Will’s grumbles are tuned out by the music starting to play. I instantly know the beat as one of their first songs called “Heart Attack”. I used to listen to them play it when they practiced at Ian’s parents’ house, which is only down the street from mine.
I get closer to the stage, elbowing my way through the girls squeezed together. Most of them are wearing skimpy shorts and tank tops, anything to show off their bodies. I momentarily feel out of place in my destroyed black skinny jeans and pale blue T-shirt, which has a cartoon cat on it with the saying “If you met my family, you’d understand.” The outfit isn’t something I hate, but I momentarily think about what I could have worn instead. When I opted to come home from the summer, I didn’t pack many clothes. There’s a blue dress that goes mid-thigh that I got online on sale, which probably would have been better for this.
I tell myself to let it go, because I’m not like the girls here. Showing off my body isn’t something I’m comfortable with. Not because I hate my body, not really. But seeing my body reminds me of what it’d been through.
Not here. Not now.
I can feel the heavy weight of panic crush my chest, a panic attack coming on as memories resurface. I force them back down, swallowing past the sudden lump in my throat. I’m here for pictures of the band, and to listen to good music. That’s what I need to focus on.
Will is close behind me, keeping one hand on my waist as we weave through the crowd. His hand tightens when I get pushed by a rabid fan, who gives me the finger before turning back to admire Ian on stage. I roll my eyes and raise my camera up to get a picture of Ian mid-song.
He looks in my direction and gives me a wink. I capture the moment on camera, smiling to myself. I look down at the screen, grinning at the way the light hits his tan face. It darkens the right half of his face, giving him the perfect split expression—showcasing the two sides I know he has. The rabid girl in front of me starts screeching and jumping up and down.
“He totally just winked at me!” she tells her friends, squeezing their arms.
I could be wrong as to who the wink was cast toward, yet I can’t help but think it was at me. Although, Ian and I were never that close as friends. We had out moments, moments I wouldn’t forget, but they were nothing special. Plus, compared to the other girls, I didn’t have much to offer.
Maybe Psycho Barbie is right.
I turn my camera toward the rest of the band to get individual pictures of them. Bash is strumming along to the song, a huge grin on his face. His head is moving to the main beat of the drum that Ben is creating. Ben’s eyes are closed, focused on the way the song flows. My eyes travel toward Dylan, the bass guitarist. He’s got a sexed-up grin on his face as he stares at half-naked girls in the crowd. Besides Ian, Dylan became a friend my junior and senior year of high school. It helped that they all hung out with Will. They practically adopted me into their group, even though I was younger than all of them. They constantly teased me about being the baby of the group, something I hated. But their company isn’t something that I had often, because I didn’t like high jacking Will’s time with them.
Ian is at the microphone front and center of the stage. His hand is resting on the stand, one in the air making gestures as he sings the lyrics. He’s scanning the crowd with a cocky expression carved into his features. Even from here, I can see the aqua tone of his eyes, how they shine with a confidence that he’s always had.
It doesn’t take a lot to see how much he loves what he does. He moves his lean body to the rhythm of the song, and every time his eyes flash through the crowd they light up with passion. He takes the mic off the stand and walks past it, kneeling to touch the audience’s hands. The dark blue jeans he wears are tight against his obvious muscular legs, the tears in them like mine. Even after all this time, he’s kept the same image. Same jeans and T-shirt, same basic Converse, and the same assorted bracelet bands on his wrists that only he could pull off.
His tousled brown hair is a styled mess, the fluorescent lights making the gel in it evident. He runs his hand through his hair, raking it into a messier do. Somehow, it works for him.
Psycho Barbie pushes past a few other girls in front of her to get close. He quickly pulls back his hand and shakes his head at her, clearly not impressed with her actions. The look of rejection on her face is priceless, and I can’t help but take a picture of it because it’s amusing.
Usually, he eats that stuff up. Any fan is a good one to have. I guess the pushy ones aren’t his thing.
When Ian sees me, he gestures for me to come closer. At first, I doubt he’s even pointing at me. Until I point toward my chest and he smiles. He lets Bash’s guitar solo take over as I walk over to him. He offers me his hand and I take it, squealing in surprise when he pulls me up on the make-shift stage.
I glance over wide-eyed at Will, whose jaw is clenched tight and eyes are narrowed. I give him a shrug and turn to Ian, who is grinning at me, showing off white teeth and dimples. His eyes seem like a deeper shade of blue from here, filled with a friendly look as he rakes over my body. It isn’t sexual. There’s no lust. It’s just a quick look, like he’s looking me over since we haven’t seen each other in years.
I return the smile and take a picture of the crowd from my perspective. The adrenaline of being in front of so many people—there must be at least two hundred people packed in here—gives me goosebumps.
Ian starts singing again, making my attention turn back to him. I can’t help but find myself singing along to myself, lips moving but no sound coming out. I don’t want to be in the way, so I try pulling back, but he shakes his head. He wraps an arm around my wrist and tugs me toward him. Some of the crowd gets louder, while others are protesting.
The protesters seem to be primarily female.
