Page 66 of A Tragic Melody

“Only when they feel like this.”

“Like being high?”

I pause for a moment, considering her question. She has a point. The last few shows have left me feeling a sort of high. The rush of not knowing what song she is going to ask me to play, and then getting to play it flawlessly, makes me feel really good.

“You hadn’t thought about it like that, had you?” she asks with another laugh. “Did I just blow your mind?”

“Always have,” I say softly.

“Careful, Wyatt, or I’ll start to think you’re flirting with me.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” I chuckle. “That sounds like a death wish.”

“Does it?” She giggles, pressing her hand against my shoulder.

“But what a way to go.”

Her eyes light up, much like they did when I made her come that night. My cock throbs in my pants, and I try to remind myself she is off limits.

“I took ecstasy,” she whispers, dropping her hand from my shoulder. “I…don’t know why.”

“To save my life, apparently,” I say, taking a step back and walking to the guitar rack.

Once again, Tuesday saves my life by doing something that will keep me from sinking my cock into her. Only this time, I feel far less grateful.

It’s clear to see when the drugs kick in—maybe not to the crowd, but I notice it. Mostly because I know the signs and I’m to the side of her.

She taps her foot more than normal. I haven’t assumed she’s been sober every night. I knew she did coke a few times. Watched her down drinks before set, too, but nothing like this.

Sweat covers her forehead, and at some point, she slides off the corset revealing a tiny bra.

It nearly makes me miss a beat when I watch her flat stomach and cleavage get revealed. I shouldn’t be lusting after her on stage to begin with, but less so when she is high on ecstasy.

She looks at me far less than normal, and I know why, but it still drives me insane. We’ve been playing it cool on stage. Only time I talk is when she tells me which song of mine she is having us play. That’s the only time we even openly look at each other, but I’ve caught her giving me side glances more often during our sets. And I’ve been doing the same.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, it’s just me side-eyeing her.

“It’s that time in the night when I let Wyatt get some glory,” Tuesday says into the mic. Her words come out in a rush. It sounds like excitement, but I know the real reason, and I hate it. “We are going to play one of his songs.”

For the first time, she glances my way.

“Well, Black Cat’s songs,” I clarify.

“Yeah, but we all know who wrote them.” She laughs, looking at me. Her words hang in the air for a moment, and the realization she said that out loud hits.

“Well at least the guitar parts,” I say quickly. She wasn’t wrong, but it’s not something that should be said out loud, not like this. My comment will cover her, but it might do some damage for me if I ever try to take full credit.

“Yeah.” She nods, turning back to the crowd. “And tonight we are playing Innate.”

The drum beat starts, and my fingers begin to move over the strings before my brain even realizes what song she just said.

“We were too loud at midnight,” Tuesday sings as my mouth goes dry.

She probably assumes it’s about friends or an ex-girlfriend, but it’s about my family. I wrote it vague for a reason, but as I play it now, it feels like I’m being stabbed in the chest as she sings on, lines written for the family I had but now no longer exist.

Tears sting my eyes, but I push them back, staring at the girl who is going to ruin me and probably lead me down the path to join them.

“But love doesn’t warn you when it’ll end, it just leaves a mark you’ll never forget.” She sings the end of the bridge launching into the final chorus.