Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

AMBER

N othing compares to thousands of people screaming my name. It's an adrenaline rush that never gets old and I'm practically shaking in anticipation when I reach my mark under the stage. The space remains dark as the band starts playing. I widen my stance as the platform rises and then open my mouth at the exact moment the spotlight hits the top of my head.

I launch into the opening song and the crowd goes wild. I soak it in as I belt out the first lines of Forever —which was my very first single—and let the music take over. I give everything I have when I'm on stage. It's impossible not to be swept up in the music and at this point, performing is so natural that it feels like it's a part of me.

Operation pop star: always a resounding success .

After three songs, I gulp half a bottle of water and grin at the audience.

"Hello, Los Angeles."

The screams get even louder.

"You know this is my first show in more than a year."

Louder still.

"I was a bit worried you'd forgotten about me." I laugh a little to show that I'm joking. "But I can see that isn't the case."

Someone near the front holds up a sign that says, ‘We love you, Amber.'

My heart swells. How is this my life? I look directly at them, and say, "You know I love y'all, too."

Then I throw up my arms, the band starts playing, and the concert continues. It feels so good to be back on stage—the insecurities and challenges I face in my regular life fade away. It's just me and the music and the crowd.

Thirty-two songs should exhaust me, but I'm buzzing after the last notes fade. Someone takes off my microphone, and someone else hands me a bottle of water. I thank them both and then turn to Brian.

"Fucking amazing?" I ask even though I know I was perfect.

"Honestly, that might be the best show you've ever had." This isn't the first time he's told me I was at my best, but I can never hear it too much. He holds up his fist and I grin as we do our traditional triple bump. "Seriously though, I don't think there's anything we need to tweak. The lighting, the sound, the dancers, the set list, it's all seamless—we're ready for the tour."

He isn't telling me anything I don't already know, but the praise still lights me up.

Brian rattles off which media outlets were in attendance and informs me that #ambersparkles is trending on social media. I chuckle because it's perfect. "You're using that in all of our official posts?"

"Who do you think coined the hashtag?" he asks.

"Can I see?"

He hands me his phone and the comments are pouring into my official account. I start scanning and the love is nearly overwhelming.

Amber Hope is the greatest singer EVER! Anyone have tickets for tomorrow?!? I NEED to see that again.

PLEASE GIVE ME MORE! I LUV AMBER!

Why didn't she sing Devastated twice?!? It's too good to only do once!

Jealous!!! I want to see Amber IRL!!!!

As I scroll through the other pictures, the comments remain mostly complimentary—plenty of love with the occasional jab that I suck or am overrated. I'm feeling too good to let a few less than flattering comments ruin my night, so I focus on the positive as I pass Brian his phone.

We fly through the backstage area. I accept dozens of compliments, and the high from the praise carries me into the dressing room where I find Mina scrolling on her phone. She abandons it to hand me mine with one hand and give me a high five with the other. Then she exclaims over the show as if she's never seen me perform before. Her excitement fuels the warm feeling inside me.

"Where's Maddy?" I ask, uncapping the water I'm still holding and taking a huge gulp.

"They left about an hour ago."

I forget to swallow and water gushes out of the corners of my mouth as I choke and sputter. "Maddy and Nolan left?"

Mina reaches out and pounds me on the back. "Maddy hated the headphones, so they couldn't watch the show for long. And then she was fussy when they came back here. Nolan couldn't get her to sleep. He tried the wrap carrier, the strap carrier, and the stroller but she didn't want to be confined and she didn't want to be put down. Eventually he decided it'd be best if he took her home."

"Oh." I suppose, considering the late hour, it isn't surprising that Maddy was unhappy, but that doesn't make it any easier to swallow. "I thought they'd stay until the end," I murmur, mostly to myself. We have dozens of shows to get through and if she hates being backstage, it's going to be stressful. For me. And for her. And for Nolan. Nolan . Fuck. I've been giving him the cold shoulder. We've hardly talked since our kiss, and only about Maddy. I'm the worst. If he wasn't annoyed with me after I kissed him, he is now.

"That's a lot to expect, isn't it?" Mina asks gently. "She's a baby."

I don't flinch, but I want to. I hate when someone reminds me that she's a baby as if my expectations for her are ridiculous. "I know."

Mina's eyebrow shoots up at my sharp tone.

"I'm just surprised they left," I say in a calmer voice, so she knows I'm not mad at her. "I'm not used to performing with Maddy backstage, and I was eager to see her, that's all."

Mom guilt is real and it pulses through me. Nolan reminded me that women in all walks of life struggle to reconcile their professional goals with their need to be there for their children so I know the way I'm feeling isn't particularly unique. That doesn't mean it doesn't suck.

In general, I think I handle guilt and stress as well as anyone. Maybe even better. But right now, I'm inundated with both. What if Maddy hates being on tour? What if the lack of structure on the road makes her miserable? What if my lifestyle is not compatible with raising a child?

Performing live is the lifeblood of my career.

I would be able to give it up. I know I would.

But it wouldn't be easy. And I don't want to. Even though I could release an album without accompanying it with a tour, the thought of not standing in front of a crowd while they belt out the lyrics to one of my songs is painful.

I could do it, but I hope I don't have to because I'd miss it so much.