I see a clear spot near the middle of the floor but off to the right a bit and I walk over that way. Looking at the edge of the stage on this side, I see some extra security. That probably means the entrance to backstage is there, so I should be able to sneak out and get over there fairly easily from this spot. I suck back the final dregs of my coffee, yum coffee grinds, and dispose of my cup.
While I’m waiting, I scan the crowd. I love people watching and concerts always attract a diverse group. Right now though, all I see are slutty groupies and fuckboys.
The groupies are refusing to give up their spots right at the front, which makes sense, I suppose. It’s hard to get backstage with the band when you’re too far away for them to notice you. They could always wait outside and try to catch them when they head back to their bus, but I don’t think that would fulfil the whole ‘he picked me out of the crowd and then we fell in love’ fantasy I’m sure a lot of these girls are entertaining. That’s not very likely to happen, but best of luck to them.
The fuckboys are right there with the groupies, just laying the groundwork. Not every groupie is going to make it backstage, and the fuckboys know that. Gotta hand it to these guys, that’s not a bad plan. These chicks are hoping to sleep with a rock star and if they don’t get to, they might just take a fuckboy as a consolation prize. They’re all attractive enough, and there’s nothing wrong with consensual sex. As long as everyone involved is free and available, that is. Fucking Derek, that prick, obviously doesn’t know that.
Even standing as far away as I am, somehow I draw the interest of a few fuckboys. Cute, tattooed, good hair. I’m not interested in meeting guys tonight, but it is flattering. I was serious, though, when I said I was off men, and it wasn’t just a way to get out of Becca’s plans for me this evening. My heart may be made of stone now, but it still hurts a little when I’m never the one chosen for keeps. I’m still a little shook up from walking in on Derek and that girl today. Every time I think of it, a little montage of all the cheaters I’ve had the displeasure of dealing with in my life runs through my mind. I’m sure these fuckboys who keep looking over at me aren’t any better.
Speaking of fuckboys, here one comes to actually try his luck. I really need to work on my resting bitch face if this guy thinks my expression says, ‘hey, come talk to me’.
“Hey baby,” he says as he circles in behind me and rubs his fingers down my peony tattoo. “How did you know roses are my favourite flower?” Ugh, he doesn’t even know what they are. Also, who the fuck said he could touch me? I’m not interested, but I decide to mess with him a little, just to entertain myself.
“Just lucky, I guess.” I turn around so I can see him better. He’s not bad looking. Dark, messy fauxhawk, pleasant smile, and he’s wearing a tight shirt that shows off a decent amount of muscles. One problem though, he’s looking at me with ‘fuck me’ eyes. “I’m actually here working though,” I hold up my press pass for him to have a look, “so no time for a quick bang in the bathroom just now.” His jaw drops, but I don’t really notice what he does next because just then the lights go down in the arena. “I guess I better move up and get started on my work. Nice meeting you.” I throw back over my shoulder as I push through the crowd. I didn’t want to be too close to the stage, but the front row seems to lack fuckboys right now, so that is the spot for me.
I work my way through the crowd and end up right up by the fence, still a little off to the right. It’s not completely dark and in the dim light, I can see the musicians coming out onto the stage. I can make out five people in total. One goes to sit behind a drum kit in the back, three more pick up what looks like guitars (but I’m sure at least one is a bass) two taking up spots on the left and one on the right, and the last one steps up to the front of the stage where there is a microphone on a stand. It’s kind of hard to tell, but they look to all be men. Slowly, a spotlight comes up on the drummer and he counts in the band’s first song. The guitars and bass (I knew it!) join in as they are gradually lit by their own spotlights. They are all incredibly sexy. No wonder there are so many groupies.
Damn, I almost regret telling Becca not to try to hook me up with one of these guys. They are all so pretty. Even my thoughts are trying to get me under someone new. Maybe I am not as off men as I thought.
And then it happens. The last spotlight comes up, the rest of the stage is lit, and standing there, at the microphone, is the lead singer. Someone I had no hope of ever seeing again.
The day we met is ingrained in my memory, something I will never forget. I was walking home from school, passing by the park beside the Fallbridge library, when I heard music coming from the direction of the slide. I couldn’t stop myself from going over there, and to this day I couldn’t tell you why. When I came around the slide, I saw him, just sitting at the bottom. Short, dark hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in days. His head was bouncing along as he strummed a guitar. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be oblivious to his surroundings. He wasn’t, though. He looked up at me, his huge chocolate brown eyes staring directly into my soul, making my breath catch in my chest.
“If you’re going to listen, you may as well come sit with me,” he said, then he got up to sit at a nearby picnic table. He patted the space beside him, and I was powerless to resist. My feet were stepping before I had decided that I was going to do it. I sat there listening to him play for hours.
