When everything gets to be too much—when that insatiable beast inside each one of us demands to be fed—we have no choice but to drop everything and listen to it. Cater to its demands until we’ve successfully sweated it out. Purged what ails us in messy scrawls and broken melodies, until we’re left bleary-eyed and chest-ravaged.

It’s the only way to quiet the voices. Our demons.

Even if the peace never lasts for long.

So maybe it’s a sign of maturity, or maybe I’m just bored, but I’m starting to get a little tired of only playing for ghosts.

From behind my set, I can’t resist dragging my line of sight to the right side of the stage. To the corner of the bar—

Only to crash into a set of dark, piercing eyes.

My finger twitches and the stick in my hand skips a beat, mimicking that stupid slab of muscle in my chest. I can’t help the glare that narrows my eyes as I hone in on the object of my shit mood.

I ignore the way his thick, tawny eyebrows arch, and slam on my bass drum a little harder than the outro calls for. Shawn shoots me a look and I roll my shoulders. Just a cramp. It’s nothing.

Nothing.

Mason pauses to take a swig of water and I tap my foot anxiously, desperately trying to ignore the ants crawling up my neck from the heavy gaze drilling into the side of my face.

Why is he still staring?

Why was he ever staring?

But when my eyes make me their bitch and seek his out once more, I’m sore to discover the sensation was all in my head this time. No, not sore. Peeved.

Grimacing, I watch as some tall redhead slings her arm around him. I take in his profile as Mason professes his usual spiel to the audience, revving them up. With the glare of spotlights on us, Will’s a mere shadow of the guy who halted me in my tracks earlier with those deep blue eyes and gold-spun hair.

I watch as his bow-shaped mouth ticks up as he leans toward the girl. Obscured in shadow, his skin looks more moonbeam than sunlight. Softer. If it weren’t for the broadness of his back and the way the sleeves of his threadbare band tee strain his arms, it would be easy to trick myself into forgetting the cords of muscle I got a glimpse of earlier. The strength I watched and felt and held my breath for when he passed me in the bathroom.