It was all Brielle. She was making them listen to her. She was controlling everything.

I let out a ragged breath. No one else could do what she did. She should’ve been doing this all along. She shouldn’t be stuck playing in a crappy house party like this or some dingy bar. She belonged in a stadium. She deserved to pour this magic out over thousands, having millions love her. That’s where she belonged. Not here…and I had been the reason for where she was.

My jaw clenched.

The lead singer, Wes, stood at the front of the stage, clueless to what she was doing. He wasn’t in tune with her at all.

The feeling to yank him down and take his place clawed at me. Braden was restless beside me, and I knew he was feeling the same. His fingers were playing out the chords along with the other guitarist. He was itching for his old spot as well.

I pushed forward. We were dressed in black hooded sweatshirts. We had gone the Elijah route, but we added a baseball cap to pull low over our faces. A few girls stopped and watched us with suspicion when we parked and darted to the back door. Even then, I knew there was something familiar about us to them. It was only a matter of time before people spotted us and realized we were there.

As she stopped hitting the drums, everyone froze in awe, waiting for her to continue. It took all my strength not to jump up there and take the microphone. My blood was pumping. I wanted to play with her, sing to her beat. This was the first time hearing her in a year, and I didn’t think I could stop myself.

Her hand raised.

The girls next to us held their breath, and then Brielle slammed it down. The bass guitarist struck his chord, the lead guitarist joined in, and the guy at the keyboard joined in with the melody. The room went nuts, except for the singer. The fucking singer. He was standing there like I did. He held the microphone. His head was bent. Even his heel was counting the beats, but he was wrong. He should’ve been counting the beats when the beats weren’t playing. He was reacting to Brielle, not being with Brielle. I could see the frustration on her face. The singer wasn’t her match, and she knew it. I watched her bite her lip—the little thing she did—but she bit down harder than normal, and I knew it was because of him.

It was then when her head flew up that she skimmed the audience as she reached for the snare. She never skimmed the audience, but she did now. Her eyes caught and held mine, and they widened. I saw the shock filter in. It made her pause a fraction of a second, and then she grimaced. I could see the curse leave her lips before she shifted back into playing mode.

Her band never knew. She was the ultimate professional.

“Holy fuck,” Braden exclaimed beside me. “She’s gotten better. She smokes me. She was good the other day at Rowdy’s, but tonight.” He whistled under his breath. “Man.”

Memories of when she came to me and asked for my guitar flooded me. She had needed to play music to earn money. I had gone with her, and it was one of the best memories I had. She never had a set memorized. She went with the flow and made up new songs. She was talented. People stopped to listen to her. I sat next to her, and sometimes I sang with her if I knew where she was going with the chords. Her voice was hypnotic. She pulled on them, and she was doing it now with her drums.

“It’s Sustain!”

Another person added, “It is! Holy—Sustain!”

“Luke Skeet?”

“Whoa, it is them.”

More and more people started to spot us. The ones closest to the stage turned around and began to move toward us. People began pressing into each other. We were going to get overrun, but Gunn came up behind us. He reached around both of us and began walking forward, herding us out of there.

Gunn grunted into our ears. “People are swarming from outside. There was a big rush from the kitchen to the living room.”

“Sustain is in my house?” A guy was dumbfounded beside us, scratching his head with one hand and holding a beer in the other. “How cool is that?! I’m awesome!”

Braden looked around us. Worry lines appeared on his forehead, and his shoulders lifted, straining. “We have to get out of here. We’re going to get crushed.”

“Luke! Oh, my gosh. It’s you. I want to meet you.”

People grabbed for me. Someone reached for my hand as others went for my shirt. When I felt it rip, someone shrieked, and then there were hands touching my skin. Someone reached for my jeans. I felt one of the back pockets starting to rip off.

Enough of this shit. I pushed forward, growling, “Let’s get out of here.”

Suddenly, four large guys moved around us. Two went in front and began shoving people out of the way. Gunn brought up the back, and the other two were at our sides. They held people back as well, and slowly we were able to able to move out of the room in that formation.

One of the guys in the front called over his shoulder, “The front door’s blocked. Too many people. We can go out another way.”

They moved into the dining room and down a back hallway. As we walked into a bedroom, I caught sight of a couple making out on the bed, and they jerked upright at our appearance. “Hey!” The girl’s protest died as she saw us. Her mouth fell open in the next second.

“Whoa! You’re Luke Skeet.” She pointed at me.

My head lowered.

There was a door attached to the bedroom that led outside. One of the guys opened it and gestured. “Follow me. This is my buddy’s house. We can sneak you out and around the crowd.”

Braden said, “We’re parked out front.”