Band On The Run

hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have (but I have it)

My lips were rolled tensely into my mouth. I couldn't help it! The uneasiness was clear in every jerky flick of my hand as I sent the records forwards in the bin to see the next one. I couldn't even make my brain function well enough to take note of the albums that were flashing before my eyes. Yet I was too anxious to look up.

The thought forced a glimmer of my innate stubbornness to straighten my spine, and I forced myself to let my eyes shift sneakily to the side. And there was Seth. He looked as casual as ever, hair shooting in every which direction it pleased, grey hoodie cozy beneath his leather jacket. Apparently he was completely immune to the awkwardness that was close to paralyzing me. There was the slightest of lines between his brows, the one he got when he was concentrating, and he was flicking through albums as well. Although he did it with much more care than me, and I suspected he was actually paying attention to each title.

That anxiousness from before took a back seat as my chin raised in order to watch him as he lifted up a vinyl. He flipped it around to see the track listing on the back while his other hand saved his place in the bin. A smile whispered around the corners of my mouth when I recognized the cover of Whitney.

Caught up in my enjoyment of seeing Seth clearly about to put a Whitney Houston album in his to buy pile – as he should, the album killed – I wasn't even aware when he first looked up. At least not until a few seconds too later. And I blinked blankly when I found him looking right back at me, his eyebrows raised as he eyed me patiently. The embarrassment must have shown over my face, because something too close to a smirk for my liking rose on Seth's face.

Instantly I felt my cheeks begin to burn. So I quickly turned away, attempting to hide my mortification by burying my red cheeks in the record bin.

This was all my fault, I scolded myself silently. I was the one who had suggested that we be friends again. And while I was maintaining to everyone – including Nick – that it was a much better option than whatever we'd been doing since he'd come home, I just didn't know how to behave. I'd admittedly been more than a little drunk at the time of the suggestion, but even I knew I'd meant it more as 'let's try not to be assholes to one another and maybe even be friendly'. Seth had taken it much more seriously.

Apparently to him, being friends meant doing things together. And yes, I understood the premise. But we'd been doing things together since he'd come back, maybe grudgingly on my part and definitely argumentative on his. Still, doing things all the same. Things that were planned like the media outings or unplanned like walking down to grab coffee during practice. Somehow the moment it turned into him asking if I wanted to check out a record store after rehearsals there was a lot more pressure, and I magically turned into the most uncomfortable friend of all time.

I just didn't understand how to be his friend yet, and I was beginning to worry that maybe I never would.

I knew what I'd said that night had been true, we had been friends. Just like I knew he'd been honest when he'd said I had probably been his best friend. Yet it was still different. Back then we'd always been on the precipice of something more, no matter how I tried to convince myself otherwise. Afterwards we'd still been friends, but friends that were desperately in love and dying to fuck all the time.

We'd never been just friends.

Just friends with Seth was a foreign concept to me, and I needed more time to figure out where my balance was in it.

The way I got so lost in my own thoughts was not helping me today, if it ever had before, because I didn't even notice Seth move. Not until he was reaching over my shoulder. I jolted away despite myself.

"Slow down there, rebel," he said, chastising me, "Why are you motoring through Elton?"

Seth plucked up Honky Château and I felt my heart leap up into my throat, so many memories wanting to overcome me. Yet I forced myself to stay in the present by biting down on my lip hard enough I was surprised I didn't draw blood and watching as Seth's eyes ran over the album fondly. Refusing to admit that I had been so distracted that I hadn't even noticed the albums I was looking at, I just said, "We have that one already."

His eyes flashed up to meet mine, expression unreadable, and I would've kicked myself for the slip of the tongue if it was possible. We didn't have anything anymore. It had been years since Seth had sat down and painstakingly separated our albums and lives before I'd gotten home to find just a six word letter to announce that he'd left me.

A long silence met my words. I wondered if he was just as reluctant as me to point out the truth, because it was clear it was where both our thoughts had leapt. We were trying to give being friends a go, bringing up old wounds and betrayals couldn't help.

"This one could stay at the warehouse," Seth decided as he carefully lowered his gaze back to the album. A relieved breath escaped my lips. The warehouse was neutral territory.

However I shouldn't have relaxed, unprepared for him to keep talking, eyes remaining on the record in his hands. "This was one of those albums we bought in Paris, remember? We had that two week break in between tour legs and the boys had gone back to the States to try and recover, but we rented that rehearsal space that –"

"– had only a piano," I interrupted, and Seth finally glanced back up at me, expression still guarded. I just continued, "We didn't tour with one, because we thought we were too cool of a punk band for that, and you wanted to practice."

There was rain pounding on the windows, and though it was dawn, only a dark grey light was making it's way into the room. The building was ancient and felt damp at the best of times, and this was far from the best of times. But we'd somehow managed to get the fire roaring in that old hearth and kept feeding it throughout the night.

The room was full of cushy couches and armchairs, clearly meant for more than two people, and had all sorts of blankets in different vibrant colours and patterns. There was a record player in the corner, but Seth had just stopped the Elton John vinyl and was sitting behind the black grand piano that took up more than half the room. I could see him through all the candles we'd lit all over, some on the piano, some on window ledges and coffee tables. There were two wine glasses stained red between candles with empty bottles of wine besides.

It felt like something out a movie, especially with the Parisian backdrop outside the window, and it was surreal to be smack in the middle of it, covered just in a burgundy blanket with pink flowers. I'd chosen it because it matched the wine. I was sprawled across the couch on my back with heavy eyes and mused hair, watching upside down as Seth began to play just from memory.

He had no sheet music to help him, and somehow he coaxed the keys perfectly into giving him the song we'd just been listening to. There was that line between his brows that always told me he was focused as his hands moved expertly across the piano.

We hadn't gone back to our hotel last night after that charity event that Ms Jones had blackmailed us into going to. My black dress with the high white collar was still lying somewhere crumpled by the piano, but Seth had pulled on his trousers when he'd gone over to the piano. He'd even put on the white shirt, though he hadn't bothered to button it, and I could see the muscles in his chest shift and tense as he played. He'd always put his whole body into the music, even now after no sleep in the rainy morning.

Even though I was probably in the worst position I could possibly find to sing, I heard where the vocal should kick in and couldn't help myself. "Cool grass blowing up the pass. Don't you know I'm feeling mellow? Oh, I love your Roman nose, the way you curl your toes, baby. Make me feel so mellow."

Although I kept my voice soft, spilling out like honey from my lips to not disturb the moment, Seth's eyes rose up from his hands on the keys to catch on mine. His fingers didn't falter, though, they never did. And that frown smoothed out as we stared across the room to each other.

"It's the same old feeling I get when you're stealing back into my bed again," I continued to sing, but a smile curved it's way around the words as I rolled onto my stomach. The expression was audible in my voice. "With the curtains closed and the windows froze by the rhythm of the rain."

The song seemed to echo around us, only confirming that odd old familiar feeling I always seemed to get with him. That we were the only ones in the world. "Oh, you make me mellow. Oh, you make me mellow. Rocking me smooth and slow. Mellow's the feeling that we get watching the coal fire glow." Gathering the blanket up around my shoulders, I sat up in order to sing properly and give my whole Elton. "Oh, you make me mellow. Oh, I make you mellow. Wrecking the sheets real fine. Heaven knows what you sent me, lord. But god, this is mellow time."

The silky throw was smooth over my shoulders as I swung my legs over the side of the couch, the cold air causing goosebumps to rippled over my bare skin. But maybe the cold wasn't entirely to blame, I thought as I met Seth's gaze again. He'd never looked away, not even to his hands, and his eyes were dark but with more than concentration as he leaned into the piano, body shifting and moving with the bars he was playing. It may have been years since we'd used a piano on an album or brought one on tour, but his natural talent had never suffered for it.

"Going down to the stores in town, getting all the things we need. Oh, don't forget the beer, oh my little dear. It helps sow the mellow seed." Seth perfectly played the piece, bringing me from one verse to another, and I didn't as much as blink while watching him. My heart was practically in my throat as we watched one another so closely. "And it can't be bad, all the love I've had. Coursing through my life. Down in the pass where the wind blows fast. And mellow, mellow's feeling right."

I stood up in time for the chorus, finding it impossible now to stay sitting this far away from him. "Oh, you make me mellow. Oh, you make me mellow. Rocking me smooth and slow. Mellow's the feeling that you get watching the coal fire glow." And as Seth moved with the music along the piano bench, I let myself lean into the lyrics and sway to the song that was echoing around the room even as the hardwood floor chilled my bare feet. "Oh, you make me mellow. Oh, I make you mellow. Wrecking the sheets real fine. Heaven knows what you've sent me, lord. But god, this is mellow time."

I spun and swayed and sang my way right to the piano that Seth was still playing, though he hadn't looked at it since I'd started to sing. The blanket twirled high up around my thighs until I reached the piano. All the while I'd felt his gaze burning through me in the best sort of way.

"Oh, you make me mellow. Oh, you make me mellow," I sang, leaning forwards with the effort of my voice before dropping back against the piano. "Rocking me smooth and slow –"

My vocals were cut of abruptly when Seth slammed his hands down all wrong on the keys, discordant sound filling the room around us. And I felt my eyes widen even as he kicked the bench back to stand, letting the pile of white powder on top of it fly into the air and flutter gently onto the floor. There was a hell of a lot of song left, but it clearly didn't matter to either of us. Seth's hands curled in my hair and my hands gripped his shirt, pulling him against me like I was trying to force him through me and ignoring the pain of the solid piano pushing into my back.

Our lips met without hesitation, somehow impatient and mellow all at once. The sheet slipped from my shoulders without me holding it on and pooled around my feet. I interrupted the slow kiss by biting gently onto his bottom lip. Seth responded by kissing his way down my throat, making my breaths come out shallow, even as his hands smoothed down my sides and causing goosebumps that were definitely not from the cold. Then he gripped me by the hips and spun me around to face the piano.

