Founded on Goodbye by Kat Singleton
“Fuck no,” I tell Poe, throwing the nearest thing to me (an empty water bottle) at him.
The fucker catches it easily, wagging his eyebrows at me. “Oh, just admit it, asshole. You have a thing for the dancer!” He looks over to Landon, bumping him on the shoulder. “Tell him, Land.”
Landon shrugs, biting at his lip before answering. “I mean, you do seem to really like her, Nash.”
Scrubbing at my eyes, I let out an audible groan, pissed off at them for calling me out like this. It’s been a week since I had my first real taste of Nora, and apparently, it’s fucking obvious that all I want is more. I’ve had a busy schedule on top of the tour the past week, so I haven’t seen her as much as I would like to.
It’s completely out of character for me, but I haven’t let her finish me off yet. I can’t fucking explain why, it’s not like she hasn’t tried—and tried she has. I haven’t let her go further because deep down I know shit is different with her, and I’m absolutely terrified about what happens when—if—things go further between us. I’m not strong enough to be in control of my feelings for her, if I’m even doing that now.
When I told her in that dingy dance studio that I don’t miss people, I was being completely honest. I don’t want to fucking miss anyone. I don’t want to be put in the place where another can take a bulldozer to my heart. Deep down, underneath the Nash Pierce the world sees, I’m just a broken guy who puts too much value in a relationship.
It’s part of the reason Taylor and I broke up. I was too obsessed with either her or the music, unable to balance both. My self-worth was dependent on what kind of boyfriend I was to her and what kind of music I was putting out in the world. There was no in-between for me, and it wasn’t the least bit healthy.
I’m not naïve enough to think the downfall of our relationship was completely her fault. Some of it was on me, for sure. I had trust issues a mile long, and they only got worse when we weren’t together. Which, with my life, was a lot. But trust issues and self-esteem problems be damned, it didn’t mean she had the right to fuck my best friend behind my back.
After walking in on her riding Collin’s dick like it was a damn mechanical bull, I swore I would never put my self-worth in another’s hands. And part of that promise was to never do another serious relationship at all.
Now I find myself wondering if I’ve healed enough since Taylor to be able to do a normal relationship. If I wanted to, that is.
Could I date Nora without becoming so obsessed with her that it drove us both crazy? Would my shitty self-esteem and trust issues get in the way?
I’d love to say I think I’ve healed since the betrayal. But I’m not completely sure I have. Now that I’m faced with the reality that I might want to let someone else in again, I’m wondering if I even can. I’m afraid all this time I may have just been putting band aids on my wounds in the form of alcohol and sex.
I know that eventually, maybe soon even, I’ll either have to walk away from Nora or go all the way with her. I also know that either option could lead to my demise.
I’m running through the possibilities when something bounces off my head. Shaking away the thoughts, I look toward a wide-eyed Poe.
“Dreaming about Nora?” he teases, unknowingly right on the money with his assumption.
“We’re just getting to know each other,” I grumble, standing up and reaching for the ceiling of the bus. I stretch out my arms, the boxing workout from this morning leaving me sore.
Poe lets out a cackle, Landon quietly laughing next to him. I get annoyed enough to consider firing the two assholes and just finding new bandmates.
“Getting to know each other, my ass,” Poe continues. “You look at her differently, Nash.”
Rolling my eyes, I start to walk away from him. I’m about to walk off the bus altogether when my curiosity gets the best of me. “How do I look at her differently?” I ask, feeding right into the palm of his hand.
“It’s hard to explain. You just have this look when you’re truly happy. Sometimes it appears when you’re on the phone with your little brother, sometimes in the midst of a songwriting session, and often when the crowd sings your song back to you. You look at her the same way. When you look at her, you look happy.”
I stand there dumbfounded, still staring at him when a soft knock breaks my focus.
Slowly, the door opens, a mousy assistant on the other side. She has two coffees in her hand—one for me and one I ordered for Nora.
“Your coffees, sir,” she says, hesitantly looking from me to the guys and back.
It isn’t hard to miss the loud rumble of laughter coming from both Landon and Poe. “Case in point!” Landon jokes from behind me. “Nash Pierce is a simp!”
I don’t spare either of them a second glance when I rip the coffees from the girl’s hands.
“Thanks, Layla,” I say, breezing past her before those two fuckers can get any more of a rise out of me.
