MAC
THE VAULT…
The MC wasabout to calls us on stage. The opening act had just finished. Time for the headliner.
Tessa moved towards Ryder first, kissing him quickly. She passed by Dixon, bumping his nose gently with her index and teasing that he’d already had his share. She moved to Tray, their lips pressing for a heartbeat before separating. And then she closed the distance to me. I stared at her, once again taking a mental photo. A million moments studying her face still probably wouldn’t lock it into place. Each day she seemed a little different. Slightly more at home. Slightly less fearful that she’d lose everything. When she fell asleep on the sofa, the crinkle between her eyebrows rarely appeared now. The bad dreams were infrequent. She raised on tiptoes, and I lowered to meet her. Our lips locked, feeling like they belonged together as always. She pulled away too soon, winked, and whispered ‘good luck’.
I wanted to tell her that none of us needed luck again. All the good that could ever happen to us had already arrived with her. Yet, I couldn’t say the words, not in time. A crackling, amplified voice sliced through the air.
“And now, put your hands together for the one, the only… Oblivion Haze!”
The air was electric as we strode out of the office-turned-lounge. This was a homecoming. The Vault was at capacity, two hundred ticket holders filling the folding velvet chairs. I could picture how we looked to the audience—a blast from the past, dressed almost exactly how we had all those years ago. We’d all agreed to do the charity concert no frills, so we’d ditched the designer bullshit. We were back to our roots in thrift store finest, everything a size and a half too big or too small, artfully adjusted by our own hands.
I’d found a vintage, herringbone Gatsby-style cap and a matching blazer. My grandfather’s pocket watch was slipped into my slim-cut trousers, its chain curving down and then up to clip to a belt loop. He’d fucking hate that I was wearing it here, in a den of sinners.
Tray, as he had back in the day, donned fishnet stockings beneath offensively torn jeans. I honestly didn’t know how the pants were staying around his body. The massive holes in the denim made it so the legs were barely connected to the tattered waistband. Ryder was Ryder, always a bad boy on any budget. Leather bomber jacket, white tee, battered combat boots with tarnished chains. Dixon had outdone himself, dying his bleach-blonde hair riotous cardinal red again. Just like our first time here, he’d sourced a leather vest and skipped a shirt, letting his tattoos be the star. He had a fair few more of those now. Dixon never minded a needle. He liked a little pain. He’d often tried to drag me to the tattoo parlor, citing a true rock star couldn’t walk around with one measly tat. The cross on my ribcage was enough though. It reminded me of who I used to be, and who I’d become. It was usually hidden, but Tessa had seen it a couple days ago. She’d gotten me to open up about my childhood better than our therapist ever had.
My recent conversation with Tessa pushed into the forefront of my mind as the sounds of my band mates warming up flooded through the venue space. I fiddled with the tuning pegs, my thumb slipped and the E1 string snapped back, smarting my nail bed. In the old days, that would’ve been a bad omen. Yet, I caught myself grinning. I’d been scared of thisplace, once. I’d been scared of a lot of things. Leaving home. Leaving the religion that had caged me for so long. Leaving behind expectations and the idea that love meant punishment.
I strummed down the strings; a well-tuned instrument always sent shivers of satisfaction through me.
I waited. I could hear Ryder was almost ready. Dixon not far behind. Tray could pop off at a moment’s notice.
My brain drifted to our Omega again. It almost felt unreal that she could be so beautiful and also so damn kind.
“My mom usedto say that love is?—”
“Don’t say never having to say sorry. I despise that.” I’d cut Tessa off. I shouldn’t have.
“No,” she shook her head, placing her hand on my thigh. “Love is work. It’s hard. But even when it’s hard, it shouldn’t be cruel.”
“It made me a great pianist,” I’d countered with a half-cocked grin, trying to make light of the trauma.