Bringing myself sharply back into the present before the memory could go any further – I knew quite well how it ended, I'd lived it after all – I felt my cheeks redden again as Seth glanced back up at me from the album. I could only hope he wasn't remembering the same thing.

There had been dozens of albums, and we'd set about learning them all from back to finish in that two week span. There were plenty of other times he could be thinking about. However the thought of all those other times just had my cheeks starting to burn almost painfully before I remembered he'd asked me a question.

It was with great restraint that I kept myself from saying 'how could I forget?' Thankfully I caught myself. Instead I just nodded and said in a cool voice, "Yeah. That one should go to the warehouse."

Before Seth had the chance to respond, my phone began to buzz in my pocket and Two Of Us by the Beatles began to play even if it was muffled. There was a long moment where I froze in my confusion, and then I remembered. "Oh fuck," I said with wide eyes, "What time is it?"

Seth raised an eyebrow, but I didn't bother waiting for an answer from him and just snatched my phone from my pocket. Not needing to glance at the phone to know who was calling, I just answered the call and pressed the phone up to my ear. "Sorry, sorry," I said quickly, "Am I so completely late?"

"I wouldn't say 'so completely late'," Nick answered, sounding calm if entertained. "But you are supposed to be at the studio now so."

"Shit," I muttered. "I'm just at a record store; I'll be there in like half an hour?"

"It's okay!" he laughed. "We're big kids; we can handle ourselves until you get there."

"Don't you guys dare listen to any of the tracks before I get there," I said, the threat evident in my voice. "And no champagne until I can have a glass or else I'll never forgive any of you."

This time Nick only laughed louder. "Jesus, Keel, you'd think this was important or something."

I rolled my eyes at his amusement, but couldn't help the fact that it was infectious and there was an answering smile on my mouth even though he couldn't see it. "You'd think," I mimicked teasingly, "I'll be there soon. I love you."

"I love you too."

Hurriedly I shoved my phone back into my pocket, already wearing an apologetic look to fix Seth with. But he wasn't looking at me, having gone back to studying the back cover of the album. I swallowed carefully over the lump in my throat, knowing he didn't have to look so intently at the track list. We'd know that album from back to front until the days we died. There were some things you couldn't erase no matter how you tried.

Before I had the chance to say any of the apologies and explanations that were waiting on the tip of my tongue, Seth asked calmly, "You gotta go?"

All the words fell short on my tongue in an answer to the complete disregard he was fixing me with. "Um, yeah," I replied clumsily. "I finished mixing the album so Fly Way is coming by the studio to listen to it, so I guess it's a listening party."

"I got that from the champagne comment," Seth answered as he finally looked back at me. And his expression was as cool as could be.

And here I was, reading into everything too much as always. "I'll see you at the warehouse for the band meeting tomorrow?"

"Wouldn't miss the 'how are we gonna fuck with Maureen Jones' meeting for the world."

"Seth," I hissed, "You can't say stuff like that so loud."

Yet he only raised his eyebrows at me, apparently more than unimpressed. "Oh, but I can," he answered with a shrug. "Go on, Keely, I'll see you tomorrow."

Although I felt like there was more to be said, I only chewed on my lip for one moment, watching him closely before I nodded. It wasn't my job to try and look into his thoughts anymore, I reminded myself.

Saying one last goodbye, I headed out to hail a cab for myself.

Of course the cab hit traffic, so I ended up getting to the studio in more like forty five minutes than half an hour. But I got there all the same. The boys of Fly Way were spread throughout the studio, so after a quick hello kiss with Nick, we spread out to round them up and send them down to the basement studio.

Feeling like an angry old librarian, I informed them that there was to be no talking or looking at their phones until after the album finished. Champagne could be opened afterwards if they liked the album.

In an unprecedented turn, I felt nerves tightening in my stomach as I glanced around and watched them all listen to the album. These were their thoughts, their hearts and souls that were in these songs. They'd worked so hard to give me these songs. And what if they didn't like my final vision? I'd never felt nervous showing albums to artists before, and I'd done this more times than I could count.

The stakes were higher here, it was Nick. It was my boyfriend. Where would we go if they all hated it? What if they wanted to send it to someone else to remix it?

As the songs went on, I could barely hear them over the thoughts rushing around my head. I spent the time chewing on my bottom lip until I finally did draw blood and watching Nick closely. But there was nothing I could gather from his expression. He was simply stretched out in his chair with his head back and eyes closed, listening as closely as he possibly could to his band.

And then the last song came to a close and the band looked around at each other. I thought my chest might just shatter from the way my heart was pounding.

They erupted into cheers.

I was sat frozen in my chair, just watching as Nick and Ben hugged each other. Brothers no matter what, and the joyousness of hearing the album they'd slaved over for months hit me right in the pit of my gut. Marcus was smacking them both on the back in his excitement. Jackson was already at that bottle of champagne even as Dan held out paper cups for him to pour it into. They were laughing and talking loudly and I was just dumbstruck, watching the celebration. I hadn't expected to feel quite so removed from the rest of them. But it only made sense. I wasn't part of the band; I was just the producer and engineer.

However the numbness of separation fled when Nick turned away from his band. He was practically glowing in his excitement, and I felt an answering smile bloom on my mouth. Without a warning, he dropped down to his knees in front of me and with his hands on my cheeks, pulled me in for an enthusiastic kiss.

He laughed against my lips, and asked, "Can you play it again?"

Without pulling away, I nodded, my words disappearing against his lips, "Of course."

As I stood up in order to play it from the beginning, Jackson pressed the champagne into my hand as he called for a toast. There was a smile so wide on my face as Nick came up behind me, wrapping an arm around my waist while the other held up his own glass of champagne while Ben started to talk.

We clinked our glasses together, and I was floored by the absolute contentment I felt there with Nick pressing his forehead against the back of my neck.

*

Even though the heat was blasting the moment I walked through the door, I was not confident enough in the fact the door would stay closed to take off any layers. Not my leather jacket or my beanie. I even kept my hands stuffed deep in my pockets.

To my internal surprise, I was the first one to the coffee shop. That almost never happened.

Unsure what to do with that information, I awkwardly shuffled to the side in order to slip my phone from the back pocket of my jeans. There was no text from Nick. That had to mean he was only seconds away, he was nothing if not punctual. Although I hung awkwardly back by the door, I ended up padding forwards to get into the line. He always got a mocha; I could handle ordering that on my own.

However my attention quickly got distracted as the line moved forwards. When I was with Nick, I could usually manage to ignore the magazines they had on the counter, but without him I found it impossible to keep my eyes away. There were too many pictures of Seth and Claire plastered across the covers for me to keep my eyes away. My stomach swam viciously at the sight of them laughing freely in the pictures, like they didn't have a care in the world when it was just the two of them. I didn't think Seth and I had ever looked like that.

Almost as soon as that thought crossed my mind another cover passed before my eyes. There were three pictures on the cover. The first was of Seth and Claire; smiling in a way that was too intimate for my liking over a candle lit table. The second was Nick and I; we were walking down the street with mugs in our hands and I had my head leaning against his shoulder comfortably while his arm was fitted snuggly around my shoulders. The third and final was Seth and I. We weren't touching or even smiling, in fact we both looked cautious as we eyed each other over coffees as we walked down the street. It wasn't anything close to a romantic picture, but the headline screamed, 'Seth and Keely Unable to Let Go!'

My throat turned alarmingly dry. It seemed unfair that they pegged him with that title since Seth seemed more than happy to turn to Claire to fill any void he'd been hoping I'd fill, but it felt a little too on the nose when all I was remembering lately was sex from Paris and the songs we'd learnt together.

Chilly lips pressed against my cheek and I jolted violently in response.

"God, sometimes I think you're able to completely cut out reality," said Nick easily. His cheeks were bright red from the wind and he was smiling brilliantly at me. "It's uncanny. I've never known someone who can get lost in their thoughts like you."

Shaking my head lightly to get rid of the previous thoughts, I smiled back at him. "It's the curse of being an only child turned songwriter."

"Well, I love it," Nick informed me as he slipped a hand in my pocket.

Our fingers twined together naturally, and the forced smile on my face softened into something sweeter and more effortless. "It's a good thing," I replied easily as I tipped my chin up so I could press my lips against his in a chaste kiss hello. "Or else I think you'd find me absolutely unbearable."

While Nick only ordered his own drink, I added another cappuccino and two lattes to my order. I'd been berated in the group chat to getting coffee for everyone for this meeting. It wasn't like the best coffee was just a couple blocks down from the warehouse from a cart or something.

"This wasn't exactly a lunch date," Nick pointed out as he picked up his drink. I, on the other hand, was laden down by a whole tray.

"Better get used to it," I retorted with raised eyebrows. "You're going on tour in not too long. Lunch dates are going to be reduced to ten minute phone calls where you fall asleep and I bitch you out."

Nick laughed as he held the door open for me. "I would never fall asleep with you on the phone."

"You'd be surprised. I'm pretty boring in comparison to all those parties you'll be going to."

This time he just shook his head as he hailed down a cab for me, and pressed another kiss against my lips. "Keely, I didn't think I would ever have to inform you of this," he said seriously, "But you couldn't be boring if you tried."

Feeling a little bit too full of myself, Nick closed the door to my cab and sent me off towards the warehouse. And I couldn't help the fact that I was hiding a smile behind my coffee.

However that cocksure feeling wasn't likely to last as I stood in front of the door to the warehouse with my heart pounding dangerously in my throat. I'd been putting off this meeting forever. Mark had been on our cases for too long about making up our mind on our public stance on Maureen Jones, but that age old loyalty inside of me was a hard thing to shake.

It was Maureen. She'd plucked me up from a part time job at a music store and dropped me in New York City and given me Seth before she'd handed me both Jake and Will. How could I ever repay that? Any betrayal that I felt was only mixed in to the complete gratefulness I had to that woman. I couldn't believe that there was anything quite so bad that it could replace what she'd done for me. And I hadn't been able to bring myself to read through those files Mark had meticulously picked through to send to us.

"Are you just going to stand there staring at the door all day?" a mildly amused voice behind me asked. "The coffee is going to get cold."

