“No, absolutely not.”
Dutch and I are standing in the hallway on one side of the gym while Finn and Zane are on the other.
I thought Dutch was dragging me with him to get in one last argument.
Assuming Dutch wouldn’t be scheming of ways to make my life miserable was my first mistake.
Letting him drag me here while Breeze watched was my second.
“I’m not getting on stage,” I hiss at him.
“You said you’d be my assistant. Twenty-four seven. That’s the deal.” His brows hunker low over his amber eyes. He’s seems extra impatient tonight. It’s weird. Dutch is always in a mood. But this feels different. It feels… volatile.
“You play on stage. The screaming fans. The bras that get thrown at you. That’s your thing,” I snap.
“Bras?” The storm in his eyes softens a bit. “Cadey, this is a high school dance. If I pick up any bras here, that’s half a felony.”
“I don’t care. I’m not going on stage.”
Dutch shoves his hands in his pockets. “We need you in our set.”
“Because the triangle is so important to the overall sound?” My voice rings with sarcasm. “I seriously doubt it.”
My gaze cuts from Dutch to the exits. I wonder how much brute strength I would need to push him off and make a mad dash for the highway.
I’d rather take my chances with the gangbangers on the street than climb on top of that crudely built platform with the decorations that are already falling off. The only way I’d even consider doing such a thing would be if I had my red hair, makeup and stage name.
“I heard your sister attends this school.” Dutch steps closer.
“How do you know that?”
“Jinx sent a picture.” He smirks. “Viola Cooper. Big brown eyes. Nice smile. Wants to be a makeup star.”
My shoulders stiffen. “Don’t even think about talking to my sister.”
“Then get your butt up there.” He juts his chin at the stage.
My stomach froths with nerves and I break out in a cold sweat. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” I moan. Even though I know. It’s because he hates me.
“You need to get over your stage fright.”
“Dutch, I really can’t.”
He leans down, meeting my gaze. “Don’t think of the crowd. Imagine it’s just you and me, hm? Beat that triangle the way you want to beat my head in with a hammer.” He pauses and seems to think about it. “But beat it to time.”
“I refuse.”
“Not an option, Brahms.” He shakes his head.
Outside, the MC is announcing the band. A cheer goes up from the freshmen.
“It’s time.” Taking my hand, Dutch drags me toward the stage.
“Can you just drop it?” I grip his shirt, twisting it for dear life. I never thought I’d be begging Dutch for anything but here I am. Practically on my knees.
“Since when did you back down from a challenge, Brahms?”
I focus on his stubborn gaze. “This is different. I haven’t played on stage as myself since I was twelve.”
This time, the hand he closes around me is patient. Slowly, Dutch rubs circles on my wrist as if to calm my racing pulse.
“Don’t look at them, Brahms.” He leads me through the door. “Look at me. Keep looking at me.” He glances back. “Because if you run, I’m going to find you and you’re not going to like what I do to you.”
My eyes narrow in distaste, but I can’t snap at him because we’re already stepping on stage.
The instruments are set up. Guitars. Drum set. Multi-colored lights. Big balloons are held back by a net canopy. And then there are the eyes.
A sea of faces sweep before me, all dressed beautifully and shrouded in shadows. I can’t see Viola but, honestly, I can’t see anything beyond my own haze of fear.
I think I’m going to throw up.
Dutch releases my hand and I make a move to run off the stage when Finn steps into my path. He’s got a bass guitar slung over his shoulder. His eyes are intent on me.
I give him a desperate look. “Finn, please.”
He shakes his head and juts a chin at the triangle.
Zane is sitting behind a set of impressive looking drums. His raven hair falls into his face and he shakes his head to toss it out of his eyes. Smirking at me, he points a drumstick in my direction.
I’m hollowed out by fear and confusion. Why are they doing this to me? Do they want to see me choke? Is this their final plan to push me out of Redwood Prep for good?
“Sit there.” Finn points to a chair that’s all the way at the back of the stage.
I race over, my heart hammering in relief and my trusty triangle tucked close to my chest.
As I get comfortable, Dutch nods at me. I hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for me to sit down. That little hint of thoughtfulness makes something shift in my chest.
I nod back and watch as he grabs his guitar from the stand and swings it over his head with effortless grace. He looks so at ease. The bastard.
My entire body’s on fire and I’m trying hard not to hyperventilate. The last time I stood in front of a crowd, I was twelve, crying, and afraid.
I squeeze my triangle tighter. This is different. You’re not behind a piano.
The self-talk helps. I start to calm down a bit. Dutch is here. So is Finn and Zane. And though they’ve been awful to me, at least I’m not alone. I’m tucked all the way at the back, safe and sound, playing an instrument that has no weight in the performance.
Just breathe, Cadence. Just breathe.
