Nerves.
Real, raw,‘holy shit, I’m about to perform at the freaking Super Bowl’nerves.
I step in without a word, taking the strap from him.
His eyes find mine. His breathing slows.
He’s got this.
“Babe, I know you’re nervous, but you will be amazing. You guys have been practicing for months and know what you’re doing. Take a deep breath, and don’t think about the fans and whether they’ll like it or not. You know the music is the best you guys have done, so play it for you. Remember how muchyoulove performing,” I say, handing him back his strap.
He smiles and hooks the strap in the first time. “What would I do without you?” He leans in and kisses my head.
“Fall into a pit of endless despair and depression, wasting your days away watching cartoons and drinking beer. Oh, and don’t forget the continuous farting.”
“I watch cartoons, drink beer, and fart now. How will it be any different?”
“You forgot the endless pit of despair and depression. That’s the difference.”
“Right, so just add pizza, and I can wallow in my own filth and think of the days when I was rooting for this hot chick whose name was Dee.”
My mouth drops open in mock shock. “So, I’m just a root now, am I?” I ask, putting my hands on my hips, but I can’t hide my smile.
“Well, you know,” He tilts his head to the side. “You’re okay! I guess I can keep you around for a little while longer,” he says. “Only you, always,” he whispers softly, rubbing his nose along mine.
“I love you, too,” I reply.
“Right, it’s time to rock, guys,” Rob calls out, clapping his hands together.
I look at Colt, and the nervousness in his eyes vanishes, replaced with pure adrenaline and excitement.
“Go on, rock god! Go show the world what they’ve been missing out on.” I gently slide his dog tags under his tank top and tap them gently. A gesture we do before each show for good luck and a reminder of everything we’ve been through. He smiles, leans in kissing me gently, and I pull back with a wicked grin, then slap his ass as he walks off. He turns back to look at me, and I give him two thumbs up. He nods, then walks out with the rest of the band.
Anna and Sia amble across, and the three of us move to the side of the stage. We’re in our own private area, which Johnny arranged. He didn’t want anyone near Anna while she’s pregnant, especially with the crowds expected at theSuper Bowl, which will undoubtedly go crazy once they realize12GAUGE-Slayedare back together on stage.
I feel like a schoolgirl.
It’s like I’m back at that first concert in London, where I’d just met Colt and the band. I hardly knew Anna and Sia, and I had no idea what I was getting myself into. That feels like a lifetime ago now, and as I stand here listening to the crowd going absolutely ballistic, I find myself thinking of my life with Colt.
It’s been rocky, that’s for sure.
Was I bonkers, dropping everything, and going on tour with the world’s greatest rock band? Yeah, probably, but it’s a decision I’m now thankful for.
The introduction pulls me back into the now.
“And the moment the world has been waiting for…. The band that has gone multi-platinum… The band that brought you the world’s biggest songs, “Rapture” and “Until the End of Time…” The band that’s going to rock your socks off. Get ready, MetLife Stadium for12GAUGE-Slayed,” an announcer says over the PA system.
The crowd cheers and stomps their feet in the over eighty-two thousand capacity stadium filled with fans. It’s loud! A thrill ofexcitement rolls through me, and I can’t help but jump up and down as Dingo starts the drumbeat. This comeback has been a long time coming. Practically a year in the making, and the whole world is watching.
Hux walks out on stage, and the crowd cheers. Johnny soon follows him, and again, the crowd cheers. Johnny and Hux start the chords to the beginning of “Rapture,” and Colt finally joins them. The stadium explodes. People are cheering, clapping, stomping, generally making as much noise as they can, and it’s all for Colt.
I’m so proud of him right now.
He’s come so far.
Colt walks up to the microphone and smiles, the cheekiness touching his eyes. “New Jeeerseeey,” he yells, and the crowd screams. He’s in the zone, and my panties are soaking, as are the panties of most of the women in the stadium.
“So we had a little break…” He brings up his thumb and forefinger and shows a little gap. “But now we’re back and ready to rock your bloody socks off. So scream if you wanna hear “Rapture,”” he says into the microphone, and everyone does, including me and Anna.
