Standing in the dark, I listen to their voices rumbling like thunder in the distance. The cheers started as soon as the lights went down and they’re crescendoing louder with each passing moment. Lincoln and Aiden are already out on stage, invisible in the pitch black as they wait for Ryder and me to step out of the wings.

What are you waiting for? I ask myself. Go! Get out there.

But my feet refuse to move.

Taking a deep breath, I smooth my hands over the outfit I changed into only moments ago — an obscenely expensive dress made by some chic LA designer Francesca knows. After seeing the number on the price tag, I wanted to hate it on principle… but I made the fatal mistake of trying it on first. As soon as I pulled the garment over my head and saw how it looked in the mirror, all my righteous indignation went right out the window.

Swirling silver beading against lush black fabric — like wearing a star plucked straight from the night sky.

With smoky eyeshadow and a bold red lip, I see a stranger gazing back at me in the mirror. A hot stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. Aiden and Linc both whistled wolfishly when they saw me walk out of my private dressing room into our suite, but I ignored them as my eyes cut straight to Ryder. I’m not sure what reaction I was expecting from him, but it was more than the one he gave.

Which is to say, no reaction at all.

His face was devoid of all emotion as his eyes scanned me top to toe. He gave a sharp nod and said: “It’s nearly time to go on. We should find Francesca.”

Picking my heart up from the floor where it lay, I trailed down the hall after the boys, stepping over electrical cords and squeezing past equipment, dodging crew members yammering into headsets and roadies hustling to get the stage in final order. As I walked through the fray, I found myself wishing I’d let Carly stay by my side, instead of insisting she find a prime spot in the VIP section to watch the show.

The crowd’s yells rise another few decibels, tugging me back to the present.

Everyone is waiting on you, Felicity.

Who are you waiting on?

There are two talented musicians, suspended in shadowed animation onstage. There’s an auburn-haired manager signaling frantically, her face illuminated in the dull glow of her cellphone. There are four looming security personnel, ever-watchful on the perimeter. There’s a roadie by my elbow, barking incomprehensible orders in my ear. There are ninety-thousand people in plastic seats, cheering for me to step out on that stage and deliver the performance of a lifetime.

All these people, a world’s worth of souls, tugging at me… and I don’t give a damn about a single one of them. Not what they want, not what they think. Not their impatience or their expectations. In this instant, the only thing that matters is the man standing by my side in the dark. The man who, if recent interactions are to be believed, is the only person in this mammoth arena who doesn’t give a damn what I do next.

Two weeks of blank stares. Two weeks of clenched jaws. Two weeks of treating me more like a stranger than his singing partner. Each detached interaction has sliced a little deeper, carving at my soul and cutting at my heart until, finally, I find myself here, on the precipice of the biggest moment of my life, bleeding out.

I turn to him, half-blind in the dark. Somehow, my eyes locate his in less than a heartbeat.

I could find him in the densest shadow; see him even in a star-less night.

“Ryder.”

Is that my voice, so hollow and broken?

“I’m here.”

He sounds just as he has for weeks: as though that spark behind his eyes has burned out. As if he’s holding back his fire from me — not to keep me from burning, but to freeze me out completely.

“You’re not, though,” I whisper, unable to keep the words inside another moment. “You’re not here. You’re somewhere else, lately, and—”

“This isn’t really the moment, Felicity,” he says cooly.

“This is exactly the moment,” I retort, breathing hard.

“There are ninety-thousand people waiting on us.”

“Let them wait!” My voice cracks like a lightning strike. “They came here to see Wildwood. Guess what? I can’t be Wildwood right now — not with you acting like this.”

“Like what, exactly?”

“Like… like I’m some kind of pariah you can’t stand to look at or talk to, let alone perform love songs with!”

He scoffs. “You really want to do this now?”

“Yes,” I snap. “Because I can’t step foot on that stage without knowing why.”

“Why what, Felicity?”

“Why you’ve been ignoring me, and shutting me out, and… and…” I suck in a breath. “Ryder — you’ve been so cold to me. So cold I can hardly breathe around you, let alone sing, and…”

His laugh is humorless. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

My face drains of blood. “No, I am not fudging kidding you.”

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

I go stiff. “Excuse me?”

The crowd has taken up an impatient two-syllable chant — wild-wood, wild-wood — and the roadies at our sides are shuffling in the dark, wondering how the hell they’re going to get us on that stage before a riot breaks out.

We ignore them, glaring into each other’s eyes in the pitch blackness.

