If I don’t answer my parents’ worried calls, I know they’ll end up showing up at my apartment. If they do that, then they’ll demand to know what’s wrong. I’m sure they already do, because word gets around when it’s something you want kept private.

I bet there’s even a sign on my head that has pathetic written all over it. It’s been almost a week since I’ve heard from Will. I could call him, text him, show up at his parents’ house where he’s still staying. But do I?

No.

Because he left. I tell myself that it isn’t worth thinking about, because clearly I misread every sign leading up to what we did. He wanted to sleep with me, that much was evident. At least, in the moment it was.

When I had to accept that he wasn’t coming back, after waiting at least two hours for him to show back up, I put my big girl panties on (and not my Superman ones) and moved on with my day.

Only, I couldn’t really move on.

Because Will was the first person I opened up to, which should have meant something more to him, like it did to me. Did he not understand what a huge deal it was for me to be able to be honest with him?

Clearly, he didn’t.

I want to refuse letting my mind and heart allow another guy to dictate how I feel again.

With Will, there are too many feelings. Feelings that can make or break us, and it seems like the latter is what is unraveling. I thought for sure it would only cement what my heart kept telling me I wanted, but I was wrong.

So, so wrong.

And that … well, that hurt. Like a hard punch right to the boob. Apparently, I’m bad at assuming what I wanted. Or, what Will wanted.

Stop thinking about it.

I scold myself at least three times a day. The more I think about what happened, the deeper of a pit I sink into. Every day is like I sink further into quick sand, and the sad thing is, I don’t care if it consumes me.

Not talking to Will sucks, but I can’t get myself to even bother trying. He said he was sorry … through text. It wouldn’t have been any easier if he did it in person, but at least he wouldn’t have been hiding behind a screen.

This is a Taylor Swift song waiting to happen.

Maybe I should write about it and send to her. I mean, Ian insists that he knows her. Wouldn’t surprise me if a song or two is dedicated just to him. He’s may be my friend, but he’s a total man ho.

I guess I wouldn’t blame Taylor for falling for him though.

I tell myself to stop getting off track. My mind has been going to some really weird places, lately. I guess that’s what happens when I only have a cat to talk to.

I think even Ollie is getting sick of my company. When I’m around the apartment, it’s like the cat tries being everywhere I’m not. Which is hard to do since my studio apartment is practically one big room with a bathroom attached.

Will usually stops by his apartment once a week just to get away from Clinton, but he hasn’t been by once. I would know, because like a loser, I’ve been watching after him.

He’s avoiding me.

It pisses me off more than anything that he thinks he gets to act out. Why can’t I avoid him? He got to walk away the first time. It should be my turn.

Pathetic.

Yeah, I’m pathetic. Maybe a sign taped to my forehead wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

I trek around my apartment barefoot with my Marvel pajama shorts on and an old cat shirt that has holes in the seam from years of wear. I’m comfortable, despite the frumpy reflection in the mirror that I pass.

My hair is tangled from lack of brushing it, my eyes are puffy from the tears that escape the ducts, and my cheeks are flushed of color. I look horrible, but I don’t care.

Gilmore Girls is playing on my TV, drowning out the chatter in my head with their banter and rambling.

Chinese takeout containers line my nightstand, and a pizza box is on my desk. I haven’t left my apartment in almost two weeks, except for bringing Ian’s finished band pictures to him and taking my trash to the dumpster out back. My food has been delivered to me if I didn’t just heat something up from my freezer.

The containers all over my apartment are evidence of my hermit status. I should probably be ashamed, but Ian’s manager is giving me weekly paychecks that more than pay for my pity-party.

I go to the kitchen, where Ollie is sleeping on top of the fridge, and grab my Ben & Jerry’s ice cream from the freezer. I let the cool air blow over me for a few extra seconds, because my air conditioner is broken. It makes the August heat that much worse.

I don’t want to call Dad and ask for help, so I rely on the fan he left behind when I first moved in. Between that and the breeze from the windows, the apartment is comfortable enough to stay in.

Closing the freezer door, I fuss over Ollie, who glares at me for disturbing his nap. I roll my eyes at the look he gives me and walk back into the main room, sitting down on my bed with my Peanut Butter Cup ice cream in hand.

After half an episode of Gilmore Girls, and an empty carton of ice cream, I opt to force myself out of bed. Looking at well-groomed, happy people on the television only makes me feel ten times worse.