With a roll of my eyes, I glanced over my shoulder towards Seth if only to show him the exaggerated disdainful expression. "The worst possible thing in the world, I'm sure." Despite myself, I plucked his cappuccino from the tray and held it out to him.

There was no doubting Seth looked tired, eyes laden down with dark circles and hair stood up on end, but he appeared chipper enough. He even gave me a quick smile in thank you as he took the coffee. There was a cigarette burning sluggishly between his fingers as he took a sip from the cup, and I couldn't help that my stomach knotted up with an instantaneous craving as my eyes narrowed in.

A cigarette would be very good, I mused as I my eyes traced the path of the smoke when Seth took a slow drag. All that anxiety would melt away if I could just have a smoke. Really, I probably had only started smoking all those years ago in some attempt to slow down what my reality had become as I got shifted all across the planet without a moment to breathe. That was probably the reason I'd started smoking weed as well, to be fair.

Almost like he could guess what I was thinking, Seth dropped the butt onto the ground and crushed it with the toe of his battered converse. "Well, c'mon," he said with a nod, "We've got to vote about how we're going after Maureen."

"You can't mean that," I said, stood still even as he reached for the door. "Seth, it's Ms Jones, we can't go after her."

"Oh, Rebel, I want to hang the bitch out to dry."

And with that he walked into the warehouse, the door giving that loud creak, leaving me frozen on the dirty sidewalk.

Right before the door could slam in my face, leaving me out alone in the cold, I stuck my foot out to block it. My throat felt alarmingly tight, stomach swimming with nerves at the idea of even Seth being disloyal, let alone me. So I stalked forwards, replacing the anxiety with something that was far more palatable to me. There was a steel to my spine that hadn't been there before – an outright determination.

"No one is being hung out to dry," I snapped and soundly kicked the door shut.

"Funny," piped up a new voice that sounded far from amused, "By the state of these contracts it looks like that's all that's ever happened to you lot."

A scowl dropped onto my face instantly and I looked up to find Mark stood in front of the chalkboard, looking like a wanna be professor in his rimmed glasses and blazer with elbow patches. What a prick. "Who the fuck invited him?" I asked loudly, making an angry gesture in his direction with my free arm.

Seth just gave a long suffering sigh as he sat down. Clearly he was already bored with the bickering between Mark and I – too bad for him it had only just begun. "He's the man with the facts, Rebel," he answered idly as he kicked his feet up on the coffee table.

"His facts," I retorted sharply, "That doesn't make them true."

Wearing a cautious expression like a man thinking there might be a land mine near his feet, Will swooped in to give me a kiss on the cheek even as I continued to glower in Mark's direction.

A part of me wanted to roll my eyes at Will thinking he was so charming that he could get away with anything with a kiss and big bambi eyes. He thought he was so fucking cute. The problem was I'd always been instantly charmed by him, and now was no exception. Without looking in his direction, I handed him his latte, knowing quite well that was his whole mission before shooing him away with an impatient hand. He retreated quickly unharmed.

Mark, on the other hand, stood his ground there with his hands stuck into the pockets of his slacks all while wearing a pleasant smile on his face. He knew that would piss me off more than nasty words. "They're not my facts, you paranoid lunatic, all these documents come straight from that very expensive lawyer you hired."

"Then why isn't Mr Boyle here?" I asked disdainfully, "Anyone but you."

Surely one day Mark's eyes were just going to pop right out of his head from the sheer sass of his eye rolls. "Because you hired me to be your liaison," Mark said, exasperated. "I think the exact words used were 'Someone is going to have to translate all this lawyer talk."

I couldn't remember actually saying those words, but it did sound rather like me, so I just kept my mouth shut. Still I made sure to keep my eyes narrowed on him.

Apparently seeing an opening where he thought it was safe to make a move; Jake slunk out from the shadows near the board and reached out tentatively for his coffee.

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, "Here you go."

Now left with only my own coffee and an empty tray, I marched around the couch and took a seat on the coffee table, leaving the couch for the boys. Still I made sure to give Seth's feet a sure smack with the tray. It had nothing to do with my sudden bad mood and just that his shoes were dirty from the grimy streets. I knew we were rock stars and all, but god, that was just bad manners.

He gave another dramatic sign, raising his eyes to the ceiling like he was so hard done by, but all the same took his feet down.

With their coffees safe in their possessions, Will and Jake shuffled around to sit on either side of Seth. I took that as a sign that the meeting was about to being and breathed in deeply. This was really happening. All those 'don't bite the hand that feeds you' warning were about to get thrown out the window. Jake and Will weren't so vocally argumentative on the Maureen Jones subject as Seth, but I already knew they were stood on his side instead of mine. I was severely outnumbered in the vote that was surely about to come.

I'd never been the type to go down without a fight, though.

So I fixed Mark with my best challenging look and squared my shoulders.

He carefully avoided looking at me, which was probably in his best interest, to be fair. "So did everyone read through the email I sent out on Monday and go through all the attachments?"

"Yes," the boys behind me chorused even as I said, "No."

The judgemental stares skewered me from all around.

"Since when am I the only one that doesn't do the homework?" I complained.

Seth, who really should've come to my aid considering his track record, only just arched his eyebrows when I looked around to him, still unmoved. I mouthed the word 'traitor' at him. I swore I saw a twitch of the lips that could've been a smile, but he quickly hid it by taking a sip of his coffee.

"Lucky for you," Mark began; effectively pulling my focus forwards again, "I printed off an extra copy."

He stepped forwards, and leaned over the bag on the coffee table beside me before dragging out a thick folder. There was a little frown on his face as he opened the folder, flicking through a couple pages before he found what he was looking for. And without a glance in my direction, he dumped a huge stack of papers, all stapled together, on my lap.

"So this meeting is to determine how you guys are going to deal with the Maureen Jones subject in the press. Interviewers are bringing it up more often, clearly bored with you guys just badmouthing Jordan, and there are a lot of theories going around the internet. You're going to have to address it or else you might lose the public being in your corner. It's hard to root for you lot when all Keely says is how much she loves the woman and how loyal you are and blah, blah, blah. These are literally just the basics, all the recording contracts you have with UAE, solo or The Spares, and then contracts you signed to get out of the first ones. I'm going to do an overview before we talk about course of action, an overview we could've skipped had everyone done their reading."

I probably should've made some snarky comment in response to his scorn, but my attention had successfully been diverted. Just the recording contracts? The papers in my lap weighed a fucking ton. A sinking feeling set in my stomach as I began to flick to the front page of each stapled stack. There was helpful black marker at the top of each to say whose contract it was; NSR, Keely Staub, The Cavern Jets, Jake Beck, and The Spares. And then there were two others that read 'Termination of Contracts' in bold letters, one had my name and the other had Will's.

"Stephen pulled these out for me," Mark continued when no one spoke, "Remember these are only recording contracts and the terminations of them. You signed a hell of a lot more with her concerning her being your agent and so on."

The four of us stayed silent, trying to remember if we even knew how much we'd actually signed and coming up with blanks.

"Let's start at the beginning then. NSR signed their first recording contract when they were seventeen," Mark said as I picked up the corresponding stack of papers. "It was a three album deal in three years where UAE retained all the rights to the music and a two percent royalty rate. It might as well been a contract dragged up from the sixties. And there were no lawyers present."

As Mark spoke, I flicked through the pages, finding endless typed writing with sentences I couldn't even make sense of. There were initials all over the place. However I didn't freeze until I reached the end of the pages where three clearly different hands had tried to neatly write out their names before signing their signatures, unsure and too careful. They read; Seth Vaughn, Colton Neilson and Marco Stevenson. I wasn't expecting the way my heart clenched in my chest, imagining them brimming in excitement with their faces younger than I'd ever seen them.

Although I could've happily stayed there, finger tracing the signatures as I imagined that trio with shining eyes and big smiles, I forced myself to look up. I still had a fight to win. "Ms Jones didn't own UAE then, so I don't see how we can blame her for this contract."

"Maureen had already signed them on as her clients before they signed this contract," Mark returned without missing a beat. "It was her job to advise them or bring a lawyer in to advise them if she felt she didn't know enough. Instead she handed them a contract and told three seventeen year old boys to sign a deal that would effectively take away all their rights to their own music, allowing a label to shelf albums they didn't like with hesitation, and earning them pennies."

"But it wasn't her label," I argued, unable to give up. "It was Paul Olsen's company back then. These were his draconian contracts."

"I hadn't even met the old bastard when we signed that," interrupted Seth, voice low. I turned my head to look beseechingly at him, but his eyes were glued on the table and looked far away. I wondered where he was in his memories. "The three of us were still in Green Bay. You're supposed to have a legal guardian overseeing binding contracts when you're underage, but she had us sign it away separately parents and then got their signatures the next day."

That was enough to distract Mark from whatever presentation he'd worked up, and he pursed his lips in thought. "I mean, it's more of a question for Stephen, but I would imagine that could be used in a lawsuit if you wanted to get the rights to NSR's music."

Breaking out of the stare, Seth gave a shrug as he looked up, coming back into the present with the rest of us. "I think we have bigger problems to deal with at the moment," he said fairly even as he dug through his pocket to grab his pack of smokes. "Especially considering I only like one of those albums."

He placed his coffee on the table in order to light up the smoke, and I had to quickly look away, already feeling the grinding need for a cigarette in my stomach.

"So, you were calling that a draconian contract?" Mark question, flipping through his on pages. "Let's go to the solo contract you signed with her."

The dread was building up in my stomach, but I kept my spine straight and gaze lethal as I set NSR's to the side and pulled up my own. A quick flip of the papers found almost the same thing for me, a bunch of typed out sentences that I didn't understand and my initials spanning throughout.

"So it's almost identical to the one NSR signed. Three albums in three years, two percent, UAE has all music rights. So she got you wrapped into the same shit," Mark finished, sounding outrageously smug. "Looks as if she kept the contracts from Donald Mac, or the old bastard as Seth so fondly refers to him."

