“Music pulls me out of my head and puts me back in the universe. On stage I don’t have to be Eden. I can be movement. Be music. It’s the only time I’m perfectly in the moment and I’m so addicted to it. It’s why I don’t mind playing shows at 6am or for twenty people, because the truth is, I’d do it for free.”

She was the first person to articulate exactly how he felt about football—how the movement, the moment, was better than money. Better than anything else. When he read that quote, he knew he needed to meet her.

On stage, Eden took one last bow before slipping behind a curtain and out of sight. The house lights went blue, and generic music began to play. The crowd surged away from the dance floor to the bar, the smokers’ area and the bathrooms. Willow watched as a familiar-looking Asian guy went on stage and collected the discarded t-shirts.

Derek cleared his throat. “So, what’s the plan, Chief? You gonna go backstage?”

“Nah, the Asian guy always stops me.”

“That was a joke. Please tell me you haven’t tried that?”

Willow looked away.

“Jesus, you have… How many times?”

“I dunno, sometimes you get away with it.”

Derek gave him a look that said he hoped Willow would die. Tough luck. People had been trying his whole life and no one had succeeded yet. Glancing at the stage, he thought the Asian guy looked to be in a better mood than usual. “Maybe I’ll try again.”

“I hope you do. I could use a fucking laugh.”

Willow weighed his chances. The worst the roadie could do was say no and amusing Derek was part of the master plan. He moved toward the stage. The Asian guy was roping up an extension cord, he had a shock of purple hair and stretchers in both ears. Willow caught his eye. “Hey, mate.”

The guy straightened. “What?”

“Is there any chance I could duck back there and meet Bunny Descent?”

“No.”

At least he didn’t mince words. Willow flashed his best smile. “I get this is your job, but I’m a huge fan and I just want to say ‘hey.’”

“We all want lots of things. Go back to your mate.”

Turning, Willow saw Derek was grinning from ear to ear. “Fuckhead.”

“Sorry?”

“Not you, mate,” he told the roadie. “Okay, I’ll get out of here. But I’ll be back. I’m not giving up.”

The guy waved an absent hand. “Sure thing.”

Willow returned to Derek. “No dice.”

“Oh, really? That incredibly well thought-out plan didn’t work?”

“Yup. Time for you to get me into the green room, buddy boy.”

Derek looked at the ceiling and groaned. “I fucking knew it. I’m out of here.”

Willow grabbed his arm. “What about Francis Buchanan?”

“Who?”