G R A Y S O N

People often didn't understand how I could have two interests that seemed so widely disconnected. But music and sports were linked in more ways than one.

They both involved coordination and fluidity. Teamwork, too. Even solo artists had to know how to work collaboratively; after all, the backstage crew needed to run plays behind the scenes so the mainstage could deliver.

But most notably, as an athlete and a musician, I had to perform. It didn't matter which stage I took. When I walked out onto the field on game day in front of thousands of people, I had to deliver one hell of a performance. And it took a fair amount of preparation to get into that mindset.

Nessa was going through the same thing right now. Except she didn't have nearly as many years of practice as I did, and she was falling apart.

It was killing me.

It had been nearly an hour since she'd refused to let me into her dressing room, and the start time of her first show on tour was quickly approaching. I'd heard the tears in her voice, the panic when she'd called through the door that she just needed some time. But for some fucking reason, she didn't want me in there.

Madie was allowed to enter, though. And while I was grateful Nessa wasn't alone, I'd never been more jealous of Madie than I was at this moment. I wanted to be the one who held Nessa's hand. All the time.

"She'll be okay, man. She just needs a minute."

Bren crossed one leg over the other while sitting on a leather couch that had seen one too many backstage days. I was sure that it was only a matter of minutes before Bren's ass sank all the way to the scratchy traveling floors.

I sighed. "Can I hold Emery?"

It might be a bit amusing to see Bren fall through a couch, but the least I could do was save his daughter from the same fate.

Bren nodded, and when the strawberry-haired toddler made a face at being passed away from her dad, Bren whispered something that made her smile while being placed in my arms.

"Hey, Em," I said, touching the tip of her nose in a way that made her giggle. After that, she wrapped her arms around my neck, and I hoisted her into a comfortable position on my side.

"Where's Gabriel?" Bren asked.

The question didn't require answering. On cue, Beau walked backstage with a baby carrier strapped to his front. My son slept soundly against his uncle's chest. I smiled.

"Beau stole him again," I said wryly.

Although Beau did like stealing my child away from me any chance he got, it wasn't exactly the truth. This time, though, I'd asked him to take Gabe on a little walk so I could focus on helping Nessa. But then she hadn't let me help her at all.

I frowned.

"What's with the face?" Beau waved an accusatory finger in my direction.

"My wife is shutting me out."

Bren jabbed a finger over his shoulder toward the dressing room. "Madie's in there with Nes."

"Oh." Beau leaned back against the wall. "And that's a problem because...."

Because it wasn't me.

I didn't say it aloud, though, because I realized how ridiculous it would sound. Which should have been my first clue, but still.

This was a huge moment in Nessa's life, and I wanted all her huge moments. This was part of why I went pro—so we could afford to make all her dreams come true. This was why we'd decided to hold off on having more kids. We wanted time to make Nessa's vision a reality. This was everything we had been working towards as a team.

"Sometimes the girls just need each other," Bren said softly.

The comment was fair, but coming from the commenter, it was bullshit. If the positions were reversed, Bren would definitely feel some sort of way about it.

"Madie is incredibly talented and lovely, but—"

"Be careful with whatever it is you're about to say, Everett." Bren's eyes sharpened as he glared at me. Typical.

"But she's not a performer," I finished, ignoring Hawkins. "I mean, she could be if she wanted to. But I do this every week."

"Maybe that's exactly why Nessa wants to talk to her and not you," Bren pointed out, seeming to have relaxed now that he realized I didn't mean a single offense to his wife.

"What do you mean?"

It was quiet for a moment before Beau cleared his throat. "Dude, you're annoyingly perfect."

"I'm not—"

"I mean, I don't know about perfect," Bren began, "but you've never once had a hiccup in your career after college, and that's a lot to live up to for Nessa."

"There's nothing she needs to live up to," I argued. "I don't have any expectations for her other than to be happy while doing something she loves."

Bren nodded, seemingly sympathetic now. About time, too.

"I know that, but you've done a lot to help her get to this position. I'm sure she's feeling a lot of pressure to succeed. And she feels like she has to do it for you and your sacrifices."

"For her," I insisted, feeling like something was crumbling inside me. "I want her to do it for her."

"We know. But that's what you need to tell her when she finally opens that door," Beau muttered as he smoothed a hand over Gabriel's dark-haired head. When his little eyes blinked sleepily, a huge ball of emotion settled in my chest. "Collins just texted me that she's here. I'm going to go let her in."