“Well, I’m sure facing a beating every time you messed up would force anyone to be great at something,” she’d spoken slowly, carefully, testing how truthful she could be without hurting me. “But look what happened, Mac. Years of Oblivion Haze and you play bass. Do you even remember the last time you touched a piano?”
I’d thought about what she said… could I call myself a great pianist when I avoided pianos like the plague?
“I really thought God wouldn’t love me if I didn’t follow their rules. If I wasn’t perfect. If I didn’t conform.” I’d finally admitted, tucking the piano debate away for another time.
“Look, I’m not religious at all. My parents landed squarely in the ‘there’s no magic man in the sky’ camp. I think, after everything that’s happened to me, there must be some cosmic plan. And if there’s a cosmic plan, then… somebody had to plan it, right?” She’d given my leg a squeeze before bringing her hand back into her lap and twiddling her thumbs. She’d tilted her head, eyes moving aimlessly, looking thoughtful for a moment. “But I just can’t believe that punishment and conformity is at the heart of a creator. Any creator.”
“Heard of Yaldabaoth?” I’d quipped, still trying to mask my feelings, still trying not to get overwhelmed.
Tessa had raised both eyebrows, lips curving. “No, I have not heard of Yaldabaoth.”
“A malevolent deviser of the material world. Imprisoning souls. Child of chaos.” I’d waggled my fingers at her. She’d rolled her eyes and then, without warning, stood up and moved to sit on my lap.
“Whatever is out there, weaving destiny, I can’t be mad at it anymore. Even though for some reason it saw fit to kill my entire family. I almost feel like leading me to you was its way of saying sorry.” She’d wrapped her arms around my neck, leaned in, and brushed her mouth against my right cheek. Warmth had flooded every part of me. And, gentleman or not, I couldn’t help the way I began to grow firm with anticipation. She’d felt it, swaying back and forth so her buttocks stroked against me.
ThankGod for Tray opening the song with a drum build up, or I’d have missed my cue. I hadn’t even registered Ryder introducing the song as planned. I refocused as the sound grew louder and faster, swelling out over the crowd. I hit my first note right on the mark. Dixon and Ryder joined after a few chords. Even though we were opening with “Sinner’s Kiss”, a song that hadn’t existed our first gig here, my mind went back to that set. The crowd had been far smaller, only fifty seats. Strangers taking a chance on a band they’d never heard of. The lights had been harsh, beating down on us and stoking our nerves. We’d been soaked with sweat before the first song ended. I’d spent the entire time hoping I didn’t botch the whole damn thing, my hands were shaking so badly. To make the whole experience more of a nightmare, I’d caught sight of my tight-laced, by the Bible father standing at the back looking mortified. We’dbeen about to shift into “Mile High” a ballad with lyrics that could only be construed one way—an ode to sex on a plane. It was the last time I saw any of my family.
Ryder was singing now, and he sounded better than he had in ages.
“Blue eyed, angel savior. A sinner kiss against heaven’s favor. I keep falling into darkness. Ruining something innocent and out of reach. She’s better than I’ll ever be.” Ryder dropped the electric guitar, the leather strap keeping it supported against his body. He moved in for his trademark cradling of the mic, pitching low before hitting high. “Hell, she’s better than I’ll ever be. Blue eyed, angel savior. God, can you do this one favor? Make her leave don’t let me claim her.”
My gaze drifted past Ryder, my hands strumming mechanically. Tessa was standing in the doorway of the lounge. Her black liner was running as she cried. She must have sensed me looking, because we locked eyes and it was like I could feel everything she was feeling. It burned through me. Her first meeting with Ryder. The loss of her former life. The struggle. The innocence, long gone. My Alpha instincts yelled at me to run to her, to fold her into my embrace and hold her until she wasn’t falling apart anymore. But I couldn’t leave the damn stage. Wilting under my gaze, she turned around, disappearing into the room where I couldn’t see her.
I nearly missed the next chord, my fingers fumbling as I fought the urge to chase after her.What had upset her? The lyrics? The memories they stirred? Or something else entirely?
