AS A KID, I COULD BARELY make it through a performance without a healthy dose of Xanax. So much so that it became a crutch I couldn’t walk without. The anxiety, the pressure every time I stepped onto the stage overshadowed my early years of performing. So when I reinvented myself as a musician, I did it for me and me alone. Not for my parents or the money or the acclaim, but because I had, for whatever reason, been given a gift that not many people in the world had. I could play just about anything . . . really well.
And though my early life left me so cautious I only let a few people past the gate, only lowered my guard by inches, when I take the stage, I hold nothing back. I’m all heart and soul every time, and what the audience gives me in return is like nothing I’d ever imagined I’d experience as a musician. It’s a sonic freefall, and those people who love my music, who get it, are the net that catches me every time.
So nerves don’t really come into play for me anymore when I perform. But tonight, I’m in an arena packed with fans, the air vibrating with their anticipation. My foot bounces a frantic rhythm on the sticky floor. I’m sweating through my t-shirt. My stomach knots up. The nerves, man, the nerves before this performance are like old times. Like everything rides on this next set.
And I’m nowhere near the stage.
I’m halfway back, just in sight of the soundboard so I can geek out over the equipment they’re using to mix the show. I’m smack dab in the middle of a row of people, wearing Dickies. I’m carrying glow sticks and drinking flat beer while we wait for the opening act, the only thing I care about tonight. I’m here to see my girl perform, really perform, to a packed house, and this room can barely contain me I’m so high on possibility.
Other people take this for granted, standing in a crowded concert, shoulder to shoulder with thousands of fans. It’s wonderfully novel for me, though, to be on this side of the stage. I approached this outing with the stealth and missional strategery of Jason Bourne. I worked out my disguise. I plotted an elaborate plan to get out of my neighborhood, undetected and all plebeian in the used Corolla Marlon secured for me. I parked and walked to the venue like everyone else. On my back, standard issue Luke Foster t-shirt. On my head, my Dodgers cap. I’m wearing the Magnum P.I. moustache, which has never let me down. My own mother would be hard-pressed to recognize me. I’m drinking cheap beer and chomping on a pretzel like everyone else on my row.
It’s exhilarating.
All the pre-show stuff is coming to an end, and my heartbeat picks up speed. Is she nervous? Does Kai suspect that maybe, just possibly, I’m in the audience? We spoke earlier, but only briefly. Partially because she was getting ready for the show, and partially because I knew if we spoke too long, I’d give something away and she’d know I was coming.
Tonight she’ll be in my bed because finally the longest month of my life comes to an end. Over the last three weeks, Kai and I have texted and Facetimed and talked every day, despite the time difference, but now we’re in the same state. She doesn’t know it, but we’re in the same place. The same arena. She has to at least suspect that I’m coming, but we haven’t talked about it at all. The only part of the show I’m not looking forward to is that lap dance she gives Luke during his set. That shit ends tonight, and she won’t be anywhere near his lap ever again.
The announcer welcomes everyone to the show before introducing the opening act. The crowd erupts for Kai. In three months she has rocketed to her own prominence. I can’t stand John Malcolm, but I have to hand it to him. He knows how to transform a talent into a star.
But at what cost?
The last few Facetime calls, Kai looked worn down, exhausted. That skin-deep sparkle that’s always been so much a part of her was absent. As if the tour weren’t demanding enough, Malcolm added mall stops along the way. And because of all the hype surrounding Kai, he’s had her doing multiple early morning radio and TV interviews in every city. It’s too much and it’s taken a toll.
She promised me after this tour we wouldn’t care who knew we’re still together. She promised me we’d be together again. I hope she meant it because I’ve already booked our vacation from the rest of the world, and it starts as soon as this tour stops.
But not before I get to see her performing live for myself. She’s phenomenal. Many singers learn to dance because you kind of have to these days. Unless you’re this guy, anchored to your piano and not giving a fuck. But Kai is a dancer. She’s not just competent. She’s masterful. Combine that with her incredible voice and magnetic stage presence, along with being gorgeous, which never hurts, and you’ve got a rare package.
I’m so damn proud of her when she starts her set. I completely get why people want more from her, why she’s gained so many fans of her own opening for Luke.
“Rhyson Gray is one lucky son of a bitch,” the guy beside me says to the person on the other side of him. It jars me to hear my name when I’m supposed to be knee-deep in anonymity.
