Istood behind a railing backstage, grateful to be alone and tucked on a slightly elevated platform, out of the way of the dozens of people bustling around to prepare for the show.
I could just barely see the guys, huddled in a circle at the other edge of the stage, heads together, intensity and focus practically radiating off of them.
They looked up and Zane nodded to someone on the stage crew, and the lights in the stadium fell to darkness.
The crowd lost their minds with excitement, but when Kelly started to hammer the relentless tattoo of “Stop,” they somehow got even louder.
My heart seemed to be trying to keep pace with the drums as I stared at the darkness, waiting for Zane to be illuminated.
He’d touched me at every opportunity since we left the hotel, but we were constantly around other people, so it was surreptitious and never enough to satisfy.
He was so amped up it was infectious. Eighty thousand people were out there screaming their heads off. It was hard to even wrap my own head around that number of people, far less imagine what it was like to have sold out this venue three days in a row with fans so eager to see you perform.
Zane appeared center stage when he opened his fist and held aloft a ball of fire. His hand was steady as ever, unshakeable in the face of an audience like this. It truly didn’t seem to be the shows that were the problem. It was everything else that went with being on tour.
He threw the fire above his head and thick ropes of flame shot out across the stadium. By the time I looked back down, he’d swung his guitar around to the front and they launched into the dirty rhythm of the song.
It was otherworldly the way he commanded the stage. He was born to do this.
Not just the showmanship and the obvious way he felt the music with his whole body…but that voice.
It was a once in a generation kind of voice that we were all just lucky to be experiencing.
At the end of the first song, he caught my eye and threw me a wink that all but turned me to a puddle on the floor.
At the start of the fourth song, some other musicians joined them onstage, letting Zane and Kelly leave their instruments to put on a show.
Oh sweet Baby Jesus.
They stood on opposite sides of a giant metal platform. Kelly was shirtless and sweaty. Zane pushed his sleeves up. They each picked up a big hammer and took turns striking the metal like they were pounding in railroad ties. They slowly found a beat until the others came in with bass and guitar.
If dirty sex had a soundtrack, this would be it.
Zane stepped up onto the higher part of the platform and in three rapid moves, pulled out a long match, struck it on his boot, and held it between his teeth. The music cut, darkness descended, and in the entire arena there was only Zane illuminated by a single match.
I held my breath for the seconds it burned closer to his face. It felt like tens of thousands of people were holding their breaths with me, collectively mesmerized by the showman before us.
Then, the corners of his lips curved up into a devilish smile and I felt it in my gut. So did everyone else if the screams were any indication.
He dropped the flame down to the lower level where it ignited a chain reaction of pyrotechnic effects. Where the two of them had been standing became a sea of flames, and Kelly swung himself up a bar at the last possible second, chased by fire but landing unscathed.
Mouths fell open at the spectacle and before anyone could even process what they’d just seen, they kicked off into another song.
When I’d seen his shows before, he’d still been figuring out who he was as a performer. Realistically, he’d still been figuring out who he was as a man.
There wasn’t an ounce of self-doubt on that stage. He commanded the arena with the kind of presence most musicians only dreamed of. He knew exactly who he was and exactly what his music was about and the audience could only bask in that self-assurance, hoping that maybe a little would rub off on them.
Maybe some of it will rub off on me too.
I sighed at that pathetic thought. I’d been so sure of myself back then, so convinced I had it all figured out and knew what I was driving towards. Now I had the career I wanted, but I’d lost myself somewhere along the way.
What would happen if Nate betrayed me? If all of the things I’d built crumbled—not that there was a guarantee anyone would care enough for that to happen, but if it did…who would I be? What would I want if I wasn’t bound by all of the obligations I’d woven into a cage around me?
By the end of the show, I was a besotted, turned-on mess who would’ve given my left arm to make sure he got to keep doing this. It was the height of competence porn. He was extraordinary.
When the lights dropped at the end of the show, the crowd knew it wasn’t over. They hadn’t played two of their biggest hits yet.
They howled for an encore, roaring like a mindless hurricane.
