Back Stage

by T Gephart

  “I thought the watching thing was mine?” His head twisted to see me in the doorway. “You want to come sit in my lap and help me play?” His fingers didn’t stop moving even though he wasn’t looking at them.

  “Ha. Too much going on there for my liking. I’ll stick to the guitar, I like an instrument I can get my hand around.” The double entendre intentional.

  My body moved away from the doorway and found itself in his lap. A place my body often liked to be.

  “Really? You’re going to say that to me when there is a bed in the vicinity?” His eyes darted to the mussed up sheets, his response completely predictable.

  I flipped him off which was also predictable, but I did it with a grin. Service with a smile was in such a decline, I felt it was my duty to do my part. You know, so he knew I cared.

  Of course this earned me a flashing smile in return, which I loved. Jason had always had such a great smile, and I was glad we’d seen more of it these days.

  “So, you given any more thought to your encores? I miss your little odes to me.” One of his hands continued to play while the other tiptoed up my arm, his grin getting bigger.

  “Aww. You feeling neglected, Jase? Missing me calling you an asshole?”

  Despite our situation going back to sort of normal, my finale songs had stayed sidelined. Firstly, because there was no further need for the fuck you’s and secondly, it was really fucking hard learning a different new song every night. Even if they were usually easy, over-played pop songs that didn’t usually have more than four chord progressions, it was still a feat. It had been fun while it lasted, but we had both moved on, its purpose well and truly served. We, like the songs, had moved to another place and going back wasn’t an option.

  “You know.” His arm moved causing my body to dip, my mouth spontaneously letting out a squeak as my head flew back. “You could sing songs about all the orgasms I’m giving you. That might be fun. I’ll even help you compile the list.”

  His head bowed down to meet mine, kissing my exposed neck.

  “Nope, no one wants to hear about that.” I wiggled in his arms. “Besides, why tell the people about all the orgasms you won’t be giving them. Think Jason, that’s just plain mean.” His laugh matching mine while he continued to kiss me.

  I loved him like this. Playful, happy—mine. The edginess was still there but it had evened out, and for the most part he was different. And he was either trying really hard or he’d changed, either way massive progress had been made.

  “I love you,” he whispered in my ear, both his hands completely given up on the keyboard as they solely focused on me. My body still tilted, the angle making the blood rush to my head.

  “I love you, too,” I whispered back, my hand tracing the line of his jaw.

  And that’s where it would usually end, the conversation about us or love.

  Most of the time it would go back to playful, a throwback to our earlier days of name calling and mild teasing, the bad intentions completely gone.

  Sometime I’d catch him studying me, like he was now. His eyes scanning my entire face, like he was waiting for me to say something. What for, I wasn’t sure. So I’d usually just whisper another I love you and it would usually be enough.

  And it was enough.

  I’d expected an ultimatum.

  The we’re-either-together-or-I’m-done, but it never came.

  A week.

  It had been a whole week since the showdown in Angie’s room and I’d told her everything. Told her about Em, told her about Thomas. Told her how fucked up I had been.

  She hadn’t left.

  She hadn’t demanded shit.

  She hadn’t tried to push the issue.

  Not even a little, which blew my freaking mind. Buttons and Angie, they were like a done deal. But this one just didn’t happen.

  Then the next week came, and the week after that. Same thing. Status quo was maintained. We were as together as we ever were going to get. Back to spending our nights together, back to me being unable to be away from her. It was a sickness and one I didn’t want a cure from.

  Still, not a fucking word.

  It had to be killing her. The limbo, wondering if all of a sudden I was going to turn around and bail. Who sticks around on a possibility? No one. Except the one girl who said that’s what she was going to do, and regardless of how difficult it was, she was keeping her word. And if she could do that, then I knew whatever fucked up crap I had rolling around in my head wasn’t going to land with us.

  I loved Angie. I loved her enough to know there was never going to be another girl. And I sure as hell wasn’t letting her go and have some other guy take her. Not freaking happening. It wasn’t even about marriage; it was knowing that I couldn’t be without her.

