Free Infinite Repeat by Paula Stokes Page B

plugs her violin into her amp for the song “Wake Up Dreaming.” It’s different from most of the rest of their songs since it’s got a lot of classical music interspersed with the guitar parts. Eli does most of the instruments on a synthesizer, but Amber plays the lead violin herself. That song manages to sweep me away every time I hear it. For almost five whole minutes it’s like nothing in the universe exists except for music. Sometimes I wish I could really live in a place like that.
    Arachne’s Revenge plays for another twenty minutes and then Amber comes out to join me for Bottlegrate’s set. They’re originally from Chicago and the crowd goes wild nonstop while they’re onstage. For most of the set, I stand behind Amber, my arms wrapped around her waist, my chin tucked against her shoulder. After a while, the fabric of her dress makes my skin feel itchy and I raise my head up a little, pressing my jaw to her temple.
    She leans back into me. “I love you, you know,” she says as one song ends and the guitar riffs fade into the soft buzzing of the nearby amp.
    “Love you too,” I say. Instinctively. Without thinking.
    And then, as the next song begins in a flurry of angry chords, I wonder: If you say something without thinking, does that make it . . . thoughtless?
    Maybe Amber isn’t the only one who’s changed.
    No, that’s crazy. We might be struggling a little bit, but I still love her—I know I do. I’m not phoning it in. I’m not taking her for granted. Maybe we throw those words around a little too much so they’ve lost meaning. But the feelings behind them are still there.
    Aren’t they?
    For the next few minutes, the guitarist and lead singer of Bottlegrate walk circles around the stage, and I walk circles around the idea that Amber and I are broken. Things were fine before she went away. Things were fine while she was gone. But since she got back, everything has seemed a little off. A little . . . different. She’s a little different. But different doesn’t have to mean bad, does it?
    Amber squeezes my hand as the song ends. “I’m so glad you came.”
    This time I swallow back the automatic reply. “Yeah,” I say finally—an affirmation of nothing. Amber doesn’t seem to notice.
     
    After the concert, we all head back to the hotel—Amber and me in one cab and the rest of the guys in the other.
    “You were fantastic,” I tell her, a little gushy. Trying to make up for thoughts that feel like a betrayal. “‘Wake Up Dreaming’ gets better every time I hear it.”
    She grins. “You’re just saying that.”
    I tuck a sweaty lock of white-blonde hair behind her ear. “No I’m not.” I wrap my arm around her and pull her in close. “You’re the best.”
    She buries her face in my chest. “You’re the best too.”
    I press my lips to the crown of her head. See? Fine. Everything is fine.
    So why do I feel so phony? Amber slides the cab driver a couple of twenties when we reach the hotel. I follow her inside to her room. It’s not quite rock-star quality but it’s got a huge king-sized bed and a giant flat-screen TV on the wall.
    “I feel really sticky and gross.” She gestures toward the bathroom. “I’m going to take a quick shower, okay?”
    “Want company?” I cringe inwardly at my own words. I’m still trying to convince myself that nothing is wrong. But that’s bullshit. Something is messed up and whatever it is, hooking up won’t make it go away.
    “Maybe,” she says, a slow smile spreading across her face.
    But then her phone buzzes with a text. For once, I’m actually kind of relieved.
    “Shit.” She turns away from me and digs it out of her purse. “Looks like our shower is going to have to wait.”
    “Why? What now?”
    “Janne wants us all to come to his suite for a little after-party.”
    “So tell him we’ll drop by later.”
    She gives me a look like this is another one of those times when it’s best not to argue with Janne. Again, I