“Lighten up, mi amor. We’re really just moving money back and forth. We need more people to bet in opposition so we can do more than win a few bucks.” Angel looked around the table. “Anyone care to bet on the longshot? You stand to win a boatload of cash.”
Alan Delgado and Jeremy Kagan, Bulletproof’s drummer and bassist, looked at one another and then at Angel. “We’ve been losing our shirts all night!” Alan exclaimed.
Jeremy slung his arm over Alan’s shoulder and eyed the drummer provocatively. “Thanks for putting that image in my head.”
Alan smiled back, and the two shared a hot-as-fuck kiss. It was no wonder that they were America’s favorite same-sex rock star couple.
Several more awards were presented before Tommy finally missed one, and Jeremy and Alan split the gigantic pot in the middle of the table. It was the award for Guitarist of the Year. Tommy was nominated, but he had no idea he was going to win. He’d won the award more times than he could remember, so he was sure that one of the newer artists were going to take the award. He was so shocked when the presenter called his name that he just sat there.
He realized he wasn’t moving when Angel and Jessi squeezed him in a hug and he heard the room full of applause as everyone waited for him to take the stage. He gave his husband and wife a quick kiss and then shot to his feet. This time, he thanked Angel at the podium, along with the fans and the label. When he sat back down, he was still in a stupor. Just when he thought there was nothing left to get excited about, this win really hit the spot, and he lovingly fingered the shiny statue in his hands.
The coveted Lifetime Achievement Award was next, and no one needed to guess which band would win because Bad Luck Opals was the obvious choice.
“I’m done,” Alan said, when the presenter mentioned the nominees for the prestigious award.
“Me too,” Jeremy agreed, still counting the cash from his earlier win.
Since they were the only two betting against Tommy’s predictions, there was no reason for anyone else to place a bet, and they all turned their attention to the stage.
Tommy began to imagine that one day he’d win this award, and a spark went off in his head which quickly morphed into fireworks that rivaled the Fourth of July. A lifetime achievement award would be awesome. Maybe he could win it for songwriting, and it gave him something to dream about.
As predicted, the Opals won. The next award was for Bassist of the Year, and it came as no surprise that Damien Diamond was the recipient—except to Damien. He did a doubletake toward the projection screen, as if he couldn’t have heard right and needed visual confirmation.
“You won.” Alyssa threw her arms around Damien’s neck and kissed his cheek. “Go accept your award. And thank me!”
While Damien jogged toward the stage, the guys from Bulletproof cheered so loudly that they overshadowed everyone else, including the emcee who said something into the mic.
“What did he say?” Tommy asked Angel.
“Shh!”Alyssa scolded. “I’m not missing one word of Damien’s thank-you speech.”
“This shit is cool,” Damien said into the mic.
The audience laughed, but Alyssa rolled her black-rimmed eyes at Damien’s choice of vocabulary.
“But not as cool as my chick,” he continued. “Alyssa, you’re a fucking badass. Not many chicks got the balls to walk into a red-carpet event wearing a black leather bustier and thigh-high boots and look as good as you do. You still got it, babe.”
Damien’s thank-you speech was perfect, and Tommy leaned forward to tell Alyssa, but he was suddenly thrown backwards on his chair and hit the floor. An explosion of sound blasted through his eardrums as he stared up at the ceiling through a cloud of smoke, too stunned to move.
“Tommy! Oh my God! Are you OK?”
It was Jessi. She was crouched on the floor over him and cupping his cheek. Angel was also kneeling on the floor, clutching Tommy’s hand.
“Are you hurt?” Angel asked.
“N’no. I don’t think so.” Tommy dug his fingers into his hair and rubbed at his scalp. His brain didn’t feel as if it were in a fog. It was clear, and that’s when he heard the screams. The loud boom wasn’t something rupturing in his head, like last time. The explosion was in the room. He jumped to his feet and surveyed his surroundings. People were running in all directions. Most were headed toward the exit to escape, but many were headed toward the stage—except the stage was no longer there. It lie in a mangled pile of broken boards, sound equipment, amps, and television cameras, all encased in a cloud of dust. “What the fuck happened?”
Above the mayhem, Tommy heard someone shouting about a bomb, and panic ripped through him at the thought of a terrorist attack. “We gotta get out of here!” He grabbed Angel and Jessi’s hands and pulled them toward the exit but immediately stopped when he saw security rushing into the room, shouting into their walkies about the stage collapsing. “It wasn’t a bomb?”
“No,” Angel confirmed. “It was the stage. It tilted to one side and then just gave out.”
Tommy turned to look at the mangled stage and took a few steps closer to it. People were frantically digging through the debris with their bare hands. An arm reached through the pile of rubble, desperately trying to grab onto something or someone. And then it hit him—Damien had been on that stage.
“Damien!” he exclaimed, and ran toward the front of the room to find his friend.
Angel and Jessi called after him, but he couldn’t stop or slow down. His gaze was riveted on a dust-covered figure that was being hauled out of the wreckage. It was the emcee, and he appeared to be OK, but Tommy had no idea if Damien would be as lucky.
People who were running toward the exit bumped into Tommy with their shoulders and elbows, but he pushed past them. The layer of dust on the floor made it slippery, and he almost stumbled, but someone caught him by the arm. It was one of the security guards. “You need to leave if you’re not hurt. We need to clear out the room and assess the injured parties. Paramedics are on their way.”
