The Stage (Phoenix Rising #1) (9 page)

“Not at all. You two deserve each other.”

“We do?” he chuckles. The sound of his laugh makes me so mad I see flashes of color coming out of my eyes.

“Please, Kolton. Don’t tease me. I mean, here I am, like a kept woman in your house, trying to figure out what you’re doing,” I say, my lungs unable to keep up with my voice.

“What I’m doing? I’m helping you take care of your sister so you can compete.”

“Is that why you’re here in the middle of the night?
Helping me compete
?”

“When are you going to learn to trust me, Mia?” he asks, leaning toward me, grasping my chin and running his thumb along my lips. It feels so good, but so, so wrong—like he thinks touching me solves all his problems.

“Don’t,” I say, pulling away from him. “You can’t touch me unless I give you permission.” His eyes sparkle in the dim light and it makes my heart pound and my lip twitch.

“I was just flirting with her to help you,” he says.

“Sure you were.” I look away from him. I don’t want to hear it.

“Look around. I’m taking care of you, of your sister. And what you saw between me and that fake bitch is called show business, Mia. We had to make up for how serious you and Kenny were during the shoot.”

“Why?”

“Aside from your voice, you were about as exciting as watching paint dry. This round, not every pair is featured on the show. I wanted to give them something to work with.”

“Oh,” I say. I was so tense, jealous, serious. I make a mental note: I need to play to the cameras more next time.

“I didn’t come to fight with you,” he says. “Tomorrow is a big day,” as he motions toward the pillow. “You should lie down.” I stay sitting up—a rage of conflict. Is he good? Is he bad?

What am I thinking? He’s bad. Definitely bad.

His hand moves up slowly, testing the touch-waters. He pauses before making skin-to-skin contact with my cheek. His eyebrow raise asks, “Do I have your permission?” He’s learning. I nod then close my eyes as he gently moves just the tip of his finger up to move the hair off my face behind my ear. I hear him kick off his shoes and he moves up to the other side of the bed beside me.

“Is this okay? I won’t touch you,” he says. “Can I be with you for—just until you fall asleep?” he asks, as he lies down behind me so we’re almost touching—him on top of the covers, me under them. Finally, I lie back down. I’m stiff, untrusting. “Close your eyes,” he says like an order. So I do.

He breathes me in like he’s scenting me again and hums a familiar tune in my ear. I feel a familiar comfort come over me as I start to snuggle up against his chest; comfort I haven’t felt since before the fire. I start to relax my muscles, one by one. He’s not trying to seduce me. He wants to help me feel safe, and it’s working.

No one has held me like this since…

Yeah. It’s been since my mom was alive. It hurts—aches in my chest. But this, it helps in a small way. I start to feel my body soften and my breathing slow as he puts his hand on the curve of my hip. Everything starts to change, though, as his hand moves to rest on my stomach.

My eyes dart open and then his thumb brushes the underside of my breast. It’s immediate, this clenching ache between my thighs. I buck backward, inadvertently into his hips and find that he’s just as excited as I am. I jolt away from him, sitting up like his parts can bite.

That slight touch from him and I’m already breathing with my mouth open. That’s when he chuckles again, low and deep in his throat and moves toward me.

“You promised, Kolton!” I accuse. “Please, leave!”

“I’m sorry, that was an accident,” he claims innocently, as he rises to an elbow so he’s looking up at me.

“Please. Just go,” I say, turning away from him, feeling my face heat up in the dark of embarrassment. “It’s not right. The balance of power is completely off here and you know it.” I drop down into my pillow.

“Don’t hide your face from me,” he orders, but I don’t obey.

After a few seconds, he takes a deep breath and speaks. “I laughed because you’re just so different, so good. Innocent. I like that about you. Most girls would have—well—”

“You like that about me?” I ask, my words coming out like a whine. But, yeah, I felt it. He
did
like that.

“Yes, I’ve never met someone who—you treat me like a regular person. You’re mad at me. No one ever—” he says, as if he can’t figure out how to say that most women are fake with him. As I think about it, I turn toward him and lie on my back. “But, I’m sorry.”

“Still, you should go. Or I’m leaving.”

“First of all,” he says. “I came because I’ve never written a song for someone. And I did, and you didn’t say anything.”

“I couldn’t. Nothing I could have said would have been—I don’t know—right, I guess.”

“Do you really want to do this?” he asks. I’m having trouble following where our conversation is jumping.

“I just want to sing, to take care of my sister. That’s all.”

“Tomorrow, when you sing, you can go home, live a normal life, or you can stay here. But staying means something. It means that you’re ready for this lifestyle, that you can handle it.” His voice is like a fog light on the shore for me, who is lost in the darkened seas.

“I’ve handled more than this—life and death kind of stuff. This is nothing.”

“You know you’re going to win tomorrow.” He sounds angry with me. “Kenny doesn’t stand a chance. Don’t pretend I have a real choice between you two.”

“I don’t want to win like that.”

“I know you don’t; the producers paired you,” he says, breathing out in a huff.

“You think I should give up then? Go home?”

