The crowd noise kicked up the second we crossed into the wings. Everyone else waiting for their turn or who’d already performed parted like the Red Sea letting us pass. No one said a word, they just watched. Suddenly, I wished I could be invisible again.

“Dare, what the hell is going on?”

I jerked my arm from his grasp, but he held tight—not biting, but tight enough that I couldn’t shake his grasp.

He walked through the door to the choir room and into the green room that usually buzzed with activity during shows. The few people in there took one look at us and rushed out, skirting past Dare’s imposing figure.

“Close the door.”

The guy in a Hamilton t-shirt yelped and slammed it closed behind him.

Dare released my arm.

I rubbed it and took a few steps away. “What the hell, Dare? Your lip is bleeding.” I reached up to brush it with my thumb. Had he gone back home? Had his dad done this? Anger riled in my chest.

He stepped away from my touch and stood still, eyes boring into mine with his fingers wrapped around the neck of my dad’s guitar.

“‘What the hell, Dare?’ That’s all you have to say after what you did out there?”

Muffled music poured into the room. Someone else was performing after me.

“What I did? What the hell did I do?”

The door behind him opened. “Is everything okay in here?” Knox popped his head in. The drum solo from the stage clanged off the walls in the claustrophobic room.

“Out.” Dare growled. “No one comes in here. Do you understand me?” His thunderous gaze snapped to mine. He hadn’t even known who was at the door. It could have been a teacher—hell, the principal—and he’d have said the same thing.

Knox didn’t say a word. The click of the door was the only sound other than the heaving breaths coming from Dare. He paced like a caged animal, still not looking away from me.

With my earlier confusion no longer clouding my gaze, I saw him. I saw the bruised knuckles holding my dad’s guitar.

I swallowed, still trying to figure out how things had gone so terribly wrong so quickly. Stepping forward, I held out my hands in front of me.

“Dare—“

“No!”

I jumped, his shout scaring me in the quiet room.

“What gave you the right?” His jaw was tight. His entire body rigid like he’d been turned to stone.

The urge to flee was strong, almost undeniable, but the rawness of his voice zapped away some of the fear.

“You went out there and sang a song about me.”

Bile rushed for my throat again. He was pissed that I’d sung a song about him? I’d sung tons of songs for him. He’d asked me to—why was he mad now? Most of my songs were about him.

“Why is that a problem?”

“You sang about me in front of everyone.” He jutted my guitar out like it was an offensive rag.