Last Light(17)

I blinked against the bright light. Goldengrove? I tugged Steffy’s arm.

“Goldengrove?” I shouted. “Like … Goldengrove?” I knew this band, an indie rock group notorious for turning down record deals. I liked their stuff.

“Yeah! Wooo!” Steffy waved her hands and pointed. I followed her finger to the stage and my jaw dropped. Seth stood at a mike about five feet away. He was shirtless and laughing. He wore an ironic little smile, as if the whole scene embarrassed him.

“Good to be home,” he said into the mike. He shook out his hair. The crowed exploded and surged forward, shoving me against the stage. I stared up at Seth helplessly. Of course, he had Matt’s lean, sculpted torso, flat abs, and a teasing treasure trail.

Fitted jeans clung to his hipbones.

Two large tattoos covered Seth’s flanks, curling ink scrawled from his waist to his ribs. One read GOLDENGROVE. I caught a look at the other as he twisted. THE PENNY WORLD.

“What’s up with the tattoos?” I yelled to Steffy.

“Oh! The thing, like, about childhood! You know, like—”

Sound erupted from the speakers—drums and muted cymbals, then the howl of an electric guitar. I found myself laughing and cheering. Live music is intoxicating.

“This is a cover,” Seth shouted. “‘In One Ear’!”

The band played for a while and then Seth started to sing. His voice, smooth at first, turned gravelly at the chorus. He swayed as he sang, pulling the mike stand with him. He was good. He was actually good. And he was a beauty on stage, though I felt guilty looking at him.

What would Matt think of all this? What did Matt think of it?

He never told me Seth was a singer.

The band played an original song, one I knew from the radio, and Seth transitioned to the piano and played and sang through the third song. He rocked on the bench, his thighs tense as he shifted his foot on the pedals. Under the blue and orange lights, I saw sweat on his neck and toned muscles on his arms. His tattoos seemed to writhe.

He played like he wanted to break the piano.

If his hand hurt, he gave no indication.

I danced halfheartedly with Steffy, who danced wholeheartedly with me, grinding on my leg and rolling her hips.

A writer. A doctor. A musician. The Sky brothers. They were fascinating, or I was drunk. I wanted to be in their world.

“Encore!” the crowd wailed.

Seth loped back to the mike. His silky hair looked perfectly disheveled. Part of me thought cool, and part of me resisted his crude appeal.

Seth made a big show of debating the encore, tossing his hair and sighing.

“Wellll,” he said. For the first time since he stepped on the stage, he looked at me. Directly at me. My eyes widened.

Seth smiled. Trust me, his smile said.

He reached down and caught my hand, or maybe I gave him my hand. He hoisted me onto the stage. I wobbled on my heels and he snaked an arm around my waist.

His body was electric, vibrating with energy. I clung to him. I missed Matt with sudden, crippling intensity, and I pressed my face into Seth’s bare shoulder.

“One more song,” Seth said into the mike, “if my new friend Hannah kisses me.”

I jumped.

“Only if she kisses me! I want a kiss from this beautiful girl.”

Seth hugged me tight. Shock lanced through me, and the fog of my buzz lifted abruptly.

“I will not!” I rasped right into his ear.

“Kiss him!” the crowed screeched. “Kiss! Kiss!” It became a chant.

I made the mistake of glancing down at Steffy. Her eyes were hard and black.

“It’s a show,” Seth murmured in my ear. I felt the full slow trail of his finger up the nape of my neck. “Kiss me on the cheek or something.”

I grabbed Seth’s jaw and jerked it aside. The crowd cackled. Seth winced. I planted a kiss on his cheek and climbed off the stage.

“Damn!” I heard him saying. “Better than nothing, right? Okay, one more song!”

I forced a smile as I pushed my way to the back of the club. Strangers whistled at me and girls glared. My lips burned hotter than my cheeks. What the hell was that about?

I found a pay phone in the lobby and jabbed in Matt’s new number.





Chapter 10


MATT


That night, I couldn’t sleep.

I kept replaying my conversation with Hannah.

“We have a problem,” she said. She hiccupped in my ear. “I—I just—today—”

“Slow down, bird. I can hardly hear you. Where are you?”

“At a bar. Er, a club … thingy.”

“A bar?” I frowned. Maybe Hannah needed a drink after the memorial. Understandable, but … “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

“It’s about the book. Night Owl.”

I stilled, and then I smiled slowly. This is it, I thought. Hannah went to my memorial … and everyone knew about Night Owl. I could easily imagine her embarrassment. I felt the same embarrassment when Fit to Print exposed my identity last year, and the media ran with it, and suddenly the whole world knew the most private details of my life.

Night Owl had become a phenomenon, just as I was a phenomenon. And Hannah was the star of Night Owl.

Soon, I knew, she wouldn’t be able to stand it. The gossip. The speculation. The way my family must have treated her. She would understand how cruel the media can be. She would fear the public, with its vulgar curiosity and sickening sense of entitlement.