I nodded, watching him walk away. I couldn't help but notice he took Gabriel with him. Smiling, I placed a kiss on Emery's head and bounced her a little in my arms.

Fuck, maybe they were right.

Nessa started her career small. She played in coffee shops and bars at first. We played at weddings next, and those were often pretty big affairs. My connections through the league had guaranteed that. However, she didn't get her big break until one of her songs went viral on her socials. And now she was opening in a big goddamn stadium for a big goddamn name.

Around us, crew members milled about. The stage manager hovered by the door, nervously pacing. I tried to ignore all of them.

Another ten minutes passed while I ruminated on what Beau and Bren had said. In that time, Beau led Collins in, and the two of them, plus Gabriel, hovered as they waited. Finally, the door to Nessa's dressing room opened, and Madie slipped out.

I jumped to my feet, passing her daughter to her. "Can I?"

I couldn't care less how desperate I sounded.

Madie nodded, and I was so goddamn relieved.

When I walked into the dressing room, Nessa sat with her back to me in one of those classic director's chairs, looking very much like the superstar I'd always known she was.

"Wednesday, baby," I breathed.

She didn't turn around, so I circled her slowly until we faced each other. Her head was down, her hair hanging around her face, hiding from me. She lifted her gaze gradually. And even though her eyes were a bit red, her makeup a little smudged, she was gorgeous.

"What can I do?" I asked.

If she needed a pep talk, I'd give her a pep talk. If she needed a listening ear, I'd give her both of mine. If she needed something from the store, I'd sprint there. A hug? I had plenty of those.

But all Nessa did was shake her head.

"Tell me what you're feeling," I tried.

I'd had years of practice getting to the heart of what was happening inside Nessa Elez's head.

"Nervous," she said, lifting a finger to wipe beneath her eye, trying to pat lightly, so her makeup didn't smudge further.

Nervous—I could deal with nervous.

"What are you thinking about when the nerves get really bad?"

She continued to try to clean up her makeup, but since her eyes were still leaking, it was a losing battle. "What do you mean?" she sniffed.

"What part of tonight does your brain keep landing on?" I cupped her face, taking over what she was doing. My thumbs wiped at the tears gently. "What are you picturing when you feel that dread creep in?"

Sometimes before a game, I imagined the ball slipping through my hands in the endzone. Whenever my brain skipped over that moment, that possibility, the nerves would set in. But then I reminded myself that it had been a fucking while since that happened, and it would wash away. Not entirely, but enough to get to the part where the adrenaline would kick in and take it away,

"Walking out on stage," Nessa said shakily. "And sitting down to play Wild."

I nodded. "So, are you nervous about starting the show, or are you nervous about that song?"

"That song."

Now that she was concentrating on my questions, her eyes were drying up. They sharpened, growing contemplative. Determined. I dropped my hands from her face, smoothing them up and down her thighs instead, trying to ease how she kept bouncing them.

"Do you want to start with a different one?" I asked.

She immediately shook her head. "No, because then I'll be nervous the entire show until I get it over with."

"So you're not worried about any of the other songs?" I clarified. "Just that one?"

Nessa nodded, sighing heavily. 

"Then let's skip it," I offered.

"We can't." Her face broke into a tortured grimace. "Besides Kickoff, it's the most popular one. It's half the reason people will be interested in hearing me tonight. But I'm just not as confident on the piano. You've helped me so much, but...." Breaking off, she shook her head despairingly, eyes falling to her lap where she was fidgeting with a mascara-covered tissue.

I frowned. "So it's not the vocals? Just the piano?"

"Yeah," she confessed, looking broken to admit it.

But all I could do was smile.

There was a solution to this.

"Nessa, look at me."

Her eyes flicked up, hitting me deep in my soul.

"No matter what happens tonight, I'm so proud of you," I whispered. "You get that, right?"

Her nod was slow and not entirely convincing.

"You've worked so hard, and I just want you to be happy with your performance. Okay?"

"Okay," she whispered, and although she spoke quietly, it was with more conviction.

"Okay," I repeated. "So you have two options. One, you go out there and absolutely smash the opening number because I know you can, or two, we go out there and smash the opening number because I know we can."

Her brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

I tucked an errant curl behind her ear, smiling at her. "If you want to focus on the vocals, I can cover the piano, baby."

She blinked twice. "You don't—you don't know the part."

"Don't I?" I smiled.

Her eyes widened. "Grayson?"

