However, he perked up seeing me there.
“Great!” the stage manager said before sitting down and directing Sage and his band to start. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Just then the gospel choir walked out onto the stage with ooh and ahs from the small audience. I saw the judges sit up straighter. I took another breath … this was gonna hurt. The band started the song, and Sage sang, but he’d lost a little of his spark. He was still good; no one but me would ever notice, but there was pain there, the debilitating kind. Since he looked so floppy and roughed up, the growling and groaning were a perfect juxtaposition to the riotously joyful choir … all mocking the idea of perfect love.
The audience was riveted to his performance ... then Sage threw off his grimy bomber jacket to reveal a ragged shirt littered with holes and a mess of scraggly longish hair. He was baring his soul … was it all an act? I thought it was really like he was wallowing at rock bottom, but … As soon as he grabbed the mike and dipped to the ground wailing and crooning about fairytales and disillusionment, I knew it was all just part of his game.
The remnants of my heart broke away piece by piece until it was nothing but a bloody pulp. I spent the rest of the song just doing my best not to cry. He didn’t miss me; he was probably with the blonde girl from the photo. She was probably in the audience right now. This was Sage’s modus operandi; he was in it for Sage and only Sage. When he was done, people in the audience clapped and cheered. The judges ducked their heads and wrote feverishly. Grind Revolution was the competition, they were the ones to beat. Some of the audience gave them a standing ovation. I was just struggling to breathe.
The next band would play and then it was my turn. I spent most of my time just praying Sage wouldn’t come backstage to talk to me. If he did, I wouldn’t have the strength to continue. I had to sing … I had to get through this. After standing there and not moving for a few minutes, the other band was ready to play, so he sat down. I thanked God. I listened to the other band which was good and I just prayed to my mom and her soul asking her for peace and protection.
All I had to do was get through one song. I just had to survive this and go home. One song, one day. If I got into the final round, they would be keeping the bands separated from one another.
“Okay, Melody Chambers, you’re up,” the Stage Manager said.
That was it, showtime. One last tiny prayer and I grabbed my guitar and headed toward the stage. I had to pass Sage, but I didn’t look at him. I just kept walking. It was strange, though, I could feel his energy, but I didn’t dare turn my head in his direction. When I walked up to the stage the lights were so bright I couldn’t see anything … that was a relief.
Unlike the other bands, I just had me and my guitar. I hoped it was enough. I didn’t care if I didn’t make it to the next round; I just didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of him.
“I’m ready,” I confirmed with the stage manager and strummed my fingers across the strings.
I had my friends, my spirit, and my guitar. I had enough, I told myself as I began to sing. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, so too did the tears. Damn. I sang with everything I had. I pulled emotions from deep in my soul, and I let the song guide me. It swept me into a cloud of pain, hope, forgiveness, anguish, and a call to arms. The song beckoned us to be ourselves, love ourselves, and understand we were enough.
I sang as if my life depended on it, and there wasn’t a sound in the room. Maybe all those likes on YouTube and the two million views and counting were just people giving their love to Mizironic who found me … I didn’t care. I was singing for me, and I sang with every fiber of my being.
Chapter 21
Sage
I sat there listening to her tear my heart apart. In fact, the entire theater was held in her grip. Her voice, her body, her soul, floated above us, so ethereal and untouchable all we could do was obey the silence and listen. Nobody moved a muscle; they were too mesmerized. The same energy that drew me to her in the first place was enchanting the entire room. That woman on stage with the bright purple hair, singing like it was her last day on earth, could have any man or woman she wanted. She was hands down, the sexiest and most beautiful person most of them would ever see in their lifetime, and she could have her pick of any one of them. And she chose me … and I ruined it.
I hated that I’d fucked up our relationship so badly. It was only a kiss, one stupid drunken kiss. I hadn’t slept with anyone since Melody, and I hadn’t even called anyone … well, any girls. I was just focused on writing songs for our album. I could have killed Tony for putting that picture of me and the random woman on our website, but what did he know? I was a lady’s man. To him, Melody was just one of my ladies. I hadn’t told them she was more.
Sitting there listening to her sing, that soul, that heart, and emotion, it brought me back to a month ago when she was throwing down Silent Night like heaven had opened up and swallowed her. If anyone could make Silent Night sound like reverent sex, she could and then some. I knew her song so well. Ever since I’d first heard it, I had listened to it daily, over and over again and had memorized every line. Now, singing in front of the crowd, it was like she was lancing my heart, shredding it with her pain and understanding.
When she was done, no one said a word, not even the stage manager who had been barking at people all day.
“Am I done?” Melody finally asked, awkwardly.
“Holy shit!” the stage manager whispered into the microphone.
Slowly as if awakening from a dream, the rest of the musicians in the audience began to clap. She even got a standing ovation; it was delayed, but the other contestants got up on their feet for her, just like they had for us. This was going to be a brutal competition.
I hadn’t even thought about the fact that we would be competing against her. Except it was sort of like she was competing against herself. She wrote both of the songs.
“Yeah, you’re done. That was spectacular.”
Damn the man for gushing; he was probably thinking of what it might feel like to have her under him writhing, calling his name as she smeared his cock with her cum.
