Everleigh was pretty sure that she could get used to the life where she frequently attended concerts. The excitement that hung in the air was unmatched. A lot of it was Everleigh's. She didn't want to admit it out loud. Not some dorky school girl falling for a musician, nope.

But.

Well.

At least Maverick knew she existed. That was worth something. Right?

Maybe she'd spoken too soon. Because, lo and behold, ten minutes passed from when they were supposed to start. Then 20. Then 30.

Around the 40 minute mark, the music started. Everleigh was a little embarrassed she recognized it as I Liked Us Before The Lyrics Said So from the opening note. Scratch that. She could've died on the spot knowing she'd identified it that quickly. So fucking embarrassing.

After a stunning opening performance—get a grip, Everleigh—Maverick looked out to the crowd. An awkward smile on his lips. "Hey, New York! Sorry about being so late. Lights were acting up."

Everleigh and Stevie handed Brendon bills for payment. God damn.

"You win this round, Ellis!" Stevie yelled.

"Do you mean me or the baby?"

"Not your stepdaughter this time!" Everleigh said.

Though she hadn't yelled loud enough to garner any sort of notice, especially considering how loud his crowd was, Maverick didn't take long to spot them. Which, Stevie had been counting on. Security had let them in with the side but didn't seem too impressed by what they saw. Stevie, Brendon, and Everleigh thought it was funny and that's what mattered.

In big, bold letters, on a board stolen from the hotel lobby, Stevie had written, LATE AS ALWAYS.

Maverick let out a snort laugh on stage when he read Stevie's sign. Smile shining in the stage lights. "Yeah, that's fair." He looked away from the three of them and out to the crowd. "What do we think, new song for making you wait so long?"

Bold to think the crowd wouldn't be on their knees ready for a new song. The stadium erupted. Everleigh hadn't been his fan for long, but dropping an album like What I Never Said To You and then not discussing any new music for over a year was bound to get anyone antsy. (Ahem.) (MARS.) (Everleigh would be the first to preorder the new album and that was that on that.)

"Took you long enough, bitch!" Stevie yelled.

Maverick grinned at the crowd as the music started up. A little slow, but given Maverick's history with his songs, it was bound to get more upbeat after the first verse.

"Green light, perfect night / 'bout to tell you I love you," Maverick sang.

Everleigh's eyes widened. No fucking way.

"Cut me off before I could say it / made me think, shit / Did I read the room wrong? / Thought we were on the same page / Now I'm feeling strange / God, babe, please say I'm not wrong—"

Not fucking wrong. Not fucking wrong. Babe?

"Never been to Carnaby Street / fly around, keep me on my feet / Don't even know where in England you're from / London, Oxford or maybe Kingston—" God, the crowd screamed at that one. See? First names were better. Everleigh was right. The music had started picking up in the best way possible; a head bobbing song to say the least. "No, wait, that's me / you're the only one to use the G-O-V-T / Somehow it's better coming from you—"

Everleigh saw Stevie look at her out of the corner of her eye. Given how hot her face felt, she refused to venture her gaze toward her friend. No ma'am. She would stay in limbo of Stevie giving her eyes that would both make fun of her and scream with her.

"Ever leave a flight and wish you'd got back on? / The world keeps turning as I write you this song / Never felt so strong / Want you along for the ride / Why don't we step inside?" Maverick couldn't wipe the grin off his face as he sang the next line. "Now a mile high flier / On a trial by fire / Yeah, you got me fucked up."

Everleigh tried to hide her laugh at that. Idiot. Absolute fucking idiot. She was going to get stuck with a song on her phone about her with a fucking mile high joke in it. Fucking hell, Kingston Maverick. Even Stevie hadn't done that.

The rest of the concert was fantastic. Pulsing lights, pumping music, and conversations with his fans between the singing. Maverick pulled songs from both his albums in the perfect order. No other surprise performances—which was good for Everleigh's face. He was damn close to setting it on fire. Everleigh needed to relearn how to breathe or she was going to put her fucking foot in her mouth when they got back stage.

After the show, Brendon, Stevie, and Everleigh made their way over to where Maverick's stage security was. There was much less resistance from them when it came to letting Stevie in than there was with Maverick and MARS' security. Go figure. She was probably more recognizable; Maverick hadn't been nominated for any Grammys, MARS should've won album of the year.