  Forever.

  It was the first time I’d been able to think about that word and not need a fifth of vodka chaser. And I wanted the forever with her. I wanted her to be my wife, for that word to mean something for the first time in my life. I’d been running a really long time and I didn’t want to run anymore. I wanted to stand still with her. And I wanted to have a million fucking kids, too. But only if she was their mother. I just knew it would be different, and I would take that jump if she was willing to go with me.

  She was still too good for me, but like Dan had said not so long ago—if she was willing to give me that chance, then I’d applaud her lack of judgment. I was going to marry her and I was going to spend the rest of my days loving her the way she deserved.

  “Hey.” I took a seat at the table, everyone already situated and waiting. My message had been ambiguous. The let’s-meet-to-discuss-a-new-tune usually came from Alex or James, still they all showed up ready to hear me out.

  “Hey.” Troy gave me a nod, the bastard losing sleep over the fact his wife was getting close to popping out a baby soon.

  The other hey’s or hi’s came soon after, each of the guys giving me a tip of the chin, ready to get this show on the road.

  “I’m going to need a favor.”

  There was no point dragging it out more than it had to be. Asking for help wasn’t something that came easy for me, but this was something that I couldn’t do on my own.

  “Of course, brother. Whatever you need.” James tapped me on the shoulder, his unwavering support not unexpected but still floored me.

  “All good here.” Alex agreed before even hearing what I was asking.

  “Yep, same goes with me.” Troy nodded, throwing his stamp of approval on my ask just like the other two.

  “I’m down as well.” Dan’s smile settled in as he folded his arms across his chest. “Looks like we’re all on the same page.”

  “You’ve all agreed without even knowing what I need?”

  “Doesn’t matter what it is, you’re asking for it. If it’s something you need, that’s enough.” Troy tapped on the table, affirmative grunts coming from the others.

  If there were ever any doubts that my life had been saved that day in the bar, they had very much been put to bed. Total game changer. That I got to work with these men was an honor—that I got to call them friends … fuck, that was a lottery win. That knowing them led me to Angie, yeah. Some guys just get more than their fair share of luck. And looking around this room, knowing the girl I have waiting on me, I’ve more than exceeded my share.

  “Our last song, I need it to be this.” I handed them each a sheet of paper with the title and artist of what I wanted our finale to be. It wasn’t one of ours.

  “Um, okay,” James laughed. “We haven’t done a cover in years but yeah, I’m cool.”

  “Ha. Nice,” Alex agreed. “Yep. That isn’t a hard ask.”

  “Your sudden need to do a cover have anything to do with a certain front woman?” Troy smirked cupping the back of my neck. “Guess we’re playing a cover.”

  “What?” Dan looked up from the paper I’d handed him. “No fucking way. Pick something else.” The paper dropped from his hands to the table
like the thing was carrying a disease. “We’re not playing that.”

  “Dan, it has to be this,” I insisted, bending on the song choice not an option. I’d play it and sing it myself if I had to, but it had to be that one song.

  “Why the hell would we want to play that?” Dan screwed up his face in disgust. “Did you leave your fucking balls in a purse somewhere? Or did you fucking hit your head on the way over, because there will be a cold day in Hell before I will ever play that.” The paper got his attention again as he pointed at it accusingly. Seemed Dan wasn’t going to be so down with my plan after all.

  “The song isn’t that bad, Dan,” Alex weighed in, no doubt hoping to try and smooth things over.

  “Not that bad of a song?” Dan shot Alex a horrified look like the dude had suddenly grown another head. “Fuck me, sideways. Someone get Lexi on the horn right now and tell her that her husband has dumbass disease.”

  “Dan, c’mon. It’s for Angie.”

  The full reason of why we’d be rocking a tune that wasn’t our own being spotlighted in case everyone hadn’t already joined the dots. “She used the covers at the end of her set as a message, and as fucked up as they sometimes used to be, it’s the only way I know how to say what I need to say. This is the way I need to say it.”