I knew exactly how he felt. It hurt not to have her anymore. I knew she was avoiding me. I’m sure that the picture on our website ripped her to pieces. I couldn’t let this chance pass, though, it might actually be my last. I knew I couldn’t get Sinclair to convince her to see me, he wouldn’t. In fact, I was avoiding him because he would definitely grill me about this. He wanted to help me patch it up with her only if I opened a vein and promised I’d commit my life to Melody. It just wasn’t that easy.
I wasn’t ready for a browbeating by my brother. I was barely holding it together as it was. When she walked off the stage, I stood up. There was no way to get back to the back of the room where she had been sitting than to pass me. She put her chin up and tried to make a mad dash to her seat. I grabbed her arm before she could get too far, and she froze. She barely breathed.
“Melody,” I whispered. “We need to talk.”
“Please, Sage.” Her voice was shaky, and she was on the verge of tears.
“I promise, I won’t hurt you. I just … I … I need to talk to you.” I didn’t want to sound too desperate and yet, I was totally desperate for her.
She closed her eyes. Some of the people around us stared since she was getting emotional, and I was so clearly imploring. The stage manager had called the next act up to the stage and I knew soon it would be so loud we wouldn’t be able to hear ourselves over the music.
“Can we step outside, just for a minute? I won’t keep you long.” I ran my finger along her hand, hoping to coax her to me. I prayed she felt the remnant of our love there.
One solitary tear dripped down her face, and she turned to me, her beautiful eyes sparkling in the light.
“I have to get my stuff,” she barely said.
“I’ll meet you outside.” Suddenly I was rocketed with energy.
I felt like dancing and maki
ng a spectacle … but I had to keep my cool. This was it, my chance to win her back. I couldn’t blow it. I watched her pick up her guitar case and her things and walk out of the theater. I grabbed my stuff fast and followed her.
“Tony, I’m going outside with Melody. I might not be back. Call you tonight,” I said quietly as I raced up the aisle and out the door.
The sun immediately blinded me, and it took a moment to get my bearings. When I did come, I saw her leaning up against a railing watching me, her face sullen and dark.
“Thanks. Thanks for seeing me,” I gushed as my eyes adjusted.
“Yeah,” is all she gave me.
“You were amazing up there. Just you and a guitar … The whole place was eating out of your palm.” I thought the flattery, which was absolutely the truth, would warm her up, but she just stood there staring at me.
Fuck, she wasn’t going to make this easy.
“I messed up. I … I like to party sometimes, and I just let the drugs and the lifestyle run me. It didn’t have anything to do with you, not even that picture of me kissing that girl. Hell, I didn’t even know who she was; I didn’t talk to her or anything. If the picture wasn’t on our webpage, I wouldn’t even remember what she looked like. It was just … the drugs and the drink making me stupid.” Wow, I was a fountain of useless excuses.
“Thanks for telling me.” She continued to stare.
She needed more than empty excuses, she needed raw, unfiltered, uncut, dangling out there in the wind … truth.
“No … no. That’s not what I wanted to say to you. I’m dying.” Her eyes widened, and for a second, I think she thought I was literally dying. “No … I’m not dying, but I’m … I can’t live without you. I promise if you … if you come back home with me so we can have a proper conversation, I’ll never even look at another woman again.” Her face screwed into a disbelieving grimace, and she shook her head. “Right, yeah. I can’t promise that. So, just out of the goodness of that big beautiful heart of yours can we go to my loft and talk? I’d take you to a restaurant or something, but this conversation is really private. I wouldn’t feel comfortable unless I felt like I was in a safe place to share my feelings.” Well, I’d just opened a vein, hope she didn’t let me bleed out.
She stared at me again for a beat, probably deciding what she was going to do.
“Okay.” Her lip started trembling, but she bit down hard on it to keep it still.
Had we been in a better place, that would have made me throw her head back and devour those lips. But instead of wanting to have sex with her, I only hoped to bring her comfort. I wanted to still those trembling lips so that she didn’t feel stress or fear anymore. However, I stood there calmly and let my love for her prevail.
“Did you bring your car?” I asked, wanting to touch her, so I clasped my hands together to keep from doing it.
“I did. It’s parked on the next block over.” Her gaze fell to the ground. She was not ready for this.
“Okay. Mine too. Why don’t you drive to the loft, and I’ll have the attendant let you into the parking lot, like … Well, like before.” Ack, even mentioning happier times was hard.
“Sure.” She turned and robotically picked up her guitar and walked toward the street.
“I can walk you,” I shouted out to her.
“I’m fine. It’s just right here.” I did see her car in the distance, so I let her go.
I stayed and watched her get into her car safely before I went and got mine. As I watched her drive away in her old car, I thought, if I ever get her back, I’m buying her a new one; something reliable.
She was sitting on the couch in my living room when I got there. I hoped she hadn’t had to wait there long.
“Sorry, I’m late.” I walked in and took off my jacket and set the bag I was carrying down.
The doorman came in behind me bearing a huge bouquet of one hundred roses. Melody’s eyes widened some, but I could tell she was staying guarded.