Not to mention, listening to Rory talk about how in love she is with Logan is only making me want to vomit. Or scream, “Leave before he hurts you!” at the screen, which would put me at a different level of pathetic.

Thinking maybe a shower will clear my head, I strip out of my pajamas, and step into the ready stream of warm water waiting for me. I let the steam surround me, hoping it would fill my head and replace the thoughts swarming my mind.

Nothing else has.

I run my fingers through my wet hair.

It reminds me of when Will did that, his fingers gently pulling as he entered me.

I brush my hand against the droplets on my lips.

It reminds me of the ghost of his touch, his lips, the way it drove me mad and made me want more. The way his teeth would gently tug on my bottom lip, bite down, claim me.

I tell my body not to remember anything else, because it hurts too much. The ache in my heart, the crack in it that he left behind, makes me wish it never happened.

Maybe I’m sorry, too.

Perhaps more than him.

There’s a knock on my door that snaps me out of the pity party I’m slipping in to again. My heart picks up in hopes that it’s Will, which makes me smack it. I mean, seriously, we’re hard core hating on him right now.

But I could never hate Will, even if I tried.

I turn the water off and grab a towel from the rack, wrapping it around my body. The knocking keeps up, so whoever behind it is impatient.

It gives me an idea of who it is.

Sure enough, Ian calls me name. “Open up, I don’t have all day.”

“I’m in the shower,” I yell back.

I can only imagine the expression on his face. “Well then, please open the door.”

I roll my eyes.

“You can’t tell a man that you’re naked and then leave him hanging, Williams.”

Williams. I guess we’re on a last name basis. It makes me want to smile, but I can’t get myself to do it. Having Ian as my friend is something I never thought would happen, but I welcome it. Even if he annoys me sometimes.

I sigh as I step out of the tub. I can’t find my bathrobe anywhere, and based on his excessive knocking, he’s not going to stop. The last thing I need is my neighbors complaining about the noise.

So, I open the door, the towel I’m wearing wrapped tight around me. Honestly, it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. Ian’s innocent. Well, mostly. He’s not a threat, and even the way his eyes comb over my body in interest doesn’t mean much.

He knows I’m attractive, but it’s platonic.

He’s leaning against the door frame. “Get dressed, we’re leaving.”

My brow arches. “And where would we be going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

It’s always a surprise with him.

I cross my arms over my chest. “What if I don’t want to go out?”

He side-steps me, walking in without an invitation. As soon as he sees Ollie, Ollie hisses. Ian steps back, sneering at the cat.

I watch them, laughing silently to myself.

“Not a cat person?” I guess.

Ian makes a face, his hand itching his nose. “Nope.”

Ollie jumps down, flashing Ian his ass.

I snicker.

Ian looks around my apartment, taking in the mess that lays everywhere. My bed isn’t made, there are empty takeout containers everywhere, and Ollie has toys scattered all over the floor.

He looks at me. “This place is a disaster.”

I want to argue with him, but I can’t.

“Have you been holed up in here since you dropped off the pictures?” he questions, picking up a container and sniffing it. Scrunching his face up, he quickly puts it back down.

I huff and walk into the apartment. Hulu has changed it to Buffy the Vampire Slayer now, Buffy and Angel filling the screen in an epic showdown. I click it off, the screen flicking to black.

My eyes drift back over to Ian, who is staring in confusion at Will’s guitar. He never bothered picking it up when he walked out, and I never bothered trying to give it back. Instead, I may have tampered with it … slightly.

“Um, Tess?” He turns to me with the guitar in his hand. “Why are there Batman stickers all over this?”

My cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “Uh … I may have gotten angry at one point and glued them to it.”

His face is nothing but a big question.

“Will and I got into a fight,” I murmur. “It’s not important. What’s important is that I could have cut the strings or smashed it, but I didn’t. That’s what matters.”

He shakes his head, his eyes going back to the new design the guitar’s body has. “Why Batman? And why did you glue it if they’re stickers? Don’t they stick without needing anything else?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “I might have had strong adhesive glue that makes getting stuff off really hard, and since Will hates Batman I figure …”

After briefly closing his eyes, Ian puts the guitar down. “I have to say, Tess, I didn’t know you had it in you. Messing with a dude’s guitar is like messing with his junk, and not in a fun way.”

