I do too. What the hell is he insinuating?
“Were the rumors true?” Strangely, Jarod Cross seems more amused than scandalized.
I’m immediately on edge.
Mess with me? Fine. But don’t come after the people I care about.
“Mr. Mulliez chose me because of my talent.” I pierce the band with my gaze. “Not for any other reason.”
“How did you qualify for Redwood if you have stage fright?”
I inhale deeply. “Do you guys have a wig around here?”
They’re rockstars. Theymustkeep some kind of costume in the building.
“No.”
My heart pounds faster.
I can’t do it without a wig. I can’t do it.
Jarod’s hand falls on my shoulder. “Cadence, it’s okay to admit the truth. If Mulliez—”
“He didn’t,” I growl.
Jarod’s amused smile gets bigger.
I squeeze my eyes shut.Come on, Cadence. You can do this. You even played for the cafeteria ladies, remember?
Dutch pushed me out of my comfort zone more times than I can count. It’s time to see if it worked.
“Do you have a drum cover?
Jarod snaps his fingers. “Get this girl something to cover herself.”
I accept the thick blanket and approach the piano to the left of the stage.
By now, most of the crew members are watching us curiously, trying to see what’s got Jarod Cross so engaged. I ignore everyone and throw the blanket over my head, covering my hair like a veil.
I’m sure I look ridiculous, but at this point, I’m too invested to care.
There are no lights under the piano. It’s dark and difficult to see the keys. Not that I need to. Every note is etched into my bones and buried deep under my ribs.
I close my eyes and play.Blind Loveekes out and spreads through the arena. It’s an angsty, rebellious rendition of Jarod Cross’s first hit song.
My fingers tease the black keys, climbing octaves to layer the already insidious beat with an extra dose of chaos. Louder. Louder. Until the only thing I can hear is my heart bursting in my ears.
And then soft. Like the wind. Flowing. Lightweight. No gravity.
I click my foot on the sustain pedal and let the last note ring, dragging their hearts over the coals for as long as possible before I release them from my trance.
When I’m done, I lift my hands.
I’m too embarrassed.
I just bled all over the piano keys. What if they see the mess and laugh at my cowardice? What if they don’t understand?
My stage fright’s improved a little, but not that much. I don’t trust what happens if I throw this blanket off my head and face the crowd.
