I can see it written across his face. The way he looks when she texts. How he melts into goo when he says her name. He’s already gone and I can’t let him leave.
I need the band.
Fireball is the only thing keeping me going anymore.
Padraig flips on the headlights as the sky deepens to indigo.
“Would you choose her if she gave you an ultimatum? I deserve to know.”
“I don’t want to choose,” he says.
I turn away. “Well, I guess we’ll see.”
We’ve arrived in Spokane. The Big Dipper’s neon flickers ahead. We park in the lot and reality sets in.
Inside, it’s either a new start. Or another disaster. Probably both
We’ve got no lead singer. No time to find one and be ready for the new school year. We’re here following some rumor from a stage tech about a girl with a voice so special the sound isn’t coming from her, but through her.
Inside the venue, the floor’s tacky with old beer and other unrecognizable fluids. Bad lighting. Musty smells. Patrons don’t look up. Until she walks on stage.
She doesn’t even have to say her name.
Felicity.
I feel her presence like a blade against my ribs.
She takes the mic like it’s a secret only she knows. Her eyes catch the light, and I swear she notices me immediately. Not Padraig. Not the crowd.
Me.
When her mouth falls open, the room doesn’t fall silent, it leans in. Every man gapes. Every woman stares.
I forget everything I was brooding about.
The band behind her fades into wallpaper. The tech was right, her voice is the only thing worth paying attention to. Smoky, jagged, sweet with teeth. She could pour gasoline on a torch and still make it sound like a lullaby.
I’m already picturing her on stage singing our songs. I imagine pulling her backstage, my fingers wound around her hair as I bend her over an amp and fuck her. No foreplay. No questions. Heat and sweat and beautiful, broken cries when my cock bottoms out over and over again.
She’ll hate me for it. Then beg for more.
I don’t even pretend it won’t ruin everything. I can already see Padraig’s face. Tight-lipped, disappointed. He’s probably picturing how her voice blends with ours, how she’ll look on a poster. Her and Stevie getting facials together.
Me? I know better. This woman isn’t made for spa treatments.
She’s going to ruin us and we’ll let her.
It’ll be worth it.
I want the chaos. The destruction. I want to bleed for something to make me feel again. She’s it. Her voice, her body, the way her eyes slice through the crowd and pin me to the wall. This is what I’ve been chasing for years.
She’s also what Fireball is missing.
Felicity finishes the song.
Padraig leans in, whispering something about tone and control and how perfect she is.
He’s right.