“You’re angry at me,” I breathe incredulously, finally understanding that his cold shoulder is not a sign of icy indifference, but is instead hiding an arctic fury.

“You’re damn right, I’m angry.”

“What reason on earth do you possibly have to be mad at me?”

The world has flipped on its axis.

“For fuck’s sake, Felicity,” he growls. “How can you ask me that?”

“I believe I just did.”

His teeth clench.

“Ryder.”

“You want to know why I’m angry? How’s this for a reason — You left me. You left me, Felicity.”

“But—”

“I didn’t know if you were alive or dead. You ripped my heart from my chest and left me to walk this earth alone, all the while wondering if you were even still on it. For two fucking years I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t even know if you were still breathing.” His voice drops lower and he takes a step into my space, until we’re chest to chest, closer than we’ve been since it all went to hell. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. And the worst part is, I know with absolute certainty, if not for Francesca’s intervention, I never would’ve. You’d have left me in the dark for the rest of my life.”

My retort is small, but stubborn. “I had no choice.”

“YOU HAD EVERY CHOICE!” His roar is so loud, even the roadies flinch back. “You could’ve trusted me enough to stay, to hear me out, instead of disappearing on me like a goddamned ghost.”

“Trusted you?” I force back tears. “Explain to me exactly how I was supposed to trust you, at that point? You were high, for weeks. For months. And you hid it from me.”

He steps closer. “You tell yourself it’s all my fault, if that helps you sleep better at night. But when it comes to trust, the truth is, I never had yours to lose. Never. Not for a single fucking moment. Because you don’t trust anyone, Felicity.”

“That’s not—”

“No. I’m talking, now. I’ve kept quiet for weeks. I’ve played my part. I’ve given you space and time. Hell, I was ready to let you walk away, even though it fucking killed me to do it, because I thought that’s what you wanted! It’s what you asked for, isn’t it? And yet, here you are: pissed at me for staying away. For being cold. For not going out of my way to look after your feelings, like a good boyfriend should.” His laugh is hollow with grief and fury and so much pain it stuns me. “Except I’m not your boyfriend anymore, baby. We’re over. Isn’t that right? Isn’t that what you’re so fond of telling the cameras every fucking time I turn around?”

I swallow hard, unable to speak.

The crowd behind us is deafening, now.

Wild-wood. Wild-wood. Wild-wood.

“So which is it, Felicity?” he whispers in a lethal tone. “Because you can’t have it both ways. Do you want me to leave you alone? Or do you want me to stay? Do you want me to care? Or do you want me to walk away? Make up your mind and put us both out of our goddamned misery!”

We stare at each other, our labored breaths mingling, and I realize just how close we’re standing. A hairsbreadth from disaster, with eyes only for each other. A millimeter from utter destruction, with the whole world waiting on us.

Wild-wood. Wild-wood. Wild-wood.

“Thank you so much for the clarification,” I say with frigid calm. “I won’t make the mistake of asking about this again.”

“Perfect,” he hisses back, the word a punch to the gut.

Tearing my eyes away from his, I swallow hard, square my shoulders, and finally address the roadie hovering eagerly a few feet away.

“We’re ready now.”

I hear a low, bitter laugh rumble from Ryder’s throat as we step out on stage together, walking to our microphones. The house lights come up, illuminating us in twin spotlights, and the audience detonates in a bomb of applause and adoration. The big smiles we’ve slapped on our faces never waver.

Showtime.

The show passes in a rush of color and sensation. Looking back, I recall it only in flashes, the way you do a car wreck or a fall down a flight of stairs or a mandatory public speaking performance in front of your high school English class.

The stage lights, scorching like distant suns. The pulsing crowd, swaying in their seats like one massive living organism. Lincoln’s drumsticks moving so fast, they’re a mere blur in my peripheral. Aiden’s dark grin, as girls scream his name from the front row.

And Ryder.

Ryder, everywhere, in every breath and beat. Sharing my mic, gazing into my eyes, singing along with me in undeniable sync. The audience sees two performers moving in tandem, crooning in perfect harmony. They aren’t close enough to recognize the anger burning so brightly behind our eyes as we gaze at each other like lost lovers, singing words we no longer believe in. They aren’t near enough to see the hands that reach for each other would sooner curl into angry fists than clasp in a tender hold.

“You’re the moon, I’m the sun, stuck in distant skies,” I sing, the ultimate fraud.

