Guitar Face Series Box Set: Books 1-4

by Sasha Marshall

  I feel for her.

  “Baby! Please!” he begs.

  His hand wraps around her arm and jerks her to a stop before pressing her against a wall. His hands cup her face as his knees lock her against the wall. Cory, Joe, Koi, Jagger, Rhys, and Memphis surround them instantly, shielding the couple from prying eyes.

  “Be on stage in ten songs. The contestant winner has requested the song…” she pauses and looks suddenly green, “you wrote for me…”

  “Hen, baby, this is not…” he begins.

  “I’m Still Waiting was the only song choice, and the winner was insistent,” she finishes and looks like she might be sick any moment now.

  “Hen, we need to talk” he says as he looks down at her but she refuses him eye contact.

  Anger… rage… hurt… nausea… tears…. Heartache… they all play across her face.

  “Please look at me,” Kip pleads with emotion in his voice.

  Tears fill his eyes.

  “Let me go,” she says softly.

  “I can’t. I can’t let you go until you let me explain,” he says.

  “Let me go,” she says with a little more firmness in her voice.

  The pool of tears deepen in her eyes as she continues to look down at the floor, cutting them away from Kip.

  “I fucked up,” he almost whines.

  “Don’t forget to show up and play the song,” she whispers.

  “You can’t go on stage like this, baby please.”

  I swallow the urge to cry for Henley, and then I swallow the urge to beat the shit out of him. It’s his fault that she’ll go on stage like this, but if anyone can do this it’s Henley Hendrix. She finally raises her eyes to meet his and see the tears that have streaked his cheeks and the ones that have yet to fall from his eyes.

  “You’re going to let me go. If you don’t I will fight you with everything I have in front of all these people. You will meet me on stage ten songs in and play that fucking song you wrote because we promised this to a contest winner because regardless of all the other bullshit you assholes think this whole thing is about, it’s about the fans who pay for our music and concert tickets. It’s about the fans who follow us, support us when no one else does, and remain loyal to us regardless of what the man tells them to look at and read about us. Get your fucking hands off me,” she snaps at him lowly from between clenched teeth.

  He releases her but doesn’t step back.

  “Henley, I fucking love you. I love you with everything I have. I fucked up badly. I was so drunk. Tell me you know I love you,” he begs again through a whisper.

  “Are you going to move out of my way or am I going to move you myself?” she asks.

  He moves to the side as more tears fall down his face. She looks away from him, dashes the tears away and step into her dressing room with Cory, Jessica, and I behind her. Cory locks the door to keep everyone out.

  “Keep everyone else out please and notify the band of the addition to our set list,” she says to Jessica with no eye contact.

  “Hen…,” she begins with concern in her voice.

  “I’m fine,” she lies. “Tab, can you add some curls and volume to my hair? I’m getting out of the jeans and tank. I want to wear that little black dress and the Alexander McQueen ankle boots. Also add more eye makeup if you can without making me look painted on,” her voice cracks on the last word.

  “I can do that, Hen,” she says quietly.

  “Cory can you ensure Kip gets to the stage when he was told to? I don’t need bad publicity because he can’t’ do his fucking job,” she seethes.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he speaks softer than I’ve ever heard.

  She steps into the en suite bathroom facility and the sounds of retching follow soon after. We all look at each other wondering what the fuck we’re supposed to do. How do we make this better for her?

  ***

  Kip

  I wait outside her dressing room. I’m going to walk her to stage tonight. She may not be on my arm where I want her, but I’m taking the first step to put an end to the miserable distance between us. I know what I caused and what she found out. That isn’t how she should’ve found out. I’m not proud of what I did. The only fucked up defense is, through the fog of intoxication I thought it was her.

  Fuck!

