Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,114

the charts,” Rhyson says, his smile wide and familiar. “How’s it feel, man?”

“Surreal,” I say into the mic. “I can’t even believe it.” “Well, believe it,” he says. “You deserve it.”

And I don’t have to wonder if he thinks about that day, about those dreams. It’s sketched on his face. The pride in his eyes and the excitement that practically vibrates off him. It isn’t just my album. It’s his label, something we’re building together.

“Anything to say before you perform for us?”

“Just thanks to everyone for all the support.” I look out over the crowd, straining to pick faces out of the clumps of people. I shield my eyes with one hand from the glare of the lights. “My mom’s here somewhere.”

“Over here, baby!” she screams from the left corner, making everyone laugh.

“You believed in me against every odd, Ma.” I struggle to keep a smile in place, swallowing the emotion thickening in my throat. “There’s no telling where I’d be if it weren’t for you and every sacrifice you made so I could be here today.”

“I love you,” she yells back.

“Love you, too, Ma.” I scan the room, packed but not so big it doesn’t feel intimate. “Max and Sarah, all the engineering guys. Everyone who worked on the project, Prodigy’s first, you guys are amazing. Thank you for all your hard work. Let’s keep doing it.”

Whoops and cheers come from the corner of the room where I know a good portion of the Prodigy team are gathered.

I could leave it there, move right into the three-song set and get this over with, but I can’t. Even when we’re barely speaking, when I can hardly look at her without getting pissed off, I can’t ignore that so much of this night and of my debut album’s success, I owe to Bristol. I don’t have to scan the room or search the crowd. She’s the compass in every room. I always seem to know exactly where she is. Where she always is when I perform. Backstage left.

“And Bristol.”

I swing my head around to that spot where she usually watches from backstage. She’s standing there, all business and sex in her suit, with her phone and those lips and those breasts and those heels that would dig into my ass with a sweet sting. Hearing her name catches her off guard, and she doesn’t have time to pull that mask in place or blink away that vulnerability from her eyes. She’s waiting, unsure of what I’ll say considering how things stand.

“You take everything to another level,” I say softly into the mic, unable to look away from the promise of storm in her cloud-gray eyes. “You’re the hardest working, most committed person I know. Your passion for my work has been evident since the day we met. Tonight wouldn’t be tonight without you.”

“Thank you,” she mouths, blinking rapidly and biting her lip.

There’s no one in the room but her right now. We may as well be alone at the top of that Ferris wheel, lips seeking and hungry, trading breaths and heartbeats. The cheers, all eyes in the club on me, none of it registers. There’s a web that traps us together, silky and fine, tensile and fragile. A sticky mess I’ve never wanted to escape until now.

Maybe it’s time to let go . . .

I turn my attention back to the crowd before it gets awkward and make my smile as natural as possible. I have to shake this off. Truly this is the moment I’ve been waiting for and working for, and I’m not going to let my obstinate, misplaced feelings for Bristol ruin it.

“Where’s Qwest?” I boom into the mic.

The room explodes with wolf whistles and catcalls and suggestive remarks as Qwest swaggers onstage, one hand wrapped around a mic, the other hand wrapped around her hip. Oversized safety pins tenuously hold scraps of material together on her tight, curvy body. Very little is left to the imagination, and I bet every man in here is imagining.

Except Rhyson, of course. He’s backstage cuddled up with his wife, I’m sure.

The first hard beat of “Queen” drops, and it’s like opening the gate on a charging bull. As my first verse starts, Qwest circles me in a sensual stalk that elevates the sexual tension so high the whole audience is probably lightheaded. When I reach the chorus, she bends over in front of me and starts twerking. I can barely get the words out I’m laughing so hard, and the