I give him a look. “Whatever. It’ll come off eventually. Maybe with nail polish remover or something. Like I said, I contemplated hitting it against the wall, so he’s lucky I didn’t.”

His brows go up, and he mutters, “I was right about the Taylor thing.”

My eyes narrow. “What Taylor thing?”

He shrugs, sitting down on the edge of the TV stand. “You kind of remind me of the character she plays in her ‘Blank Space’ video. You know, crazy as hell with motives to screw up the guys who scorned her.” He laughs. “Although I don’t think her methods of getting even included Batman stickers and adhesive glue.”

I grumble something under my breath.

Instead of answering, he sneezes.

I narrow my eyes at him. His eyes are watering, and his nose is twitching. He sits on my bed, with cat hair floating in the air from the comforter.

He sniffs, looking at me. “What are you staring at?”

“Are you allergic to cats?”

He glances at my cat from where he’s eating in the kitchen, his eyes narrowing like Ollie’s a disease.

“Yeah,” Ian admits, rubbing his nose. “Always have been. Found out when I was five and snuck in a litter of kittens in my bedroom.”

My eyes widen. “Why’d you do that?”

He shrugs. “They were homeless. I found them in a box outside of the old grocery store on my way home from school. Anyway, after spending some time with them in my room, I started sneezing. Eyes got puffy. Couldn’t stop crying. My mom came in my room to see how my day was, and apparently my face was swollen. She saw the kittens lounging on my bed and took me to the doctor.”

I frown. “What happened to the kittens?”

“My mom found them homes with friends.”

I smile at that.

“So are you going to put clothes on now?” he asks, gesturing toward my towel. “As much as it’s nice looking at you like that, we’ve got places to be.”

My face scrunches up. “And where would that be?”

He gives me a doubtful look. “Do you not know what day it is? You’d think you would since you were the one who set this whole thing up.”

I stare at him for a short moment and then my eyes widen with realization. “The concert!” I exclaim, slapping my hand against my forehead.

How could I forget something like that? We set it up weeks ago, in hopes that we would have time to build up interest in the event.

Not that it took long to gain interest. As soon as you Tweet about Relentless, half the female population in the tri-state area—hell, half the East Coast—respond back and retweet it.

“I’m offended you’d forget,” he mocks in offense.

“My mind has been preoccupied,” I murmur.

“No kidding,” he remarks sarcastically. “You’ve been held up in this sauna for two weeks, Tessa. It smells like old Chinese food and loneliness.”

I eye him. “You can’t smell loneliness, dummy.”

“Well I sure as hell can see it.”

My jaw ticks.

“Now go put something nice on. And maybe not jeans. No offense, Tessa, but it looks like your butt got kinda big from all this junk you’re eating. You should wear a dress.”

My jaw drops, and I’m tempted to throw something at him. How can he tell me something like that?

He gives me a pointed look. “Don’t get all uptight on me, Williams. I’m being a friend, and friends are honest. Now put on something short and sweet. And do it quick.”

I huff and turn around to head to my closet, grabbing out a sundress and muttering the whole time. I knew Ian could be a dickhead, but who knew he’d be that rude?

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the fair already?” I question, slipping into the bathroom and closing the door.

He sneezes. “I needed to get you, since you’ve been avoiding everybody.”

After sliding the dress on, I smooth over the slight wrinkles of the cotton material. It’s yellow and white sunflower print, something Will told me to buy last semester. I didn’t even think about it when I grabbed it.

Too late to change now.

I run my brush through my hair, twisting it back into a messy bun on the top of my head. If I had more time, I’d try doing something different, but this would have to work. At least it showcased the natural swirl of brown and caramel highlights I have.

Ian knocks on the bathroom door, opening it before I tell him it’s okay.

I glare at him. “Don’t you know it’s customary to wait until you’re invited in? I could have been naked.”

He snorts, although it doesn’t sound right since his nose is stuffed up. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, Freckles.”

I throw my hair brush at him. He dodges, and it bounces off the door frame and onto the tile floor with a clank.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to throw things at people?” he retorts, mocking my stance. His hands are on his hips, just like mine.

I roll my eyes. “Can I put on some makeup at least? Or do we not have ten seconds to spare?”

