Is this how he’s decided to prove his “I’m actually the sexiest one here” case to Valeria? Or is he so out of it that he’s doing this without an ulterior motive at all?
It’s a good thing I’m not trying to pull off new moves tonight, because I’m so distracted I’m relying completely on muscle memory to make it through. I plaster a smile on my face and start praying—to Jon’s god, out of convenience, because I figure He knows enough about us by now to not need extra context—that Angel makes it through this performance without doing anything he can’t take back.
By the end of the concert I’m relieved to say it could have been worse. He doesn’t stage-dive, or hurt himself, or yell anything inappropriate that could get us in headlines. But, still, I’m so tense I can barely breathe right up until the moment we say goodbye to Cologne and run off the side stage, plunged out of the laser lighting and into the darkness.
Erin’s there to greet us, as usual, but this time, so is Valeria.
“Great job,” Valeria says to Jon, squeezing his shoulder. “No notes. I knew you could do this. It wasn’t so bad, was it?”
He gives her a tight smile in reply. Personally, I’m just glad that look isn’t being directed at me. He’s only just started warming to me again since my tantrum earlier this week, despite saying we were cool after I pulled him aside to apologize to him the next morning.
I catch Jon’s eye and mouth “you okay?” He goes purposely cross-eyed in response. Yup. That about sums it up.
Valeria turns to Angel now. From Angel, she receives an enormous, sloppy grin. He’s apparently very pleased with himself.
“Next time,” she says icily, “stick to the choreo. You made everyone look bad tonight. You looked like you didn’t know what was going on.”
“I knew what was going on,” he says. “I was dancing Jon’s part with him.”
“Dance your part.”
“I like Jon’s part better.”
Valeria looks to Erin for help, and Erin waves her off. “Angel,” Erin says as we walk. “I know everyone’s tired, but you’re embarrassing yourself. Stick to what we’ve agreed on, okay? You’re a legal adult, now, I expect you to act like one.”
I brace myself for her to press him about the drugs. Hell, even right now it’s obvious. His pupils are so dilated the iris is almost engulfed, and his jaw is working frantically. But she doesn’t. Does she … not notice? Or does she just not care?
As we go about the usual routine of stripping and handing our clothes to our team to organize, Jon leans in to Angel and says under his breath, “What did you take?”
“Didn’t you hear Erin?” Angel asks brightly, but with an edge. “I’m just tired.”
I can tell from the glare Jon gives him that the conversation isn’t over. But while we’re surrounded by our team, there’s not much we can say to him.
If they ignore it, we have to.
Synchronized, choreographed denial.
TWELVE
ZACH
Today, 10:36 a.m. （12 hours ago）
Geoff <[email protected]>
To: me
Dear Zach,
Great news! I’ve had a talk with Galactic and they’ve decided they would love to get your input on one of our upcoming songs, “End of Everything.” We’re thinking it might be a strong second single for The Town Red, and having you as a songwriter would give it a narrative edge that will really push it over the line and make it a hit. Have a tinker with the lyrics and get them back to me and I’ll pass them on—we’d love for this to work out, and to get you a songwriter credit on the LP!
Best,
Geoff
Things lately are … wonderful. Completely and utterly wonderful.
Sure, the email is great, and I’ve already been brainstorming lyrics. But being with Ruben blows that out of the water. I can’t recall the last time I’ve smiled this much.
We just wrapped up another show in Cologne, and it felt like my best performance in ages. I was on fire. I hit every note perfectly and I had so much freaking fun onstage. The crowd responded, cheering louder than I can recall in months, so much so that the applause at the end felt endless.
Right now Ruben and I are sitting in the back seat of yet another dark, anonymous minibus, sharing one of the blankets Erin got us. We’re partly doing it because it’s cold out—but also partly so that we can touch each other without anyone else noticing.
I’m trying to be careful about how obvious we’re being, though, more than I think Ruben is. He’s resting his hand on my inner thigh, and keeps inching upward.