I'd been mesmerised the first time I watched Teddy Stone perform, and the effect hadn't numbed through getting to know him. He was just as captivating, moving about the stage with such presence and ease, making jokes with fans, interacting with the band. Feeding off the energy of the crowd, this looked like his comfort zone, with no indication whatsoever that it used to cause him anxiety.
At one point, he invited up a woman to duet with him. He laid a hand on her back, privately talking through the performance in her ear before they began. I knew his words would be gentle, reassuring, and inspiring. A far cry from his whispers in my ear, which had been explicit, crude, and indecent.
And the fingers that rested on her body served a comforting purpose to ease her inevitable nerves. Those same fingers had touched me, teased me, and coaxed me to orgasm countless times. They'd left marks on my skin—a temporary reminder of the pleasure they could inflict—but they'd also held me in moments of distress and soothed me as I'd cried.
This young woman knew nothing of all that. To her, she was just lucky enough to experience the supportive words and brief touch of a famous popstar.
Their duet together was almost flawless, and my respect for the girl soared. How nerve-wracking must it be to get on a stage in front of thousands of people and sing with such an icon? She nailed it. Ed messed up a line at one point, but I suspected he'd done it deliberately to put her at ease and relieve the pressure.
After a twenty-minute segment of cover requests—for one of which he shamelessly used his phone to read the lyrics because he didn't know them by heart, and naturally everyone loved the authenticity of that—Ed announced his final song. It was arguably his most famous, and the crowd sang along with him.
When it came to a climactic end, the cheers deafened me. Every concert had an encore, though, and he predictably returned to the stage minutes later.
His next move, however, nobody could have predicted.
"This is a special night," he said into the microphone, "so my final song is very special to me. I've never performed it before, and my team actually told me not to, so go easy on me if I mess it up, okay?"
A mixture of laughter and cheers followed a buzz of excitement at the prospect of Teddy Stone prioritising his fans over his team. Flashing a smile, Ed crossed the stage and sat down behind a piano.
"I didn't know he played the piano." Faye nudged me. "Did you know he played the piano?"
"No," I said truthfully.
The noise of the crowd petered into silence as we waited. I watched Ed's chest inflate as he took a deep breath, closed his eyes and lifted his fingers to rest on the keys.
He played a chord. "You said we could only be friends..." The chord faded away, and he hit another, this time lower. "But I think we both know it was all for pretend..." Another chord, higher. "And now that it's over, I pray one day we'll get closure..." Another. "Because I refuse to believe it's the end."
With only chords played on the piano, Ed's vocals controlled the tune, every word so clear that you couldn't fail to follow. There was no backing music to disguise any wrong notes, but he sang each line to perfection, his voice holding strong. When he reached the chorus, he was belting out the lyrics with such power that goose bumps prickled my arms.
Even the fans stayed silent—they didn't know the lyrics, of course, but they'd cheered and screamed along with all his other songs tonight. It was as if everyone wanted to hang on to his every word.
And for me, each word hit harder than the last, until I could no longer suppress the tears that dropped onto the back of my hand.
*
"I'm still so pissed off that Pete stood me up," Faye said as we meandered through the streets to the station.
Being first into the arena had its disadvantages: we were the last out. Groups of fans singing Ed's songs echoed off the tall buildings around us, many of our fellow concertgoers eager to prolong their night rather than catch a train and finish it.
I, on the other hand, regretted coming and couldn't wait to get home. Seeing Ed again had reopened my fragile wounds and poured a large helping of salt onto them. And that was before I'd endured three minutes of brutal lyrics about me...
"Pete sounds like a dick," I said to Faye.
"Hm. Hey, if I break up with him, will you give me James' number?"
I cast her a sideways glance, confused. "Who's James?"
"James Bond."
I rolled my eyes. "No, absolutely not."
"Does he have a girlfriend? Oh my god, is he the reason you and Teddy broke up?"
"What? No. Of course not. We weren't even together."
As she mulled that over, a black SUV pulled up to the kerb and the tinted rear window lowered. At first I thought that I was imagining it—that my obsession with seeing him again had evolved into hallucinations. But then Faye grabbed my wrist, squeezing so tight that she nearly cut off the blood supply.
"Want a lift?" Ed asked.