  I should’ve been with her in the first goddam place, but I was holding onto my own pain for too damn long. I put myself in a compromising position. I hurt her. I cheated on her. I guess reflecting on how we got to me standing outside of her dressing room like a stranger puts shit in perspective. I should’ve come home months ago. I don’t regret leaving, simply being gone too long. I hurt her before Jasmine showed up tonight, but the knife I stuck through her back tonight is nothing compared to what she went through for nine months. I don’t know how to fix this. I’m not a cheater. I love Henley more than life itself, and I’d never cheat on her, yet I did.

  I haven’t made the effort I should’ve to spend time with her, and I sure as fuck didn’t make an effort to be there for her.

  Cory exits her door and gives me a look that tells me not to fuck with him.

  “Don’t approach her. Don’t speak to her and stay the fuck out of her way. Don’t pull any shit on stage and make sure you’re where you’re supposed to be when you’re supposed to be there. I may work for her, but so help me god if you make worse I’ll rip your arms off and beat you with them. Feel me?” he asks after he dishes out an effective order and threat.

  “Yeah, man. I love her. You know…”

  He holds his hand up to silence me, “Save it. That’s between you and Henley. The shit that’s been going on this last year is bullshit. You compromised her sobriety, a sobriety she’s worked hard for. You left her after she was shot. I get you needed time to grieve, but nine months was too long, but I guess having steady pussy on the side will keep a man away. I’ve held my tongue and my fists to myself, but I won’t anymore. Her band is falling apart. Her career is being fucked up by you assholes who think you have a free pass to act like prima donnas. I’m fucking done with that shit. She gets through this night with no more bullshit. Figure it all out after the tour, Kip.”

  He stands guard and stares at me until she’s ready. Rhys, Memphis, and Griffin meet me in front of her door.

  “Tell me you didn’t,” Rhys says.

  “What the fuck do you care? The last time you said anything to or about her you called her a bitch,” Cory seethes.

  “These two things aren’t even related…,” Rhys starts.

  “Yeah they are and if you can’t see that then you’re going to lose it all you fucking idiot,” Cory states.

  Koi, Cam, and Jagger join the group and security tightens to keep our group separate from the fans.

  “And you,” his glare falls on Memphis, “You’re her fucking brother with a past meth problem. What the fuck were you thinking? She’s been right all along. You guys have fucked up every show, every goddamn night for fourteen shows. Broken Access has been fucking up too. If you would’ve listened to the recordings you would already know that. If you won’t listen to her, maybe you’ll listen to me. I’ll repeat what I said to Kip while I’m dishing out how I’m feelin’. I hear any of you throw bullshit her way one more time, I’m going to throw my fists in your face. You pickin’ up what I’m throwin’ down?”

  We all nod in silence.

  Henley’s door opens, and she’s escorted by Tabithia. I wait for her to make eye contact so I can show her how sorry I am. I’m sorry she saw it. I know how much it would’ve hurt me. She handled it much more gracefully than I ever would. She didn’t run off and cry alone. She stood her ground while she took care of the public and legal shit at the same time.

  Please look at me.

  She doesn’t look at me, but I hear her sigh and see Tabithia grab her hand, as Jessica joins the group and grabs her other hand. They escort her to stage while the rest of us follow
behind in silence. Shame fills the air around us.

  She walks into the darkness of the stage and the first chords filter through the speakers before the band brings it all together. The lights flicker on brightly overhead and her rough, gravelly voice fills the air. It’s her raw, sexy sound that makes her sound so rock-n-roll. She talks to the crowd and they respond with eagerness and a smile I didn’t think she was capable of forming spreads across the stage as she takes in their energy.

  “You guys are so fucking awesome,” she tells the crowd and they go crazy.

  She leads into another gritty song where I can feel her pour every ounce of anger into it. The crowd is feeling everything she’s putting out there, everything she is willing to give them. I watch her rock back on five inch heels and a short black dress like she was born with a guitar in her hand and heels on her feet. During her guitar solo she battles against Memphis and does an amazing job of putting the animosity she feels for her brother on the back burner. She’s willing to do that to give the fans the show they paid for, the show they deserve.

