Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
The crowd cheers, and I hear the band yelling “thank you Rockland County” again before they’re suddenly running backstage, jumping around in excitement and hugging each other. The singer nods at me.
“Good luck!” he grins, before the five of them run off.
…And here I am, alone.
No calls, no messages. Nothing. My phone is now dead, but I waited. Oh did I wait. I waited in my dorm, freaking the hell out about the time, before I finally stole down to the basement. They weren’t there either, so I ran down the tunnel to their dorm, hoping beyond hope that I’d open that door and find them pulling one last practice or something.
But, no.
I called them all. I even worked up the nerve to sneak up the old staircase to their floor and try their suite. Locked, and no answer to the door. And that’s when I decided to do what I had to do.
The show, as they say, would go on.
One pulse-racing run through the shadows across the grounds of Winchester to the gate, one cab ride with just me and a guitar later, and here I am. Ready to play, with no band. I called a bunch more times here, but by the time my phone went out, I didn’t even care anymore. It hurts too much to care.
The night’s MC jogs up to me backstage, frowning.
“Wait, so, where’s your band?”
I swallow, biting back the tears and the rage.
“No band, just me tonight.”
She frowns. “Oh, uh, okay. Are you still going on as Chasing Glory?”
I’m tempted to say no. I want to say no, that it’s just me going on as Zara Bateman. But I swallow that back.
“Sure. Fine. Yeah, Chasing Glory.”
She nods, smiling wryly at me as she squeezes my arm.
“Fucking show biz, right?”
I snort dryly. “Yeah.”
“Well, you ready? It’s time.”
I nod, and she smiles, giving me thumbs up before she walks out onto the stage.
“And up next, a very special solo performance by Chasing Glory!”
The crowd cheers, my pulse spikes, and my mouth goes dry. But I close my eyes, and I embrace it, and suddenly, I know I’m ready.
Hurting, broken, but ready.
I sling the guitar over my shoulders, take a deep breath, and walk out onto the stage. The noise of the crowd is deadening, and for a second, my stomach drops at the sheer size of them. I mean there has to be over a thousand people packed into the concert hall, and I swallow as I blink through the bright lights and smile.
The spotlights come up, a single tear drips down my cheek, and then, I know it’s time.
It’s time to forget them, and chase what I’ve always wanted.
Now it’s time to sing.
After that, it’s like I go into a dream state. I’m aware of my fingers strumming the chords. I’m aware of my mouth opening and closing and words coming out. I’m aware of closing my eyes, letting go, and just singing like I’ve never sung before. It goes on, and on, and then suddenly, I guess it’s over.
I’m aware of the crowd leaping to their feet and going absolutely wild, but it’s a blur. I’m numb as they just keep clapping, screaming for more even as I smile weakly and head back off stage. It’s a numb blur as the other bands play, and I just stand there like a ghost backstage, taking it in.
And later, when they announce the bands moving forward to the finals, and they call my name, and they tell me I’m the top slot, it’s like it’s not real. I’m aware of being back on stage in front of a cheering crowd, taking a ribbon and a trophy, but it’s not real.
All I know is, we were a team. And now, it’s just me.
16
Carson
It doesn’t matter that we played arguably the best game of our damn lives. It doesn’t matter that the crowds were just intense, and the competition fucking fierce. It doesn’t matter that I actually set a new division-wide receiving record, or that Beckett Truman shattered the previous record held by some other quarterback for completed passes in a game. It doesn’t matter that we left a pint of blood on that field, metaphorically, played our hearts out, and pushed ourselves to the fucking brink.
It doesn’t even matter that we won.
All that matters to the three of us as we run across campus the second we get back to Winchester, is her. All that matters is Zara, and knowing we abandoned her.
She might hate us. I wouldn’t blame her, even if it would crush me if she did. We tried to get in touch with her, of course. Hell, the second we got on that damn bus, we were demanding a phone from anyone we could. Except coach took ’em all.
At the game, we even marched right out of the locker room and all but swiped a phone from the concession stand kid. But by then, we knew it was too late. By then, her phone is going right to voicemail, and she is not responding to any texts.