Stevie skipped ahead of Brendon and Everleigh, laughing loudly. "Musician privileges are so fun!"

A small laugh escaped Brendon, too quiet for Stevie to have heard him. They were cute. Whatever they were. Adorable. Precious. Enchanting. Every adjective Everleigh could think of, Stevie and Brendon were. She couldn't wait for them to realize it for themselves.

As Stevie walked ahead of them, Everleigh looked around. There was something charming about the previous concert posters lining the walls. How they seemed to scream that whoever was performing was in good company.

A gasp tore Everleigh's eyes from the posters on the walls. Stevie stood in front of a curtain that had the slightest flicker of movement behind it.

"Uh." Stevie laughed. A little more high pitched than normal. "Did someone accidentally leave their phone by the seats? I just remembered seeing something on the ground—"

Everleigh frowned at her, but Stevie refused to look her in the eye. Weird.

"Look at that, my shoe's untied. Can't take me anywhere. Wait up," Brendon said, crouching down at tying his shoe. Also weird.

When Stevie managed a gaze over Everleigh's way, she responded to the questioning expression with an awkward shrug. Everleigh probably shouldn't have been impatient.

And when she pulled the curtain back for herself, Everleigh could've died on the spot. Fuck.

"That's... interesting," Everleigh managed. Trying her best to ignore the small tremble in her lip that she fought tooth and nail to keep from turning into something embarrassing.

The thing about Everleigh was that she didn't do relationships. She was always too busy and there was always something she was working toward and the last time she said she'd loved someone, they'd hooked up at prom and then, mutually, never talked to each other again. And that worked for her. The L-word was embarrassing.

But... Maverick.

Where the hell to start with Maverick?

Did Everleigh even need to start when behind that curtain Maverick stared at her like he'd seen a ghost when only seconds before he'd had his tongue down someone's throat? Especially a someone Everleigh recognized from his phone background to, definitely, be Rhylan?

"I—uh—"

What a fucking poet. Clearly not Everleigh's poet. That was for certain. Nice try.

With an iron grip on his arm, Stevie dragged Maverick away from Everleigh, who couldn't find any words either. What could she have said? Congratulations, I hope she makes you happy. Promise me you won't make her feel as stupid as I do.

The way her head was spiraling, Everleigh only have heard Stevie yell, "Kingston John Maverick, what the fuck are you doing?"

Some bumbling reply came from Maverick and only made Stevie angrier. If Everleigh had the energy to, she probably would've told her to stop. Say that he wasn't worth it. That Everleigh's feelings would get over it and that she didn't need protecting. But the shield also felt needed. Knight in shining armour on what had to be one of the most embarrassing nights of her life. Nothing, spare something like a primary school Christmas pageant, had made her stomach twist quite like seeing that display.

"You knew Everleigh was here!" Stevie yelled. Everleigh's jaw clenched enough it hurt.

Everleigh took a couple deep breaths, stuck her tongue in her cheek and bit down on it to keep from saying anything she would regret. (Better than sticking it down someone's throat.)

"Hi, I'm Rhylan." Everleigh fought the urge to say she knew. All too well, she knew.

Rhylan looked exactly like her photo; silky brown hair that met her shoulders flawlessly. Everleigh didn't spend too much time looking at the slightly smeared lipstick she wore. Red. In a shade that suited her well. It popped from the monochrome look of her outfit. Everleigh hated the sneaky chill that went up her spine at the thought Rhylan had worn that specifically to match Maverick's album covers. Everleigh didn't dare look at her hands. Last time she'd seen them in a photo, there was a ring on her finger. God damn it.

Everleigh could've tackled Brendon in a thankful hug for the loud cough in response he gave to Rhylan's introduction.

"And... you are?"

"I can't believe you," Stevie continued. Everleigh had half a mind to keep listening to Stevie to avoid conversation with Rhylan. "I'm really about to give Wolf of Wall Street a run for it's money with how many times I'm about to scream 'fuck' at you."

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"I really want you to know what was going through your mind when you thought kissing Rhylan backstage at a concert that your current whatever Everleigh is also at was a good idea," Stevie said. "Especially when that new so was clearly about her, you fuckin' spoon. Not even a good spoon. A fuckin' spork. Nobody likes sporks."