There was a long silence where I flipped through the pages in some kind of trance until I finally reached the last page that had our names printed and signatures. I was quiet, but my mind was frantic. There had to be some point I could argue in Maureen's favour.

However that wasn't to be, because apparently Mark was not done. "But that's not really what I'm interested in right now. Can you go back to page six, Keely?"

Not even bothering to pretend to be cool, I hastily flipped back to the page in question.

"Buried in all the lawyer speak and record label bullshit, there's a clause written in. There's no real point dancing around it, I'll just tell you in plain words what it means. In the event that the artist's, Keely Staub, debut album doesn't sell over a million copies in its first year, the terms of the contract shift. Instead of being an independent artist on the label, the artist will be continue to be under contract but as a session vocalist for five years."

Mark was dumbing it down for us. The words he was saying were so basic in comparison to what was printed on the page, but it was translating the paragraph that had been thrown in so nonchalantly in the middle of the contract.

And right underneath it was my initials; KS.

In a voice that was suddenly almost gentle, Mark asked, "Did Maureen go over this part of the contract with you?"

With an alarmingly dry throat, I choked out, "I don't remember this."

"Was there a lawyer present?"

I shook my head, mute.

"Was there anyone besides her?"

"I'd just turned eighteen," I said reluctantly, "I didn't need a legal guardian to sign with me."

Unless I was very much mistaken, Mark almost looked sad when our met when we both looked up from our papers. "There aren't many rules in music business, but there's a reason reading the fine print is one of them. In this day and age, it's incredibly lucky to sell that many albums, especially for an unkown artist."

When no one replied, he gave a loud sigh and in it I could hear all my attempts at keeping Maureen's image untarnished going down the drain. "Will, your band signed the same contract. And Jake, you were the only smart one. You didn't sign a long term contract, just short term ones for whatever work you doing as a session bassist."

There were so many thoughts spiralling through my mind. What would've happened if Seth had refused to produce my album like he'd wanted? What if we hadn't become so close and I hadn't gained so much notoriety from being around him in that first year? Would my album have sold at all? I didn't like to think that it had been Seth that had really made me, but the fact remained that without him, I wouldn't have gotten nearly the same amount of press. What would I have become if anything in my life had shifted at all?

Unable to bring myself to look at the boys behind me, I stayed facing forwards, my shoulders beginning to hunch in protectively. I only moved to flip back to that last page where I'd signed at eighteen, and I could see the music store perfectly in my mind where I'd done it, so certain and determined to prove everyone wrong. My signature looked so sure. Eighteen year old me seemed like she knew a lot more than I did now.

"The Spares contract is coming up," Mark continued, breaking me from my memories, "But I made sure to get Stephen to pull up the termination of the existing contracts. Seth, thankfully you fulfilled your contract with NSR and Maureen was desperate to get you signed back onto the label. You didn't get any penalties either, Jake. Will, you definitely took a hit, giving up twenty five percent of your royalties to UAE to get out of your contract with The Cavern Jets. Still, it's not bad when you remember you only played on the first album and it was a flop. So not really a loss on your part."

"Thanks," Will deadpanned, "Always nice to hear about my album flopping."

"Those guys were a bunch of dicks, anyways," Seth pointed out carelessly.

Sounding absolutely incredulous, Will returned, "I was one of those guys!"

"I'm just saying monetarily, you weren't harmed much," Mark said, almost soothingly. Usually I would've rolled my eyes at the idea of Mark trying to smooth our hurt feelings, but I was sitting in a pile of my own dread. "Keely, on the other hand, apparently she thought the world of you. So she absolutely fleeced you."

In a weak attempt at humour, I asked, "That's kind of a compliment, isn't it?"

No one laughed or even took notice of my words.

"You signed over fifty percent of the royalties to Maureen," Mark continued on as if I hadn't spoken. "That just means you make less money than the little she'd allowed you to have, but I'd like to point out that that album went platinum in the first year. She made so much money off of you. But in the termination contract, you signed over something called intellectual material, and that's really the interesting thing."

The dread was going nowhere apparently, in fact I felt like I might be about to drown in it. "Why do I have this funny feeling that by 'interesting' you actually mean fucking terrible?"

"Depends on where you're coming from," Mark reasoned. "For Maureen and UAE, it was a brilliant business move, but for you and new band The Spares, it's proving to be detrimental even eight years later. You didn't just sign away your past intellectual material, but all future material while you were under contract with the label."

I was pretty sure the silence that met his words was actually the sound of my stomach falling out somewhere around my feet.

"Keely has writing credits for every Spares' song," said Seth slowly.

"Exactly. Anything she did in those years, Maureen is making money off of. Any advertisement, television appearances, albums produced – they had a piece in all of it. All those videos of you guys going around now? They're even making money off that. I think Maureen understood that she probably couldn't take the rights to all your music so bluntly like she did the first time around. You guys weren't new artists, and Jake had proven to be a little savvier than the rest of you. So in the contract she took a forty percent ownership of the songs, meaning she got a minority share in comparison to you four. But with owning Keely's intellectual material..."

Mark trailed off, obviously seeing the effect his words were having on us.

With suddenly numb fingers, I found the stapled together pieces of paper that said 'Termination of Contract – Keely Staub'. It was relatively short in comparison to the rest of the stacks I had in my lap, but there were my initials all the way through it. And there was my signature, still sure and bold. Two things I definitely was not anymore.

"This isn't telling us anything we didn't already know," Mark said quickly. "We knew they owned the majority share of the music or else they would've had to consult with you to sell it. I do think it makes a difference for you guys to know the way that happened, though."

There was a lump in my throat, but I managed to speak up, even it was a little blank. "So it's my fault."

"It's not your fault."

To my utter shock, it was Mark who had said those words, and it had my eyes flashing up to meet his. Where I felt deadened in shock, afloat in dread, he was steady and sure, standing in front of the chalkboard. And he made sure to hold eye contact. "Maureen took advantage of the fact all four of you trusted her. She made sure to get the rights in the sneakiest way possible so no one put two and two together. She made you hire her lawyer. This is why you need someone who knows what they're doing on your side."

"We were absolutely pissed when Keely and Will terminated their contracts," Jake said, sounding adrift himself and trying to hold onto something. "It was the same day we signed The Spares' contract."

"While terrible business ethics on Maureen and her lawyers part to let you sign while drunk, it's impossible to prove," Mark sighed. "We'd need something much more concrete to get you out of this. Stephen and I have been going through everything and I don't see us finding some smoking gun."

I hadn't looked away from Mark, but my hands were gripping my contract so hard that it was a miracle I didn't rip it in two. "Does that mean it's over, that we can't fight this?"

"No, no, no," he said hurriedly. "This doesn't change anything. They still own the music and you guys are still going to continue to sue them. But it does prove to us that you have to win it in the court of public opinion and hope that UAE Records will settle outside of court. Maureen has an almost perfect reputation in the industry, no one else has ever spoken up, though I can't imagine you lot are the only ones she's taken. But you are the most famous. The others probably didn't have the voices or the money to make people listen to them. Going after her could win this for you."

Suddenly there was a hand gripping my shoulder, and it was almost too tight, but I still had to resist the urge to lean into Will's touch. Softly, he said, "It's not even like we'd be lying, Keely."

I only let a deep breath escape my lips.

That stubbornness that I had been born with was reluctant to let go, having come into this meeting so sure of myself. Yet there was a pain deep in my gut. It was thudding along like a breathing wound. And I was starting to realize, with all those contracts still in my lap, that the feeling was betrayal.

"Okay," Seth piped up loudly. His voice was clipped and business like, as if he couldn't stand to be here for another second longer. "Can we all just agree that we're going to call her out in the press from now on? Not just Jordan and comments about UAE, but call her out by name."

Instantly Will and Jake chorused, "Yes."

Taking a second too long, I sighed before I said, "Okay."

The results of my words were immediate. Seth muttered, "Thank fuck," under his breath, but I still heard it. Will and Jake both sagged in relief back into couch in relief, the hand on my shoulder slipping away. Mark didn't move, but a small smile appeared on his lips and it didn't look sarcastic at all.

I, however, barely moved. Instead I looked back down at the stacks of paper in my lap, wondering if I wanted to torture myself by scouring through every single word until I understood everything or if I wanted to throw them in a fire. The fire option surely seemed like it would be cathartic. I knew myself better though, and I'd never been anything if not obsessive.

"I call first crack," Seth announced as he stood up. The movement was enough to have me finally to turn around to look at him. He wasn't looking back at me, but at his phone. "Tomorrow at that charity thing Keely and I are doing I'll talk to the paps."

It was odd that even with that dark feeling of betrayal in my gut and all the proof at my fingertips that Maureen Jones wasn't someone I should protect; somehow I still had the urge to tell him off. Old habits died hard, I supposed. I was just going to have to override all my baser instincts for the next while.

"Right now I have to go, though," Seth said without looking up.

"Oh," started Will, eyes lighting up in excitement. "Are you meeting Claire to go to Poets House?"

That finally had him looking up, if only to peer at Will suspiciously. "Yeah," he said slowly, "They're doing an exhibition called Gay New York: Walt Whitman to Present. Tonight's the only night we both have free."

There was a pang somewhere deep in my chest to go along with the thudding wound in my gut. Tonight I had a gig tonight somewhere uptown. It was one of the rare theatre gigs where I was going to have to play more piano than guitar, and I was leaving to go do sound check right after the meeting. For some reason I'd taken for granted that Seth would be there.

When he'd first started showing up at my shows, I'd taken offense. And I had seriously considered getting him barred for the night from the places I was going to be play. But he'd stubbornly kept showing up; show after show. Without me even noticing, I'd gotten used to him being there. Knowing that I could glance backstage and he'd be watching from the doorway or that he'd be in the crowd, always a face that I could pick out.

It was my first theatre gig after the car accident, and knowing I would be playing more piano than guitar was anxiety inducing to say the least. I'd always been a competent pianist, but that didn't mean I couldn't be nervous. And somehow knowing that he wouldn't be there only notched up those nerves.

