Page 17 of A Tragic Melody

“I guess you have a point,” I mutter, trying to keep my voice light. “Shouldn’t keep the boss waiting.” I flash Derrick a smile and blow him a kiss. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He nods, surprise on his face. “Text me?”

“Duh.” I force out a laugh. It takes all my effort to come across as flirty right now.

I rush to my dressing room, throwing my shit into my bag. There is a price for every minute I’m not on that bus. He won’t take having to wait for me well.

I’m too fucking high for this, and that means he will enjoy it so much more, while I’ll enjoy it even less than normal.

My skin crawls. My stomach twists into knots.

When I step out of my dressing room, I see the last person I want to see right now.

Wyatt leans against the wall outside my dressing room. Black Converse pressed against the wall, his arms resting against his chest. His hoodie is pulled up, but his light brown eyes still cut like knives.

“You messed up,” he says.

“What?”

“I don’t think you noticed, but you messed up on a few lines tonight.”

“I did not,” I snap back, but in my head, I start going over my set. Did I really mess up?

“You did too.”

“What line?” I fold my arms over my own chest, sticking my foot out. I tap my boot on the ground. “I can’t imagine you know my music better than me.”

“Maybe not, but I’m sober enough to recall the lyrics better, apparently.”

“So tell me the line I supposedly messed up.”

“Why would I do that?” He shrugs as his lips curve up in a smirk. “What would it change, anyways? You can’t fix it now.”

“I don’t believe you,” I argue. “You’re just trying to get in my head.”

“Definitely not. That is the last place I want to be.”

“I think you’re lying.” I grin. “I think you finally saw how good I look out there and realize I’m bigger competition than you thought. Now you think pointing out some made-up mistake will take me down a notch.”

“Nothing can take you down a notch.” The laugh that follows is harsh. “You’re so fucking high, you could touch the moon. I just thought you’d like to know. You may look good out there, sound great, too—but you’re just one small slip-up from losing it all. And the best part is I may not even have to lift a finger for it to happen.”

“Okay.” I roll my eyes. “Whatever you say, Wyatt.” My lips twist up. I like that he thinks he has the upper hand right now. His words are meant to cut, and I plan on letting him think they did when I show up at the next show with my wrists covered. He will feel responsible, and that guilt will hurt him far more than he thinks a few mistakes on stage will hurt me. “Unlike you, I don’t mind not being perfect. It’s a little fun to make mistakes. You should try it sometime.”

“Maybe.” He nods. “Would you share if I asked you to?”

I wasn’t expecting that question. Would I share my drugs with him? I never thought about that before. My plan was to have him self-destruct, but I always pictured that happening under mental distress, not drug-related. But if he asked for drugs, I’m not sure what I would do. Could I live with myself if I gave them to him?

Can I live with myself now? Knowing what’s waiting for me on my bus?

I think the answer to both those questions is a no, yet as he studies me with his big brown eyes, I remember all the other men who tried to snuff me out. All the other people who tried to control me, the ones who still use me, like Hendricks.

I deserve to get revenge. Maybe Wyatt is just the person to atone for all their sins.

“Yes,” I reply. “If you ask me to share my drugs, I will gladly share with you.”

His laugh is dry this time. “Good to know.”

“I’m not one to deny anyone anything,” I snap back. I don’t mean for it to sound the way it does, but my head is in the clouds, anxiety sitting in my bones as dread eats at my stomach lining.