I guess her boyfriend normalized the mob for me.
His girlfriend runs up behind him and hooks her arm through his like she’s trying to slow his roll. “She’s okay. Let’s go back in, Adrian.”
Adrian doesn’t move. He gives me a glower before turning his gaze back on Nadia. “What happened?”
Ugh.
Does this guy not know that bringing it up is only going to bring her down?
“I invited her outside for some fresh air,” I lie, looping my arm behind her back like this was some kind of flirtation and not a near-emergency.
He ignores me. “We should go.”
I draw Nadia closer. She lets me. She fits nicely by my side, her smaller purple Converse beside my black ones. I like the feel of her against me.
She glances up at me uncertainly. “I-I’m going to stay.” She looks back at her brother. “Flynn and I are going to a party after the show.”
Adrian’s girlfriend’s face splits into a smile. “That’s great! See? She’s fine. Let’s–”
“No.” Adrian squares off like he’s going to fight me if I try to convince him otherwise. I can’t tell if he’s protective or controlling or both. I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt and say he’s concerned because he knows about his sister’s social anxiety, but I don’t think making a big deal about it does her any favors. If anything, it reinforces the feedback loop that there’s something wrong with her.
It’s Nadia who takes charge. She pushes me toward the building, simply walking away from her brother.
“Nadia!” he yells, but he doesn’t follow.
I sense both their gazes on our backs as I take Nadia’s hand and lead her in through the propped stage entrance door.
Inside, Story is waiting with the rest of the band, her electric guitar looped over one shoulder. She thrusts my guitar at me. “Jesus, Flynn, where in the hell–oh.” She sees Nadia and chops her own tirade off. “Hey, Nadia. I think Adrian’s looking for you.”
I shrug off my jacket and toss it over a chair. “He found her,” I clip, sliding the guitar strap over my head. I catch Nadia’s gaze and see she’s starting to turn frantic again. I tip my head toward the stage. “Come here, I want to show you something.”
Her body goes rigid. “What?”
“Flynn, we’re going on now,” Story says with impatience.
I ignore her, stepping close to Nadia, right into her personal space. “Do you trust me?” I meet her gold-flecked eyes with mine.
She locks onto my gaze like I’m a lifeline. Like she’s walking on a tightrope, and if she dares to look away, she’ll lose her balance and fall.
I shouldn’t take offense that her answer isn’t immediate. We don’t really know each other. We’ve never even been alone together before those few minutes in the van. She’s just a girl who comes to my shows. An acquaintance.
But I know my intentions are good. I know down to my bones that I speak her language. Not Russian. But another one. The emotional one. Or energetic. I may not know anything about her, but I get her completely.
“Flynn!” Story hisses over her shoulder as she and the other band members go out on stage. The crowd cheers.
Finally, Nadia gives a tiny nod.
“‘Kay. Come here.” I send her a smile and take her hand, leading her to the wing of the stage. I yank a chair over and situate it just behind the wing. “Sit here.” I point at the seat.
She hesitates, blinking into the stage lights.
“Just sit,” I coax.
With faltering steps, she advances and sits in the chair, looking up at me expectantly.
I point toward the stage with a grin. “Best seat in the house,” I tell her. “You can see everything on stage in complete privacy.”
She cranes her neck around the curtain and darts a look toward the packed house. The air is thick and warm with bodies.
The Storytellers should really be playing bigger venues, but Rue gave us our first job, and we’re loath to snub her now. If she decides one day she’s sick of the crowds we bring, then we’ll move somewhere else. For now, our fans will just have to get here early or buy their tickets in advance because we pack the house and sell out every Saturday night.
“See?” I tilt my head toward the audience. “If you can’t see them, they can’t see you.”
At last, I win one of her rare but beautiful smiles. Like a flower blooming in the snow.
“All right-we are back.” Story speaks into the microphone. “We’re going to get going with our next set just as soon as my brother gets his butt out here onto the stage.”
The crowd cheers. “Flynn! Flynn! Flynn!”
“You okay?” I ask Nadia.
She nods. I see hope shining behind her expression, and it does something odd to my chest.
“Don’t go anywhere,” I tell her.
Pink stains her cheeks. “I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“Flynn!” Lake yells from the stage.
I wait for Nadia’s answer.
“Promise,” she says.
I flash her a smile and jog out to the stage just in time to get hit by three girls’ panties at once.
Nadia
Gospodi, girls are throwing their panties at Flynn. He picks a pair up and slingshots it back out into the crowd, which makes the fans–male and female alike–roar in approval. He starts up the riff to one of the Storytellers’ original songs.
My heart is still racing, but this time it’s not from fear. The mechanical gear sound that starts up when I’m having an attack stopped screeching in my ears.
No, my thrill has everything to do with Flynn Taylor. The guy with a pirate smile who is rapidly overtaking Story’s glory as the darling of The Storytellers. The hottest new sound sensation in Chicago. Flynn is becoming the heartthrob every teen girl dreams of. Fortunately, most of them are too young to even get into Rue’s. The rest, though…