He thinks about it, his eyes trailing over me. “Put on some lipstick. And underwear. I don’t remember you getting any out of your dresser.”

I blush. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

His hands go up. “Hey, I’m all for easy access. I mean, you never know what will happen later on.”

I’m tempted to throw something at him again, but there’s nothing within my reach. “Don’t press your luck, Wells. That’s never happening again.”

He snorts again. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t suggesting we do anything.”

Before he says anything else, he walks out of my apartment. Probably to get away from Ollie. Smart move, if he’s going to perform. He can’t be congested or else he won’t sound good.

I put a quick layer of red lipstick on, and go back into my room to slide on a pair of panties. After slipping my favorite pair of black flip-flops on, putting down some treats for Ollie, and grabbing my purse and keys, I meet Ian outside.

He’s leaning on his Mercedes, talking to one of the girls who lives in the building. Actually, he’s flirting based on the way he’s got his eyes trained on her and smile casted like he’s trying to get her to drop her panties. If I don’t break it up, there’s a good chance they’ll start having sex right here in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Let’s go,” I tell him, sliding past them and opening the passenger side door.

I see Ian give the girl (I think her name is Mia) a wink, and take a piece of paper from her eager hand.

He plops into the driver’s seat and gives me a victorious grin.

“Even red-rimmed and puffy eyed, you get girls,” I say in disbelief.

“Jealous?”

I click my seatbelt in place. “Girls aren’t really my thing,” I tell him, smirking.

“Damn shame.”

I smack his arm, but don’t say anything.

He starts his car, slides his sunglasses on, and gives me one last look. “For the record, I think it’s cool what you’re doing for him. Even after shit went down.”

My body stills.

How could he know something happened?

He must have read my mind. “You’re hiding from something, and based on the way your eyes look shattered, it’s got to be Will. Yet, you’re here. You’re coming along to support the benefit for him and his family.”

I direct my gaze out the window as he pulls away. “It’s what friends do for each other.”

“Is that what you two are?”

Yes. No. “I don’t know,” I admit.

“We both know that isn’t true,” he says quietly, the lull of the radio filling the silence between us.

I press my lips together.

Do I argue with him?

No.

The parking is crazy when we get back to Clinton. The usual lot is packed with twice as many cars than normal. The County Fair is popular on a normal day, but add a band like Relentless, and it’s a mad house.

I knew they were popular, but you never know how much until you see this many followers.

It’s … it’s amazing.

Ian disappears out back as soon as he makes sure I’m close to the stage. We were late because of summer traffic backed up on the interstate, so I don’t make a point to pick on him for ditching me.

After all, he’s doing this for Will.

Just as I think his name, my mind wanders to the events that happened. I wonder where he is, if he decided to show up.

He usually comes to the fair at least once with me, but he never did this summer. And with his family going through what they are, I don’t know if he’s even willing to step away from them.

He’s made it clear in the past two weeks that he’s not interested in being anywhere near me. So why would he be somewhere where I am?

Just as I think that, my answer is right in front of me. My heart about stops when I see the person who walks out on stage first.

It isn’t Ian. It’s Will.

My lips part as I watch his every move like a hawk. He nears the middle of the stage, where a microphone and stool are set up, like how Marty has them at the bar for open mic.

Will sits down on it.

What the …

The crowd is loud with calculating whispers, and then picks up when Ian strolls out. He does it effortlessly, completely in his own zone compared to the uneasiness Will portrays in his stiff body language.

Will hates big crowds.

Ian pulls another stool closer to Will. Some guy I don’t recognize, who’s wearing a stagehand red polo shirt like the rest of the fair employees, comes out with a guitar.

He passes it to Ian.

My eyes are plastered on Will. He’s looking at Ian, murmuring something to him. I stare, trying to figure out the puzzle pieces. Some of the edges aren’t fitting in the slots, so I mentally ram them in.

Patience isn’t really my thing.

I catch Ian’s eye, and an obvious smirk—one of his devious, up-to-no-good ones—stretches on his face. His eyes move back to Will, gesturing his head toward where I’m standing.

I hold my breath when our eyes lock.

I stand a little straighter when he studies me over, his gaze is burning every inch he scans.

Then he does something that I haven’t seen in way too long.

He smiles.

And that makes my heart do very weird things inside of my chest.

I let out a breath.

Suddenly, somebody comes up on the right side of me. I look to see Bash sporting dark shades and a baseball cap hiding his brown locks.