Everleigh swallowed hard. She hadn't caught on from the shouting match not six feet from her, huh? Everleigh managed a small, "Everleigh."

"Nice to meet you," Rhylan said. "How do you know Kingston?"

Brendon's cough was a little more forceful that time. Louder than it should've had to be. A clear shut up to anyone who was even remotely paying attention. Rhylan took the not-so-subtle hint that time.

Everleigh didn't even feel like she had the right to be mad at Rhylan. Rhylan hadn't technically done anything to her. Rhylan didn't tell her she was attractive and get excited when she said she wanted to spend more time together. Rhylan didn't fly halfway across the fucking world and woo her parents and bring her her favourite Greggs drink because it was something Everleigh had mentioned once. Rhylan definitely hadn't written a song about her and premiered it in front of

Nope. She really couldn't be mad at Rhylan. And honestly? There was a part of her telling her that she couldn't even be mad at Maverick, either. She didn't really deserve to be upset, did she? Nothing had ever been set in stone with Maverick. He didn't say the words, she didn't say the words. His song even fucking said she'd cut him off before he could. Stevie yelling at him only said what Everleigh already knew: potentially there were feelings that he would either ignore or act on. Seemed like he'd made his decision. Left Everleigh behind in jealousy dust.

Then again, Maverick had met her family and hadn't even mentioned her to anyone else. Made her feel like a dirty fucking flirt trying to whore around with someone else's partner. Barf.

Well done, Everleigh. She always knew she'd be her own undoing. Congratu-fucking-lations, she's a prophet. Wish she could've seen this one coming. Would've saved her from the ache in her chest.

The sound of a smack turned everyone's attention to where Stevie and Maverick were. Both their eyes were wide; shock in their systems.

"Oh, fuck you, Kingston."

"I don't—No, that was low. I'm sorry—"

Stevie lowered her voice; the silence backstage hardly covered up what she was saying. Brendon made a move toward her before thinking better of it. She was handling herself. Mostly. Stevie jabbed her finger into Maverick's chest. Deathly calm. "For your information, that happened way before Brendon and I started hanging out more. And you have some goddamn nerve bringing up pictures of my privacy being invaded by some stalker getting paid to sell those pictures to the highest bidder. I did not invite anyone to take pictures of me. You, however, knew we were here and coming backstage. You fucked up and now you're deflecting your mistake onto me and that's a shit move."

"You're right," Maverick said. "I'm sorry."

Even Everleigh wanted him to do better than that and she only half understood the situation. For fuck's sake. Everleigh was getting ready to smack him, too.

"Sorry doesn't take back what you said or make me feel better about the fact that someone accosted me in a club and slutshamed me for those pictures. You should be way better than that."

"Someone what?"

"I'm not doing this." Stevie left Maverick standing by himself—definitely what he deserved given the angry tears she appeared to be fighting. The way Stevie stormed over to them made Everleigh want to jump out of her way, despite not being the reason she was angry. (Well. Not directly.) (She was half to blame? A third?)

"Good luck with him," Stevie said to Rhylan. "You're gonna need it."

Stevie walked past with Brendon easily falling into stride. Everleigh shouldn't have looked at Maverick, but she did.

Maverick put his fingers together, tapping his chin repeatedly. Talk?

Everleigh turned in response, walked after Stevie and Brendon. Finding the exit felt like an impossible task—like each step pulled more oxygen from her lungs as the entire situation settled in her stomach. Stevie's crying grew louder; nothing felt like the right thing to say to make her feel better. Everleigh hadn't even heard what the hell Maverick had said, but she didn't doubt Stevie was justified in her feelings.

The flashing lights as they left the building made Everleigh want to puke. Brendon did his best to shield Stevie from the paparazzi cameras—she tried her best not to be crying for the duration of him trying to flag a cab down. There were questions that rattled Everleigh's brain around, too many to even try to take hold of; in one ear out the other. She didn't like the one she did manage to hear.

"Are the rumours true?"

Everleigh shouldn't have looked up. Or asked questions she didn't want to know the answers to. "Rumours?"

"Relationship rumours," said the paparazzi. A bright flash caught her like a deer in headlights. "Between you and Maverick!"