Concert-goer number two agrees, eyes fixed on Kai as she dances across the stage. “Didn’t they break up, though?”
“But he got to fuck her first.” The guy cackles, licking his lips like he can taste my girl. “How else you think a chick from Nowhere, USA gets here this fast? He probably wasn’t the only one she fucked to get on that stage.”
I knew there were some people who thought like that. Hell, that was Kai’s greatest fear, but to hear someone talk about her that way when she’s worked her ass off to get where she is; when she’s trained since she was a kid, sacrificed all her life and pressed through every delay, including her mom’s illness—it makes me furious. If I give in to this, I jeopardize my disguise and maybe cause a small commotion when people realize who I am. I can see those headlines now. Kai would never let me live that down. I jerk the reins on my control, pulling my own ass in line. I can’t resist some retaliation, though, however small.
I bump my shoulder against douchebag’s like someone jostled me, dumping my beer into his lap.
“Dude, what the fuck!” He drops his pretzel, patting the huge wet spot on his jeans.
“My bad,” I mumble. “Sorry, man.”
“Just stay in your lane,” he snaps, looking at me an extra minute like he’s trying to place me. I pull my hat lower over my brow and bend, pretending to retrieve something from the floor. That wasn’t the ass-kicking he deserved, but at least I get to see my girl without causing a brawl.
She’s on her second song when I realize something isn’t right. She misses a step, and even though she recovers quickly, I know from her face something is wrong. She loses her place in the song, the band and the dancers moving forward without her. It’s like I’m watching it all in awful slow motion. One minute she’s standing in her skimpy little outfit, small and alone at the center of the huge stage, a choreographed spectacle behind her. The next minute, she presses her hand to her forehead, her face crumpling, her eyes rolling back in her head, her slim body falling into a glittering heap on the floor.
And taking my heart down with it.
I don’t make a conscious decision to rush toward the stage, but that’s what happens. I’m shoving everyone on my row, barreling down the aisle until I slam into a mass of flesh and bone and muscle. I jerk against two sets of hands gripping my arms on either side.
“Let go,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Man, we can do this the easy way or the hard way,” one of the security guards says. “Return to your seat or we take you out.”
“No, you don’t understand.” I can barely get the words out because my heart is stuffed in my throat. “That’s my girlfriend. I need to get to Kai.”
“You and every other guy in this place.” The other guard starts dragging me back into the crowd. Onstage, the music still goes on, but the dancers have stopped, several of them running center stage where Kai lies completely still.
“No!” I dig in my heels in. “She is. Why won’t you . . . you have to let me . . .”
They’re dragging me backward. I’ve never felt so completely helpless in my life. She’s gone. A burly security guard scooped her up, taking her limp body offstage. A few dancers straggle back, but the whole crew is leaving. The announcer asks for everyone’s patience. Patience is a completely foreign concept to me right now. I strain against the strength of two massive security guards when it hits me. They don’t know who I am.
“I’m Rhyson Gray.” My eyes zipline between them. I try to keep my voice low when everything inside of me is rising and surging and clawing to get backstage.
“Geez, man,” Guard number one says, shaking his head. “You’re taking this fantasy kinda far. You gotta go.”
“Listen to me, shithead,” I ground out. “I’m Rhyson fucking Gray. I’m wearing a disguise because I wanted to watch the show in peace, but my girlfriend just collapsed, and I need you to get me to her right now, dammit.”
Despite the death grip on my arm, I manage to get my hand to my mouth, peel the moustache away, and push my Dodgers cap back just enough for them to see.
Guard number one is still pulling me back, but the other one squints, studying me more closely before his eyes widen, recognition on his face.
“Curt, it’s him,” he says. “I think he is Rhyson Gray.”
Curt stops in his tracks, peering at me.
“Shiiiit. You sure?”
“Look.” I channel the coldness of my mother’s negotiator voice. “I am Rhyson Gray, and I promise you that if I’m not backstage in the next minute, both your jobs are mine. I need you as discreetly and quickly as possible to get me to my girlfriend. Now.”
They look from me to each other for a few seconds before shrugging in synch and dragging me again, this time toward a side door.
“This’ll get you backstage fast,” Curt says. “But we’ll need to see your license as soon as we get back there to confirm.”