Um … “What are you doing out here?”

Another person stands on the other side of me.

Dylan. He’s got blue aviators on and a grey beanie. I can only assume in disguise.

“We thought we’d have a better view from out here,” Bash answers, giving me a lopsided grin.

“And we figured we’d be able to stop you if you tried walking away,” Dylan adds, shrugging like what he said isn’t anything to analyze.

But boy am I analyzing.

“You guys are making me nervous.”

Dylan nudges my shoulder with his. “Just enjoy the show, Tess. I know I sure as hell am.”

My heart races in my chest with anticipation, my nerves making my body go into overdrive. I’m trying to figure out what’s going on, so many thoughts swirling in my head that I can’t seem to process even one.

Will, my Will, is on stage in front of a huge crowd.

And then he says my name. “Tessa?”

I freeze up.

He’s looking right at me; his eyes seeing past the walls, the doubts, the questions.

I don’t dare blink, or he may disappear.

“You know I’m not that great at this,” he says into the microphone, and rubs the back of his neck nervously. “But I want to show you that I’m willing to do whatever I can to let you know how sorry I am for walking away. I’m not sorry for what happened between us, I’m just sorry for being stupid enough to leave. For being a coward.”

My heart swells.

“And I know how much you like this song, although I don’t know why. Personally, I still think Sam Hunt is overrated.”

It makes me laugh, but gets a mixed reaction from the crowd.

Ian leans forward into the mic. “Ignore him, ladies. He doesn’t like any guy who tries stealing his woman’s heart.”

He winks, and girls go crazy.

Seriously, I think somebody just got pregnant.

“Anyway,” Will continues, clearing his throat, “this is my peace offering. I know it’s not an original song, but it’s one that I know you love. Even got some help from … from a friend to deliver it.” He’s gestures toward Ian. “I don’t know why he wouldn’t let me play the guitar myself. Guess he wanted to share the attention.”

Ian leans forward toward the mic again. “Wanted to make sure the ladies knew I had talented fingers.”

The girls scream in reply.

Dylan and Bash chuckle, and I shake my head.

Ian slaps Will’s shoulder. “Ready, man?”

Will glances at me one last time. “Ready.”

And the music starts. Instantly, I know what song he’s going to sing. It’s the same song I used to have on repeat until it drove him crazy.

“This song again?” he complains, flopping onto my bed like a fish out of water. Grabbing one of my fuzzy pillows, he stuffs it under his head.

“If you don’t like it, you can leave,” I say, soaking in every word Sam Hunt feeds me. “Come Over” has been my favorite song since I heard it first play on the radio. It tugs on my heartstrings.

“This is the fourth time you’ve played it since I’ve been here,” he mutters.

“It’s Sam Hunt,” is all I reply. Because, obviously that’s answer enough.

“This is worse than your Taylor Swift obsession.”

I doubt it, considering I used to play Taylor Swift nonstop. And she has enough music to last hours, even without some songs being repeated.

I don’t argue with him about it. “Sam Hunt is dreamier. Plus, the acoustic version of this is ten times better than the original. It’s, like, ovary exploding.”

He winces. “Doesn’t sound like a pleasant experience.”

When the chorus comes on, I sing along.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of depressing?”

I stare at him. “Why would it be? He’s singing about somebody he loves … how he can’t live without thinking about her. He admits he’s tried to forget her, but fails because she means that much. It’s romantic.”

“So, you’re saying you’d want this to happen to you?”

“Um, Sam Hunt serenading me? Yes please.”

He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean. Chicks fall for this crap?”

I nibble on my lip, wanting nothing more than for him to understand. Sometimes, music speaks to me. Like the lyrics are feeding my soul, giving it strength to live. To feel.

“Have you ever been in love, Will?”

I want to tell him, I have. But I don’t.

He averts his gaze, like shielding his eyes from me will hide me from seeing past the green hues. “Yeah … I have.”

I don’t expect the answer. It raises so many questions. Who is she? Is he still in love?

I don’t pry, although I really want to.

After all, this is Will. My Will. I know I don’t have the right to be possessive … but I am.

“Well, then you know what it’s like to constantly think of her. You fight how you feel. You deny it. You tell yourself it’s not worth the risk. Until, one day, it’s all consuming. You need that person. It’s … it’s beautiful.”

