Shattered Dreams (Boys of Bellerose, #3)(49)

Jace apparently reached the end of his tether, because when that song ended, he announced that they were taking a quick break. It hadn’t been planned into the set, but he just put the mic back on its stand and walked off stage, leaving the crew to frantically run around dimming lights and cutting sound.

They’d exited the stage to the opposite side, so I couldn’t hear what he was snapping at the rest of the band. Based on his furious gestures, though, I had a fair idea. He glanced across the stage, locking eyes with me, and whatever he was saying trailed off.

I shrugged and gave a sympathetic gesture. Like… I’m sorry your band is a shit show, but Gray is the one at fault here, dude. Nevertheless… pull it together, Jace! This is your band; kick some asses, and get everyone on the same page!

He held my gaze for an intense moment, then smiled and nodded. Thank you, he mouthed, and confusion rippled through me. Thank you for what? Jace had already turned back to the band and snapped orders with a whole excited vibe to his movements. They all looked my way, and a trickle of anxiety ran down my spine. What the fuck just happened?

“Jace!” I called out as they all returned to the stage. I had a bad feeling.

He flashed me a grin. “I’ve got this, Rose,” he called back. Then he signaled for the crew to raise the lights once more, and Grayson started tapping out a rhythm I didn’t recognize. Was it a new song? Something he and Rhett had worked on while I was in the hospital, maybe?

Then when Rhett joined in, recognition flooded through me like a tidal wave. My jaw dropped, and disbelief sucked all the air out of my lungs.

“This is new,” Hannah commented, frowning her confusion. “I like it, but Brenda never mentioned they were revealing a new album track.”

I raked my fingers through my hair, gripping the strands in fury. “They’re not!” I protested in a horrified voice. “That’s not their fucking song!” It was mine. The one I’d started at our trailer in the woods. The one I’d specifically told Jace he couldn’t have.

That motherfucker!

I was going to kill him. Jace Adams, RIP. Death by Billie.





twenty-two





ANGELO


Jace was lucky that I had an ear for music. It only took me a few seconds to find my place in his random new song that I’d never fucking heard. For once, tonight, I was thankful to not be the lead guitar. It would have been a disaster. Way more of a disaster than some of our songs had already been.

But despite the few fuckups we’d experienced tonight, it had also been one of the best nights of my life. The intensity of stepping out onto the stage in front of thousands of screaming people—people who were screaming my name, since apparently word had gotten around already about my involvement via some blog site—was more than I’d ever imagined.

I’d spent a lot of time picturing how my life would have gone if I’d just followed Jace and my dreams. My visions had looked a lot like this, with music, concerts, screaming fans… and Billie waiting for us in the wings.

The Billie part was always the most bittersweet memory and dream. Billie, Jace, and I… we were a trio, stronger together, and it fucked with my head so much that we’d lost years by not recognizing the real truth of that. Apart, we’d each been living half a life, and that had never been more obvious than now. Now that we were back together.

When we finished the song, it was clear that Jace had just unveiled a brand-new hit. The crowd lost their mind, screaming for us to play it again, begging, even, as they all but dropped to their knees across the entire stadium. A buzz crossed my skin, the hairs standing up on my arms at the pure electricity of this moment.

“Thank you, Dublin,” Jace shouted into his mic, always the showman. “That’s our new single, “Desperate to Save,” and it will be our first debut off our next album. If you want to hear it again, you know where to find it.”

The screams were deafening, and my fingers moved across the strings, adding music to the cheers. The others joined me a moment later, each band member with their own personal touch, and fuck… we actually made beautiful music together when we weren’t at each other’s throats. Even Grayson looked more relaxed, easing the death grip he’d had on his sticks all night.

Rhett picked a direction and morphed us into another Bellerose hit—one of their older numbers, but definitely a crowd favorite—and this time none of us missed a fucking beat. We’d found our groove, and now it was like we’d been playing together for our entire lives.

Jace caught my eye, and I swore to fuck that big bastard’s voice got even smoother as he fought for composure. He was emotional. I was fucking emotional.

This was the fruition of dreams that had been built by boys, and we were now men.

When the concert was done, the buzz in my veins was like nothing I’d ever felt before. When we swept off the stage after the encore, the crowd’s screams continuing as if there were no end in sight, I was the first to reach Bella. After handing my bass off to a stagehand, I had her up in my arms in seconds, as I wrapped myself around her and let out a whoop. “Holy fuck,” I burst out. “Holy fucking fuck.”

As I swung her around, the pain in my knee was nonexistent under the adrenaline slamming through me. Billie let out a low laugh and smacked me on the shoulder. “Stop, Angel! You’ll make me throw up if you keep that up. Not to mention you’re still injured.”