“Whatever.” I nod, quickening the pace so I’m practically dragging them.
As soon as we’re backstage, I dig out my license. With that hurdle behind me, I’m not sure what should be next. There’s a flurry of activity as Luke’s dancers scramble to go on earlier than anticipated. There’s no sign of Luke or Malcolm or anyone I know.
“Where’s Kai Pearson?” I demand of one of the dancers rushing past. “Do you know where they took her?”
“To the hospital, I think. Not sure which one.” She tilts her head, curiosity clear on her face. “Rhyson Gray?”
I don’t answer, but just move on, searching for anyone who might know where I can find my girl. How I can get to her. My car is blocks away, and it’ll take me forever to get out of here. I’m frantic and lost. As much as I try to slow my brain down long enough to think clearly, the image of Kai heaped onstage interrupts every functioning synapse.
“Okay, think.” I shove my fingers through my hair, dislodging the cap and sending it to the floor. “What’s the nearest hospital? Where would they have taken her? How can you get there fast? Think, idiot. Think.”
“Rhyson?”
I turn toward my name, bending to retrieve my cap and pushing it back on my head.
“You’re Rhyson Gray, right?” The petite girl with short, cherry-red hair asks. “You’re looking for Kai?”
The chaos backstage fades to the periphery and I zero in on her face, rushing forward to grip her arms.
“You know where she is?” I demand. “Where? I need to know. I need to . . .”
My voice evaporates. I gulp back the panic, struggling to hold my shit together while the most important thing to me is on her way to some hospital alone. With God knows who, but not with me.
“Can you help me?” I will get down on my fucking knees if I have to. “Please? I need to get out of here. I need to find her.”
She nods, her eyes ping ponging from me to the people scurrying to get in place for the show.
“I’m Kai’s makeup artist.” She gives her head a quick shake and chews on her bottom lip. “I’m her friend, Ella.”
“Kai’s mentioned you. Do you know which hospital? Is your car here? Is it close?”
“Yeah, there’s a lot by the loading dock where some of us parked. They’ve taken her to Cedars Sinai.” She starts walking toward an exit, and for the first time I feel like I might be getting close. “I was on my way there. You can ride with me.”
Once we’re in the car, my mind starts ordering things, and I realize no one knows where I am or what’s going on. I dial the person who always knows what to do in a crisis and stops me from screwing up my life half the time.
“Rhys, hey.” There’s a smile in Grady’s voice. It seems to be there more than ever since his wedding.
“Kai collapsed.” I would ease in instead of air striking, but sometimes he’s the only one who finds a way to ease my mind. I need that right away. I need that now.
“She what? What do you mean?” Confusion and urgency build in his voice.
“I was at Kai’s concert, in the audience, and she collapsed.” I draw a deep breath. “I couldn’t get to her, Grady. They took her away. She’s at the hospital. She—”
“Slow down, son.” I can almost feel the staying hand Grady usually places on my shoulder to calm me. “What hospital?”
“Cedars.”
“Are you on your way there now?”
“Yeah.” I nod even though he can’t see me, my heart slowing a little. “Yeah, I’m almost there.”
“Em and I are on our way. We’ll meet you.”
I’ve no sooner hung up than my phone buzzes with a call from Marlon.
“Dude, twitter is blowing up about Kai,” he says. “What’s going on?”
“Whatever Twitter says is more than I know.”
Marlon and I haven’t talked much about Kai over the last few weeks. He’s been slammed with his album, in the studio every chance he gets, and I’ve been tight-lipped about my relationship. He knows that viral video wasn’t the end of us, though. He knew I was attending her concert tonight.
“You okay?” he asks after a beat or two.
“No.” I rest my temple against the cool glass window of Ella’s little car. “Not until I know she is.”
“Someone tweeted that she was taken to Cedars. You on your way there?”
“Yeah, and if it’s on Twitter, there’s probably already press waiting.”
“Probably. Bristol’s here. She wants to holla at you.”
“She’s there with you?”
“Yeah, we got business,” he says, sounding more guarded than I’m used to.
Any other time I would probe and tease him about Bristol, but not now. Not with that image of Kai crumpled in the middle of the stage still haunting me.
“Rhys,” Bristol says. “You okay?”