And after that, there was no hope for me. Sometime between the first and last songs he played that day, I fell in love. We saw each other every day after that. Until I moved here to Westborough when my parents died, that is. That was when I lost him.
But here he is, in front of me on this stage, larger than life. All I can do is stare as I take in the only man who ever truly had my heart. He is hotter now than he was then. He looks out over the crowd, his eyes taking everyone in. Shit, that look must be what people mean when they say ‘smoulder’. I never got it before now. His dark hair hangs down over his eyes just a little, and he runs a hand through it to push it back. Tattoos cover both of his arms and when he tilts his head back, I can see he has something with wings tattooed on the front of his neck. He’s wearing a tight, vintage looking, Soundgarden T-shirt with dark jeans that are just a little tight, and burgundy doc martens boots. Looks like we have similar taste in fashion. Actually, I used to have that exact shirt, if I remember correctly. He’s wearing a lot more jewellery than I am, though. Most of his fingers have rings on them, and I can see a nose piercing.
I’m so busy taking a physical inventory of his entire body, I fail to notice when he turns and looks directly at me. I see his eyes widen just a little, and I notice he’s wearing eyeliner. His mouth opens a little like he’s going to say something, and that’s what brings me out of my trance.
“Well shit,” I say out loud. “This is a surprise.” Then, shocking even myself, I turn and run, pushing people out of my way, not stopping until I’m in the lobby. I need space to think about this development. I’m not sure I even want him to see me at all, let alone see me staring up at him from a sea of groupies. Because if there is one thing I’m not, it’s a groupie. Not even for Connor, even if he is my first love.
Chapter 7
Connor - More Family Drama
“Alright boys, the other guys are finishing up and you’re on soon. Let’s get moving.” Denise comes in and starts herding us to the door. I stumble a little as I get up from my spot on the couch, possibly thanks to the drinks I’ve had since Mom told me they weren’t coming. I don’t know how she always takes me by surprise by not being there for me, but somehow she does. And I hate it.
“You alright Connor?” Denise looks concerned. “You haven’t gone on stage anything but sober for years. Can you stand up alright? Or should we get you a stool to sit on?” She’s kidding, of course. She knows that as long as I’m not blacking out, there is nothing that could stop me from putting on a great show.
“I’m great, dollface. Just had five or ten drinks to take the edge off my disappointment. Mom and the girls can’t make it after all. ‘Ted’s not feeling well.’” I don’t hide my disgust at the last part of that statement. I probably look like I’m going to be sick. No chance of that, though. I can handle my liquor.
“Who’s Ted?” Denise says. She’s missed the last half hour that I spent ranting about Mom’s boyfriend to the guys. Can’t say I blame her, really. I’m sure she’s been taking care of shit involving the finer details of the show.
“Mom’s new boyfriend,” I wave my hand nonchalantly, cigarette dangling precariously from my fingers. “He’s sick and they can’t come to a family gathering without the entire family. BECAUSE I’M NOT FUCKING FAMILY AND HE IS APPARENTLY!” I yell, because the anger needs to come out somehow. If I’d had more time after I talked to my mother, I’d have gone back to the gym to spar for a bit. Risking the bruises would have been worth it to put a stop to the way I’m feeling.
“OK then, well, let’s just put a pin in that for now,” Denise takes my cigarette and puts it out in the ashtray, grabbing my shoulders to lead me to the door. “Right now you have a show to do. And you have meet and greets after the show. You promised you would be charming, remember? The photographer is out in front of the stage now to get a few shots of you performing. I’ll ask her to come back and get set up after a couple of songs to make the meet and greets go faster. I’ll take care of it. We’ll make this the shortest meet and greet session in history and you’ll be out of here before you know it.” Denise sure knows how to put out fires. I haven’t needed her help for something like this in years, but right now I appreciate her more than she’ll ever know. “And Connor? Time to fuck shit up.” She smiles and leads me out of the room.
Right. Time to fuck shit up.
Chapter 8
Alex- Panic and Irish Coffee
I’m standing outside the arena, smoking a cigarette that I bummed off a biker looking dude who’s also hanging around outside smoking. He must’ve sensed I really needed one because he had no qualms about handing it over and giving me a light. I don’t smoke very often, but there is just nothing better than furiously smoking when you’re upset. I’m taking deep, angry drags of my smoke, trying to decide whether I should even hang around to meet up with Connor, but before I can decide, Becca texts me.
Becca- We need to get backstage in the next ten minutes. The band’s manager is putting a rush on the meet and greets so we need to be ready to shoot as soon as they get back there.