My grin grew. "When I told you to chase your dreams, I never meant for you to do it alone. We're a team, Adler. And I've been practicing Wild for a few months now."

Her brightness started shining again as she took in my words.

"Really?" she asked like she couldn't believe what I was offering.

"Really," I smiled, reaching out to wipe a smudge of makeup from her cheek that I hadn't caught before. "I've got you. Always."

"I love you," she whispered, fresh tears springing to her eyes. But I'd never seen a prettier sight.

"I love you, too," I breathed, leaning down and hovering over her lips. "Can I mess up your lipstick?"

Laughing, she nodded. "It's already messed up. But even if it wasn't...."

I exhaled in relief before covering Nessa's lips with my own. She tasted exactly like my wild girl always did, even—

"Were you drinking whiskey?" I muttered against her mouth.

"Just a tiny sip," she giggled before threading her fingers through my hair and pulling me closer to deepen the kiss. Her tongue stroked mine, needily tasting me back.

I sucked in at the flick of heat going up and down my spine. "Am I going to get drunk from kissing you?" I muttered.

"Don't you usually?" she teased.

"Yes," I groaned.

Fuck, she knew exactly how to make my head spin.

Regretfully, I pulled away. If we continued this way, neither of us would make it on stage. Nessa made a pouty face when my lips slid off hers, and I grinned.

"We'll go out there together, Nessa," I said, breaking my resolve and brushing my lips over hers once more. "I'll sit you on top of that piano, and we'll do this thing, okay?"

Brown eyes sparked, sweeping over me knowingly. "Are you going to behave if I sit on the piano? I know it gets you feeling a certain way."

It really fucking did. I had a whole multitude of memories of things that Nessa and I had done on top of pianos. And was it going to be hot as fuck seeing her crush it on stage like that? Absolutely. Especially with that tight little skirt and tights and that white top that would likely be more than translucent on stage.

Fuck, now I knew exactly how she felt when she complained about everyone seeing my ass on display in my football compression tights. It was a dilemma, honestly. I wanted to hide her away for myself, but I also wanted to show her off. She deserved to be shown off.

"I'll behave on stage," I said, clearing my throat. "I might not behave when we get off of it, though."

Nessa wiggled in her chair, withering a little beneath my heated stare. She stared back, and it did nothing to calm my nerves. Which, of course, had nothing to do with our performance and everything to do with the haywire way Nessa made me feel.

"What if I don't want to wait until after?" she asked with a smirk.

Goddamnit. She needed to be careful with that look she was giving me because if she wanted me to behave on a stage in front of far too many people, then she needed to stop riling me up before going out there.

"We don't have enough time, darling." I glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's almost go-time."

"I thought you were good with your hands, Grayson Everett." Nessa lifted a brow, and I was relieved to see the spark back in her eyes. It had been gone when I walked into the room, but this—this was the Wednesday that would wow the world. She'd been wowing me for years, after all. "Since when do you need a lot of time?"

I leaned in with a chuckle to give her another peck on the lips. "You deserved more than a rushed performance. Now take all that feisty fire out onto the stage."

"Fine." Nessa groaned, but she stood and made her way to the door.

"That's my girl," I praised, smacking that pretty ass before she walked away.

Naturally, it was perfectly timed with her opening the door to our waiting friends. But they didn't care; they all smiled encouragingly at Nessa. Collins and Madie popped out of the chair, fussing over fixing Nessa's makeup so she'd be ready to go in t-minus three minutes.

It was no surprise that those three minutes zipped by, and after giving Gabriel a shower of kisses backstage, we were finding our spots by the white grand piano that was prepped to lift into place in the stadium. Grabbing Nessa by the waist, I hoisted her into position. She perched on the edge, her feet dangling over the highest keys as she readjusted her skirt.

"Keep those legs crossed," I muttered, winking as she lifted one over the other. "No spreading them for anyone but me."

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "No one but you, Wilder."

"Ready, darling?"

After a deep inhale, Nessa nodded.

"Watch me if you need to," I added.

"I'm going to watch you because I want to."

Chuckling, I sat on the piano bench before it lurched, beginning to rise. I rolled up the sleeves of my white dress shirt, preparing for the performance of a lifetime.

"Don't forget about the audience," I muttered. "They're here for you. Just like I am."

Nessa sobered a little. "They're not the reason that I'm here, though. That's all you."

"No, baby." I met her gaze. It was warm, but when the stadium lights hit them, they grew hot. "It's all us."