Free Outsider by Olivia Cunning Page B

thought
as he put his phone away and followed his bandmates into the darkened area
behind the stage. As soon as he lifted his guitar strap over his head and
settled the familiar weight of its body against his pelvis, a peaceful calm
settled over him. He hoped Brian was wrong. He hoped performing would put Sed at ease. At least for the hour they were onstage.
    “You
okay?” Trey asked Sed as he stood with his microphone between his hands, his
head lowered.
    Sed
swallowed and nodded.
    “You
don’t have to do this,” Trey said around the lump in his throat.
    “I
can’t disappoint the fans.”
    A
blue glow lit the stage floor. Trey bit his lip at their cue to find their
places and looked again at Sed. He seemed okay, wearing the same amped-up
expression he always wore just before a performance. Trey couldn’t tell if Sed
was hiding his turmoil behind those mirrored sunglasses of his or if he wasn’t
processing the reality of his father’s unexpected death or if he really was
okay.
    Trey
figured it was just a matter of time before reality fucked Sed over.

Six
    Reagan
usually watched Trey perform, but tonight she’d sent Ethan to keep an eye on
him while she hung out with her own band backstage. She’d broken routine
partially because Dare had advised her that it was the best way to feel
included and partially because she wanted to view the video footage Toni had
recorded a few nights ago. Each member of Exodus End, Reagan included, had worn
a camera strapped to their head because Toni had wanted scenes from their
points of view in her interactive biography. Goofy as they’d all looked wearing
those headcams that night, Reagan was eager to see what the cameras had
captured.
    Toni
started with Logan’s recording—she was obsessed with the guy—and they
all got a laugh when they realized that the nicely rounded, shiny black object onscreen
was Max’s ass clad in his tight leather pants. Logan insisted his camera had
been crooked and he hadn’t been staring obsessively at their lead singer’s hind
end, but they had to torment him for it. Logan was always good for a laugh—often
at his own expense. Steve’s footage was a blur of flailing arms and drumsticks.
He was moving his head—and therefore, the camera—so much that Reagan’s stomach
churned. If she had to watch a moment more of that, she was going to be sick.
Toni was switching over to Reagan’s video when their head of security entered
the room. Butch’s lips were drawn into a tight line as his gaze flitted from
one person to the next and when that gaze landed on Toni, his eyes narrowed
into slits.
    “Hey,
guys,” he said. “Sorry to interrupt.”
    Reagan
considered chiding him about calling them all guys when there were two women in
the room, but something in the stiff way he held his large body made her think
that now was not the time for jokes. The rest of the band stopped goofing off
to focus on Butch. He ran their schedules like clockwork. Maybe the reason he
looked so out of sorts was because they’d missed an engagement or something.
    “Can
I see you on the bus for a minute?” he said, dragging his focus from Toni to
the gazes of the band members.
    “All
of us?” Dare asked.
    “Uh.”
Butch’s gaze shifted to Toni again, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “Just the
band.” When they rose from their spots on the furniture, he added. “And not
Logan.”
    Logan
stopped midmotion and scrunched his brows at Butch.
    “Not
Logan?” Max asked.
    Why
not Logan? Reagan would have understood if she’d been left out of a band
meeting or important discussion, but Logan was a founding member of the band.
Why would he be excluded?
    “It’ll
just take a few moments,” Butch said before he backed out of the room.
    The
guys—except Logan—followed Butch out into the corridor, Reagan bringing up the
rear. She caught Dare’s arm as they made their way out to the tour bus, and he
slowed his stride to fall into step with her.
    “What’s
going