Page 195 of Broken Lines

“A friend of mine is a sound tech for the theater.” She frowns. “What wereyoudoing here, aside from taking out the trash?”

“Same story.”

She grins.

“So, what now?”

A knock on the door makes June flinch.

“Mr. Harrison!” A voice calls through. “Fifteen minutes, Mr. Harrison!”

It’s a terrible idea. Or maybe a great one.

Maybe, the only difference between either of those things is balls and some good ole fashion rock ’n roll shenanigans.

I turn back to June.

“You decent with that guitar?”

“I’m fuckingfantasticwith this guitar, thanks.”

I grin.

“Good. Want to do something profoundly stupid with me?”

“Is this about Melody?”

“Yes.”

“Then definitely.”

I walk over to the rack of Kurt’s guitars against the wall and grab the least offensively glittery one I can find.

“You ever play any gigs before?”

June rolls her eyes.

“Dude, I’ve played like four gigs a week since I was fifteen.”

I arch an impressed brow.

“Ever play the Beacon Theatre?”

“Uh, no?”

I grin.

“Well, you’re about to.”

43

Melody

Every step down the aisle—withthe strangers smiling at me, and the cameras flashing, and Judy’s grip on my wrist—feels like my heart is ripping in two. Every beat of my pulse feels like I’m leaving a trail of blood behind me.

So much of me wants to run back through the doors and fall right into his arms. To kiss him and hold him so tightly in my hands.

To tell him I love him.