Find Her

  Find Her

  TESSA BAILEY

  Copyright © 2019 Tessa Bailey

  EPUB Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

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  Chapter One

  Hope Wilder pressed a hand to her stomach in an attempt to still the butterflies.

  Tonight was the night. After a full year of saving her waitressing tips, she’d purchased tickets to see Citizen. It was a huge extravagance. The money could have gone towards more practical things, like rent on the apartment she shared with her brother. Or food. But living on ramen and tap water would be worth it when she heard that first guitar lick. Besides, she was well used to going without, wasn’t she? What was another twelve months of stale noodles compared to seeing Citizen up close?

  They weren’t even inside the arena yet and electrical currents were already racing up and down her arms, so intense she couldn’t stand still.

  “Easy, Hope,” her older brother, Wyatt, rumbled, humor evident in his voice. “If you keep bouncing around like that, you’ll exhaust yourself by the time the show starts.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t help it!” Hope covered her mouth with both hands when the girls standing in front of them in line turned around at her outburst. “We’ve been listening to Citizen since we’ve been living on our own,” she continued, much quieter. “Remember the day the state finally approved you as my guardian? You were playing their album when I climbed into your truck. The songs…I don’t know, they just hold good memories for me. Hearing them live is going to bring everything full circle.” She extended her fingers up toward the night sky and wiggled them around. “I can feel it.”

  Wyatt patted Hope on the shoulder with his big paw, before shoving it back in his pocket and going back to observing the milling crowd with his typical quiet suspicion. Her brother always humored her when she spouted off with what he called her hippie speak. Wyatt was a realist while Hope had always been the dreamer of their two-person family. Even when she’d been a ward of the state and having dreams seemed pointless, she’d never been able to contain her whimsical fantasies of fate, happy endings, magic moments. Magic within people.

  Everyone was capable of making magic, they just needed to believe hard enough, right? When she’d been living in the shiny, disinfected cinderblock walls of the home, she’d almost been drained of her faith that good things were possible. And then Wyatt had shown up with the paperwork that sprung her free of that concrete prison. That day, as they’d accelerated onto the interstate with Citizen blasting at full volume, the tears had streamed down her face and she swore she’d never doubt the power of keeping the faith again.

  Nor would she doubt magic.

  After all, look where she was. Mere minutes from standing in the front row at a concert given by her favorite band. Hearing songs that had gotten Hope through the darkest, scariest moments of her twenty-one years.

  Some nights, she swore those songs had kept her alive.

  When she’d heard Citizen was coming to their little South Carolina town, an hour outside of Charleston, she couldn’t believe it. They were hugely famous and played all over the world. Amsterdam, Paris, Prague. But when tickets for tonight went on sale, best believe Hope didn’t question her luck. She’d clicked fast enough to nearly break her computer’s mouse.

  Anticipation climbed Hope’s spine when they were waved forward by security. She opened her fringed, cross-body bag and smiled brightly at the guard, inviting him to inspect the contents of her bag with a flashlight. Finally, he smiled back and sent Hope on her way and she squealed, hooking her arm through Wyatt’s to guide him toward the general admission, standing section in front of the stage. Also known as The Pit.

  “Remember,” Wyatt shouted, as they entered the area and the opening band’s set surrounded them in noise. “Stay close to me, in case people start pushing.”

  Hope forced a solemn expression and carved a crisscross over her heart. “Promise.”

  Wyatt grunted, his furrowed brow proclaiming his skepticism.

  They wove through the crowded general admission area, Hope’s brother using his size and general grumpiness to create a pathway. As they passed through the groups of college students, Hope noted they were the only ones without beers in hand and nudged Wyatt in the ribs. “Do you want to go get a drink? Citizen probably won’t come on for a while.”

  He hesitated, one hand stroking down his beard. “Nah, I’m good.”

  “Go, brother bear.” Hope smiled up at him. “I promise not to be crushed by a mosh pit in your absence.”

  “Not funny,” he grumbled, before poking the air in front of her face with a finger. “Stay right here, Hope. I mean it.”

  She nodded and pushed him back toward the general admission exit. As soon as Wyatt was out of sight, she turned to face the stage, squared her shoulders and let out a shaky breath. It was time to admit why her stomach continued to flip every five seconds.

  Johnny Scott.

  Citizen’s lead singer would be on that very stage tonight—right in front of her. That voice that had growled the most beautiful words in her headphones would be coming from a place she could see and almost touch.

  It wasn’t that she had a crush on world-famous Johnny Scott. No, that wasn’t quite it.

  All the girls who’d come tonight were probably a little bit in love with Johnny. Who wouldn’t be? His lyrics haunted, his eyes spoke of complicated, untapped depths, his voice was pure seduction of the senses.

  So yes, there was no denying he was an insanely gorgeous man. But Hope’s infatuation with him was purely about the music. Sometimes late at night, she popped in her headphones and closed her eyes really tight, letting Citizen’s lyrics spin entire worlds in her head, with Johnny’s voice as the conductor. It was well known that Johnny wrote all the songs himself and Hope could feel triumphs, disasters and honesty in every breath, every note. They were masterpieces—and she couldn’t wait to be in the presence of that genius tonight.

