Deep (Stage Dive, #4)(36)
With the band touring and Ben’s ban from Mal and Anne’s apartment (also, I’m pretty sure he was avoiding me, despite all his fine words), it was a full four weeks after he filled my humble bank account to bursting before we laid eyes on each other again. It took that long for me to stop constantly barfing and to be given the go-ahead to travel. Due to having my head in the toilet, I’d missed out on Vancouver, Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, and L.A. Anne and I met up with the band in Phoenix. We arrived near the end of their concert, having been delayed by a storm.
Sam met us and took us to the side of the stage to watch the encore. It was cool to see Stage Dive play live again. I was sitting on an empty box behind a massive screen that projected the happenings out to the stadium audience. I couldn’t see the people, but I could hear them. Roadies, set construction workers, and similar were also hanging out, waiting.
The minute the show was done, Mal attacked Anne. The man was all over her like a rash, rubbing his sweaty self against her and basically dry-humping in public. She didn’t seem to mind. We didn’t hang around, everyone heading straight to the hotel. Apparently any interviews and meet-and-greets were done before the show.
I got a welcoming chin tip from Ben, but that was it in the rush.
The line of luxury black Lexuses crawled to a stop as we neared the swanky hotel’s back entrance. Hands battered at the windows, people struggling to get close enough to press their faces up against the darkened glass.
It was freaky.
Dave and Ev were already inside, having been in the first vehicle. Ben, Lena, and Jimmy jumped out of the vehicle in front of us. Immediately, Lena and Jimmy hurried through the corridor made by security, into the safety of the hotel. But Ben delayed, signing autographs and shaking hands.
There were so many people out there. A veritable sea of women and men both, crying, screaming, and carrying on. I’d known how big the guys were, but knowing it and seeing it were two entirely different things. There were even TV crews among the mix, cameras catching it all.
“Shit,” I whispered, hunching down.
“Someone can’t keep a secret,” said Anne, sitting between Mal and me on the backseat.
Mal just shrugged. “Where we’re staying always gets out. This is the norm. Get used to it, ladies.”
A black-clad security person opened the door and the clamor hit me. It was staggering. A wall of mindless, maximum-volume, gray noise. Sweat wet my back but my mouth dried to nothing. Anne nudged me gently, nodding toward the door and the batshit-crazy crowd beyond. I swallowed hard and nodded back. Like it or not (not!), we were going out there. Generally, agoraphobia wasn’t much of an issue (or enochlophobia, if you want to get technical about it). It didn’t stop me from doing anything. Get me anywhere near a loud swarming mass of people, however, and I’m rarely at my best.
I cautiously stepped down, feeling my way across the concrete. All of the flashes from the cameras were dazzling my eyes.
Crap.
The crowd surged forward, closing in, and the line of security struggled to hold them back. People were yelling shit, none of it decipherable over the sound of my heartbeat pounding behind my ears. They were chanting a name, and from the shape of their lips, I’m pretty sure it was Mal’s.
I stood frozen, gaping, totally immobile. Fuck. Nope. Couldn’t do it. What if I somehow tripped or got trod on or misstepped and accidentally hurt Bean?
Before I could turn tail and run back to the car, however, a strong arm wrapped around me, pulling my body in against the safety of his.
“I’ve gotcha,” he said, his breath warming my ear.
I wasn’t up to speaking.
Ben hustled me down the narrow corridor formed by security and into the building. Both of his arms were around me, holding me tight until he had to remove one to punch the button for the elevator. Cool air soothed my hot face while I concentrated on getting back my breath. God, what an idiot I was, losing it like that. Some great mother or psychologist I’d make.
Behind us, Mal and Anne were still out there, barely visible among the crowd.
“Let’s go.” Ben’s hand slid down to mine, grabbing hold to tow me into the elevator.
“Aren’t they coming? What are they doing?”
The elevator doors slid closed.
“With Mal, it could be anything. Don’t worry, they’re fine.”
I craned my neck, necessary for viewing him at close range. His hair was a little longer, tied back in a tiny man bun, his beard neatly trimmed. Still beautiful, damn it. His T-shirt, plain black with an Arizona postcard printed on the front, fit just right, being neither too big nor too small. The tang of salty sweat lingered in the air around him. I wanted to bury my face in his chest and breathe deep, over and over again, despite the scent of booze. I just wanted to get as close to him as physically possible. One day those feelings would fade. Hopefully one day soon.
He looked down at me with a tight smile, still holding on to my hand. The smile definitely didn’t make it to his eyes. If anything, I’d say the man looked nervous.
“Sorry about wigging out,” I said.
With a low digital tone, the doors slid open.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, and let go of my hand, instead applying gentle pressure low on my back to guide me forward. His motions were sure, his steps steady. However much he’d had to drink, he was clearly still coherent. “C’mon.”