"Let's carpool," said Will. His enthusiasm cut right through my stress and circling thoughts.

Seth's mouth fell open, and he almost looked affronted, cellphone still held in front of him but long forgotten. "Since when were you invited?"

"Claire invited me the other day," Will answered with a wave of his hand. He was purposefully ignoring Seth's evident lack of keenness at him going as he stood up and clapped him on the shoulder. "She was saying that for a musician living in the city I didn't really get into the actual culture, so this is me getting into the culture."

Still looking rather like a fish out of water, Seth reluctantly trailed off after Will who had an extra bounce to his step. Will called out a goodbye, but Seth just muttered something underneath his breath before slamming the door shut behind him.

My eyes met Jake's and he only raised his eyebrows.

With a sigh of his own, Jack pushed up from the couch, holding his coffee in his hand. "I'm going to head off too," he said. He reached out and gave my shoulder a comforting squeeze. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

And with that, he was gone too.

I'd felt singled out during the conversation about our contracts, knowing Maureen had chosen me to go after like I was the weakest link, but now I really felt alone. They'd all walked right out on me and left me with this weight. My breath came out in a tremble as I looked down and found the papers still gripped in my hand.

"I think she went after you because she believed in you most of all."

I almost jolted at the sound of Mark's voice, having completely forgotten that he was here. My eyes flicked up to him. He was in front of the chalkboard still, lists of songs behind him as a backdrop, half of them crossed out. The folder was closed and hanging at his side as he watched me from the polite distance.

"I don't know about that," I replied shakily. "She went after me because she knew I was the most naive one of them all, knew I trusted her the most and that I'd be the easiest target."

"If she wanted the most naive, she should've gone after Will," Mark pointed out.

He was going for humour I was sure, but I felt too off kilter to even make an attempt at smiling. It felt like someone had peeled back the floor from under my feet and all the people that were supposed to be there for me to cling on had walked out.

When I didn't respond beyond looking back down at the contracts in my lap, Mark gave a sigh and took a step forward, bringing my eyes back up to him. Suddenly I noticed that his glasses were very seventies. Big with thin gold frames, but they suited him, and they glinted in the light when he moved.

"None of the members of your band have ever been slouches," he informed me. The sudden seriousness of him should have alarmed me, not used to it from him, but somehow it was almost comforting. Something to cling on, I supposed. "Will is an absolute beast on the drums and any band would have snatched him up, Jake is from an actual legendary punk band, and no one on earth would dispute the fact that Seth is a literal musical genius. But Maureen Jones, probably the most astute person in music, chose you. You were absolutely right when you said it was a compliment."

"Chose me to take away everything my band and I ever worked for?" I gave a melodramatic sniff. "She only chose me because Seth had actually completed his contract or else she would've gotten him. They all choose Seth if they can – like you said, he's the musical genius."

This time his sigh was absolutely heaving as he sat down beside me on the coffee table.

"You know, I don't think this coffee table can hold both our weight," I informed him, "And I've broken more than my fair share of furniture in here."

Mark pointedly ignored my words. "I wouldn't choose Seth," he said, looking carefully in front of him. I thought he was looking anywhere but me. "If I had to pick one out of the four, I would pick you each time."

"Pick me to steal all my music?" I asked. I'd attempted to sound sarcastic, but oddly my throat had clogged and my voice came out thick. "I know you said that it was a compliment, but it's starting to get a bit alarming since you are my manager."

His eyes rolled up to the ceiling. "If I had to bet on who I thought would put out the best music, who would be the most successful, I would pick you."

There was an unexpected honesty to the words, and I would've loved to say something vaguely disarming to diffuse the situation, always having had a hard time with emotions. Sincerity was an incredibly hard emotion for me to handle outside of a song. But as it was, I felt my eyes well up with tears. Still sounding doubtful, I asked, "Really?"

"Every time," Mark confirmed. He still wasn't looking at me, but the corners of his mouth had turned upwards in a tiny smile. "Will is an incredible drummer, but he doesn't have the drive you do. If it hadn't been for you and Seth, Jake would've been content being a session musician. And Seth may be a genius, but he walks out when things get too hard."

It was my turn to stare up at the ceiling, hoping to keep the tears at bay but it was getting extremely hard.

"Maureen was right, even if it was in a shitty way. You're the only one that's back catalogue stands up to what The Spares did, and so does the music you made afterwards."

A tear leaked down my cheek against my will.

"For fuck sakes," I muttered, hastily wiping it away. Mark still hadn't looked at me, and silently I was very grateful for the fact. "You've never been this nice to me before."

"You've never really needed it before," Mark replied.

Despite myself, I gave a snort of laughter. "I don't know about that."

"And you're not exactly nice to me either," he pointed out.

"I thought that was how our relationship worked!"

"So did I!"

Our eyes finally met, and we were both smiling slightly but looked away quickly. Bundling the sleeves of my sweater over my hands, I rubbed my cheeks surely to get rid of any residual moisture. And though it felt almost physically painful, I said, "You know, I don't think you're just in it for the money."

"Could've fooled me," said Mark grumpily, going back to staring at the chalkboard.

I supposed I very much deserved that and gave a deep sigh. "I've got some issues with cancelling gigs, stems from this coughing blood thing when I was eighteen. It was gross. I always had trust issues even before everything with The Spares, and everyone pushing this Mrs Jones thing really did me in. I guess it's stupid to say now, but I'd always thought she was the one person I could trust in this business. My band may have left, but she was still here in the city."

"It's not stupid to trust people," Mark replied, albeit a bit reluctant himself. "It is stupid to let your manager be the same person that signs you to a contract without a lawyer, though."

"I'm starting to get that."

Suddenly Mark started to dig through that folder from before. "With all of this going on, I made a copy of this myself," he said before handing me another stack of papers. "I thought you might want to read through it."

I dropped the contract currently in my hands to take the papers. It wasn't nearly as heavy as any of the others, and I read what Mark had written at the top in capital letters, 'Keely Staub – Mark Buckley'. My eyes shot back up to him in surprise.

"Take it to Stephen," Mark advised, gathering up his bag. "He'll go over it with you, seems a bit more ethical than me doing it considering it's our contract."

Too shocked to reply, I let him walk away as I stared down at the papers in my hand.

This one I could remember signing as well, though the memory wasn't as warm and fuzzy as the ones I'd signed with the boys. We'd gone out to a business dinner and I'd been extremely cold to him. I was still mourning the loss of my band and hadn't even got around to signing to a new label yet, but I needed a manager for sure to help me. Mark Buckley had come with glowing praises, though I didn't see the appeal.

Before he could reach the door, I looked up after him. "Mark, do you want to come to the gig tonight? I just got an idea for what song I should do tomorrow night. I thought maybe I'd at least try it out in sound check. You could tell me what you think. At least I know you're honest."

My words had come out nothing short of babbling, and Mark turned to send me a weary glance at the door.

"Keely," he said seriously, "You can't just trust blindly because someone shows you a little kindness. It's already fucked you over once, don't let it again. Take the contract to Stephen and work out after if you want to be friends."

Then he was gone, and I was left sitting in a literal pile of my own bad decisions.

*

I took cabs all the time, so I supposed I was used to being driven around, but there was still something very different about a town car. Maybe it was the fact that it didn't smell and the guy driving was wearing a suit. Whatever it was, I didn't like it.

Mark had sent it round to pick up Nick and I from the apartment. He'd made it very clear that showing up to a charity gala in a cab or Nick's Prius was not acceptable in any capacity, especially when I was the headliner. A limo might've put me at ease. I'd spent a lot of time in limousines, getting high and drinking with friends or my band. There were more than a few memories of being fucked by Seth in the back of them as well. And without all that experience, The Rolling Stones used to go around in limos so that must mean it was okay.

The town car chauffeuring us from the apartment and whisking Upstate was making me feel extraordinarily uncomfortable. It made me feel like some trust fun baby being brought home to her parents in disgrace, which I certainly was not. Maybe it had more to do with the flowing white dress that I'd been sent, once again from Mark to ensure that I obeyed the dress code, and the fact I'd pulled my hair back, a few tendrils falling delicately to frame my face. I'd even done my makeup properly for once.

All in all, I just didn't feel like me.

As if he could all those thoughts racing through my mind as I stared glumly out the window, Nick nudged my thigh lightly with his own. When I glanced in his direction he sent me such a sunny smile it should've lit up the dreary sky outside the care.

I just said, "This isn't very punk rock."

"Oh, but you're Keely Staub," Nick answered breezily. "You've earned not having to be just punk rock at this point. And doing a concert to benefit orphans is pretty cool, even if it's not punk."

Even I had to admit he made a point, even if I did feel out of sorts. I was nothing if not stubborn, though, and picked distastefully at the white dress that fell right to the ground. When I looked down, I could see far more cleavage than I would usually show unless I was full on naked. A plunging neckline for sure.

"I feel like its nineteen fifty and I'm being sent Upstate to marry some ancient oil baron I don't love to save the family fortune because daddy lost all the money gambling."

Nick stared at me for a long moment, clearly taking in the vivid picture I'd painted.

Then he burst out laughing.

"Well," he began practically, "If you're about to be married off to some stranger in the past, then I should tell you that you look very pretty."

I rolled my eyes.

There was probably some witty thing I could've said in response, but at that moment the driver pulled off from the main road. As we drove down the drive, I watched as ultra expensive cars were being parked by people in dapper red coats as well as what looked like hundreds of town cars just like ours. It was all a little on the nose, I personally thought. Then the car went around the corner and the perfectly trimmed hedge gave way to a sight of the house.

"Now that's not rock and roll," said Nick in face of what had been advertised to us as a country house but was something closer to a castle, "Much less punk rock. Is this the fucking Queen's country house?"

It was so rare to hear Nick swear that it snapped me out of my stare and had me laughing.

"Considering it's a gala for orphans, it seems a bit unsightly to have it somewhere like this," I pointed out. "An army could live here."