“Can you set those on the coffee table, please?” I asked him as I went to the fridge and brought out a cold bottle of Chardonnay and two glasses. When I came back from the kitchen, I gave the doorman a twenty-dollar tip and brought the wine and glasses to the table.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me here,” I said setting a glass before her. “Would you like some?” I asked, not sure she’d accept anything from me.
“Yes, please.” Her voice was still small and distant.
I poured her a glass and sat across from her, so she felt like she was at a safe distance.
“Okay. How to begin?” I said under my breath.
She looked at me and remained quiet.
“I guess I just wasn’t ready to meet you,” I started.
It wasn’t a great beginning, but I had to start somewhere, might as well start down deep.
“I’d seen you at Reyna and Sinclair’s parties, and I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world … and still do. Which isn’t always the best thing for me. I like attention and well, being with a woman as good looking and as cool as you are, challenges my narcissism a bit.” I was trying to add a splash of self-accusation to lighten things up.
I knew what a bastard I was at times. She shifted, and I knew she was biting back her tongue, wanting to speak, but she remained silent. I looked at her for a moment, hoping for a response, but I didn’t get one.
“But when you sang Silent Night … I was done. I had to have you. And I’d been in ‘have you at all costs’ mode for a while. I mean, I devoured you like you were candy. You were mine, something I owned, and I made sure I owned you. Of course, you being you—strong-willed and not owned by anyone, you only let me rent.” Again, attempting a joke.
Finally, a smile cracked across her face.
“Ah, thank God, a smile.” Her eyes caught mine, and the smile disappeared.
“I’d been getting insecure about my music. We had one hit song, and in order for the band to become anything, I had to find another. The only problem was, I just had that one hit song in me. I was a songwriter, and I couldn’t write a damn thing. You come along, and I didn’t want to write music, I just wanted to have sex with you day and night. I just wanted to be in your presence. I wasn’t thinking about you and what you needed, just about how fucking right I felt with you.” I was coming off as a top-grade asshole.
“Okay,” she said, listening intently.
I guess I was on the right track with this.
“So. When you wrote the song, I was jealous. Then you gave it to me, and I was touched, so touched that I woke up in the middle of the night when you were sleeping, and I booked our trip to New York. I wanted to surprise you with a gift that was even fractionally as cool as yours.”
“It was amazing.” She’d finally brought her walls down, at least one of them.
“So, we got home, and I was overwhelmed by so much love for you and the excitement to record our song, I just put all my energy into it. And then we recorded it and it was a massive hit, better than anything I’d ever written. There were invitations and praise … stuff that made a narcissist’s day. I wasn’t thinking about you. I was thinking about me.”
“So, you turned to drugs and women?” I saw her stiffen up as if our conversation, which had barely begun, had ended.
“Yep, drugs and women, two of my favorite things. See, here’s where the real excuses come. I was never anyone’s favorite. I was the youngest of three boys and my mom’s last-ditch attempt at a girl. ‘We did everything we could think of to have a girl,’ she’d say, ‘and then there you were, my last child … a boy. Again.’ I could almost taste her bitter disappointment. My older brother Shelton became the favorite because he was such a kiss-ass until he became a diabolical monster. Sinclair was the middle child, so he was brooding and unapproachable at times, but he was a good student and my parents tolerated him. We bonded over the fact that neither of us was Shelton. And then there was me, the youngest/not girl. I was ignored, so I did everything I co
uld do to get attention. It worked. I was like a performing monkey, always trying to make my parents laugh. And I learned you were only as good as your latest trick. If you didn’t have something new up your sleeve, people would just move on.” Oh, fuck … there it was, that pain sitting low in my chest, the ever stabbing ever-present ache that dictated most of my choices.
“You never felt like your parents loved you?” she asked with the sweetness of understanding in her voice.
“Well, you met the infamous Lydia and Seymore Harris, did you think they loved you?” The truth was they adored her, but you couldn’t tell by their cold affection.
“No … not at all,” she said plainly.
“Ha! They loved you. I couldn’t believe I’d found such a great girl. Then they went on and on about Reyna and what a great daughter she’d turned out to be.”
“Growing up like that must have been horrible.”
“I didn’t know if it was horrible or not. I just grew up not really being able to love. Then you come along … and well, you’re a little more than I know how to manage. I’m a mess, Melody. I’m … I can’t stop thinking of you. I don’t eat, shower, shave—”
“Cut your hair …” she interrupted me, and she smiled. There it was, that beautiful smile.
“Right. I’m a disaster.” Ugh … I hated feeling raw and insecure, but there I was, feeling vulnerable. She could’ve attacked, and she would have had me, but she didn’t.
“Do you like your hair long?” she asked in a kind and gentle tone of voice.
“Well, I like it longish, but not like this.” I blew a stray lock out of my face. My bangs covered my eyes, and my curls were flipping out everywhere.
“Would you like me to give you a trim?” She was being sincere.
“Should I trust you with scissors?” I teased.
“I’m a big girl; I can get over you. I won’t have to murder you to do it, but a few weeks ago, that thought would have been very tempting.” She stood up and went to the kitchen and dug around the junk drawer to find scissors.
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