  Right before her and Memphis break from their guitar solo I hear his mistake. He hits the wrong chord, and Henley rushes to cover it up. I look around the side of the stage and see the grimaces of my band mates and the roadies. They heard it too.

  Fuck!

  I run my hands through my hair as I feel the anxiety coming from not only the stage but the side of the stage too. The roadies are casting glances at one another. She plays through three more songs with the rest of the band, all three of the men making mistakes that she often covers. Their saving grace is it’s a live show and nobody expects it to sound like a recorded session. Hopefully, the fans don’t pick up that they’re actually fucking it all up.

  Memphis, Rhys, and Griffin exit the stage while Henley plays a solo version of Whiskey and Smoke and follows it with an acoustic solo performance of the song she wrote for her lost child. The lighters and cell phone lights stay lit for the duration of the two songs while she pours her emotion over a lost child and her grandfather’s health through the mic. I wonder how much of her sorrow the fans feel.

  While the lyrics we write are therapeutic, the wound is bandaged tightly within the words and melody. She surrenders herself to the past pains through each of her fingertips as they glide up and down the fret board. It takes a brave soul to write the songs she’s written and stand in front of thousands of strangers to perform them.

  The band rejoins her and I begin to get a case of the nerves as my time on stage with her inches closer. I wish I could say we’ve played this song a million times, the song I wrote for her. A song I wrote about a love that was decades old and grew stronger every day. I let her down, and it pisses me off. I broke her heart and I don’t know how to fix it, but it will be my only mission in life from this moment forward.

  Her technician hands me an acoustic guitar and a stage hand waits with a stool on the stage. I listen to them play one of their earliest songs and cringe so many times I lose count. Rhys is completely off beat, Griffin sounds like he’s playing an entirely different song, and Memphis is watching Henley play as he struggles to remember the song. She becomes noticeably agitated on stage and I look to her technicians and Jessie to fix it.

  Henley turns around, cuts her hand across her throat abruptly cutting off the other three musicians in her band. She steps back up to the mic and finishes the song a Capella. I’ve never heard her sing this song a Capella, but it’s beautiful. You can hear the amazing range of her voice and the depth of her words without music masking the intensity.

  When the song ends she walks off stage followed by the three musicians who joined her on stage. The lights go down and the stage hands set up the mics, stools, and guitars for us. Henley takes a drink of water and talks to her technician. Memphis approaches her with a worrisome expression, but Hen ignores him.

  She walks over to me but before she can address me Rhys approaches her. He touches her arm, and she jerks away from him.

  “If you can’t remember how to fucking play then don’t bother coming back out on stage after this song. I’ve been carrying this show on my own for six fucking weeks. What’s one more show?” she glares at all three of them.

  They flinch at her words, hell I flinch at her words, but after listening to the show tonight I can see she’s tired of holding it together. This isn’t what making live music is about, and it’s not fun anymore. I get it. They should’ve all listened to her concerns.

  “Do you remember how to play the goddamn song?” she addresses me. “If not, I’ll play it and you can sing.”

  I swallow past the lump in my throat, “I remember. I wrote it for you, Hen,” I try to remind her while pleading with my eyes.

  “Yeah well I wrote half those songs I’ve played tonight with these three and that doesn’t seem to make a fuck now does it?” she clips out, chugs the rest of her water, and walks away to get a towel.

  I stand on the side of the stage to wait for her, but she walks right past me.

  “She’s going to introduce you,” her technician says with an apology in his eyes.

  Blue lights bring her into clear view.

  “How you feeling Austin?” she asks the crowd.

  They respond with fervor and she smiles.

  “We recently sponsored a contest that would benefit your local children’s hospital,” she continues and they scream louder.

  “Tonight the winner has selected a song for us to play as a part of the prize, so without further ado I’d like to bring a very special guest, and the song writer on stage for you. Please welcome Kip Paxton back to the stage,” she finishes and the crowd surges.

