He thrust in and out at a relentless, feral pace, like he was claiming me as his own. I was already so close, but he shifted angles to move deeper, making me cry out and completely lose control. I clenched around him as the orgasm ripped through me, but he didn’t let up, pounding harder and faster, making the ripples of pleasure continue on and on. He gripped me tighter and moaned my name into my hair and then joined me in oblivion.

For a few minutes, we could only hang on to each other, hot and wet and shaking from the aftermath of our frenzy. When we could move again, he kissed me tenderly, stroking my cheek with his thumb.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

I’d missed him too, so much. I sighed and pressed my forehead against his. “I don’t want to go back out there.”

“I know. But we have to.”

Once we left this room, we’d have to turn off our feelings for each other again, put on our stage personalities and continue on like nothing had happened tonight. People were probably already wondering where we were, and our next performance was the most important one so far. As much as I wanted to stay with him, the charade had to continue.

I slid to the floor, and in silence, we fixed our clothes. We had another song to perform.

When I returned backstage, our gear had already been set up on the back of the revolving stage while Brazen played Maroon 5’s “Wake Up Call” for the audience. One of the roadies rushed over to me with a horrified look on his face. “Maddie, there’s an issue with your guitar.”

I blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

He started to speak but then shook his head and gestured for me to follow him. There, inside my guitar case, was my beautiful sea foam green Fender, the one I’d bought with my own money when I went to college, the one I’d lovingly strummed every night in my room, the one I’d used for each performance on The Sound. It was the one instrument that was solely mine, and I knew every dent and chip on it. Only now its neck was snapped, too.

My mouth hung open, tears pricking my eyes, and I carefully lifted my guitar out of the case. The head dangled back, the wood completely splintered, held on only by the strings still attached. It was my baby, and now it was broken. Unplayable. Dead.

“It was like this when I opened the case, I swear,” the roadie said, his words hushed. He knew how bad this was. “The other guys can vouch for me.”