“Your life will never be the same,” he says. “Not with how talented you are. Yeah, there’s good stuff like money and all that crap, but it’s a trade-off for your freedoms. Simple things you do every day like going to the store, walking down the street, hanging out and having a barbecue at the park. How you spend your time—everything you do belongs to your fans. Everything about your life becomes fair game. They lie about you to sell magazines. They follow you around taking pictures. Nothing, and I mean
nothing
, is private. You can’t really trust the people in your life unless you pay them. It’s empty; just fucking empty. Is that what you want?”

“I want to sing, Kolton,” I say, and he grunts, running his hands through his hair. “I don’t care about the rest of that.” Somehow I feel like what I do tomorrow means more than just choosing to continue in the competition. For him it means choosing his lifestyle—maybe even taking a step toward choosing
him.

“I just want you to know what you’re getting yourself into, to have all the information before you decide.” And the truth in his voice is achingly apparent. I don’t have to want to believe him. I just do.

“This is what I want,” I tell him, rolling over and looking him in the eyes in the near dark room. He leans toward me. My heart is racing. He smells so good and feels so good next to me. His touch, as he runs his hand along my arm and up to my cheek, makes my common sense expire.

“Tell me
why
you want to sing,” he whispers.

“Because singing is the only time I still feel my parents. I can hear my dad telling me about the meter, teaching me to play guitar on his old Taylor. I can feel my mom coaching my voice—teaching me how to weave it around a note. When I’m on stage, I feel the audience responding to my singing, like my voice is food to their souls, and their happiness makes my life—it makes my life
worth
something.”

“Holy shit,” he says, dumbfounded.

“Did I say something wrong?” I ask, feeling foolish.

“The opposite, actually.” He’s emotional, happy even. “Singing for me is about rising up the chart. Fans. Money. It’s never been about family values or love.”

“I feel the people reacting. Like, did you know that music played under water produces a different effect for each note?”

“I didn’t.”

“I feel that when I’m up there. The music has a feeling; the people do, too. I love it. It’s the only time I don’t feel alone.”

“God, I want to help you feel that for as long as possible, Mia. I want to feel it with you,” he says, taking my hand, making my chest fill with warmth and heat climb up my cheeks, staining them red.

“Why are you helping me?” I ask.

“You. Are. Special.” I have to know, so I blurt it before I have a chance to decide.

“I am, or just my voice?”

He swallows hard and moves his hand from my face down to my arm as he strokes feather light up and down. “You need to rest,” he says, moving down from his elbow to help me spoon with him again. He’s ignored my question. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked it anyway. But then he starts to sing, a fluttering love song. It’s my song.

You can pull back the layers

I can show you what I’ve never known

You can see what’s underneath

This is what I’ve never shown

He alternates between humming and singing softly. His voice is perfect, his pitch, the earthiness of it. It’s like the combination of the elements: light, earth, fire, water. My eyes flutter. They feel heavy and my heart beat drums in my ear.

She was born in fire

She makes me lighter

She was born in fire

She takes me higher

I’ve never felt so cared for, so calm since my mom was alive. I know all of this was meant to help me make the right choice about the future—to show me he’s here for me.

I see how he always gets what he wants. He’s very persuasive, but all I’ll let him control is my voice—not me. He’s like playing with fire, and I don’t want to get burned.

*     *     *

The alarm on my phone starts to chime and I hit the universal button to make it snooze. But then I remember Kolton. I don’t feel him, so I turn over. He’s not here. Was it all a dream?

I push the covers off and notice a slight dent in the pillow next to mine. Moving over to the chair in the corner of the room, I find my ear buds poking out of the crease between the cushions. It wasn’t a dream. He’d taken them out and sat down in the chair. He came to see me last night. He held me and sang to me.

He wanted to know what I thought about the song he wrote me, which makes him seem kind of vulnerable. Human, rather than a persona. He seemed hurt that I hadn’t thanked him for it. I actually
haven’t
thanked him yet. I shake my head and walk into the bathroom to brush my teeth.

With the toothbrush in my mouth, I grab the phone he gave me and type out:

Kolton Royce Private

6:15 AM

Thank you Kole. The song you wrote makes me feel like I can be reborn. I can have a new life.

I purposely called him Kole. After all he’s done for me, I can give him that. It’s what he wants, and it seems important to him.

6:30 AM

The life you’ll have is the life you choose.

6:32 AM

But I’ve already chosen.

There’s no turning back for me. Now to start my day. Today is the challenge, and I need to be as ready as possible.

Challenge Round

W
aiting is the hardest part. I’ve got the mic in my hand and I’m pacing for the cameras pointed on me at stage left. The crowd is amped up as Chuck Faraday says, “Next, from Team Kolton, we have Kenny Jones going against Mia Phoenix. Here is a little about their journey.”

“Next line,” says a producer.

“Let’s see if these two are ready for the challenge. Singing Justin Bieber’s “As Long As You Love Me”, welcome Kenny and Mia,” he announces and the doors open. I walk out and up the stairs the same time as Kenny does. I feel the warmth of the lights, the crowd. The music starts, and Kenny goes first, only he’s started too high again.

On my turn, I take the breath that Rania Steele told me to so I don’t come in too soon. I make sure to emphasize the third “love.”

After, Kenny has trouble making it into the falsetto from that key. I circle him, stick out my hip, and sing over my shoulder. I feel it—the audience, the feeling that makes it worth singing at all. I look at the coaches, at Kolton, and know he feels it, too. He looks proud. His eyes are sparkling at me, through me, like we’re somehow connected through shared feelings.