Finding His Redemption

by Melanie A. Smith

  “It’s a trip seeing you sober,” she shoots back with a teasing note to her voice. “So is it true? Is this really about a girl?”

  “Yep,” I admit, not knowing what to add that won’t make me even more nervous than I already am.

  “And you love her?” she pushes.

  “Yep.” I inhale deeply to calm myself. I’m not sure I’ve admitted that out loud to anyone but Maxi before, but Frankie has a way of eliciting honesty. Doesn’t hurt that she’s intimidating as hell.

  Frankie is silent for a beat, assessing me.

  “Is she why you cleaned up your act?”

  I smile. “In a way,” I respond truthfully. “She was the kick in the ass. Getting sober? Owning my shit? That was for me.”

  Another beat of silence passes. “Damn, West, that’s some deep shit right there. Never thought I’d see the day. But I’m happy for you.”

  “Thanks. How’s it looking out there?”

  “Line’s not just around the damn block — I’m pretty sure it stretches all the way to Hollywood and Highland,” she replies with a grin. “One way or another, you’re making rock history tonight.”

  I laugh. “No pressure, though, right?”

  “Fuck yes, there’s pressure,” she responds matter-of-factly, rising. “But you’re wicked talented.” She looks down at me. “And you’ve got a true heart. You have no idea how rare that is. Trust me.” She claps me on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Now put on your big girl panties and let’s do this fucking thing.”

  I shake my head and laugh. Trust Frankie to light a fire under my ass. I rise, retrieving Rosie from her stand backstage. I never leave her onstage because I always need to kiss her for luck before a show, which I do. Been a long time. And even though it’s not the tour I thought I’d get, I’m happy to play music for a crowd again. I test a few chords, and her gentle hum soothes the raging inferno in my gut. Let’s do this fucking thing, indeed.

  Distantly, I hear the doors open and the crowd pour in. Drink orders start to be called so loudly I can hear them from backstage. Chairs scrape. Feet thunder down the stairs to the stage pit. This is fucking happening.

  A few minutes before showtime, the band regroups backstage, and at Ward’s direction we huddle, arms slung over each other’s shoulders in a circle. There’s no opening act, so we’re going to be up very soon. As we silently embrace, we listen to the volume in the club ramp up as people cram in.

  With a squeeze of Ward’s hand on my shoulder, he breaks the huddle. “All right, fuckers. What are we gonna do tonight?” he asks, first pointing at James.

  “Play like no one is watching,” James replies with a grin. Ward rolls his eyes and points to Nik, next in the circle.

  “Go balls to the wall,” Nik says.

  Now Michael rolls his eyes. “Girls don’t even have balls,” he groans.

  Nik points at her tits. “I believe it was Joan Jett who said it best — ‘Girls have got balls. They’re just a little higher up, that’s all.’”

  I chuckle as Ward shakes his head and points to Michael.

  “Make mama proud,” he says.

  He’s such a mama’s boy, so I’m thoroughly unsurprised. Ward smirks at Michael but doesn’t say anything, he just moves his hand to point at me.

  “I gotta see about a girl,” I say.

  Ward stares at me and slaps a hand on my shoulder. “You are one sappy motherfucker, West.”

  Nik looks confused. James laughs at the expression on her face.

  “Give her a break,” I tell him. “I’m pretty sure she was like two when that movie came out.”

  “What movie?” Nik asks blankly. James, Ward, and I all crack up.

  But before we can fill her in, out on the stage, Frankie takes the mic and starts hyping up the crowd. A hush falls over the band, and not just to hear her talk. That Frankie herself is introducing us … well, it drives it home how epic this is.

  When she cues us to take the stage, my adrenaline starts pumping. We enter side stage and the crowd goes fucking apeshit. Cheers, calls, hands reaching, bodies pressing toward the stage, the whole nine yards. From what I can see under the bright lights, the place is crammed wall to wall.

  I grin over at Ward as I plug Rosie into her amp and he takes the mic. And without preamble, Michael cues us in and the music explodes through the club.