Who stuck a sign on Everleigh that said she wanted to be stabbed repeatedly? If she cried in front of anyone that night, she never would've forgiven herself.

"I am definitely not dating Maverick," Everleigh said. Trying her best to ignore the crack in her voice. Even the name felt sour on her tongue. "Thanks."

Piling into the cab was somehow the best and the worst feeling ever. Made her want to swallow the bile building up in her throat. (Fuck, she'd been doing so well.) The silence was deafening. They refused to let the cab driver play any music. If one of Maverick's songs played—or, God forbid, a radio host mentioned his song about Everleigh—she would've broken down into tears she was already fighting.

Brendon had his arm wrapped around Stevie, trying to console her. What a fucking night. Even looking at the New York skyline didn't make Everleigh feel better. The silence made her realize how loud her head was and the thoughts penetrated everything she thought she'd bandaged; she'd tried so hard to work on keeping that second place feeling buried. Maverick ripped the wound right open. Stitches torn. Bleeding. No chance of repair. A dam of mental lacerations guaranteed to tear her apart from the inside.

Everleigh mostly tried to keep a level head on her shoulders. To keep her head straight and her eyes forward. Take the road right in front of her and don't stray from the goals. If something was found along the way, that was meant to be, but Everleigh wouldn't go out of her way for it.

Maverick was the poppy field distracting her from the yellow brick road. Everleigh thought he was Emerald City; glowing, promising. A place where she would find what she thought she needed. She never would've placed her bets on him being the wizard behind the curtain making promises he couldn't keep. A pair of ruby slippers would be nice. Bring her home once and for all. Oz was nothing like she expected. New York wasn't supposed to make her beg to be back in Kansas.

God, Everleigh wished it was that easy. That she didn't have to spend a night by herself and, worse, her thoughts. She couldn't decide which option for the night would was less awful: going to sleep or staying awake. Either way, she felt haunted.

The hotel lobby was already suffocating when they got back. Stevie still looked beautiful, but a little worse for wear than Everleigh had ever seen her. Part of her wanted to offer Stevie the bed in her room so neither of them were alone; Everleigh kept that one internal. She didn't know what had been said and what damage she would do by offering.

But she could offer the smallest bit of help. She only had so much before she broke, too.

Everleigh gently took Stevie's bicep, only to get her attention. "Stevie, can I do anything to help? Right now? I'm so sorry that he's an ass—"

"I'm—" Stevie sniffled. "I'm fine. He was in shock. He didn't mean to say any of that."

"Doesn't mean you have to be okay with it." Everleigh wasn't a hugger, but part of her desperately wanted to wrap her arms around Stevie and never let her go.

"I don't know, that slap felt pretty good," Stevie said. "Hopefully he doesn't change his mind and press charges. Marty will be mad."

"He wouldn't. It's okay." Everleigh let out a sort of half laugh, half scoff that was far too sad to be either. Clearly she wasn't the one to prophesize Maverick anymore—nothing could've predicted what was behind that curtain. "Slap looked pretty good from what I saw."

Stevie put her hands over her face and groaned. "I can't believe I did that. I don't usually slap people, I promise. That's so embarrassing."

"I don't really know what he said, but he probably deserved it," Everleigh said. "If probably means definitely and definitely means thank you for trying to help."

"I just—" Stevie struggled with her words for a moment. That night had taken the poet right out of her. "I don't know how to say this delicately. But I didn't want you to see him. You shouldn't have had to see that. And I know it's not my business but I was just mad."

"I'm an adult," Everleigh assured, though the puke feeling had returned. "And his actions aren't your fault. Thank you for trying. Genuinely."

And that was the nail in the coffin.

Everleigh tried to wipe the tear that fell down her cheek before Stevie could see it. Completely unstealthily, but she still made an attempt.

The way Stevie immediately wrapped her arms around Everleigh's waist said Everleigh was, also, a terrible actress. "That was a shitty end to the weekend. I'm sorry."

"Still not your fault." Bless Stevie, but Everleigh would never blame her for what happened. That was all Maverick.

Stevie pulled away from their embrace. "Are you going to be okay tonight?"

"I'll be fine. Yeah," Everleigh said. Swallowing back some embarrassingly fat tears. "Don't worry about me."

