Tex’s voice quieted while Killy wailed his heart out on the next verse. In his mind the highway stretched boundless before him, vaster than the ocean. Hop on a bus, keep going, find out what’s over the next hill, and the next, and the next.
A shoulder bumped his, then, back to back, he and Tex sank into the chorus. Tex’s notes reverberated through Killy’s shoulders, letting him feel as well as hear. This wasn’t Elliot, whom Killy had to protect, and whose delicate tones got overrun if Killy wasn’t careful.
Tonight, the brakes were off. Killy let loose, filling the room with his voice, pouring out his bottle of pain.
Tex matched him note for note, and on the final verse, instead of letting Killy solo, Tex harmonized like they’d practiced for years. Eyes closed, Tex’s heat against his back, together they breathed new life into old words.
The music took him, and the rest of the band had to follow if they could, and Tex could, he kept up through every twist and turn.
Every now and then Killy opened his eyes, each time more people stood before him. He shut them all out again. Tonight, wasn’t about them. Tonight, wasn’t for them. Tonight was… tonight was Killy’s. He sang for himself and the lost dreams and for Elliot. For Ace and for an unsung bus driver whose name barely made the papers.
The audience served as Killian’s punching bag. He’d punch them in the heart and the nads and maybe give them enough sugar to make it hurt twice as much when he punched them again.
The last notes died. Killy dropped to the floor on his knees, every ounce of strength poured into the song.
It took a moment for the thunderous applause to penetrate his overwhelmed brain, complete with stomping and caterwauls. What? Do what? A sea of faces swam before his vision, cheering, screaming.
Tex had his back and now offered a hand. And “possibly more” rang through his memory from the hookup ad… “You okay?”
Killy nodded. “I… I think so.”
Adrenaline coursed through his veins. If he didn’t start playing, he’d punch someone for real. He started in on the next song:Like You Mean It. To spice up the act he reinserted the words deleted from the censored album: “Fuck melike you mean it.” And fuck anyone who didn’t like it!
Piercing whistles met his words. Hey, there weren’t nearly this many people when he’d started playing. He didn’t slow down. At a smile and a wink from Tex, he transitioned into the next song,You’re Not the Devil, You’re Worse, to lighten the moment with a little hard-driven humor.
Elliot’s favorite song. Tex stepped into Elliot’s role, easily scaling a vocal range few men could manage. Elliot. Killy’s brother. His best friend. A tear trailed down his cheek to mingle with the sweat pouring from his brow. He wiped it away with the back of his hand.
Music thrummed through him, awakening something within he’d thought long dead. I’m alive. I’m alive!It took him several chords to realize the song had ended and he played on alone.
“Buy you a beer?” Tex asked.
They took a break and Merle, the bar owner with the bad taste to hire ol’ sour-note Ted, strolled over with beers for the band. Ignoring the others, he addressed Killy. “You boys are welcome here anytime you like. Anytime. I ain’t had a crowd like this in years.”
Killy sucked down half his beer. Staying wasn’t in the cards. Not long at any rate.
“If you don’t mind, would you playHighwayagain for me? It’s always been a personal favorite of mine. Broke my heart when Trickster crashed the bus.” Someone called and the man hurried off.
Killy and Tex finished their beers. The other two band members kept their distance, holding court with admirers a few feet away. Neither one would go home alone tonight. Men and women buzzed around Killy and Tex like gnats, none bold enough to come closer. Something wild and electric surrounded them, an aura of raw energy, terrifying and mesmerizing all at once. Fucking amazing.
Ted sat at the bar. “Yeah, they’ll do,” Killy heard, while the guy sneered in his direction. Fuck him. At least he stayed put when the band went back for the second set.
Screaming met Killy’s ears the moment he—not so much took the stage, but pounced for the kill. He teased out a few notes of the opening riff, only to start again and add a few more.Oh, yeah, I’ll give you what you want, but on my terms.
Damn, the electricity in the air felt so fucking awesome.
“Anything in particular you wanna hear?” he asked the audience, knowing damned good and well what they’d say.
“Highway!” they screamed.
He cupped a hand to his ear. “What’s that? I can’t hear you.”
“Highway!” they screamed louder.
He turned toward the bass guitarist, like he’d done to his brother so long ago. “I can’t make out what they’re saying. Can you?”
Tex laughed and answered with his fingers on his guitar strings. The drummer tapped out a beat behind them.
Killian stood on the edge of the stage, feeling the heat and adoration from the crowd at his feet, and soaked up their love, recharging all the energy he’d expended in the earlier set.
