The Risks We Take Duet Box Set

15. Carys

CARYS

W hen Six Day War practiced this morning, we decided to have a little fun with tonight’s closing song. Jack and I finish the set with a cover of “Cheap Thrills.” And as I raise my hands over my head and bounce along with the chorus, my smile grows bigger than I ever thought it would. If last week was a rush, our performance tonight has been a high, higher than any I’ve ever had singing for a crowd.

When we leave the stage and step into the back hallway, my sweaty hair is sticking to my even sweatier face, but I feel freaking fantastic.

“Guys... Wow! I can see how you can get addicted to that high.”

Jack hauls me in for a quick hug. “Told you so. Give me a few weeks, and you’re never gonna give us up.” If I’m not careful, I could totally see him being right, and I really don’t want to fall into that trap. “We’re like an STD you can’t get rid of, CC.”

“Ew, gross.” I shove him away. “Not winning yourself any points there, Madden.”

“Dude.” Theo twirls his drumstick between his fingers like they’re an extension of his body. “Your dad brought Eddie Black with him tonight. Did you know he was doing that?” Anxious energy is rolling off him in waves.

“Seriously, I didn’t even know Dad was coming.” He grabs his bass from Lucas. “I would have told you if I did.”

Lucas scoffs, holding tight to his guitar case. “I’m glad I didn’t know. I had a hard time controlling my nerves once I saw them.”

“Don’t look at their faces.” All three guys stop what they’re doing and stare at me.

“What?” Lucas is a newbie like me. But I know he’s hoping this leads to a permanent place in the band.

“Don’t make eye contact. Instead, look right above everyone’s heads. That way, they all think you’re looking at them, but you’re not. It helps control the nerves. Trust me. I might be new to the whole band thing, but I’ve been on stage my whole life. That’s my trick. Avoid eye contact.”

“Well, damn.” Theo stands there, staring until Jack kicks his foot. “You’ve basically played a stadium.”

I can’t hold in my laugh. “I wouldn’t go trying to score us a spot at Wembley just yet.”

We get our gear packed up as quickly as possible so Jack can say hi to his dad, and Theo and Lucas can schmooze the rockstars before they leave. I’m not sure what it says about me that the only person I want to see tonight has absolutely nothing to do with rockstars.

Another reminder that the rockstar life really isn’t for me.

Once we push through the crowd dancing to the music the DJ spins, I see our group taking up the entire back corner of the bar. Well... I notice the whole group, but I only see Cooper. Everyone around him is talking, laughing, and drinking. But not Cooper. He’s staring at me with a look in those baby-blue eyes I desperately want to believe is need because want and desire don’t even exist in the same stratosphere as the need I have for him.

Need is so much more.

But before I can make my beeline for Coop, Jack grabs my arm and tugs me behind him to talk to his dad and Eddie Black.

They talk about the band.

About the sound.

The need for original music.

Jack tells him about the songs I’ve helped him and Theo write this year. We only perform a few in each set because the bar crowd wants the covers. It’s a smart move on the guys’ part. Give the crowd what they want, but add a little of your own music each week, so they start wanting more of that too.

Stone and Eddie try to convince me that I’d be crazy to pass up the opportunities I’ll get as part of Six Day War. They talk about labels and touring.

And the entire time, I feel Cooper’s eyes on me.

Two bottles of water later, I excuse myself to use the ladies’ room... And to give myself a break from this full-court press from the band and Stone and Eddie to get me to change my mind about sticking with them. They don’t seem to be listening to me at all, which is pissing me off. And I really do have to pee. So, it’s not a complete duck-and-run plan.

The bar is more packed now than it was during our set, and I push my way through the crowded dance floor full of writhing bodies and drunk coeds. The bathroom is tucked away in the back hall, near the stage. And thank goodness, it’s empty because at this point tonight, I’m in no mood to wait in a line of people just to pee.

Once I’ve washed my hands and run a damp cloth over my face, I flip my head over and run my fingers through my hair to try to fluff it up a little. My thin hair has very little body to it on a good day, and a good day died under the heat of the lights earlier. I tug my skirt down just an inch on my hips and adjust my bra, so what little boobs I have sit a bit higher because it can’t hurt. And screw anyone who says they’re not at least a tiny bit vain. Because I like to think I’m low-maintenance, but I still want to look my best.

When I open the door and step out into the hall, I manage to crash face-first into a wall.

Well, not so much a wall as someone’s chest.

A large someone.

Oh shit.

A man I don’t know grabs both my shoulders and crowds me against the wall.

I look around, but there’s no one else in the hallway. And the music is so loud, I don’t think anyone will even hear me if I scream.

“Has anyone ever told you, you have the voice of an angel?”