  I shake out my nerves and join her on stage. I raise my hand to wave at the crowd and take my place next to her.

  “How ya doing Austin?” I ask and give them a chance to respond. “I’m so happy to be here. This city is always a fucking riot!”

  They cheer some more.

  “I wrote this song for my favorite person in the entire world and the love of my life. This is I’m Still Waiting,” I manage to finish without my voice cracking and begin to pick the opening chords to the song.

  Henley joins me with her guitar and sings back up for the first verse and the chorus. I look at her the entire time I sing, willing her look back at me and remember the words I wrote for her. I want her to remember how she felt when she realized this song was for her, and that I learned to play the guitar so I could finish this song, finish it for her.

  She never looks at me, but it’s okay she does the song justice. She sings it better than I ever could. I can see her push the words from somewhere deep in her belly as she fights the emotion I know she associates with the song.

  Fuck, Hen, look at me. Sing to me, baby.

  All too soon the song comes to an end. She opens her eyes and smiles at the crowd.

  “Give Kip some love for coming back on stage tonight!” she says to the crowd.

  I want to pull her into a hug, but she begins to make her way to her guitars where she picks up another one and walks back onto the stage. The band rejoins her and I let out a sigh of relief that I made it through the song with her and that they actually went back out onto the stage.

  “I think we have a few more left in us tonight, yeah?” she taunts the crowd as she places the strap of her guitar around her neck.

  She opens up the next song, and it goes smoothly for the first few minutes. When they reach the bridge of the song, Rhys drops a drum stick and Griffin turns around to look at him causing him to go completely off mark. Henley reaches up and pulls the monitor out of her ear, apparently giving up and refusing to play with them anymore. Memphis helps her pick up the slack of the other two as they visually struggle with where to jump into the song. She has her monitor out so she can’t hear a fucking thing anyone else is playing.

  She finishes playing the song and breaks into an unplanned guitar solo. Memphis walks back to the drum kit to retr
ieve a bottle of water. Jessie waves the three men off the stage, so they hang their heads until they reach the side.

  We watch her play a forty minute guitar solo. The sounds she produces are angry and raw. She mixes in her sorrow with blues sounds. Her heartache is poured out through her fingers. She pulls some Jimi Hendrix shit and goes off the beaten path. Guitar feedback filters through the speakers as she pumps the damn instrument for everything it’s worth. She stands at the edge of the stage, playing for the crowd, showing them her anger and disappointment if they’ll only listen.

  If they’ll listen, they’ll hear how fucking full of rage she is and that we all caused it. Everything that ever made her whole fell apart because we were selfish. Her brother is on drugs, her band is falling apart, and the man who was supposed to love her left her and then cheated on her. If they’ll listen, they’ll hear how I left her to pick up the fucking pieces because I still hurt so fucking bad that I was too much of a coward to come home. I drank away some it and fucked away the rest with Jasmine. When a little didn’t feel good enough, I numbed it completely. In doing so, I shut her out. If they’ll listen they’ll hear how I didn’t touch her for a year, and how I left her so completely alone she grieved me as if I had died. For a year, I didn’t tell her that I loved her, and if they’ll listen they’ll hear the wound bleeding from inside her. If they’ll listen, they’ll hear how much it hurt when her band didn’t listen to her. If they’ll listen, they’ll hear how her band let her down, and destroyed what she built. If they’ll listen, they’ll hear how much she struggled to balance the needs of all of us with her own needs. They’ll hear that we asked her to compromise herself, everything she’s worked so hard for with a light chuckle and a playful insult. They’ll hear how loud the silence was when she walked away from our bullshit and how lonely she was.

  She pulls up on her guitar one last time and then jerks the cord from the end of it. She stands on stage silently, not moving for what seems like a lifetime. She doesn’t look at the crowd but at us.

  “I’m fucking done!” she screams across the stage at us.