“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.” I swallowed hard.

“Should we, ya’ know, head toward The Ivories’ stage?”

I nodded my answer.

It was crowded so I grabbed Harper’s hand so I wouldn’t lose her. We weaved our way through sweaty bodies and watched The Ivories but I had a hard time concentrating on their set because I still possessed Harper’s hand and I finally realized she possessed my heart.

When The Ivories left the stage, Harper and I left to camp in front of the main stage to see Barcelona. The rest of the band told us they’d meet us after they broke down their equipment and placed it in their trailer. We sat on the grass, side by side, a silence building between the two of us and it was becoming shockingly awkward.

“Dude, Harper. Tell me what’s up.”

“Uh, noth...”

“Don’t say nothing, Harper. I may have only known you a few weeks but we’ve practically lived a lifetime in those few weeks. I know you. You’re upset.”

She sighed loudly and brought her knees to her chest, resting her cheek on her knee, facing me. “I’m embarrassed to say,” she admitted.

“Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m jealous,” she said bluntly, making me choke on my own spit.

“Wh-what?”

“I’m jealous of Sam. I don’t like her for no other reason than that she obviously wants you. There, I said it.”

Her face turned a bright red in the artificial light of the stage lights. I opened my mouth to confess everything but was interrupted by the roar of the crowd. Everyone stood abruptly, surrounding us as we stayed on the grass, staring at one another. I wanted to reveal all. I just needed everyone to quiet down enough that she could hear me.

“Hi, we’re Barcelona,” we heard over the thunder of the crowd. “Our first song is dedicated to Harper Bailey from Callum Tate,” he said right before the first resonating piano note of Please, Don’t Go began to play.

Tears began to fill Harper’s eyes. I stood and offered her my hand and to my utter relief she took it. I enveloped her in my arms and brought her close, squeezing her tightly against my chest. I brought her hand in mine to my chest and splayed my free hand across the broad of her back.

I bent slightly toward her ear. “You don’t have to be jealous of Sam, Harper. It’s not her I want.”

My hand rose slowly with her breath. We bent to the rhythm of our song, her face buried in my neck and my cheek resting on the side of her head. What I needed in my life was right there, in my arms. I closed my eyes and drunk in the most perfect moment of my life.

The song was over all too soon and we reluctantly pulled away from the other, realizing this meant there could be no more pretending.

“I think I’m fa...” I started to say but was cut short by the howling of my friends.

They teased us incessantly, embarrassing us both but I just held tightly to her hand to let her know we’d be talking, extensively, much later.

I enjoyed the rest of the music with everyone and was so freaking proud that they included Harper like she was one of us now. Well, everyone except for Sam but I was hoping that with time she would come around. I knew I was nothing more than a forbidden novelty to her. By the time it all came to a halt, we were all sweaty and full of smiles. All of us walked back to The Ivories’ trailer where my bike and the gang’s van was.

The alcohol was poured freely that night. It seemed everyone around us were drunk including some of our group but we lived in New York City for crying out loud. No need to worry because there was always a taxi available.

We sat on the concrete around the trailer, getting to know a few of the bands around us. Charlie had a keg on rollers that he spilled from the back of the trailer as a surprise. A million hands lifted in cheer and the after party had begun.

“God, what time is it?” A drowsy Harper asked.

I peeled my pocket watch from my jean’s pocket and checked. “Twelve fifteen.”

“It feels like four,” she said laughing, laying her head on my shoulder.

“That’s because the past few days were exhausting pieces of crap that no person, no, people, should endure.”

I felt more than heard her chuckle in response.

“I need to talk to you, Callum,” she said suddenly.

“And I need to talk to you. Badly,” I said, looking at the top of her beautiful head.

Just then, Sam came up.

“Can I speak with you?” She asked.

“No,” I said and I meant it.

“Please, it’s...I just want to apologize. Please?”

I sighed. “Fine. Harper, excuse me.”

She lifted her head and bit her bottom lip. I could tell she didn’t want me to go.

I kissed her neck and whispered in her ear, “It’s not her I want.”

She nodded and I stood, following Sam to a dark space near the other side of the trailer. She wanted me to follow her farther away but I felt sick leaving Harper where I couldn’t see her so I froze there, crossing my arms and waiting. Sam seemed to understand and came back up to me.

“I just wanted to apologize for earlier this morning,” she began. “I overstepped some boundaries. I knew how much you wanted her and it scared me. I always thought you’d be there, waiting, and it just freaked me out that you weren’t there when I wanted you.”

“That’s the lamest apology in the history of apologies, Sam.”

“What? Why?”