Dutch is facing the crowd. He wraps long, slender fingers around the mike. His voice booms through the auditorium as he introduces the band and I see several girls swooning. Poor things are already under his spell, which is no surprise. Dutch is tall and beautiful under the lights.
Staring at him is better than getting lost in my head. I notice his cocky smirk when he unhooks the mike. He prowls the stage while Zane starts playing a catchy drum beat. His head bobs and he unleashes another confident grin. This is his world and he owns it.
Zane stops playing.
Then he lifts his sticks and counts down.
One, two, three.
I’m so close to the drums that when Zane bangs on the cymbals, I almost tear out of my own skin. Finn comes in with a funky riff on the bass and Dutch matches it on the electric guitar beat for beat, his face tense in concentration.
I gasp in astonishment when I hear Dutch play. He’s using music like a weapon, tearing apart everything I thought I knew about him and building it all back again.
The roars get louder as the sea of freshmen grin and bounce in excitement.
I’m at the back, so all I can really see is Dutch’s profile, but it’s powerful enough to keep my attention. Sharp cheekbones. Strong jaw. Pouty lips. He rips through the guitar piece the way I pour my soul into a piano, like this might be his last night and nothing else matters but this moment.
It’s a thousand degrees on stage, but my arms sweep with goosebumps.
Dutch’s lips part, his hair flopping as he keeps his attention on the guitar. He’s got us all spell-bound, waiting.
And then…
He puts his mouth on the mike and a note trembles through the air.
The screams that pour from the crowd nearly shatter what’s left of my eardrums.
Dutch sways from side to side, giving himself totally to the song. It’s a side of him I’ve never seen before and it’s appealing as hell.
I love the rasp in his tone and the realness that he brings to his performance. It’s raw and vulnerable, even if the tempo is upbeat.
His confession the other night trips through my mind. I don’t know what I play for. It’s hard to think that he’s struggling so much when he’s so good at it.
The Kings begin their first song and the kids erupt into cheers.
I’m reminded in an instant why music is so universal. It doesn’t matter that Dutch has way more in his bank account than any of these students could dream of. It doesn’t matter that he drives a fancy car or lives in a mansion or has a famous music legend for a dad. Right now, in this moment, he’s speaking the language that everyone understands.
I bob my head to the rhythm, connecting with every line, every verse and every chord. Not because they’re perfect but because the singer isn’t giving me a choice but to come alive.
Eventually, I graduate from head-bopping to dancing in my seat. Sometimes, I even forget where I’m supposed to play the triangle.
Towards the end of the set, the band erupts into a music break. Dutch plays a complicated solo on his guitar. Finn pounds out a rhythm on the bass and Zane goes to town on the drums, getting the biggest reaction from the high schoolers.
I see Dutch gesturing to me.
My eyes nearly bug.
I keep shaking my head. No.
He juts his chin at me as if to say you’re next.
I shake my head again.
He nods again.
We do the bobble-head routine for a minute until Zane slams his sticks against the cymbals and, while the golden disks are ringing, he points to me.
I swallow hard. The crowd comes into focus and fear chews me alive.
“You’re up, Cadence!” Zane warns as he finishes out his solo.
Heart in my throat, I struggle to my feet, lift my triangle and slam the stick against it. The ring blasts over the air and Dutch immediately wraps a melody around the note so it feels like something new.
The freshmen go wild, trashing their heads and dancing.
I jump up and down in excitement.
I didn’t… pass out.
I did it!
I find Dutch’s eyes and give him a big smile. He dips his chin in approval. Sweat is running down his face and his hair’s a mess, but I’ve never seen him look more captivating.
He turns away and sings the chorus again. The guitar screams beneath his fingers. We’re gearing up for the end.
To my surprise, Dutch swivels around and gestures for me to come to him.
I wag a finger.
He tosses his head in a ‘come on’ gesture.
I walk to the front, my knees shaking.
Amber eyes sparkle at me and though Dutch’s not saying anything I can feel him asking you ready for this?
I whip my head back and forth in a desperate ’no’. Not that he cares. Dutch rakes his guitar pick over the strings and Zane pounds the drums. It’s time for the big finish.
I hit the triangle in time.
Once.
Twice.
I mimic Dutch and whip my hair back and forth.
The final blow of my triangle is met with applause and screams. Dutch plays a final chord progression before letting the note ring.
It’s over. There’s a buzz running through my entire body. I can’t believe I just did that. I got on stage and played that triangle as myself.
Me.
Cadence.
No wigs. No makeup. No stage name.
I’ve always been honest with my music, but this is my first time in years being honest with who I am when I play it.
Tonight, thanks to Dutch, I broke that mold.
Without thinking it through, I close the distance between us and throw my arms around his neck just as the net breaks and balloons come raining down above us.