  We picked a fast, hard song to start, and it was hands down the right choice. The energy level in the place is palpable, and I give everything up to the music. I’m home. All of my worries, gone, surrendered to the melody.

  We finish the first song and go straight into our second, taking the tempo back a bit. The crowd is loving it, and I gotta admit, I’m relieved. While my songs aren’t totally different, it’s definitely not our usual sound either. I don’t know how Ward constantly puts himself out there writing songs that people may very well shit all over. I’m just glad that doesn’t seem to be happening tonight.

  As we start a third song, though, the tenor of the crowd changes in a way I didn’t expect as a surge of bodies presses people closer to the stage. I look over at Ward, who looks back at me with a shake of the head. Neither of us may know why, but something just shifted.

  We keep going, but the masses are now making some very different noises. A movement side stage catches my eye. Nils has come onto the fucking stage and is yelling in Ward’s ear.

  My stomach drops and Ward motions for us to stop, which we do immediately, plunging the club into rumbles of confusion. Bodies press more frantically at the base of the stage. With the light up I can see people crammed into every nook and cranny, and things are starting to get … shovey. I look back nervously at Nils, and it’s then that I notice a cop and a fireman behind him as he takes the mic.

  “Everyone please, stay calm,” Nils urges. I pale as the crowd starts booing. He waves his hands, but they don’t quiet down. “Unfortunately, the police and fire marshal are shutting the concert down.” At that, the crowd goes insane, and not in the good way. There’s jeering and loud booing and a few people throwing things as the shoving starts to get more violent.

  For a split second I wonder if I should be afraid. But then Frankie strides quickly up to the mic, her husband not far behind. She’s got presence, but this guy … he’s a wall of dark, muscled terror if I’ve ever seen one. And the sight of the two of them looking like hell’s fury is enough to quiet the place.

  “Look, we’re sorry, but you can thank the horde of gatecrashers who thought it would be cute to rush security, who then had to call the cops to contain it. Please, for the love of fucking Christ, cooperate and you’ll receive a flyer at the door that’ll tell you how to get your money back.”

  Frankie steps back, but her husband stays in place, glaring at the crowd. There’s plenty of grumbling as everyone turns back toward the stairs, pushing toward the exit, but no challenges to the enforcer watching them go. They’re distinctly more orderly. And if I weren’t so freaked out right now, it might almost be funny.

  “What the fuck just happened?” I ask, joining Ward, Frankie, and Nils at center stage, Nik and Michael following close behind.

  Nils frowns. “We were already oversold when a group of assholes without tickets decided to just push their way in. It was only about a dozen people, but then everyone in line behind them decided to jump in on the action,” he replies, disgust lacing his tone. “We had extra security, but there was no way we could’ve stopped them. I’m pretty sure half the fucking city was still waiting outside hoping to see the show. So even after the police got here, it took a few minutes for them to even be able to get in. I had to bring them in the goddamn side door. Then the fire marshal showed up and didn’t even give us the option to thin the crowd. He just declared it over.”

  Frankie throws us all an apologetic look. “Sorry, guys. If I’d have known the line was that bad, I would’ve dealt with it before we got started.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not your fault a bunch of assholes ruined it, bu
t thanks anyway.” As the implications of the show being shut down sink in, I remember the only part of this that mattered in the first place. “Oh fuck.” I look up at Ward. “Maxi.”

  Ward purses his lips. “We don’t even know if she was here, dude.”

  “Maxi … you mean Max Marshall?” Nils asks.

  “Yeah, you know her?”

  “Of course. You introduced us, remember? At the private fan concert?”

  I want to smack myself in the forehead. Duh. “Did you see her tonight?”

  “Sure did.”

  A warm feeling spreads through my chest. She came. That’s something. A new plan starts forming in my head. But then I look at my bandmates.

  Ward snorts. “Don’t worry about us. This shit happens. Bright side? This is going to be big news. And with the crowd that was here tonight? We’re going to have zero problems rescheduling. At a bigger venue though, maybe.” He shrugs apologetically Frankie’s way. She waves a hand dismissively back.