  She might have started it, her game of musical clues, but I was most definitely finishing it. There were things I needed to say and this was a way I knew she would understand.

  “Well say it with some other fucking song. What about that Bruno Mars, he’s a smooth motherfucker. Choose something of his. Better yet, we’ll write one for her. James, get a piece of paper and let’s knock something out real quick. What can be better than getting her own song? She’ll cream her pants for sure.” Dan pushed back, the song choice unorthodox because we were a rock band.

  The minutes ticked over. Dan glaring at the page like it was going to suddenly spit in his eye while I reinforced there wasn’t a back-up plan. This was it.

  “It’s not about her creaming her pants, and it can’t be another song.” My finger drummed nervously on the desk. “Just this. Dan, I need to do this.”

  “You look at me, you fucking tell me you love that girl.” Dan reached across the table and got up in my grill, his face fucking fierce. “Then you tell me there will never be another girl for you. Because I can tell you right now, you’re only getting a pass like this one fucking time.”

  “I love her,” I said with zero hesitation.

  Absolutely none. She was it and I wasn’t afraid to fess to it either. Angie was mine and I was hers even without the formalities, but it was about time we took care of them anyway. “There will never be anyone else. It’s her. I need her.” I took a swallow as I met each of my brothers in the eye. “And I’m going to ask her to marry me and hopefully, if I’m lucky enough, she’ll say yes. Because there is no way I can live without her.”

  Dan blew out a breath as he weighed my words. “Motherfucker.”

  “Yep.” I nodded, meaning every single word I’d said.

  No one talked, my intentions for Angie just hanging there in the air. Me ever getting married again was a bet that no one would ever take. They’d assumed I’d eventually settle down with someone and do the living in sin thing. But me putting a ring on someone’s finger, again—that was the equivalent to an apocalyptic prediction. Funny that me getting married was once rated on par with the end of the world, and in my eyes—used to be one in the same.

  “I love her. I need her to be my wife. And this is the way I need to ask,” I repeated. Not because I thought they hadn’t heard me but because I couldn’t stop saying it. I may have been late to the party but I sure as hell was here now. Going anywhere else wasn’t happening any time soon.

  “One time.” Dan broke the silence first, clocking me with a look I knew meant business. “We do this song, one fucking time, so you better make sure she’s watching.” He shook his head as he agreed, giving my plan the final green light.

  “One time.” I met his eyes, my smile finally making an appearance. “I promise it’s all I need.”

  Dan bucked out a laugh, the bastard slamming his fist down onto the table. “Well, hold on to your fucking hats boys because Power Station are about to play Taylor fucking Swift.”

  ****

  I’d never been nervous about a show. Not even close. And yet with every song that we got closer to the end, I felt like I was going to puke. Public displays of affection weren’t my thing either; as for putting my ass on the line in front of thousands of people, let’s chalk that up to never. But tonight wasn’t about me. Thank Christ the audience wouldn’t know the whole story, other than Power Station losing their minds and playing a pop song. The headlines it was no doubt going to attract—epic. The care factor on that—nonexistent.

  “Yo, you ready to do this thing?” Dan leaned over my keys, his fingers glued to his fret board ready to play.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” I looked over to the side of the stage where Angie was standing, her appearance there guaranteed by Rusty. “Let’s do it.”

  “You realize if she says no, we just played Taylor Swift for nothing. I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to insist she says yes just on principle.” Dan smirked, his eyes looking over to an amused Angie who had no idea why glances were suddenly being shot in her direction.

  “I’m hoping she won’t say no, but if she does, you’ll shut your mouth and be grateful I’m not making you play Miley Cyrus.” I mouthed I love you to Angie as James hit the mic, ready to announce the song.