Nick might've responded in kind, but the car had just to a stop at the peak of the looping drive right in front of the house. The grand door was manned by a doorman on either side. There were all sorts of people buzzing about, looking rather hurried. It was only too easy to see the bustling for what it was – the same thing that happened every night backstage at my shows. The very chaotic acts committed to making things go smoothly. I suddenly felt a little more at ease.

"It's going to be fucking freezing out there," I said, teeth already gritted in preparation. The dress might've had long sleeves, but they were made out of lace, not a very warm fabric. It was an outfit more suitable for the middle of August than mid February in New York.

Nick patted my thigh consolingly. "We just have to make it through the doors," he said, bracingly. "Mark said he'd be waiting with your coat after we got through the media."

"Easy for you to say," I muttered mutinously, eying up the suit he got to wear.

Still, it was time to bite the bullet, even though I could've happily complained for hours. Pushing the door open, the blast of icy air hit me without hesitation, made even worse by the heaters that were currently blasting in the car. My mind instantly brought up all the curse words I was going to throw at Mark for picking out the most inappropriate dress ever. Was he trying to punish me?

Someone started to call Nick and I, using both our first and last names, but I didn't pause. If we weren't at least on a first name basis, I was stopping until I was inside. Nick got to wear layers – he could deal with it.

The heavy looking wooden doors were pulled open for me by the doormen, and I gave them an awkward little smile as I stepped inside.

The doors closed up behind me, and I gave a little sigh of contentment as my eyes started moving around the room. It wasn't as warm as the car but it would do. There was a red carpet with the backdrop that advertised the charity and the paps were surrounding it like a hungry hoard. Thankfully I got a moment to breathe in peace before I was seen. But then I froze in spot.

A shift in the paps happened and through the throng of people, I was able to get a clear view of Seth. I'd known he was going to be here, we'd had a whole band meeting devoted to him being added to this bill, but somehow I was still caught off guard. He'd even listened to the dress code; in a pair of snug black trousers and a crisp white shirt. It wasn't a full suit; no jacket in sight and his collar open without a tie. Somehow he still managed to look comfortable with a microphone shove din his face with the sleeves of shirt pushed up to his elbows and hands in his pockets. The fact that his hair remained as messy as every came as a great comfort.

As if he could tell someone was staring at him like a maniac even in this crowd, his gaze flickered over to where I stood by the door. And he abruptly stopped speaking, mouth snapping shut as he stared back at me from across the crowded room.

For some reason it suddenly felt like my chest couldn't expand enough to let me take in a deep enough breath.

The moment was shattered by a few things in quick succession. The door to my back opened and the cold air blasted in, effectively ripping me out of the stare with a gasp. Then the bodies between Seth and I shifted and someone stepped between us, obscuring the clear view. It could only be Claire who stepped up to Seth's side, hand brushing his elbow as she leaned in to whisper something in his ear, effectively pulling his attention away from me. She looked as beautiful as ever, blonde hair loose and relaxed and she was wearing an off white jumpsuit with a high neck. But what really got my attention was the big black coat she was wearing over her outfit. It was clearly fit for someone else, too big in the shoulders for her and falling to mid thigh. Seeing as it matched the pants Seth was currently wearing, I could only assume it was his. My stomach gave a dangerous jerk.

And then there was a hand on my elbow, distracting me as well.

I found Nick watching me curiously, but without a hint of suspicion. "Hey," I said quickly, surprising myself when my voice came out slightly breathy – as if I'd been running. In an attempt to hide my uneasiness, I tilted my head back towards the doors and in a controlled voice, asked, "What was that about?"

"Oh, yes, thanks for ditching me," Nick said sarcastically. There was an utter lack of bite to his tone, though, so I just raised my eyebrows expectantly. Never one to leave me in suspense, he continued, "They just wanted to know that they'd fixed the order on the bill."

"Was there an issue?" I questioned.

Fixing me with an exasperated look, he explained, "You were the one that said Seth should play tonight too but didn't want to share your time slot."

"It's my time slot," I shot back defensively.

"I know," Nick returned soothingly. He squeezed lightly where he still held me over my elbow, instantly smoothing any ruffled flowers just that easily. "It's just they had to figure out where to put him since he was a bit of a late minute addition. So you're still the closer, we're going to be on right before you and Seth will be before that."

Without even noticing the action, I reached up and took his hand in mine so I could give it an answering squeeze. "So, really, none of this affected me at all," I said, a cheeky little grin turning up the sides of my mouth.

Nick only had time to roll his eyes at me before chaos was unleashed when the press finally caught sight of us in the corner of the room.

If it hadn't been for the fact we ventured willingly up to the red carpet in the foyer, I was pretty sure we'd have been dragged up bodily if the way the flashes of the camera were blinding us were anything to go by. I'd been staying away from events like this lately. It had never exactly been my scene, but with my already impossible schedule, red carpets were something I happily kicked out. The only reason I was doing this was because I'd been booked in for almost a year, and only the biggest dick on the planet would've dropped out at the last minute for this charity.

So the paparazzi were only too eager to take in all the pictures of me, especially with my hand still surely in Nick's. It was probably a very nice change for them than the way they had to hunt me down outside the studio or shows. And it might've been a bit vain, but it was nice to know that maybe tomorrow the thousands of photos on the internet wouldn't be quite as unflattering as usual.

Although I would've liked to have taken no more than a few seconds on the carpet, I knew I had to be patient as I moved along. Not to mention Nick's hand was still holding onto mine securely. He was probably worried I might just take off and ditch him again. If he was thinking that, I couldn't very well blame him since I was very much thinking about doing it.

I had been hoping rather a lot that by the time Nick and I made our way up to the end of the route, Seth and Claire would be long gone, but I had no such luck. The hope wasn't only fuelled by the fact I didn't want there to be photographic evidence of me struggling to be civil with Claire while she was the picture of graciousness. No, it was also because I remembered what Seth had said at the meeting – he wanted first crack at Ms Jones.

Despite the fact I'd agreed with them yesterday, I was still having to stop the urge to distance myself from all the drama that was about to break loose. The press was going to have a field day. I might not be too old for this shit, but I would like to think I was too wise these days.

There was nothing to do, though. Wise or not, I was already knee deep in it.

So as the press excitedly beckoned us towards Seth and Claire, I straightened my spine and hoped I looked self assured as I stepped forwards.

Of course Claire's face lit up when she glanced over to see us walking up to them. Was she a fucking saint? Her blonde hair framed that bright smile so prettily it might've been a halo, and she wrapped me in a tight hug while wearing Seth's coat. I had to swallow harshly before I could return the pressure even half heartedly.

When she pulled back, I let my fingers tug on the lapel of the coat. "I like the look," I commented, unable to keep the dullness out of my voice.

She just gave a breezy laugh, looking like a goddamn movie star – which, of course, she was. "It's so cold out and I'm such a wimp. You're a better woman than me, Keely, and you're so beautiful," she said it with earnest. There was nothing false in her face as she squeezed my hand. Always the inclusive one, she peered around me before gushing, "And Nick! You look absolutely dashing."

I wasn't allowed to remain in the background while the two said their hellos, the hungry crowd of cameras and journalists egging me forwards. They'd gotten the snap with Claire, now they wanted a picture with Seth. And there was the reporter gesturing me forwards that still had the mic held out before Seth. There was a man hauling around a huge video camera behind her that I could only assume was still recording, focused on Seth and now me, I supposed.

After the warm hug from Claire, I was worried how cold the way Seth and I came together would look in the press. We didn't say a word. The reporter with the mic was prattling out a greeting to me, but I wasn't listening, too busy looking up at Seth with a question clear in my face. At least I hoped it was clear to him. He just tilted his head to one side, a gesture so small it was almost indiscernible, but I caught it. A relieved breath whooshed out between my lips and the tension that I hadn't noticed building between my shoulder blades dissipated.

He'd already done it. Whatever small snide comment or maybe even blatant proclamation of war he'd planned out was over already, and I could've hugged him right then and there for getting it over with before I got here.

It might've been to get my attention back to the moment or a show or assurance, maybe just to bring me into the shot better, but Seth reached out and placed his hand on the small of my back. The touch almost froze me in place. It only lasted a moment, just long enough to get me to shift forwards slightly towards him then it was gone and I suddenly felt as if I had no knees.

However I wasn't given time to dwell, because the reporter was still talking and there was a camera in my face. "The best thing about red carpets is the people that can join interviews!" she said excitedly. "It's still just so nice to see you two together again after all these years."

When neither Seth nor I had a response to that, she soldiered on, "We're almost done with you Seth. I promise." She touched his arm in a way that was a little too familiar and had my eyebrows arching, but I didn't say a word. "If you could have a writing partnership with anyone ever, who would it be?"

Now I had to blink in surprise. That felt like a slap in the face considering I was the only person he'd had a writing partnership with, and I started to steel my spine. It didn't matter what answer he gave, I was going to be jealous.

Looking blissfully unaware of my thoughts, Seth asked, "Anyone ever?"

The reporter nodded eagerly. "Alive or dead," she confirmed.

"Well, I'm sorry to be boring but I wouldn't change the writing partnership I had, even for John Lennon."

My stomach felt as if it fell right out of my body with the words, and Seth still looked oblivious, not having even glanced away from the camera. I couldn't help that I was staring up at him in something akin to awe even as I was well aware that Nick and Claire were right near us. They were definitely close enough to hear the words. They might've even been in the camera shot. Still I didn't look to them to gauge their reactions, too caught up in watching Seth.

Finally giving in to my blatant staring, Seth turned his attention to me. "I'd pick you every time," he said, eyes boring into mine as I swallowed over a dry throat, "Like the Noel Gallagher demo."

I didn't have a response to that, just continued to stare up at him until the reporter awkwardly cleared their throat.

"Well, that's all the questions we have for Seth, but if you could stick around Keely, we'd love to talk to you for a few minutes."

With a mute nod, I tore by gaze from Seth with rather a lot of difficulty. The idea of standing still through a bunch of question at that moment seemed almost impossible, but I didn't see what other choice I really had. So as Seth stepped back, I shifted into the middle of the shot. The reporter started speaking, but I was busy watching from the corner of my eyes as Seth and Claire walked through the doorway and into the real event. He placed a hand on the small of her back now as they disappeared from sight.