He looks at me like I grew a second head.

I blush. “So, yeah, I’d want somebody to feel that way toward me. To sing to me. To plead for me to come over because they don’t know what they’d do if I weren’t there.”

The look he gave me clears his face. It’s replaced with something else. Admiration. Warmth. His voice is soft, genuine, promising, when he says, “You’ll get that someday, Tess. Because you deserve it.”

Dylan puts his arm on my shoulders, snapping me from the memory.

Will is singing to me. Giving me exactly what I could only fantasize about. His gravelly voice sings every word perfectly as Ian strums the guitar. Will’s eyes are focused on me the whole time. Every word directed to me. Every feeling soaking into me. Every moment locked between us, a memory I’ll keep forever.

Tears form in my eyes.

He’s not just delivering a performance. He’s delivering me his emotions. His feelings. His heart.

He’s wanting. Pleading. Hooking me in.

And it’s beautiful.

A tear falls down my cheek as emotions swarm inside of me. My heart hurts, but in the best way possible. Like I can’t hold everything I’m feeling all at once. I might burst. I might explode.

God, is this what it’s supposed to feel like to be loved so much?

Ian’s quiet voice sings backup during the last chorus as the song draws to a close. I feel Bash take my hand and squeeze it once. Dylan still has his arm on my shoulder, giving me a quick tug toward his body. A comforting hug.

Something encouraging. Knowing.

Girls are glued to Will as he sings. Or maybe they’re staring at Ian. Either way, the crowd is just as enthralled as me.

But I bet nobody feels the way I do.

Ian ends the song by letting the guitar fade as Will sings the last word.

Applause erupts, clapping echoing in the makeshift tent surrounding the stage.

I press my lips together as I watch him through blurry eyes.

He gives me a small smile, holding the mic in his hand. “I mean it, Tess. When you’re ready, come over. It’s all up to you, but know that I miss you. I hate not talking to you. I hate not being able to complain about what you make me watch, or how much you talk to your cat more than most other humans, or even how you put pineapple on your pizza. Because, seriously, you shouldn’t do that. That’s gross.”

Wiping tears off my cheeks, I laugh. He really hates when I order pizza without him there, because half of it is covered with pineapple chunks.

I do it mostly to bother him. It works.

“But what I hate most of all is knowing that I was so afraid of screwing up what we have, afraid of loving you the way you deserve, that I ended up messing up anyways. I don’t want to walk away anymore. I don’t want to be afraid. I want … I want you. I love you. Not just as my crazy, Batman loving, cat-obsessed best friend. As so much more. And I hope you see how much I mean that, because having everyone stare at me is really nauseating. You know I hate crowds.”

I nod and sniff back tears.

My mind can’t wrap around everything he says at once, because they’re narrowed in on three specific words.

Three words that everybody hears from their family and friends. Three words that are easy to say on of whim, but hard to say when you really mean them. Those three words weigh more than anything else in the world—they can change everything.

And Will said them to me.

I love you.

God, I want to tell him that I love him too. I want to tell him that what he did meant more to me than he could know. I want to do so many things, but my feet as plastered to the grassy ground, like glue is holding me back.

Dylan and Bash both look at me.

“Think about it,” Bash says, giving me a comforting smile, one of his dimples greeting me. “I think we all know what you’ll choose, but it’s not an easy choice to make. Loving somebody isn’t just a one and done deal. It’s a lifetime experience. An emotional roller-coaster. If there isn’t one moment that you’re not contemplating their murder, you don’t love them hard enough.”

That doesn’t make any sense to me.

But then again … maybe it does.

Because I’ve felt that. The hurt, the contemplation. Maybe not to his demise, but pretty close to it.

Will catches my eye one last time, and the corners of his lips quirk up in a hopeful smile.

Then he disappears behind the curtain.

Standing up, Ian takes the mic off the stand. “If you don’t take up that offer, I’ll snatch that hunky piece of man meat for myself, Tessa.”

The crowd whistles and applauds.

Even I join in.

“Well, now that that’s over, how about we get the concert on the road?”

The audience starts screaming in reply, so loud I have to cover my ears.

Dylan and Bash give me one last small, encouraging smile before weaving through the hyped crowd.

I wait for Will to show up, to come find me in the crowd.

He doesn’t.

He’s giving me space.