It was the first thing he'd said to me since March, and I resented the way my stomach cartwheeled and my heart jolted. Even though he'd directed the offer towards both of us, my pride kicked in.
"We're walking to the station. It's not far—"
"We'd love a lift," Faye said, interrupting me.
The door clicked open, and Faye hopped inside without hesitation. I dithered on the pavement. Weeks had passed without us speaking, so this offer had to have an ulterior motive attached to it.
When Faye raised an impatient eyebrow at me, though, I swallowed my pride. It wouldn't be long before people noticed the very expensive car and began to swarm, and I couldn't deal with that on top of everything else. I climbed into the back and smoothed down my dress as I sat opposite Ed in one of the rear-facing seats. So close that I could touch him, inhale his familiar spicy scent, lean across and kiss him if I wanted...
I didn't, obviously, not least because he'd plastered on his charming smile for Faye.
"Sorry to hear about the mix-up with your tickets," he said.
Of course he'd heard about that. Thanks, Mark.
"It worked out well in the end," she replied, beaming. "No harm done."
Ed leaned back in his seat, extending his legs towards me until I could feel the scratch of denim against my bare calves. Although his eyes remained on Faye, I wondered if it was a deliberate power move. He'd invited us into the car for a reason, but I couldn't yet work out whether it was to bury the hatchet or make me suffer.
"So, did you enjoy the concert?" he asked her.
Several months ago, Becca and I had been on the receiving end of that exact same question. I'd suspected as much at the time, but it confirmed that Ed had a revised speech when meeting fans. It also confirmed that we were still seeing the public-facing side, the basic surface of him with no access to the deeper layers that hid beneath. Obviously he didn't owe Faye any visibility of that, but I couldn't help feeling like the privilege had been stripped away from me, as well.
"Loved it, especially your new song," Faye said.
His eyes lit up, and he tossed another charming smile in her direction. "Thanks." Then, without missing a beat or even awarding me a glance, he added, "It's about your sister."
My heart jolted, not at his confession—the song was so intricately tailored towards our relationship that there'd been no doubt in my mind that it was about me—but at his sudden acknowledgement that we shared a past together.
Thank God Faye had already worked it out, otherwise she might have combusted right there and then. Instead, she barely reacted, and for once, I mentally praised her hard shell and her I-don't-give-a-shit façade.
"Huh, Sophia has been pretending that you don't know each other."
He chuckled, a sexy rumble that elicited a stab of heat between my legs in spite of the situation.
"She's not pretending. We don't really know each other. Do we, Sophia?"
For the first time since we'd got in the car, his blue irises shifted across to me, and the light atmosphere caved to something heavier, an awkwardness that couldn't be masked by Teddy Stone's stage persona.
As our eyes met, a thousand memories passed between us, diluted by hostility and resentment. I'd craved his attention for the last two months—now I had it, but it only proved that he still harboured some anger towards me. His lack of contact had been completely intentional.
"You know," I said, clearing my throat and breaking our stare-off, "we should probably double-check train times, Faye. See what platform we need."
"They're every twenty minutes from Platform 12," she replied, either not picking up on my hint or choosing to ignore it. "Don't stress."
"You're not in London anymore?" Ed asked me.
You'd know that if you'd bothered to text me back. The silent words we exchanged across the tense atmosphere of the car said as much, but I kept my reply as polite and detached as his own.
"No. Moved in with Faye's family. Obviously with the Becca thing..."
I trailed off, not needing to expand further, but Faye was still desperate to learn the details of our relationship, and she unfortunately lacked tact.
"Wait. Becca?" She tilted her head to the side, and I could almost see the cogs spinning. "She's the reason things ended so badly between you?"
Narrowing my eyes at her, I willed her to shut up. It was too late, though. Ed had latched onto the bait and pushed the topic into the open.
"Things ended badly, did they?"
He cocked his head, a relaxed smile playing at his lips as he watched for my reaction. Now that he had his focus on me, he wouldn't relieve me of it. And despite spending the whole evening mourning the one-on-one Teddy Stone experience, I suddenly wanted to escape the intensity of it.
To Faye, he was still his well-mannered and friendly stage persona, but I could detect the challenge in his words. I could see the smouldering darkness in his eyes, daring me to dredge up our relationship in front of my sister.