  Hope swayed to the ballad being sung by the opening band’s female lead singer, surprised when they ended so soon and roadies dressed in black rushed out to change the equipment. The crowd swelled around Hope, carrying her forward as they pushed toward the stage, anticipating Citizen’s arrival. Energy snapped and crackled in the air, excitement fluttering in the pulse points at her wrists and neck. This was it.

  When the lights went out and the crowd screamed, Hope registered vaguely that Wyatt wasn’t back yet with his beer, but oh God, then she couldn’t think at all, because the two-story screen hanging in the background of the stage flickered with white and red graffiti and the audience roared, smoke emerging from unseen sources as the band took the stage.

  Four spotlights came on at once, highlighting the four members of Citizen—

  And as Hope’s eyes landed on Johnny Scott for the first time, her body was attacked by a hot, full-body shiver.

  “Oh my,” she whispered, the words swallowed up by the crowd’s deafening cheers.

  On the screen of her computer or on the pages of magazines, Citizen’s lead singer was breathtaking. In person, he was…a god. He didn’t smile or acknowledge the crowd as he picked up his white elec
tric guitar, slinging it around his neck, testing the pedal. Shadows highlighted his prominent cheekbones and furrowed brows. A lock of black hair fell into his eyes, but he flicked his head to shoo it away.

  Hope wasn’t prepared for the sight of his hand, so huge and long-fingered as it tickled the strings of his guitar. She sucked in a breath when her nipples turned hard beneath the thin material of her dress, goosebumps breaking out on every inch of her skin.

  What is happening to me?

  Her reaction to Johnny Scott was unexpected to say the least.

  She’d expected to be in awe.

  But she’d never expected her thighs to become pliant. Or her stomach to dip and shudder so intensely, she had to press the heel of her hand there, which only made the strange sensation inside of her worse. This wasn’t hero worship. This was attraction in the basest sense. Was everyone around her feeling it, too?

  It took an effort to tear her eyes from Johnny, but she did it in order to look around. No one seemed frozen to the spot like her. They were laughing and trying to guess which song Citizen would play first. Meanwhile, invisible hands ghosted over her body, coaxing parts of her to life that had never been touched by hands, save her own.

  The first song took flight, pumping like a jet engine, Johnny’s voice melting in the air like butter on a pan, and Hope felt it go straight through her body. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, the subtle way he rocked side to side, eyes closed while he released velvet words into the microphone. All the while, Hope had never felt more exposed, more naked. More aware of her flesh, her breaths, her fingertips. They skimmed up the fronts of her thighs—

  And Johnny Scott’s eyes popped open, landing squarely on Hope, almost as if she’d called his name out loud. As if he was confused. He stumbled over one of the lyrics and in the midst of the crowd’s curious murmurings, his sculpted, male hand fell away from the guitar strings, the song fading out into a discombobulated cluster of bad notes.

  Hope’s breath rasped in her ears, her heart rapping against her ribcage.

  Johnny stared back.

  What is this? Am I dreaming?

  Without moving her head to confirm, she could feel everyone nearby in the crowd turn to look at her, their speculation causing prickles to climb her spine. She couldn’t really blame them. The lead singer of the world’s most famous rock band had literally stopped mid-song to stare at her. Her. Hope Wilder. And maybe it was the insanity of the moment, but…she couldn’t tear her gaze from him either. Her heart fluttered and danced, insisting she get closer. Needing to get closer to the source of its excitement.

  “Johnny.”

  His voice being shouted by the drummer jerked Johnny’s head up and he visibly shook himself, rocking back on his heels before taking a deep breath and starting the song over again. When it ended, Johnny walked the perimeter of the stage, coming so close to Hope she thought she might hyperventilate. She watched as the lead singer crouched down and whispered something to one of the security guards, before straightening, giving Hope a searching look and retrieving his guitar once more.

  The security guard signaled Hope forward, producing a laminated badge from his blazer pocket and handing it to her.

  “Mister Scott would like to see you backstage after the show.”

  “What? But…really? I’m not sure I should—”

  The guard was already returning to his post.

  “Hey, sorry I was gone so long. The lines were crazy,” Wyatt said, coming to a stop beside her, plastic beer cup in hand. “Did I miss anything?”

  Chapter Two

  The girl. The girl.

  Where the hell was the girl?

  Johnny Scott paced the small green room backstage, swiping at the lingering sweat on his brow. The encore had only ended two minutes ago, so being this impatient was irrational, but nothing about tonight had been remotely rational. Not in the least.

  At twenty-nine, he’d been touring with Citizen for five years, almost nonstop. He’d never, not once, fucked up a song. Even now, he couldn’t really explain what tugged at his brain. One minute, he’d been giving himself a mental pep talk. You can get through this show, dammit. Give these people what they paid for. But just as he’d geared up for the second verse of “Overdrive,” his blood had hummed with awareness.