Everyone keeps asking me that. I want to scream at them, ask them how I can possibly be okay when the girl I love just collapsed.
“I’ll be better once I get there and know what’s going on.”
“What can I do?” Concern rounds the edges of Bristol’s normally brisk tone. “What do you need?”
“Um, I think there will be press when I arrive. I don’t give a fuck. I’m just going in. Whatever, but it might be good to have Gep with me later.”
“I’ll call him now. He’ll meet you there. What else?”
“Um, shit, Bris.” I squeeze the bridge of my nose. Trying to slow my heart. Trying to clear my head, but it’s like an entire symphony orchestra tuning before a concert. A dozen players in different keys with discordant notes. A cacophony of instruments and clanging symbols ringing in my ears, cluttering my mind.
“I don’t know,” I say, my voice as weary as my mind. “I just . . . I can’t think straight right now.”
“I can come think for you,” my sister says softly. “Want me to?”
Emotion crowds my throat because I so rarely see this side of her—the sister who would drop everything, not for her client, but for her twin brother.
“Yeah, that’d be great, Bris. Bring Marlon with you, okay?”
“We’re on our way.”
Now that I’ve called the tiny circle of people in my life who matter, I don’t know what to do with myself. Silence builds in the car, and I realize just how rude I’ve been to Ella. She must think I’m the asshat most people assume I am.
“Uh, thanks for the ride. Sorry I had a few calls to make.” I glance at Ella, actually seeing her this time. “I remember you.”
Her startled eyes swing quickly from the road to me and then back.
“You do?”
“From the set of Luke’s video. You took off Kai’s robe.”
“Don’t hold that against me.” She flashes me a small smile. “You were pretty pissed that day.”
We’d just gotten together. My father was in the hospital, but I couldn’t stay away from Luke’s set. I had to see my girl, only to find her half naked for Luke’s video. Man, I was angry that day, and so was she. Things felt so complex then, but compared to our life now, it was child’s play.
“You’ve been sending the mistletoe, right?” Ella’s eyes don’t leave the road.
I watch her profile cautiously. Only Kai and I know about that. I don’t want to give too much away.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“The mistletoe that came to her dressing room before every show.” She shrugs. “I did her makeup, so I’d see. It always made her smile.”
I smile naturally, just the smallest bit, since Kai’s collapse.
“Her grandfather kept mistletoe in the house all year so he could kiss Kai’s grandmother all the time.”
“That’s really sweet.” Ella steals another quick glance. “You, um, you really love her, huh?”
The short answer would be yes, but that’s a pitiful Cliffs Notes to an epic story. If I go into what Kai means to me when I don’t even know for sure she’s okay yet, I’ll lose it, so I give her the simple truth anyone with eyes could see.
“I love her more than everything.”
Ella swings a surprised look my way, eyes wide. I remember her saying before that she was a fan of my music. She had tickets to one of my shows. I can’t be a celebrity right now. I don’t give a damn that she loves my music or about any preconceived notions she may hold. I’m just raw and wide open and grateful that she’s taking me to Kai.
“Thanks again, Ella, for driving. I was blocks away. It would have taken me a lot longer.”
“I wish I had pressed her more about that cold.”
“So do I. She’s been coughing for weeks, but she kept saying it was just a cold and that it was okay.”
“Yeah, but she had a fever tonight.”
“What?” I try to soften my tone, but the thought of her going on tonight sick angers the hell out of me. “Why didn’t she pull out?”
“If you love Kai as much as you say you do, then I’m sure you know she’d never do that.”
I clench my fists. “Malcolm pushed her too hard on this tour.”
“You’re certainly right about that.” There’s a wry twist to Ella’s mouth.
We pull to a stop in front of Cedars Sinai emergency entrance before I get to ask her more questions.
“I’ll park,” Ella says. “You get on in there.”
I’m out of the car and slamming the door almost before she’s completely stopped. I knew there might be some press, but I didn’t anticipate the knot of reporters clustered at the entrance, armed with questions I don’t even dignify with a response.
“Rhyson, are you here to see Kai?”
“Are you two back together?”
“What can you tell us about what happened tonight?”
Each question skids across my nerves like pebbles over a pond, disturbing the surface but not sinking in. I pull my Dodgers cap down lower and rush through the door, bracing my heart for whatever lies on the other side.