Zero contact to the high-powered energy of this encounter rattled me. But if he thought I'd roll over, he was mistaken. After what I'd gone through tonight, I refused to play along with his polite pretence.
"Yes, very badly. So badly, in fact, that you felt the need to immortalise it in a song."
Because we both knew how he felt about immortalising things.
Before he could answer, the driver announced our arrival at the station. Faye heaved out a sigh of disappointment but unclipped her seatbelt. When I moved to do the same, Ed lunged forwards and curled his fingers around my bare knee.
All three of us froze, Faye's eyes widening as her lips parted. The soft touch of his warm hand against my exposed skin launched a rocket of desire through my bloodstream, and not even my despair at still feeling so attracted to him could stop its mission.
Composing himself, Ed withdrew his hand and sunk back into his seat, turning his charm onto Faye again.
"Sorry, mind if I speak to your sister privately?"
"Be my guest," she said. "See you at home, Sophia."
"Wait." I grabbed her wrist as she reached for the door. "It's late. You can't wander around the station by yourself—"
"I'll be fine. I've been in far worse places at much later times. I'm not a kid."
Raising my eyebrows at her, I opened my mouth to argue against that very invalid argument, but Ed beat me to it.
"Mark. Accompany Faye to her train, please."
Shit.
"Oh," I said quickly. "I don't think that's a good idea..."
But Mark was already out of the car and waiting for Faye on the pavement. Pulling her wrist free from my grasp, she shuffled across the seats and hopped out, no doubt keen for some alone time with her knight in shining armour. Who needed Teddy Stone when you had James Bond, eh?
Before disappearing, she tossed Ed a parting smile. He returned it, his body relaxed as he raised a hand to wave.
The second the car door shut, though, his hand dropped to his lap. Body tense, his eyes swung over to me, cold and distant. Seeing how quickly his friendly act had disappeared after Faye's departure brought home a hard truth: his silent treatment was due to residual anger more than anything else.
"I saw you at the front," he said. "You chose not to use the box."
His voice was detached, almost formal, a far cry from the warmth he'd radiated when interacting with Faye and the rest of the audience tonight. I'd have preferred the anger; at least that indicated we were more than strangers.
"Yes," I replied, mirroring the formality. "I stayed with Faye. She wanted to be at the front."
Fidgeting in his seat, Ed cast his eyes out of the window and dragged a hand across his jaw.
"Must have been hard for you. The crowds."
Although he had now acknowledged that our relationship ran deeper than mere acquaintances, the sensitivity of it pissed me off. How dare he pretend he cared about something like that when he'd not bothered to get in touch over the past couple of months?
"I can't talk to you about it," I said. "I don't even know who I'm talking to right now."
That finally elicited a reaction: a derisive scoff and shake of his head.
"The feeling is mutual, Sophia. I don't know how you could expect any different after what you did."
"Fine. So why am I here? Because I still owe you a fuck in the back of your car?"
Ed's eyes narrowed. Without warning, he leaned forwards, and for a split second I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead, he yanked down the partition to separate us from the driver in the front of the car.
I'd got a reaction from him, though, so I couldn't help pushing further.
"Just without an audience this time, it seems."
Sitting back, Ed folded his arms. He stared me out, but I held his frosty gaze, unwilling to submit. It was hard to believe he was the same guy I'd just spent hours watching on stage, affectionately engaging with his fans and making joke after joke.
But he was. And I found it an infuriating turn-on. Because while he may not be offering me the same flirty—or even friendly—vibe I'd enjoyed during our European tour, I'd got my wish to see a side to him that the thousands of other concertgoers hadn't seen tonight. I still had that privilege. Just in poor circumstances.
"Helen was going to visit you in the box," he eventually said, but the tension remained in his shoulders despite the change of subject. "That's why we sent you the tickets."
Talk about a double blow: first the suggestion that I'd only been invited because Helen needed to speak to me, followed by the use of 'we'—just in case he hadn't made it clear that this was a joint decision and not a personal one made out of his friendship towards me.
"What does Helen want with me?" I asked.
"To offer you a job on our team."
***
Thank you for reading :) xx
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It's about to kick off...