I see Bash cracking up at us when I look in his direction. Clearly, he’s amused by Ian’s moves. I don’t remember him doing this at any of the concerts I read about online. There are usually always pictures, and no fans—beside the whacko ones who jump on stage—are ever photographed.
When the song finishes he gives me another wink and gestures toward my camera. I pick it up and go to take his picture but he shakes his head. His lips are moving, but the noise of the cheering crowd drown out his words.
He pulls me in by hooking one of his arms around my waist, and leans toward me so our cheeks are pressed together. That’s when I realize he wants a selfie. It makes me uneasy, heart racing in my chest, because I don’t usually get my picture taken. The girl in the pictures seems so lost whenever I look at her. She isn’t me, not anymore.
But I don’t want to keep them waiting, because I know the music fading means they’re going to need to move to the next song. So, I pick up the camera and snap a picture of us, forcing myself to smile like I’m excited over it. The corners of my lips hurt from the pressure of the lie behind the gesture.
Two years ago, I used to get picked on for the number of selfies I took. People called me vain, but it was never about vanity. It was about confidence. Loving myself. Loving my image.
Things change in two years.
Sometimes, things happen that you can’t get past. Can’t move past. You tell yourself that you’re fine, that you’ve moved on. But it’s never the truth, because there’s always an inkling of memory in the back of your head reminding you about what you’re hiding from.
A simple picture can immortalize the flaws you see every day. It’s why I stand behind the camera instead of in front of it. My flaws are mental scars etched into the smile I paint on my face. I say I’m okay … but I’m not.
It’s easier to pretend then to explain why I feel the way I do.
I pull back and mouth ‘thanks’ to him, walking toward the edge of the stage. Will is there to greet me, helping me down. Something dark is etched into his features, and I can’t help but think he’s glaring at Ian when I look back at him.
There is no doubt that Psycho Barbie is plotting my murder based on the glare she’s gi
ving me. While I consider myself a fan, I don’t act like half the females here. She’s probably the type of fan that doodles hearts of her and Ian’s names on her notebooks. Maybe even has a blog all about their fantasy relationship.
Gag me.
Will’s hand is on my waist as he guides us through the crowd. I try to stop him, but he’s too pushy. When we’re back toward the door, I dig my heels into the ground, jerking us to a halt.
“Will! What’s wrong?”
He leans close so I can hear him. “I don’t like the way he was looking at you.”
I stare at him for a second before laughing, which doesn’t earn me an amused expression in return. “Will, he probably gave me the charm so I’ll get a good picture of him. I know him and the band, and their image is really important to them.”
You can’t go from zero to hero without marketing your image. It’s easy to see they’ve got the heartthrob look going down. Ian and Dylan the playboys, Bash the go-with-it guy, and Ben the quiet one. It’s how it’s always been, but now it’s like that’s their cemented lives.
“I know that look, Tess.”
“How?” I demand. I want him to tell me, “Because it’s the same way I look at you” but I he doesn’t. Because this isn’t one of those cheesy romance movies that I love watching. He’s just Will, and while he has some heroic qualities to him, he isn’t going to be the one who saves me from falling headfirst into the blackhole I’ve been sinking in a little more each day.
I won’t let him go down with me.
So, instead, I ignore my subconscious train of thoughts. “Stop playing the jealous boyfriend card, Will. It doesn’t look good on you. Ian is just being his charming self. It’s part of the life I imagine.”
He rakes his fingers through his hair. “Ian …”
I wait, my hands on my hips, foot tapping.
“Ian always had a thing for you.”
My jaw drops. I don’t mean it to, but … no. Ian and I, we were never like that. We barely even qualified as friends, and the vibes he gave off were platonic more times than not.
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t act so surprised, Tess. You look … well, you look like you. And guys like that.”
I pick my jaw up from the floor. “Of course I’m surprised! Ian and I never really spoke that much.” It isn’t entirely a lie. “I think I told him I liked his socks once, because they were Harry Potter themed with Hufflepuff colors. I’m pretty sure that was one of our, like, five conversations. Maybe I even told him I liked one of his songs. That’s it. Hardly any conversation that leads to liking me.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off, because I can’t have him thinking there’s anything more going on.
“Plus, Ian has plenty of other girls after him. It isn’t like he’s still interested, if he was even interested to begin with. He’s made it.”
“So what if he was?”
I cock my head to the side, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
“Interested, I mean,” he adds in a low tone, strained like he’s afraid of my answer.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Ian is … Ian.”
“And you’re Tessa.”
I glance at Ian, who is introducing their next song. He really hasn’t changed in looks much since he left. He’s more defined now, like he works out every day. His arms fill out his T-shirt sleeves, his waist tapering in based on the tight T-shirt framing his torso. He looks good, there’s no denying that. The slight baby fat around his chin is gone, now taken over by a sharp jawline, and coated with dark stubble like he hasn’t had time to shave yet today.
“You’re interested,” he grumbles, assuming my stare is more than it is.
“I am not,” I snap back at him. “It doesn’t matter, okay? Let’s just drop it.”
