Shane: an Avery brother novel

Chapter Five

I hurry through the festival grounds, letting the heat of the summer sun sink into my skin and dry out my tears. I'll admit, maybe running away isn't the best way to deal with my feelings. But it's too late. I ran and I feel better with the distance I put between Shane and I.

My phone vibrates. It's Anna, I'm sure, and I know she must be pissed but I don't look. I don't dare. I need a little time and space to clear my head. There's plenty for her to do and see here to keep her occupied, especially since she's backstage.

The Saguaro Music Festival is huge. Six stages total with a few pop-up dance domes spread out in the desert and a ton of different food, clothes, and beer vendors. The echoes of the different stages converge around me in a comforting, discordant background noise amongst the chatter of the festival-goers and the calls of the foot vendors and carnival-style games.

I'm sweating from the hurry so I slow to a walk, grasping the ache in my side. Most people here are wearing as little clothes as possible. In fact, I'm sure I saw some girls earlier in their underwear. Me, I'm wearing jeans and a white long sleeve t-shirt. I'm dying from heat and I'm sure I've sweat through my shirt already, but it beats being stared at like I'm a freak.

Most people can't handle the red, jagged scars on my arms and legs. I can barely look at them myself and they're a part of me. The scars that Shane put there and forever tie us together, even when we're apart. The scars that lived with me when my best friend died. The scars that said I was stronger than the metal and glass that wanted to tear me apart—that did tear me apart but not enough. The scars that healed angry, just like me. The scars that still feel like an open wound on my flesh and in my heart.

A sob escapes my throat and I swallow it down, push it away, like I always do when it feels too real and raw. I'm usually so good at that. I came here to have fun. But we bought our tickets before the line-up was even announced because the tickets were cheaper then. We didn't know that Darkness Within would even be playing the festival. If I had known, I sure as hell wouldn't have come with Anna. I don't go anywhere that I can run into any of the Avery brothers or remaining sister. It's too much.

I glance behind me and my stomach drops. Anna hasn't come after me. But Shane did. I can see him coming down the main walkway, with a baseball hat pulled down and sunglasses on, hoping to not be recognized. But it's him alright. I know that confident swagger he's always had.

His eyes are searching the crowd for me, so I duck into the nearest tent to my right. It's a large air-conditioned dome, filled with black lights and people dancing to some pop song mixed by a middle-aged DJ. It's sponsored by some Vodka company that's cheerfully offering free shots. I flash my bracelet saying I'm over 21, grab two and down them to calm my nerves. Then I tuck myself behind the tent flap and watch.

I suck in a breath as Shane stops at the clear plastic door on the outside of the dance dome, his jaw working. His eyes scan the crowd ahead and he curses, finally accepting that he lost my trail. He glances at the tent only briefly, and I flatten myself into the corner, praying that he didn't see me. 

He didn't. 

And with the way I ran, he probably assumes I'm not in the mood to party and mingle, and he's right. I shouldn't be in this dance tent. But the Vodka shots seep into my bloodstream and I decide I am in the mood to lose myself and my problems. I grab two more shots, one in each hand, and down them, the alcohol burning a path down my throat.''

I stare at Shane from my hiding spot. I miss those long lashes, those blue eyes. I miss his smell, his laugh, the light freckles on his nose that you can only see when you're up close to him. He's taller than I remember. And there's a thickness of his chest and muscles in his arms that weren't there when we were together. Maybe it's just the tattoos that cover his once bare arms, but something about him, something about the way he carries himself now, he seems bigger—more dangerous. More weathered.

Maybe it's the eight year gap since we saw each other last that makes it so strange to be standing so near to Shane—my Shane—and be hiding from him. Or maybe it's because really, now, he's a stranger.

Or maybe I was hiding from the ghosts and the carnage that comes with him.