The sweltering Chicago evening was merciless to Alex. Sweat trickled down his back, forcing him to shed his jacket and unbutton the top few buttons of his shirt. Otherwise, he might have boiled alive. This oppressive heat was something the British man was far from accustomed to, having spent most of his life surrounded by England’s mild, often dreary weather. Navigating through the festival crowd, Alex moved with deliberate subtlety, his eyes scanning the sea of faces in search of his friends. Music festivals weren’t his scene—he hated the chaos, the blaring music, and most of all, the unrelenting sun roasting everyone like chickens on a spit.

He weaved through the throng as quickly as possible, head down, hoping not to attract any attention. He knew his band’s fans well enough—if one spotted him, it wouldn’t be long before he’d be surrounded, bombarded with requests for photos and autographs. Not that he minded, of course. He was always polite, always obliging. But tonight was different. Tonight, he just wanted to be left alone.

Pulling out his phone, he scrolled through his recent calls. Fifteen attempts to reach Matt—nothing. Jamie and Nick? The same. He guessed the deafening music probably drowned out their ringtones, leaving him stranded in the crowd. Alex sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as frustration bubbled inside him. He tried calling once more, but predictably, it went straight to voicemail. A string of curses escaped his lips just as he collided with someone, nearly knocking her off her feet.

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry. Are you okay, love?” he asked, his voice full of genuine concern as he instinctively reached out to steady her.