  “Are you sure? Because you guys are important to me too, and I don’t want you to think —”

  “Fuck, would you just go get the girl already?” Michael cuts in, exasperated.

  A wide grin breaks over my face. “Thanks, guys.” And then my face falls. “Shit, my driver is busy until later because I thought I’d be here.”

  “Where do you need to go?” The deep voice rumbles out of Frankie’s husband, and the hairs on my arms stand up. I give Frankie a look and she smiles slyly.

  “Culver City,” I respond.

  “You bringing that?” he asks in return, pointing at Rosie.

  “Shit, no.” I slide the strap over my head and hand her to Ward.

  “You’re leaving your guitar behind?” he asks, his eyebrows shooting up.

  “I don’t have time to argue, just take her,” I insist.

  “How are you going to play her song without your guitar?” James asks.

  “I don’t need the guitar,” I assure them.

  Ward takes Rosie, holding her delicately. So delicately I almost laugh. But I don’t have time for that shit.

  “Can you drive fast?” I ask Frankie’s husband.

  He raises one, thick eyebrow, but it’s Frankie who answers. “Don’t worry, West. Julian’s got you covered.”

  27

  In Your Eyes by Peter Gabriel

  * * *

  Max

  “Well, that was insane,” Alexsis says as we take a seat in a pie shop just down the block from Baltia.

  “I assume you’re referring to the concert and not your choice of cereal on pie,” I reply, gesturing at the Froot Loops-laden concoction sitting in front of her.

  She grins. “You clearly haven’t tried it,” she replies, then points at my chocolate brownie pie slice. “Chocolate is boring and predictable. This is surprising and exciting.”

  I grimace. “I’ll stick with my chocolatey silky deliciousness, thanks.”

  She shrugs. “Suit yourself.” She takes a bite of pie, looking so sublimely happy I have to chuckle. “So, of the little we saw, what did you think?”

  I shrug back. “It was all right.” Such a lie. It was many things, but just “all right” wasn’t one of them. “Thanks for coming with me. Even if I didn’t end up having to talk to him, I’m glad you were there.”

  “Of course. I’m glad I went. I love their new sound. Shame it was such a freaking circus it got shut down early.”

  “Yes, well, clearly they underestimated what a circus it would be. And they do seem to have gone a new direction,” I reply.

  Alexsis rolls her eyes. “All right, Max. Can we drop the polite chatter? I can tell you’re totally shook right now.”

  I raise an eyebrow and shoot her a smirk that could rival West’s. Because even though she’s considerably younger than me at twenty-two, I’m pretty sure “shook” isn’t a thing anymore. She sticks her tongue out at me in response and I laugh.

  “Fine, yes, I’m ‘shook.’ Are you happy?” I reply.

  “Are you?” she returns. “Happy, I mean?”

  “Not really.”

  “Then me neither.”

  I snort. “While I appreciate the solidarity, I really don’t want to talk about it.” I take a large bite of pie so I can avoid doing exactly that.

  “If you say so. But I think you’d feel better if you got it off your chest.” She takes a bite of her own pie, clearly thinking while she chews. “You can’t tell me seeing him up there wasn’t …” She shudders theatrically for effect.

  I suck in a sharp breath and close my eyes against the memory. The image of him up there on stage.

  “Yes, fine, it was fucking hot,” I allow. I’m not sure how I could forget what it feels like to watch him up there. It’s a mix of awe and lust that’s hard to ignore.

  “And you’re sure you can never forgive him?”

  “I don’t remember him asking since he’s decided he’s all fixed up this time around.”

  “I don’t remember you giving him a chance to.”

  I tap my fork on the plate. “Fine, all right? Seeing him made me realize that if he asked I probably would. Because it was one thing to be mad at him when I didn’t have to see him. But I’m not totally oblivious to the fact that Kristoffer Westberg is one-hundred-percent my kryptonite. As soon as I saw him tonight, I remembered that. So I’m just thanking god that shit all got shut down before he had a chance to invite me backstage or something.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” she points out.

