falling in love with her.

“Dude,” Levi kicks my boot with his, pulling my attention back to the conversation.

“Yeah,” I huff.

“We partying tonight?”

“Nah.” I swig back the rest of my beer, tossing it into the recycling bin across the room. “I’m gonna head back to the hotel. You guys go ahead, though.”

Levi smirks. “Late night phone sex with Lemon?”

I roll my eyes and shake my head, both at his nickname for her and the question. Though if I get my way, he’s definitely not wrong.

“Fuck off,” is all I say in response as we head out back to where the cars are waiting. I say my goodbyes to the two of them as they hop into one while I make my way to the other.

I pull out my phone as the driver shifts into drive.

Me

Heading back to the hotel.

You still up?

We pull up in front of the hotel before she responds, so I make my way through the lobby to the bar. It’s quiet down here tonight, giving me plenty of space to brood in peace.

“Whisky on the rocks. Top shelf,” I demand from the bartender, who nods in my direction before turning to grab the most expensive bottle. I glance at my phone again to find no response still, and my shoulders fall. It’s late, but Lennon is a night owl—she’s usually still up at this time.

“Excuse me,” a soft, feminine voice says from beside me as the bartender returns with my drink.

I glance up to find a petite blonde woman with puppy-dog eyes staring back at me, her eyes scanning my body.

“Are you Baxter James?”

“No,” I grumble, turning away from her. Except she clearly knows I’m lying, because instead of leaving me alone like I was hoping she would, she takes the seat next to me.

“I was at your show tonight,” she purrs, resting her hand on my arm.

“And you followed me back here? That’s not creepy,” I mumble, my words dripping in sarcasm, and pull my arm away. I have security that escorts me to and from the stadiums, but every night when I get back to the hotel, they’re relieved. Hence why no one was around to stop this woman from approaching me.

She huffs a laugh, still not taking the hint. “Figured you might want some company.”

“Nah. I’m good.”

“C’mon, Baxter. I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.” She trails her finger down my arm, but my attention is stuck on my lit-up phone screen.

Trouble

I’m still up. You okay?

I open the message to respond, and the woman scoffs. “You’re checking your phone? What, did something better come up?”

I turn and glance at her again, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Sure, she’s a beautiful woman, and the old me would’ve jumped at the chance to have her in my bed. But now, the idea of her getting anywhere near me is repulsive .

She’s not Lennon. And I only want Lennon.

“Actually, yes,” I grit out, more sternly this time. “And even if it didn’t, I said I’m good. So get lost before I have security escort you out.”

Her face falls, a world-class pout filling her face. This girl is not used to being told no. It gives me great pleasure to do just that.

My lips curl. “Get. Out.”

“Wow,” she huffs, collecting her purse from the bartop. “You really are a dick.”

“Good riddance,” I mumble to myself as I turn my attention back to Lennon’s text.

Better now.