I take one last picture before I put my camera back into my bag. Will stands silently beside me, brooding for some ungodly reason. When I look at him from the corner of my eyes, he’s glaring at toward the stage.
I love Will, but he’s a Katy Perry song. Hot and cold.
I try to brush it off. “Want to go?”
“Please.”
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I follow him out the door. His hands are stuffed in his pockets as we make our way outside. The silence between us is thick and unnerving, raising a thousand assumptions that I try to reason with. None I want to dwell on.
It isn’t until we’re down the road when I feel raindrops on my head.
“Will—”
I don’t even get a sentence out before it’s pouring. I scream and duck for cover, attempting to hide my camera bag from the rain. Even though it’s supposed to be waterproof, I have no intention of finding out if it really works.
I lean my damp head against the brick wall behind me. The alley we’re standing in has a small awning protecting us from the rain.
Will is standing across from me with a grin on his face.
“What’s so funny?” I snarl, droplets of the cool rain running down my cheeks.
“You look like a wet dog.”
I narrow my eyes. “Right back at ya.”
His hair is straight now, unlike the usual curl it has to it. The weight of the water drenching it makes it go down half his face. If I wasn’t mad at his weird mood, I’d laugh. Will with long hair doesn’t exactly suit him.
He takes notes of my sudden attitude and decides not to say anything else. Smart boy. He knows how I get when things like this happen.
“We should go back,” I tell him.
“No.”
“What’s your deal?”
“Nothing!”
I groan loudly. “You’re lying. You’re a terrible liar, Will. Whatever crawled up your ass and died needs to be removed. At least the warehouse is dry.”
He averts his gaze.
“This is about Ian, isn’t it?” I question. “I told you I’m not interested. And even if I was, it isn’t like Ian is a bad guy. Weren’t you two friends at one point?”
I’m determined to figure out what happened between them. We usually tell each other everything, but he refuses to talk about this. I give him space—time to admit what’s wrong. But it never happens. Not in all the time that has passed.
His expression darkens, and lips press into a thin line. “Things change.”
I noticed the lack of conversations between them my junior year. At first, I thought it was because Ian focused more on his music than hanging out. But that didn’t seem like it was the reason. Not long before Ian left for tour, they weren’t on speaking terms at all.
I don’t push Will, because he doesn’t push things I don’t want to talk about.
Maybe that makes us even.
Yet it doesn’t stop me from wondering.
“Someday, you’re going to tell me what happened to that bromance,” I inform him matter-of-factly.
He snorts. “No, I’m not.”
“Why not?”
He presses his lips together again, like the truth is forever sealed.
I hide my disappointed frown. “You’re impossible,” I mutter. “I will find out … whether you like it or not. Mark my words, William.”
He shakes his head when I say his full name. I know it irritates him, but he never really complains. He loves me too much.
I return my focus to the rain, which is now flooding the streets in trails of water that isn’t being drained properly. I sigh heavily, wishing I drove here. Dad insisted I wait because it was supposed to rain, but did I listen? That’s a big ol’ nope. Here’s to you, Dad.
“If you really want to go back …” Will relents, somewhat defeated.
I can’t help but smile and give him a hug. “Maybe it’s a good thing Ian’s back,” I articulate, grabbing his hand.
He entwines our fingers. “Why’s that?”
I shrug. “Maybe you guys can make up for whatever happened. I mean, time has a way of fixing things sometimes.”
He looks at me with a ‘I doubt that’ expres
sion on his face, but doesn’t say anything. I’m glad, and selfishly so, that I have Will all to myself, but our dynamic never fully recovered. I tell myself I don’t know the reason, but my gut tells me otherwise. Either way, I want to fix his friendship with Ian—get them back to where they were before, where they could both smile without Will looking like he contemplated murder.
You can’t even fix yourself, a pesky voice chides in my head.
Sometimes, the broken ones are the best successors at mending other people’s wounds—because ours are so deep they can’t be healed, but they can be felt. A constant reminder that they’re there, and painful in so many more ways than just physical. They’re threaded into our conscious, taking pieces of our sanity every time they resurface.
I may not be able to fix me, but I can fix them.
At least some of us will be truly happy again.
Tess always sees the best in people. It’s one reason I love her so much. I also know it’s her downfall. She trusts too easily; she’s going to get hurt one day. Again. It’s inevitable.
It’s true that Ian and I were once buds. The more he wanted to grow his music career, the more arrogant he became. His head grew with every offer he got from gigs, and he acted like he could get anything he wanted. Girls being the biggest thing.
And he wanted Tess.
“You seriously haven’t tapped that yet?” he asks, his eyes roaming over Tessa’s body.
It makes me sick. “No.”
He looks at me with a shit-eating grin on his face. He doesn’t have to tell me he wants her, it’s in his eyes. They’re practically undressing her.
And can I blame him? No. Tess … she’s changed. In a good way. A beautiful way. I’ve noticed, especially the way she dresses now. Her jeans got a little tighter, her shirts got a little shorter. But I’m with Sheri, and Tessa is supposed to be my friend. Off limits.
The Summer We Changed (Relentless Book 1) Page 3