  “We have a special request tonight.” His voice barely audible over the noise from the crowd. “But before we play this last song we want to thank you for being on this road with us. We never thought we’d be lucky enough to still be here so many years later, doing what we love and getting to call it a job. We’re here because you put us here and it’s a fucking honor to play for you. So as we wrap up tonight, know this isn’t goodbye but see you later. We love you and you’ll always be with us.” The thunderous applause reached ear-bleeding proportions.

  “So here we go; this song goes out to a special someone. You know who you are.” James looked to Troy who counted us in with the sticks.

  The opening notes of “Love Story” started and the crowd hushed into a confused calm of silence. Like Angie had done with her renditions, we had put our own spin on it, but there was no denying what the song was. The words James was singing slightly changed so he didn’t sound like he was looking to seduce a dude. Dan’s insistence, and I didn’t disagree.

  It was a song, written by a teenage girl comparing her first love to one of the greatest stories of all time.

  Romeo and Juliet.

  The words were cheesy and not at all my speed. In fact, I hated it. But it told a story of how the young couple tried to keep away and couldn’t. And unlike the Shakespearian play, those two lovebirds didn’t end up with matching headstones, which is always a plus. Instead Romeo pops the question, down on one knee after asking her daddy’s blessing. Just like I had. Only I wasn’t on one knee on account I still need to play.

  Angie’s mouth dropped open as the significance of those lyrics hopefully came to light. Either that or she really hated Taylor Swift, in which case I was SOL. It didn’t matter, whether she said yes or no, I needed to say what I needed to say.

  We’d been trying to keep away long enough. Fighting a love that had threatened to break us both, but the only real love either of us ever had known. It was where we both belonged; we’d just taken the scenic route to get there.

  It got to the part of the song I was waiting for, my chance. And as James screamed out the lyrics, I mouthed, “Marry me, Angie.” My eyes nailed directly on hers as she watched, her tears already flowing thick and fast.

  There was no indication on how she was going to respond, the rest of the song playing out as she stood on the side of the stage and cried. Rusty held her so she didn’t fall, her body seeming to have trouble stayin
g vertical. And I wanted off that stage and her in my arms more than I wanted my next breath.

  As the last cord sung through the amp, we took our place on the stage and waved a quick good bye. Usually I’d stay a little longer and bask in the adulation, but there was only one person whose approval I needed and that was the girl who I was heading toward.

  “Angie.” I ignored Rusty completely and pulled her out of his arms. “I love you, marry me.”

  She didn’t answer, her beautiful eyes flooded with tears as she looked back at me. The fear crept up on me slowly that maybe I’d missed my chance.

  “It doesn’t have to be right now. Fuck knows you waited long enough for me. I’ll wait forever if I have to. And that is a promise that I have no problem making. Forever, Angie. That’s what I want. That’s what I’m asking you for.” My mouth couldn’t stop talking, needing to tell her how dumb I had been.

  “My baggage still exists, and I’m still fucked up. But I know that if I don’t have you then me being destroyed again is a certainty. I’d rather have twelve months of happiness with you and the most epic breakup of all mankind than go the next twelve years without you. And I swear I will never hurt you again, I’ll —”

  “Shut up, asshole.” She covered my mouth with her hands, stopping it from spewing words that it needed to say. “I love you.” She slowly moved her hand away and smiled. “Yes. I’ll marry you, but on one condition.”

  “Anything, name it.” The words couldn’t shoot out of my mouth fast enough. “Whatever it is. You’ve got it.”

  “Neither of us ever play another Taylor Swift song again.” The smile slowly spread across her lips.

  “Halle-fuckin-luiah!” Dan called from behind us, the fact that I’d been doing this with an audience just now coming to light.

  I laughed, looking around at the people around us. Their faces an easy read on how happy they were for us. Even Angie’s band seemed fucking ecstatic, Rusty shaking my free hand while the other was still around my girl. That was the other thing, my girl. Looking into her eyes I knew I’d been saved all over again. Not because this was a relationship, because it wasn’t. She was more than that, just like the band wasn’t just a band. Both of them were so much more.