  “He’s a ticking time bomb of emotional wreckage,” I snap back.

  “I dunno. Seems like he might really have his shit together this time.”

  “No, that’s just the West effect working on you too. One interview and bam,” I slam my hand down on the table between us. “Off melt the panties. Then you’re groupie putty in his capable smoking-hot-guitarist hands.”

  “Well, you’d know firsthand how capable they are,” she points out with a grin.

  I scrunch my face up. “That part I do miss,” I admit. “The crazy West-coaster? Not so much.”

  “Even if he has —”

  “Changed? Come on, Alexsis. You’re not that young. You don’t get with a guy expecting him to change. Besides, even if he has, he’s still a rock star.”

  She finishes eating her last bite of pie in silence, then carefully sets down her fork.

  “Even if he is, it’s all in how you choose to see it. And what I see is a guy trying to make things right with his band and the woman he —”

  “So help me god, do not say ‘loves.’”

  “I don’t have to — he already did, remember?”

  “Oh I remember,” I reply with a hard edge to my voice. “That’s the problem. Letting him love me would be —”

  “Dangerous? Crazy? Just what you need?” Alexsis interrupts.

  I frown. “I wasn’t going to say any of those things,” I respond defensively. Except I was going to say something pretty similar to the first two.

  “Yeah, it’s annoying when people interrupt you, isn’t it?” she points out blithely, taking a sip of water. “And do you know why you keep interrupting me?”

  I roll my eyes. “Why?” I ask dryly.

  “Because you’re afraid.” She shakes her head slowly. “To think, the woman who I look up to. My role model. Afraid of taking a chance on love.”

  “I’ve already taken too many chances on West,” I point out.

  She tilts her head to the side and scrutinizes me. “But isn’t that what loving someone is? Taking a chance every single day that they’ll stick around? That the rug won’t get pulled out from under you? Because I’m just not buying the ‘he’s a rock star’ angle. You’re a goddamn rock journalist for Christ’s sake. Lame excuse, if you ask me.”

  And my eyebrows are so high I’m pretty sure they’re about to pop off my forehead. “Well, tell me what you really think, why don’t you?” She grins at me. And then I add softly, “I’m your role mo
del?”

  Her smile relaxes into something sweeter. “Yes. Even though you’re kind of being a hypocrite right now. What, you want to get close to the rock life but never be affected by it? Not gonna happen, sister. Give in. You want him. He wants you. Everything else is just … stuff. You’ll figure it out. I know you can. Because you’re a badass, and you’re not my role model for nothing.”

  My heart aches at her words. She’s actually completely right. And hearing it that way makes me realize, I’m not just afraid of West because I love him.

  “But what if you’re wrong?” I ask, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. Preparing to voice a fear I didn’t even realize I had until now. Until she pushed me to look closer. “What if now that he’s got his life back he realizes his feelings for me weren’t real? That they were just a part of all the fucked up emotions he was working through?”

  “Why would you think that?” she asks, her voice filled with exasperation.

  That ache in my heart swells. “He hasn’t talked to me in more than three months. He asked you to write the article. And he didn’t even invite me to the concert, Jason had to tell me to go. If he wanted to see me, if he wanted me … well, this is West we’re talking about. The man’s not exactly shy about going after what he wants.”

  I look down, blushing hard. God, I had no clue what really lay under all my anger and fear was plain old insecurity.

  “So you’re saying you would take him back, you just don’t think he wants you?” Alexsis asks.

  I look up, tears now swimming in my eyes. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m saying. Is that messed up? To want someone you thought you were pissed off at — and for good reason — but turns out you were just afraid they didn’t really want you back?”

  “Yeah, actually, that’s pretty messed up,” she admits.

  I laugh, and a tear slips out.

  “Well, if he doesn’t realize how fucking awesome you are, then it’s his loss,” she says, lifting her chin.