Noticing that there was suddenly a long silence, I quickly shook my head and found the reporter watching me expectantly. "I'm sorry, what?"

*

I'd always liked the idea of using whatever star power I had for a charity. There'd never been a time, whether with my band or not, that I'd refused on the fact I wasn't getting any money. However whenever I was in the midst of an event such as this one, I started to remember why I really hated doing gigs like this.

There was so much pomp and circumstance. I could accept that the tickets to the gala were priced so highly so the money could go to the charity itself, but it felt more like wealthy people buying time to rub shoulders with musicians and famous people. It was wearing to say the least. I knew my name was one of the draws of the evening, but I was finding it harder and harder to make any small talk. If one more ancient old man in a ten thousand dollar suit asked why I had a problem with my music being sold I was going to smash my glass and stab him in the eye with it.

Events like this always reminded me of the benefit we'd done for Marissa. The intentions behind it had been pure, but then the people involved twisted it until it was almost unrecognizable. Doing cocaine backstage when the money donated was going to a rehab centre or a bunch of wealthy old men paying so they could feel important talking down to musicians and the money trickling down to orphans.

It was the same fucking thing, really.

Somehow I'd managed to escape, if only for a few seconds, in a darkened corner at the edge of one of the bars in the ballroom. No one had bothered me for a few minutes, and I'd sat there watching the latest musician that had gone up in peace. No one else seemed to be paying attention to the music, which was the whole reason we were here in the first place.

There was a gin and tonic in my hand that I'd been nursing slowly. I would've loved to be tossing them back, it might make the conversation here somewhat bearable, but I had to close up the night. Although I had lots of practice doing so, I figured I shouldn't be black out drunk by the time I got up there. It would be nice to have some wits about me.

In the short gap between artists, I focused down on the cocktail napkin with the pen I'd borrowed from the bartender. And I couldn't be surprised by the words I'd written down – they were in my head to say the least.

If I lead you to the line,

Roll me over on my side.

And I don't mean to be unkind,

I'd pick you every time.

Shine a light on all the world,

Make love easier to find.

I didn't mean to cross the line,

But I'd pick you every time.

Sing for me the stories that you've heard,

And I made up my mind.

As long as you say you'd be my girl,

I would wait around for you until the end of time.

Heaving a great sigh, I dropped the pen and my drink, reaching out to fold up the napkin neatly. I probably should've balled it up and tossed it in the discreet garbage I could just make out from my vantage point.

That's really where it belonged at this point. I hadn't wanted to, but I'd spent half the night with my eyes on them. Claire was a vision of course, having finally given Seth his jacket back; she might as well have had a group of loyal followers trailing after her, entranced. While I was busy making terse small talk, she was charming everyone in her vicinity. And I couldn't help but noticed that it included Seth as well. He was talking more, looking almost friendly – it was like she brought out a part of him that I'd never been able to touch.

And Nick had been at my side, making sure to tame any disagreements that might come up and squeezing my hand calmingly whenever needed. I might have accused him of treating me like a child if I wasn't aware of just how much I'd needed it. Sometimes I needed someone to pull me back from the edge. When he'd been beckoned back stage, I'd hurriedly made my retreat to my dark corner to write down the lyrics that kept racing through my head.

Instead of throwing it out, I just folded it up neatly again and tucked it into my bra. I really was the opposite of Claire who was the picture of grace.

"God, you're classy," said a voice from behind me.

With a sigh, I picked up my drink to take in my last delicate sip. "I see you've given up being nice to me."

Mark had forgone the glasses for the party, and was wearing a sharp black suit of his own as he stepped up beside me. "If I'm nice all the time then it loses its potency," he said fairly, "And please tell me you're not drunk."

"It's my second," I said sharply as I dropped it on the bar, "I wish it was my twenty second, though."

Despite the fact I could tell he was hoping to look disapproving, the corners of Mark's mouth betrayed him, and then he gave up and smiled at me. "Well, it's just two songs then you, and we can get you well on your way onto your twenty second."

Slowly, like he was giving me the chance to pull away, Mark took my elbow to guide me away from the bar. "We got to get you backstage before that, though."

"Oh, thank god," I said gratefully as I allowed myself to be lead. Someone was being introduced to the stage, but I couldn't be bothered in paying attention, too caught up in my appreciation for Mark getting me away from the crowded ballroom. "I get to be with my people. I've felt a bit like some rare species of bird out here for everyone to gawk at."

"Well, it's not like you were trying to fit in," Mark pointed out as we walked through a discreet side door.

"I did," I said defensively. But I quickly relented. "It's not like I fit in many places."

Mark just shrugged, letting go of me when we got back to the bustling back stage where I felt more at ease. It was busier than my shows, which wasn't surprising since the bill was stacked with all sorts of egos. There were all sorts of people raving around in a panic, calling out to each other and wearing headsets. It was a bit too beautiful be a normal back stage experience for me, though. There were too many big iron and glass doors that led out to balconies. It really did look like something from fairy tale.

My attention was pulled away from the dark windows that I couldn't see through with all the lights blazing in here when I heard a very distinctive guitar sound. Jarring and a bit rough, like it was meant to be played on a keyboard but was instead being jabbed out on a guitar. And I frowned, knowing instinctively who was on stage just that easily.

Mark sighed at the expression on my face, and took a step back. "If you want to watch Seth, there's a doorway right there," he said. I might've wondered at the trace of reluctance I heard in his voice, but I was already walking towards the door he'd gestured to.

There was already a group of people huddled to watch him, musicians and stage hands alike, and I couldn't blame them. Who wouldn't want to watch Seth Ryan play, even to a crowd like this? When I stepped up with them they quickly shuffled to make room for me even as Seth dragged out tortured noises from the black guitar he was holding.

He'd put his jacket on, done up by a single button and his hair was as messy as ever. There was a microphone stand right in front of him, but his attention was focused down on the guitar in his hands.

It was almost like it was the words to the song were an afterthought when he finally stepped up to the mic stand. He still didn't look at the crowd, singing almost downwards to the guitar. "Love is blindness, I don't wanna see. Won't you wrap the night around me? Oh my heart, love is blindness."

It was moody and dark, fitting for the dark stretches of the old house, if not people in the crowd. But he clearly wasn't singing to them. "I'm in a parked car, on a crowded street. And I see my love made complete. The thread is ripping. The knot is slipping. Love is blindness."

Finally Seth looked up from his guitar, and his gaze was dark enough to match his hair and suit, his hand never faltering where he was strumming away. My breath caught in my throat. He looked like something from a movie, though I couldn't say which one, all equal parts passion and danger wrapped into one. "Love is clockworks, and cold steel. Fingers too numb to feel. Squeeze the handle, blow out the candle. Love is blindness."

Instinctively my arms crossed in front of my chest protectively as he made his way into the chorus. "Love is blindness, I don't want to see. Won't you wrap the night around me? Oh my love, blindness," he shouted. His voice was hoarse and almost ragged in a sort of desperation as it dragged out the notes, but somehow it fit the U2 song perfectly though it felt so dramatically different. "A little death without mourning. No call, no warning. Baby, a dangerous idea that almost make sense."

And then he fell back away from the microphone stand, dragging tortured sounds from the guitar as he played. I was holding my breath but I wasn't quite sure why. Maybe I was worried that if I breathed I might disrupt the moment that felt like magic in front of me. Seth in all black and caught up in a song like this felt like a moment that was going to be seared into my memory until the end of time as he played the guitar.

Then he turned, like he knew I was standing there and our eyes met for only half a moment before he stepped back to the microphone. Finally a breath trembled out. A dangerous idea that almost made sense, to be sure.

"Love is drowning in a deep well. All the secrets and nobody else to tell. Take the money, why don't you, honey? Blindness," he sang, more controlled after the absolute unleashing he'd done on the chorus and guitar solo.

Yet he turned his head, eyes meeting mine again and that control snapped as he rushed back into the song. "Love is blindness. I'm so sick of it. I don't want to see. Why don't you just take the night, wrap it all around me? Oh my love, blindness."

And then the mind shattering desperation of the chorus faded, and he was singing softly into the microphone as he turned to face the crowd and strummed the guitar gently. It was almost like an apology. "Love is blindness. I'm too numb to feel. Blow out the candle, blindness."

Apparently Seth had managed to get the attention of the crowd with that song like no other performer that night had, and the room erupted in applause and cheers after a moment of shared breath. Maybe no one had breathed properly during the song. The people around me shouted and clapped as the last sound echoed through the guitar and into the speakers. Instead of saying thank you and making a little speech like the rest of the artists on the bill had, Seth just turned away from the crowd.

It wasn't until his eyes met mine again that I became conscious of the absolute fury that was currently starting to pulse through my veins.

I didn't clap or cheer in away way, in fact my jaw just clenched in order to keep my thoughts to myself. There was no doubt in my mind if I stayed here, especially when he began to walk towards me, that I was going to cause a hug scene. With what little self control I had, I spun around on my heel and stalked off.

There was no plan as to where I was going; I just knew that I had to get away from him and especially away from the cameras that were around every corner filming for some documentary. When he'd referenced the Noel Gallagher song then ignored me for the rest of the night, the fuse had been lit. That song, sung while looking deliberately at me, had only rushed it along and the powder keg was about to blow. I could feel it like a thrum in my very blood.

Once there was a hell of a lot less people around, I took my exit, shoving open one of those heavy looking glass doors to one of the many little balconies. It was freezing outside but it felt better on my skin. I'd been heating up in there, ready to explode and could only hope that the cold air would halt it. If I'd been in a better mood, I might've been charmed by stone balcony with the vines twirling up and around. It looked like something from a play. I gripped the railing, nails digging into stone, hoping that I could calm myself down before my turn on stage.

My hard one solitude was broken when I heard the door behind me click shut. And it was of no surprise when I glanced over my shoulder to find Seth who had just closed the doors, successfully locking us away from whatever falsities were going on inside.

