“Wasn’t me,” Riven says, holding his hands up in surrender. Callum remains silent, sitting on a rather small-looking leather love seat with his arms planted firmly across his large chest. He’s wearing his usual scowl, except this time I swear that I see theslightesttic of his jaw.
“Callum brought me, silly. Date night, remember?” Lydia chimes in, forcing my gaze back to hers. I raise a brow in silent question.
“Later,” she whispers, winking. She turns toward Riven. “Oh my, is this the infamousRiven Reilly?” She asks. Riven doesn’tmiss a beat, giving her his best soft smile. He’s hot as hell, and he knows it.
“Hi, Lydia. It’s so nice to meet you formally,” he purrs, moving in for a hug. Lydia eagerly embraces him back, turning her face toward me to mouth the word ‘WOW.’ I roll my eyes.
“Oh, the pleasure ismine,” Lydia chimes, finally loosening her death grip on him. She turns to me, giddy and bouncing on her toes. Riven takes this moment to leave us and head over to Callum. Lydia grabs my arms and tugs me over to the far right corner of the room, where a beautiful wet bar stands. She grabs two already-made glasses of champagne and hands one over to me. I take a sip, and then another, the bubbly liquid burning the back of my throat in the most delicious way.
“Careful, darling. That champagne headache tomorrow won’t be nearly as fun.” I hear Riven’s voice from behind me, feel his breath at the nape of my neck. I moan softly, closing my eyes at the way the champagne is already making my head feel lighter.
“Get a room, you two,” Lydia jokes, my eyes opening to glare at her. I hear Callum’s judgmental groan from the sofa cushion. I look his way, rolling my eyes and then giving him a look that says, “Will you at least give this a try,” with a head nod toward Lydia. Lydia now glares at me with her own set of judgy eyes. Is it suddenly stuffy in here, or is it just me?
“Alright, guys. Time to rehearse and sound check. Get dressed, and let’s go,” says a pretty, shorter girl with auburn hair and tattoos, whom I recognize from the meet and greet. She must be Ashley, the band manager.
Riven kisses me on the cheek, a hand grabbing my ass cheek and squeezing. I yelp, spinning around to face him. He pulls me against his chest and kisses me. I can hear Lydia’s “ohdamn” from behind me. I can practically feel Callum’s eyes roaming around the room to look at anything other than us. Raithe whistles from the side of the room where he’s currently dressing,and Malakai starts a literalslow clap. Riven pulls back, eyes finding mine and blocking out the noise that surrounds us. For a moment, it’s only him and me standing here.
“Don’t miss me too much, darling.” He playfully kisses the tip of my nose before leaning into my ear. “I love you.” Before I can respond, he’s grabbing his mask and heading for the door. I stand there stunned, watching as he walks out.
“Well, I can see why you’re so obsessed,” Lydia says, a longing look on her face as she watches Riven exit the room. Raithe and Kai follow after him. Callum stands from the love seat and heads for the door before turning to look back at Lydia.
“Have fun,” Callum says nervously, averting Lydia’s gaze and walking out the door to join the rest of them.
“You too, sunshine!” Lydia calls after him. I hear him huff out a laugh from somewhere on the other side of the wall. I turn to Lydia, laughter bubbling up my throat.
“I think he likes me,” she says jokingly. It’s enough to have us both breaking into a fit of laughter. Maybe it’s the champagne, or maybe it’s the absurdity of the nickname and Callum’s grumbling response to it. One may never know.
? ? ?
Lydia and I are in our VIP area, compliments ofour boyfriends. Lydia’s words, not mine. We are seated near the stage, off to the right, nestled in an intimate alcove right off the mountain. The seats are plush bench style, wrapped in a deep velvet that resembles blood under the moonlight. Flickering lanterns adorn the space around us, casting hypnotic shadows that dance along the stone walls of the mountainside. There’s a heavy, deep-colored wood table resting in the center. The table is littered with vases that house the most beautiful, almost haunting,pale purple hydrangeas. We’ve traded our champagne for a blackberry bourbon smash that now rests atop the table.
The crowd behind us is growing by the second, eager fans bustling in to fill the empty spaces. I look around at the writhing sea of people, lively and ready to worship. Above us, the sky is a wide-open display of endless twinkling stars that paint the night sky. The moon casts an ethereal glow around the space, hanging heavy and low. I breathe in deep, the scent of pine and damp moss filling my lungs. It’s all so entrancing, so intoxicating, so sacred.
“This is easily the coolest thing I’ve ever done,” Lydia chimes from her seat on the velvet beside me.
“Same,” I say, watching as the lanterns surrounding us grow dimmer and the stage lighting flickers to life before us. We both stand, staring in awe. The lights glow, casting the stage in an icy blue haze that cuts through the night like a blade. The shouts of the crowd behind us sound more like chanting as the members of Reverb fill the space before us. Thick plumes of fog encircle their feet where they stand. I’m enraptured as I watch Riven take center stage behind his microphone stand, a tall twisting of metal vines that coil up the shaft like living creatures. Indecipherable symbols, one I recognize from the earpiece, are carved into the base of it. A black microphone sits nestled on the top of it, gripped by a set of small, skeletal hands. I watch as his large hands encircle the top of the stand, reminding me of all the things he can do with them.
The music starts, echoing throughout the amphitheater. I feel the vibration of the earth beneath my feet, each note an amplification of the one before it. Every soul present seems to simultaneously hold our breath as the sound wraps itself around us like an invisible current. Riven’s voice cuts through the thick pulse of the music, a dark caress that seeps into my skin and coils beneath the surface. It brings me back to that first concert,and to the first time my eyes found his. This time, it feels personal. It feels like the words are meant only for me, delivered with a sinful reverence that doesn’t allow me to look away.
His head turns in my direction as if compelled to. Although the mask hides his eyes from mine, I know that they watch me. The music becomes a sound that I hardly hear as I stare up at him. I feel the weight of his returned gaze, that same pull that I felt the night I was merely a stranger in the crowd. The crowd disappears as he sings to me,forme. Every word falls from his lips like a vow sealed beneath the watchful eye of the moon. I couldn’t look away then, just like I can’t now.
It’s poetic to find ourselves in the same place as we started. Only this time, it’s different.
This time he’smine, and I’mhis.
This time, it’sforever.
47
Epilogue
Riven
I’m standing in my kitchen, searing a couple of steaks in a butter, thyme, and garlic sauce. Tonight, Sloane and I are celebrating. Not only is it our one-year anniversary, but Sloane has also been promoted to senior investigative journalist. I may also have a surprise of my own to share with her when she comes home from work, one that I’ve managed to finally keep from her.
A few months after Reverb headlined Moonvale, Sloane wrote the most beautiful story of her career. The story was a multilayered tale of Reverb and how we were always more than a band. She described how the music was more of a movement, a transformational phenomenon that blurred the lines between art and reality. Her words spoke of the ability of sound frequency to inhibit basic human emotion in a way that bordered on ritualistic catharsis. She explored the psychologicalaspect behind Reverb’s fan base, outlining the almost spiritual bond created through mystery and lore. Sloane’s story was a deliverance, powerful and compact, vaguely unveiling thehumansthat lie beneath the masks. Her final words were ones that I’ll never forget because of how true they rang. I can hear them now in my mind, as if right in front of me.
“I set out in search of faces and names, but the truth that I found instead was far more enduring. Identity is nothing more than a whisper against the roaring tide of the art that speaks so loudly for itself.”