“It’s Lauren!” she yells behind me.
I turn around and smile, feeling a little guilty. “Thanks, Lauren.”
Weaving in and out of the parked buses, I make it to one of the stadium entrances. My eyes track the empty seats until I spot her. I find her pretty high up, her eyes glued to the crew members that are setting up for tonight. It’s looking like it might be a rain show, which requires a few extra steps for setup.
Taking advantage of the moment, I watch her, trying to see the setup through her eyes. Stage members in black shirts are scattered around the different stages. The lighting crew is behind the stage pit, a pile of members fiddling with a spotlight. I remember the first time the boys and I had our first stadium concert. We were all amazed at the amount of work it took to get our stage set. Years later, my stage setup and production are way more complicated, meaning a lot more people are involved.
When my eyes find Nora again, I find her doe-eyed gaze already on me. My feet start to make their way to her of their own accord. As I get closer to her, I find a beaming smile on her face.
“I was starting to think you forgot about me,” she says, greedily taking her coffee as I hand it to her. She grabs it so quickly that I almost drop my own. The moan that escapes her lips as she sucks on the straw makes the shit I got from my bandmates almost worth it.
I take the seat next to her. “And deal with you later with no caffeine in your veins? I’m not trying to torture the crew.”
Her hand thumps me on the arm playfully. “You don’t even know what I’m like without my coffee,” she counters, proceeding to take another slurp of her iced coffee.
Running my hand over my mouth to hide my smile, I shake my head. “That’s false. During one of our rehearsals for our solo you had mentioned how you didn’t have time to grab coffee. You were crabby the whole damn day. I was close to having my assistant fetch you a coffee just to get you to stop criticizing my dancing.”
She narrows her bright eyes. “If I remember correctly, you weren’t exactly pleasant that day either.”
Thinking back on it, I remember the massive hangover I was nursing as well as the scratches I had down my back from the woman I slept with the night before. I don’t remember her name, despite her obvious attempt to mark me as if the gashes down my back would make me want to call her the next day. (It didn’t.)
Between the hangover and the sore back from the talon marks, the last place I wanted to be was at a dance rehearsal. Nora’s out of character attitude that day didn’t help the situation. Choosing not to bring attention to the reason why I acted like a prick that particular day, I throw my arm around her.
She easily leans into the crook of my arm, the silence between us comfortable as we take in the view below us. My fingers rub absentmindedly over the fabric of her shirt.
“They’re saying it’ll probably be a rain show,” she finally says, nestling her head into the crook of my neck.
“It’s looking like it.” The weather forecast is calling for a high chance of rain starting at five and going through the night. Our openers go on at seven and by the talks of my team, it’s a good chance all of us will be playing with heavy rain.
“Do you like rain shows?” she asks, setting her coffee in the cupholder to her left.
“They’re my favorite,” I answer honestly, recalling a vivid memory from my first rain show. It was the wildest experience. There’s something about the devotion of the fans, still there to watch you perform even in the pouring rain. Every rain show since I’ve made sure to give my all and then some, letting myself get soaked from the drops just like the fans.
“I’m excited. Except I hope I don’t fall.” Her second sentence is said as an afterthought, as if it only just occurred to her that was a possibility.
“They’ll put something on the bottom of your shoes for more grip,” I assure her.
One time I put on the wrong pair of shoes that wardrobe left out for me and completely ate shit while performing. The video of me busting my ass replayed on gossip sites for weeks. Of course, they questioned if it was because I was so hammered that I couldn’t even walk without biting it. Trying to sell the best story possible, they failed to leave out the details of the pouring rain and the soaking wet stage I was performing on.
Her fingers play with the threads of my ripped jeans, the occasional brush of her fingers against my exposed skin making my dick stir. “That’s good,” she says softly.
“I’m psyched for you to have your first rain show. There’s nothing like it.”
“Oh, I bet.”
Our conversation dies down then. People are constantly trying to get my attention, always needing me for something, so the comfortable silence we can fall into means more to me than I could put into words. I’m not used to silence. In fact, I used to be under the impression that I couldn’t handle silence, not wanting to be left alone with my thoughts for too long.
With Nora, I can be left with my thoughts and have them not be dangerous.
It’s a feeling I want to chase and run from all at once.