He looked back at me, and there was almost a smirk as he said, "In fair Verona, where we lay our scene."

Maybe it should've alarmed me that he'd known just what I was thinking when I'd seen the balcony, but at the moment I couldn't have cared less and just scoffed at him. "Don't you fucking dare right now."

"What have I done now?" Seth asked with a drained sigh. "Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?"

Pulling my hands away from the freezing stone, I covered my face, only realizing then that my fingers were already ice cold. "You can't just do things like this, Seth," I said with a whole world of weariness of my own.

Apparently he wasn't going to make this easy, because he replied unhelpfully, "Like what?"

I spun around to face him. There was no way I couldn't leap at the bait he dangled, and maybe that's why we never had a chance of making it as a couple together. He was wearing an almost nonchalant expression and I would've done anything to wipe it off. "Like that song just now," I accused, "Like what you said to the reporter."

In a way that I was sure was specifically designed to drive me mad, Seth just raised his eyebrows and said, "That I would choose to write with you?"

"Yes!" I exclaimed. We'd switched places since the song, where I was now all fury and chaos, he was still and careful. "We're supposed to be trying to be friends and you keep doing shit like that!"

"How is that not being your friend?"

The glare I spared him was nothing if not cutting. "You know exactly how, don't play dumb, Seth. It doesn't suit you."

It was with sick satisfaction that I watched him unable to keep up that unconcerned facade, losing it as his expression darkened. I didn't like being the only one driven insane. "They're just fucking songs, Keely!" he snapped right back at me.

And just like that I was yelling, my voice echoing in the otherwise silent winter world around us. "They're never just songs with us."

It was like my sudden volume had snapped something between us. I was still standing at the rail, chest heaving up and down in my anger while Seth stood a few feet away. His hands were clenched at his sides. Even from where I stood, I could see that his knuckles were glowing white and I wondered if he was resisting the urge to punch a wall. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Isn't that just what Mark told us to do?" he asked. Seth's voice was almost dangerously controlled, the complete opposite of the way his eyes flashed darkly. "Play up the relationships between us?"

"So that's all this is?" I asked incredulously. "You just doing what Mark says?"

"What the actual fuck do you want from me?" Seth asked, almost shouting himself now as he stepped towards me. "I'm damned if I do, I'm damned if I don't."

Not thinking about any form of self restraint anymore, I matched my volume to his. "How have you turned this into my fault? All I've tried to do is be your friend and you're out there saying like that to the press and choosing songs like that."

He only stepped closer so that we were almost touching. "Why do the songs I choose matter?"

With no distance to protect him, I didn't stop myself from hitting him in the chest and then again. "Because you've got a mother fucking girlfriend out in that room, listening to everything. And I'm going to be made into the bad guy in the press again; it'll be just like it was with Rachael."

"She's not my fucking girlfriend," he yelled right back at me. Seth grabbed my wrist to stop me from hitting him and his grip was tight enough I could've cried out, but I stubbornly wouldn't show it. "I've known her for like three weeks; we're hanging out. And don't even pretend like you care about the press, that shit's worn out with me."

"Hanging out," I mimicked him with a scoff, "That's one way to put it."

The glare Seth sent me then would've been enough to send most people scurrying away; I just returned the look in full. Through gritted teeth, he said, "Don't act like I'm the bad guy for seeing someone that's not you."

"No, you're the bad guy because you'll fuck anything that moves," I spat at him.

When I went to wrench my arm away from him, Seth refused to let go, and somehow his expression got darker. "At least I didn't fall in love with someone else."

And that was it I supposed, the reason for all the anger and cruelty he'd thrown in my direction since that night back stage at my show. Really, all the fights since he'd come back. Neither of us had ever said it, skirting around the issue and fighting about other things that didn't mean anything. We'd just laid it down at each other's feet.

I blamed him for leaving, and he blamed me for not waiting. Everything else just grew from that.

We were right, I supposed, that night when we said we'd never forgive each other.

There was a long moment of silence where we stared at each other, only punctuated by our short breaths. And then the door creaked open. Both reluctant to drag our eyes from each other, it took a moment before we looked to see who had found us.

It was Mark who had popped his head in on us, thankfully, wearing an expression caught between weary and wry. "Just thought I'd warn you guys to keep a cap on it before people in Manhattan hear you," he said, "These doors aren't exactly sound proof. And, Keely, Nick's done – they're ready for you."

I never thought I'd be so grateful for Mark again, but the rush of affection I felt for him then was almost overwhelming.

Refusing to meet Seth's eyes again, I jerked my wrist out of his hand and this time he let me go without a hint of fight. I wondered if I'd have bruises to show for it. While I slipped away from between him and the railing, he stood perfectly still, not even bothering to watch as I walked away.

For a moment at the French doors, I faltered, there was something on the tip of my tongue. It might've been an apology if the sinking feeling of guilt in my stomach was anything to go by. My fingers curled around the door frame and I watched as he leaned his hands against the rail, bowing his head slightly. All that self righteous fury from the fight had been drained out of us just that quickly.

I didn't really know how an apology between us was supposed to go, so with my voice just over a whisper, I said, "For what it's worth, I'd pick you every time too."

"It's worth a bit," he returned lowly without turning around.

Figuring that was as close to a sorry as either of us were likely going to get, I let go of the door and followed after Mark. If I'd still been hopping mad, I would've slammed the door shut as hard as I possibly could. As it was, I left it ajar for him.

My blood was no longer boiling. In fact I felt almost serene as I followed my manager back to the stage, white dress fluttering around my ankles. It was Mark who handed me my beat up old fender in a change of events, and I slipped the strap over my shoulder to make the perfect dichotomy between my pristine dress and tattered instrument. Nick was there as well, and he squeezed my hand, that same calming touch from before.

Once my introduction was finished, I pulled in a deep breath and let go of his hand in order to walk onto the stage.

The crowd felt still as I walked out, like they were holding their breath for me while I plugged my guitar in, giving me a level of attention without hesitation that even Seth had fought for. Maybe it was because I was the headliner – they'd been waiting for me. Or maybe it was just because I'd always had a stage presence.

Stepping up to the microphone stand, I spared a glance behind me. Like when Seth had been playing, there was a group of people huddled in the doorway, but I recognized Nick and Mark standing together. And just when I was about to look away, I saw Seth step into sight, leaning his shoulder against the wall. A breath trembled its way out of my mouth and was picked up by the microphone.

Figuring there was no point in anymore delay, I looked ahead of me and began to sing and pick away at notes on my guitar in unison. "I was reading Slim Aarons and I got to thinking that I thought. Maybe I'd get less stressed if I was tested less like, all of these debutants. Smiling for miles in pink dress and high heels on white yachts, but I'm not, baby, I'm not. No, I'm not that, I'm not."

My voice was smooth, flowing over the words calmly, true to the original version. However the grungy guitar sound coming from the fender through the pedal I'd chosen was not like the piano the song had been recorded with at all. Another dichotomy, I supposed.

"I've been tearing around in my fucking night gown, twenty four seven Sylvia Plath. Writing in blood on my walls, because the ink my pen don't work in my notepad. Don't ask if I'm happy, you know that I'm not. But at best I can say I'm not sad. Because hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have. Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have."

I wasn't being showy in my performance as I stepped back, translating the piano parts onto the guitar in my hand fluently, but I had all the attention on me. This wasn't a song that I would let my voice take over and go wild with. No, it was one that I could hold with a sort of slow passion – mellow, I supposed.

Leaning forwards, my lips just barely missed touching the mic as I continued, "I had fifteen year dances. Church basement romances, yeah, I've cried. Spilling my guts with the Bowery Bums, is the only love I've ever known. Except for the stage, which I also call home, when I'm not," I sang, letting my eyes flicker only briefly to where Seth still stood stock still, "Serving up god in a burnt coffee pot for the Triad. Hello, it's the most famous woman you know off the iPad. Calling from beyond the grave, I just want to say, 'Hi dad'."

I had to squeeze my eyes shut for a quick moment before I could continue onto the next verse. "I've been tearing uptown in my fucking white gown, like a goddamn near sociopath. Shaking my ass is the only thing that's got this black narcissist off my back. She couldn't care less and I've never cared more," I sang, voice getting tight despite myself. And of course when I opened my eyes to look at the crowd, I saw Claire standing there, a little frown on her face as she watching me, openly mesmerized. "So there's no more to say about that. Except hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have. Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman with my past."

There was no stopping the way my eyes pulled my gaze back to the doorway at my side, letting it flicker between the three boys that were standing there watching. I forced myself to look away before I could get caught up in them.

"There's a new revolution, a loud evolution that I saw. Born of confusion and quiet collusion of which mostly I've known. A modern day woman with a weak constitution, because I've got monster still under my bed that I could never fight off." And somehow my eyes were pulled right back to Seth, but I didn't bother trying to look away this time as I sang. It was of no use, it seemed. "A gatekeeper carelessly dropping the keys on my nights off."

Seth only stared right back at me, just like I had at him when our roles had been reversed. Maybe neither of us were able to pull our eyes away and that was the whole problem. My breath fluttered out again as I moved into the chorus, "I've been tearing around in my fucking nightgown, twenty four seven Sylvia Plath. Writing in blood on your walls, because the ink don't look good in my pad. They write that I'm happy, they know that I'm not," I sang, and there was almost a laugh to my voice, "But at best you can see I'm not sad. But hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have. Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have. Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have. But I have it, yeah, I have it. Yeah, I have it. I have it."

The room instantly erupted in chaotic cheering and clapping, in a way that felt very unsuitable for the crowd I'd been wading my way through. But it felt like it was too far away. I couldn't feel it.

I didn't even move. From the corner of my eyes, I could see Nick and Mark cheering along with the crowd, making as much noise as possible. And yet I stayed still, eyes glued onto Seth where he hadn't moved either.

We were the only ones still in the middle of that chaos.

A part of me wondered if we were even breathing.

- of course I didn't edit, what do you take me for? lots of songs in here, hope you like it -