Fight, Jamiee - Ellie R. Hunter Page 0,1

bathing us in darkness. The vibrations from the music are still coursing through my body, like my nerves are on fire. It’s always like this after playing for a crowd of this size.

Being nominated for six awards, there was no doubt we were going to be asked to perform for the show. Our new album has rocketed up the charts, taking our success to a whole different level. Life’s pretty perfect right now, apart from one aspect—Jamiee fucking Coleman. Over the last four months, she’s ignored my calls. I’d heard through Alice, who heard it from Damon, that Jamiee was going to be here tonight with that prick, Deacon Lockheart.

“Whoo! This shit never gets old,” Baz roars as we’re guided from the stage to the greenroom to freshen up before we’re led to our table for the remainder of the awards show.

Locking myself in the small bathroom as soon as we’re in our room, I pull my tee over my head and let it fall to the floor. Turning the faucet on, I splash cold water over my face and down my neck. It’s fucking hot on stage, and I can still feel the blaring lights heating my skin.

My cheeks are sallow. My eyes are bloodshot—the dark, heavy bags underneath making them look worse. It doesn’t matter how many times I freshen up with ice-cold water, I still look like shit, and tonight, I want to be on my game. I’ll find a way to get Jamiee alone, and then I can begin to make everything right with her.

Turning off the water, River bangs on the door, yelling for me to hurry my ass up.

I glance one last time in the mirror, sweeping my hand through my hair. It doesn’t matter what the fuck I look like. I’ve known Jamiee nearly all her life, and I know she loves me, no matter how I look.

Throwing the door open, River pushes by me and locks himself inside. Damon has already left, and Baz is chatting up the redhead who caught his eye before we went on stage. No one pays attention to me as I quickly change out of my clothes, refraining from helping myself to the liquor once I’m ready to go.

We’re spoiled for choice, as usual, with everything from whiskey, vodka, tequila, to beers.

River shoots out of the bathroom, ready to go, looking fresh and dressed in a clean suit. He nudges Baz as he passes, heading my way as I lean against the wall by the door.

“You might want to dispose of the powder around your nose before we leave,” I advise Baz. “Cameras are everywhere tonight.”

“For fuck’s sake, Baz, what’s wrong with you? Can’t you go one night without the shit anymore?” River admonishes him.

Baz snorts, hooking his arm around his hanger-on.

“I’m fine. Besides, tonight’s our fucking night, and Fiona and me intend to celebrate—”

“My name’s Violet,” the girl protests.

“Huh? You look like a Fiona to me,” Baz mumbles, not really giving a shit.

“Whatever. Let’s go,” I growl, opening the door.

Waiting on us, our escort jumps up from sitting on the floor out in the corridor, mumbling an apology.

River walks up beside me while Baz lags behind with the redhead as we’re led to our table. I stand by my chair, not quite ready to take my seat as I scope out the numerous tables.

I don’t see Jamiee, but I do see Lockheart, and the urge to break his nose overwhelms me.

“Sit next to me, Freddie.”

I hear Alice before she’s tugging on my hand, but I can’t focus on anything but him. The guy who swooped in and took the girl of my dreams from under me because I was too much of a pussy to tell her how I really felt.

Large hands land on my shoulders, pushing me down onto the nearest chair, and Alice’s face becomes the only one I see. It’s a fuckload better than Lockheart’s.

“She isn’t here,” she whispers and leans back, allowing Damon’s arm to wrap around her shoulders.

“He’s here, so where is she?” I whisper back.

Passing me a beer, Alice shrugs. Tipping the bottle to my lips, I swig the cold beverage, but it does nothing to stop me from wondering where she is. The only times I’ve seen her in the last couple of years, she’s been attached to Lockheart’s hip.

What does she see in him? He’s arrogant, selfish, and only looks out for himself. He doesn’t possess the qualities to take care of her.

“Seriously, man, pretend he’s not here.