“I’d gladly burn out, to see the light in your eyes,” he echoes, an equal deceiver.

I’m too pissed off to be nervous about my performance, anger still simmering white-hot in my veins. I don’t brush it aside or bury it under a rug. I feed on it, channeling every raging ounce into the music as I belt out the words, sounding better than I ever have during rehearsals or soundchecks. Song after song, note after note, I pour myself out until I’m a hollow ghost, striding across the stage in a night-sky dress.

We close the show with Faded, of course. Our final song of the evening, the one everyone in the crowd knows so well, we could probably get away with lip-syncing while they sing the words for us. They go crazy when Ryder and I leave our guitars and mic stands behind, traversing the catwalk toward the pit stage in the center of the crowd. This close, I can see their faces, half-hidden by cellphone screens as they live-stream our every move to social media. When we reach the end of the platform, I bend to brush my fingertips to theirs, skimming eager hands and smiling when they scream with delight. I hear happy shrieks from behind me and know Ryder is doing the same on his side.

The intro starts to swell in the air around us. We take our places: back to back in the center of the platform, our eyes averted. I’m relieved I don’t have to look at him. I don’t want to be at war — at least, not while we’re singing this particular song.

We sing our final notes and the lights go dark, plunging the stadium into utter blackness. The sky explodes as the fans’ voices fill the void ours left behind. Breathing hard, I lower my mic and listen to their cheers undulating from all sides, wave after wave of exaltation with no end in sight. Ryder’s back is pressed tight against mine; I can feel his breaths coming just as rapidly as my own, his muscles corded with tension under the fabric of his shirt. I resist the urge to lean back into him as the platform beneath us jolts into motion, descending down into the floor — a vanishing act fit more for a magician than two musicians, if you ask me, but the crowd can’t get enough of it.

“I LOVE YOU, RYDER!”

“FELICITYYYY!”

“ONE MORE SONG! ONE MORE SONG!”

“WE LOVE YOU, WILDWOOD!”

“ENCORE! ENCORE! ENCORE!”

The platform glides smoothly to a stop beneath the stage and then, in the blink of an eye… it’s over. Our first show, officially on the books. We step off into the narrow space that runs beneath the catwalk, crew members there with flashlights to guide our steps in the darkness. It’s eerie, walking in the bowels of the arena as screams echo all around us.

Two gladiators making their final trek from the barracks to a bloodbath.

It takes a long time for the applause to peter out, even after the stadium lights flicker on. They’re still clapping as we make our way up the dark flight of steps that lead from beneath the stage into the wings. I’ve barely made it two steps when I’m enveloped in a sweaty hug.

“You rocked it, Fee!” Lincoln smacks a wet kiss on my cheek.

“Me? What about you?” I grin at him. “You were on fire! I thought your drums were about to start smoking when you did your solo during Orbit.”

He releases me to grab Ryder in a headlock as I turn to Aiden, who’s flushed red with exhilaration. He grins broadly at me and ruffles my hair, but his eyes soon flicker to the space over my shoulder. I’m unsurprised to find Carly standing there when I turn around.

“You’re a goddess!” she screams, grabbing me in an embrace. “A legitimate, real-life goddess!”

“Oh, stop it,” I mutter, embarrassed.

“As you wish, my queen.” She pulls back and bows mockingly, a worshipper at an altar. “Seriously, I am not worthy!”

I laugh despite myself, caught up in the thrill of the moment. Everyone is talking at once — the boys, Francesca, the tech crew. A maelstrom of activity, a vortex of sound and light and color. My eyes are struggling to take it all in at once, when they snag on something. A point of utter stillness in the storm.

Mismatched eyes in a face devoid of all expression.

My grin falls as I hold Ryder’s stare across the backstage mob scene. Anger flares back to life like wind on a bed of red-hot embers as I remember the harsh words we traded before the show. Half of me wants to apologize for everything I did that got us to this point. To douse the flames before they rage out of control. But the other half — the reckless half — wants to stoke that fire to unstoppable heights, even if it singes us both to ashes in the process.

His jaw clenches.

My chin jerks.

His eyes smolder.

Mine narrow dangerously.

“Felicity! Ryder!” Francesca’s voice has both our heads snapping in her direction, blessedly interrupting the moment of tension. “Come on. Your work isn’t over yet — we’ve got forty VIPs on their way back for meet-and-greets and photo-ops.”

Somehow, even that sounds preferable to standing here, wordlessly sparring with a man who knows my every argument before they ever leave my mouth.