  Beautiful. God, she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

  In his line of work, it wasn’t unusual to spy an attractive woman in the front row, but they never inspired anything in him but a passing notice. They were fans. At some point, they’d all started to look the same to Johnny. Faces in an endless, nonstop sea of faces. Why was tonight’s girl different?

  Johnny stripped off his sweaty shirt and tossed it aside, leaning back against the wall of the green room and closing his eyes, picturing her, the girl who looked like she should be wearing a crown of flowers on her head. Big, soulful eyes. Untamed white-blonde hair. She’d been so still in the chaos of the crowd—and for the first time in a long time, the chaos inside him had gone still, too. Like she’d commanded it in a whisper only he could hear.

  With a hard swallow, Johnny pushed off the wall and opened the door, scanning the bustling backstage area. He’d asked the security guard to escort the girl back to his private dressing room, but what if she’d left, instead?

  Crazy as it sounded, Johnny knew he would leave the venue and go find her.

  There was intuition turning over and over in his gut, telling him he would regret it forever if he didn’t find the girl from the crowd. Every time he’d looked down at her during the show, his thoughts had felt clearer, his heartbeat truer. In other words, the exact opposite of how he’d been feeling for…years. Where was she?

  Johnny strode out of the dressing room shirtless, prepared to go search the streets of nowhere, South Carolina until he found her. Was it possible the man she’d been with had prevented her from coming to meet Johnny? The guy hadn’t touched her once during the show, and despite their massive size difference, he’d clocked a resemblance. They were brother and sister, he’d decided. Honestly, Johnny’s ability to finish the show had depended on them being related and not boyfriend and girlfriend.

  Even the possibility of her being taken made his throat hurt like a son of a bitch—

  There she was.

  Johnny slowed from a fast clip to a stop, watching her through the parted sea of backstage crews and managers and press. His stomach knitted up tight and he wet his lips on reflex as their eyes met across the room. Fuck. She was a flower peeking up out of scorched earth, out of place among the wolves backstage. Johnny cut through the bodies, needing to reach her, bring her somewhere safe, where they could be alone.

  He just needed to get her alone.

  When Johnny and the girl were only a foot apart, he managed to take his attention off her pretty face long enough to notice her knuckles were white on the strap of her bag. The scent of fresh rain and wind hit him and his voice was hoarse when he said, “Please don’t be nervous.”

  A beat passed and then she breathed a laugh. “Well, since you asked nicely…”

  Johnny’s lips twitched and he stepped closer. “What’s your name?”

  “Hope.” Seeming at a loss for what to do next, she finally put out her hand for a handshake, though there was barely enough room between them to fit her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I cry every time I hear ‘Undertow.’” She closed her eyes and gave a quick headshake. “I meant to play that a lot cooler.”

  “‘Undertow’?” Johnny rasped, his pulse speeding. This girl couldn’t be real. “That’s from our first EP. It didn’t even make it to a studio album.”

  “I know.” She pressed her lips together, her eyes—sky blue, he saw now—searching his face. “But it’s the best one. No offense to your other songs.”

  He finally took her hand and nirvana shot up his arm. “It’s my favorite, too.”

  “Why don’t you ever play it?”

  “Too personal.” When her gaze remained
level with quiet understanding, he battled the insane urge to press his face to her neck, breathe her in. “I love people singing my songs, but I don’t like sharing that one. Do you think I’m selfish?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Maybe just human.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe?”

  “Let me check,” she murmured, reaching up with her fingertips to trace his cheekbone and making his eyelids grow heavy. “There you are. Definitely human.”

  Johnny pushed closer, bringing their foreheads together. “Hope.” With their shallow breaths clashing between them, she seemed as shocked as Johnny that this was happening. That he could see someone in a crowd and immediately have her become vital to his next moment, his next breath. “I want to be alone with you.”

  She nodded. “You noticed everyone is staring, too?”

  With a frown, Johnny scanned the immediate area to find at least fifty people in headsets or stage equipment in their hands, openly ogling him and Hope. “I guess I’ve just gotten used to it,” he said, a foreign possessiveness rifling through his chest. Following instinct, he took a protective step toward Hope and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I don’t…I don’t like them looking at you, though.” He guided her toward the dressing room. “Come on.”

  A moment later, Johnny closed the door of the small room, and as soon as the sound cut out and they were alone, the atmosphere thickened along with his hunger. He couldn’t deny his growing need to get closer to Hope where she stood in her loose, white dress, her moonbeam hair falling around her shoulders, the ends curling at the swell of her tits. God, he needed. To touch her, absorb the goodness rolling off her in waves. They met in the middle of the room and he swooped down with his mouth, capturing her soft, sweet one and groaning into the most urgent kiss of his life. Urgent. God yeah. Get enough of her taste? Not in this lifetime or the next hundred. Their mouths opened, her tongue hesitantly returning his strokes, her body vibrating against his, thighs restless, trembling palms settling on his bare chest. That simple touch had his cock reacting like a lever had been pulled, hoisting in his jeans, his zipper biting into that hard, swollen flesh.