“Sam, are you really this dense?” She had the decency to act embarrassed. “You just admitted to using me. Listen, I know you strung me along and before Harper I was just pathetic enough to endure it because I thought I loved you but since meeting her I realized something about myself. I’m worth more than what you think of me. I shed some crazy when I met her, took off my blurred visioned glasses and saw what you really are...not meant for me.”

“Callum!” Sam yelled, showing a bit of crazy herself. She reached for me in desperation but I was distracted by yelling on the other side of the trailer. I ran into a crowd gathered in a circle around Harper and Charlie.

“I told you! She wants nothing to do with you!” Charlie said to a rather large man in jeans and a stained t-shirt. Harper clung to Charlie, her body visibly shaking.

“And I told you! That girl is coming home with me. She’s mine,” the man said with slurred speech.

“You’ve had a lot to drink, John. Let’s just leave,” a sensible friend of the drunk said, pulling him away from the circled crowd.

I finally reached the circle and broke through, wrapping Harper in my arms and trying to drag her away but the guy became enraged.

“Stay away from her!” John, the drunk, said.

“It’s John Bell,” Harper barely whispered, her lips quivering, her body shivering in fear.

I searched her face. John Bell, John Bell. Why does that name sound so familiar? That’s when I realized, John Bell was the sick psychotic who tortured her at her foster home.

“Oh my God,” I said, sucking in a breath. I scooped her up by her knees and carried her to my bike. “Charlie don’t let that man follow us,” I said and he nodded.

By then, the rest of the group caught on to what was happening and circled around John Bell to prevent him from coming after us. I set a shaking Harper on the ground, started the bike then began to pull the helmet onto her head but a roar of anger came from within the circle that contained John.

Before I could even turn around, Harper yelled for me to watch out. I tossed Harper and I away from the direction she screamed and saw John barreling toward us, a crow bar in his hand. I could see Charlie, Aaron, Nat, Jared and Josiah running after him. He edged toward Harper, a crazed look in his eyes but three police officers caught on to the commotion and started running toward us. John saw this and not wanting to get caught, picked up my bike and hopped on, gunning it into the crowd around us.

Harper and I stood, staring in shock as John drunkenly tried to weave through the people but he wasn’t fast enough and the cops almost reached him. We watched. My eyes wide in disbelief, Harper’s hand covering her mouth, tears streaming down her face. John turned around to check his progress and saw that there was no way out. I expected him to slow down but instead he gunned it more and we were forced to watch him hit a woman, driving over her after she’d fallen before losing control and crashing my bike to the ground.

Panicked, we all run to the woman, laying still on the ground. One of the police officers grabs John, turning his unconscious body onto his stomach, cuffing him while he calls for an ambulance standing by. The woman was still, too still and Harper screamed when she realized the woman was dead. I bent, immediately beginning CPR. Count thirty quick compressions, breathe twice, repeat. Time seemed to flow so slowly. The woman was unresponsive but I refused to give up. It was my bike that killed her. The paramedics arrived and began where I left off. We all stood, dazed, praying she came back to life but we all knew that would never happen. The paramedics stood and called it as it was. Harper turned from me and vomited all over the pavement. I held her body up to keep her from falling. Cherry, Charlie, the band, the rest of our group, even Sam surrounded the two of us, keeping us both standing upright. I couldn’t believe how quickly the night had turned.

“He killed her!” Harper screamed at the ground, doubling over. “That woman is dead because of me!”

“No! No you don’t, Harper! Stop! Just stop it!” I screamed at her, hugging her closely. Hands came from everywhere it seemed, comforting, warm hands were placed on our shoulders, backs and heads, telling us we weren’t alone.

“Oh God!” Harper wailed. “That poor woman!”

A police officer came up to our group and we noticed that they’d already begun to tape off the scene. We were asked to step aside to give statements as they brought John to an ambulance and it drove away, sirens screaming toward the hospital.

Harper and I sat on the concrete, watching as they took pictures, pulled my bike into a police trailer, and when they were finally ready for our statements, it was almost two in the morning.

While I recounted everything that had happened, I saw two firemen hose the woman’s blood off the wide concrete driveway and couldn’t believe she was dead. While Harper gave her statement, I stood next to her, her hand in mine and watched the scene around us. Charlie came and stood quietly next to us as did Cherry.

My stomach was queasy and I felt like vomiting every five seconds. And just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, Charlie and I noticed a man about Charlie’s age running up to the scene, screaming the name Erica over and over. Two policemen intercepted him and the man fell to his knees when he saw them hosing off the concrete.

“No!” He kept screaming over and over, his hands tucked into his body, he face red at the effort of his screaming.

I prayed that Harper couldn’t see him but when her body seized, I knew my hope was for nothing. She looked at me and tears began to stream down her cheeks. I shook my head at her, a silent ‘don’t’.