"Okay. Okay, yeah." Stevie's face read loud and clear that she didn't believe Everleigh. "You should get some rest for your flight tomorrow. Meet for coffee before you leave?"

Everleigh nodded. "My treat?"

Stevie laughed. That was nice. "Sure." She looked to Brendon, politely sitting in one of the lobby chairs and minding his own business while Stevie and Everleigh talked. "Good night, Everleigh. Please get some sleep."

"You too, lovely."

By the time Everleigh punched her room key in the door, she pretty much already had her hands down her throat. Running into the bathroom and dropping to her knees, she was a heap of sobs and vomit and heaving. Enough had happened that night that Everleigh shouldn't have even been upset about the breakfast or lunch she'd eaten, for fuck's sake.

But all it took was a trip through that dizzy daydream poppy field—where the poppies were land mines and Everleigh took a dirt nap on them—to make her feel just as awful as she did before she'd even landed on the wicked witch of the east.

Each press of her fingers in her throat made her woozier than she'd been the entire night; a downward spiral into something far worse than it ever should have been. Pair that with the whiplash of sobbing and feeling too fucking sorry for herself and Everleigh had a whirlwind cocktail of too many emotions at once.

Relapse had never been a word Everleigh wanted to use for herself. Yet every time she crawled out of the gutter, something found her ankle and dragged her back in the sewer. The butterflies Maverick gave her had shown their true form: a terrible, cannibalistic parasite that ate her from the inside out. It had been a month. A whole month. Everleigh wasn't sure the last time she'd spent a whole month not entirely hating herself. And there it was, a month's work laid out in a fucking toilet bowl over some guy acting like a twat. Wonderful.

Everleigh's phone was not vibrating. No, sir. And she was not taking it out of her pocket and she was not looking at the caller ID and it did not say Kingston Maverick. She tossed the phone across the floor and away from her.

She had half a mind to press answer and pretend she was a machine; let him say whatever the fuck he was going to so she didn't torture herself with a message notification. Listening to him that close to when she'd left would only make her feel worse. Of that, she was certain.

When she was done throwing up, drained of all energy, all she could manage to do was sit back against the bathroom wall. Everything felt heavy. Tired. Exhausted. Everleigh felt annihilated by her own brain. Her eyes were swollen and her throat ached. Part of her was ready to fall asleep on the bathroom floor and use the hotel towels as pillows and blankets. The winning part made her drag her ass off the floor, brush her teeth, scoop her phone up on her way out, and change into something that Maverick hadn't seen her in.

A pair of terrible cheetah print pyjama shorts, fuzzy socks, and a hoodie were the way to go. And if they weren't? Everleigh didn't have it in her to change again.

The hoodie felt like home. A little oversized, University of Edinburgh across the chest. It wasn't hers; it was Troy's. She wasn't sure he missed it or her more some nights. Everleigh had stolen it for her first flight as an attendant and hadn't given it back in years. If Troy couldn't give her a hug, that hoodie was the next best thing.

Her phone started vibrating again. Everleigh rolled her eyes.

"Give it up."

Everleigh took her phone and promptly deleted the first message without listening to it. When Maverick had finally finished the second message, she did the same to it. Nothing he said that night to her was going to be well thought out and she wasn't going to waste her time listening to whatever came out of his mouth.

After silencing her phone for the night and tossing it into her suitcase, Everleigh got up from the bed. She gently slid on a pair of shoes and pulled the balcony door open. The snowy air was crisp against her bare legs as she stepped out—but she liked knowing she could still feel something, cheesy as it was to say. Everleigh's breath disappeared into the air above her. At least that let her know she'd calmed down enough to not be hyperventilating anymore.

Leaning her arms on the balcony, Everleigh let her mind drift. Which led her to the unfortunate thought that if Maverick had been there with her, they would've smoked weed on the balcony and laughed at Everleigh coughing when she didn't exhale right away. They could've sipped bad lemonades from a petrol station they passed and, God, if that night had gone the way it should've, after that fucking song, Everleigh probably would've kissed him. Until her lips were swollen and her smile stung. Wouldn't that have been something?

Instead, she buried her face in her hands, shocked there were more tears that had fallen. No one was there to tell her the New York skyline wasn't supposed to be in bokeh.

Fuck, she'd been doing so well.

*

[a.n.] nobody k-word Steph and i please and thanks <3