ONE
Ty
? No Sleep Till Brooklyn - Beastie Boys ?
Ihad been prepared for the late October temperatures. I had not been prepared for the rain that was currently falling in sheets over me. I’m soaked to the bone and my teeth are chattering so loudly in my skull that I can barely hear the bustle of the city streets around me.
I press myself tighter against the side of Madison Square Garden, trying unsuccessfully to pull as much of myself out of the deluge as I can. Tugging my phone out of the pocket of my coat, I note the time: 3:07 p.m.
Less than four hours to go.
Groaning, I put my phone back in my pocket and bring my knees to my chest. I could do this. I’d been waiting ten years to see Velvet Shadows in concert, and not only was Ifinallyhere, due to the shitty weather, I was the only one here.Which meant my general admission floor ticket was all but guaranteed to turn into a spot on the rail when the doors finally opened.
As long as I didn’t freeze to death out here first.
No. Stop.I say to myself.You’re here. This is happening.Do not let a little rain dampen your mood.I smile at the inadvertent rain pun before realizing that to anyone passing by, I probably look a little mental pressed up against the arena, soaking wet, shaking, and smiling to myself.
“Excuse me,” I hear someone say, and I jump at the sudden, unexpected voice so close to me. I peek out from under my hood, but the stranger has their own hood pulled over their face, so I can’t make out who they are. They’re not wearing any sort of uniform, so I’m confident I’m not about to be kicked out of my spot or arrested for loitering. Although, at this point, a warm, dry jail cell and a hot meal doesn’t sound unappealing. “What are you doing out here?”
“W-waiting f-f-f-or the doors-s t-to open,” I force out between chattering teeth.
“How long have you been out here?” the stranger asks, lowering into a crouch beside me, briefly shielding me from the onslaught of rain.
“Th-thh-ree hours,” I force out.
“Why?” They ask.
“B-bucket l-l-list,” I say.
“What? Dying of hypothermia?”
The laugh that escapes me is much too loud and maniacal, but I can’t help it. I seem to have lost all physical control of my body thanks to my tense, shaking muscles.
“Come on,” the stranger says. “Let’s get you inside and out of this rain.”
I shake my head.
“I’m f-f-fine,” I say. “C-can’t l-leave.”
The stranger regards me for a long moment, and although I still can’t see his face, I can feel his eyes on me.
Studying me.
Judging me.
“Are you here for the show tonight?” he asks, and I manage a jerky nod. “You have my word that if you come inside with me, you will still get to see the show from the front, assuming that’s why you were out here seven fucking hours early in the middle of a monsoon.”
I turn my head to face him fully, and he reaches out a hand.
“You w-work f-for the arena or s-sss-omething?” I ask.
“Or something,” he repeats, wiggling his fingers. “Come on.”
I reach out a shaky hand and place it in his palm. His hand is warm and steady as his long fingers wrap around mine and pull me to my feet. My body aches from being curled up for so long and my muscles scream in protest as I rise onto unsteady feet. I resist the urge to press my entire wet, freezing body against his warm, dry one.
When I’m standing, I realize the stranger is much taller than me. I look up into what I can only assume is his face, but I can’t be sure because the rain is in my eyes and his damn hood is still shrouding his face in shadow.
He turns, and I try to follow behind him to the doors, but my leg muscles lock up and I stumble. He turns around and chuckles, and without a word, he lifts me into his arms like I weigh nothing and carries me to the doors. The security guards on the other side open a door to let us inside where the heat hits me like an open oven door, and I immediately release an audible sigh.
