Before I couldask what the surprise was, I walked into the room to find several of my clubbrothers letting out a series of hoots and hollers, along with applause, justas Harmony rushed to her sister and pulled her in for a hug.
“Oh my god,sissy, that was amazing.”
Melody laughed,hugging her back. “It was super fun.”
Hatch pulled mein for a brotherly hug and then Maisie wrapped her arms around me for a littlelonger before cupping my face. “Goodness, love, I knew you could play, but youare so very talented.”
I grinned.“Thanks, sweetheart.”
Flea and Gracewere next in the welcoming committee, and they spent a few minutescongratulating me before hanging back with Hatch and Maisie, leaving me alone withMelody.
“Did you planall of this before the show?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“You didn’t wantto fill me in?”
She chuckled.“You said you didn’t have anyone you wanted passes for, and I knew thatcouldn’t be true, so I called my sister. It’s obvious this is your family andif anyone knows how important family is, it’s me.” She met my eyes. “They’rethere for your wins just as much as your fails and this is most definitely ahuge win, Train. They deserve to be here for you just as much as you deservethem to be here. It’s been a phenomenal night. You played your ass off. I sangmy ass off. Your family is awesome. My family is awesome. I’m logging this winand calling it a night.”
Jesus, she wasso fucking beautiful.
I smiled.“Thanks, Melody. You did great tonight. It really was kind of amazing.”
She squeezed myarm gently, then walked away.
After huggingher sister and Jaxon, she said goodnight to everyone, then she and Brandy leftthe room and I suddenly felt like something was missing.
Train
One is afunny number. When you considerthe fact that a person has a one in three hundred-thousand chance of beingstruck by lightning, one seems like a small number. When you’ve played a notethat is one whole tone away from the intended note while standing on stage infront of nineteen-thousand people, one seems like a large number. When thatnote happens to lead off an epic guitar solo in which all lights are shiningdirectly on you on an otherwise darkened stage, one becomes, as the song says,the loneliest number.
Puddin’s headsnapped towards me, and he burst into laughter as I fat-fingered my way back tothe correct melody. If I’d come into the note flat, at least I could have bentup to the intended note and turned the mistake into a soulful choice. But Icame in sharp. Directly at the corner of wrong and ugly. The kind of mistakethat causes even the most tone-deaf, casual concert goer to wince. Worst ofall, I’d never be able to explain to Melody why I’d made such a fuckingboneheaded mistake in the first place. I couldn’t possibly tell her the reasonI fucked up on stage was because I was distracted by her. Distracted by eventhe slightest glimpse of her as she moved across the stage. Or, God forbid, Ismell her as she passes by.
I put the sour notebehind me and turned my thoughts to Melody. Trying not only to recover thesolo, but also to convey the feelings I had for her. Feelings that grewstronger every day. I knew she could never be mine, but that didn’t stop mefrom wanting her. Even though we shared the same stage night after night, welived in completely different worlds. All I could do to stop the burning in myheart was play. So, I played, and I kept playing, with all my heart. Pouringeverything I had into each note. Then Melody joined me.
** *
Melody
The solo sectionof ‘Flowers on Fire’ had become my favorite moment of the entire show. Thechorus leading up to the solo would end abruptly and the stage would go darkfor an eight count. Then, a single spotlight would shine on Train at the exactmoment he would start the solo. Legendary session guitarist, Greg Kirk, hadplayed the part beautifully in the studio, but Train somehow managed to elevatethe solo far beyond the recorded version. I couldn’t wait for this part of theshow and my heart raced every time the stage would go black. Anticipating themoment when Train’s first note would pierce through the darkness. Savoring thedelicious tension of the prolonged moment of silence beforehand. Knowing thattension would soon be broken, and I could lose myself in Train’s playing.
At least, that’sthe way the solo had been until now. Tonight, Train served up a big ol’ bucketof clams. It took him a bar to fully recover, but by the time the band cameback in he was back on track and playing his ass off, per usual. Then he reallystarted to let loose. Playing like I’d not seen until now. Free and wild withreckless abandon.
I stepped out ofthe darkness and sauntered to the front of the stage just as Train’s soloreached its climax. The band roaring behind us as I began to sing. My voiceintertwining with Train’s guitar melodies as we circled one another, bathed inthe glow of the spotlight. I taunted him as if I were a matador and him mybull. He stomped the ground before charging at me, missing me by mere inches ashe passed. The band played on, taking their cues from our movements as wecontinued.
* * *
Train
“Courtland‘Train’ Nash on guitar!” Melody shouted as my guitar rang out through thearena. “And this is real live music, people!” The crowd went ape shit and I’dnever been prouder. Not because I felt they were cheering for me. But becauseMelody was right. We were playing live mother fucking music. Without a net.Warts and all. The way music is supposed to be played. My mistake was mymistake to make. I owned it and did my best to turn it around, and instead oftearing into me in the dressing room, Melody joined me and gave me the singlegreatest onstage moment of my life. It only made me want her more.
* * *
It was three o’clock in the morning and I was wide fuckin’ awake, adrenaline still coursingthrough my veins from tonight’s show. Mostly, the fuck up. We’d been on theroad for a week now and I was still having trouble sleeping on the bus. On shownights, I’d be jacked up for hours, and the rest of the time, it was justnormal life on the bus shit that kept me awake. After tossing and turning in mybunk, I gave up and quietly made my way to the front of the bus. Maybe our busdriver, Walt, could use some company.
I reached thelounge area at the front of the bus and was surprised to see Puddin’ awake. Hewas staring at his phone with a worried look on his face.
“Everythingokay?” I whispered.
