Rock the Dream (Redfall Dream #1)

by B. B. Miller

  “Speaking of Kennedy,” he says sheepishly. “Do you think he’d sign an autograph for my granddaughter? It’s killing her that she couldn’t be here—she came down with chicken pox—so I thought that might ease the sting a bit.”

  “I’m sure he’d be happy to.” I look up at the stage, where a small army of roadies bustles around. “Although it might take a couple of days for him to regain his energy after tonight.” He’s truly been amazing; he wasn’t kidding when he said he’d be playing for four hours. He’s been onstage more than he’s been off it, either playing with one of the legends who volunteered their time, backing up others. He’s been like a kid in a candy store. Considering some of the names who have played tonight, maybe that’s exactly how he’s felt.

  Scanning the section, I feel a tremendous sense of satisfaction wash over me. Everyone we love is here. Dad and Graham, looking as excited as the kids and holding up their cell phones instead of the traditional lighters. Mom and Helena with their heads together and laughing. Helena looks ten years younger than she did when she first arrived at Kennedy’s home, with a sparkle in her eyes that I sense has been missing for some time.

  Sara is snuggled into Adam’s side, his arm protectively slung around her shoulders. Dylan smiles indulgently at Maddie as she bounces excitedly next to him in anticipation of the next act.

  I strain to try to see Kennedy on the darkened stage. I know he’s probably preparing for the last number in the wings somewhere, but I can’t help it. I need to see him.

  My emotions are all over the place. I’ve never felt so proud, so humbled, so overwhelmed by one of our projects, and I need the focus that only Kennedy can give me right now.

  Then the stage clears and an excited whoop rises from the audience in anticipation. I’m practically vibrating with expectation, my heart pounding, and when I see Kennedy and Parker rise from the center of the stage under the spotlight, everything else falls away. My attention zeroes in on their two forms, one standing tall and strong, the other small and frail, and both with hearts as big as the sea.

  Kennedy

  THE SWEAT SOAKS through another shirt, and I pull it over my head, dropping it to the growing pile while we wait backstage. We’ve only got a few minutes until the live feed from the Foo Fighters is over, and the grand finale begins.

  I see Nicole carefully leading Parker over to join us as I tug on a new shirt. “What do you think so far? I saw you rocking out there in the front row.” Tucker passes me an energy drink, and I take a long sip.

  Parker beams at me, his parents watching from the wings. “It’s so great!” he gushes, practically vibrating with excitement.

  “I’m glad you’re having fun. You ready for our turn now?”

  He glances down at his Converse. “I’m kind of nervous,” he says quietly, and I crouch down beside him.

  “Hey. I still get nervous every single time, bud. Being scared is part of what makes this so great. But you know what?”

  “What?” he asks, looking at me cautiously.

  “I’m never out there by myself. I have three guys backing me up.” Parker glances at my band, standing behind me. “We’re always there for each other, and when we make mistakes, we’re there to support each other. And the really great thing is, you don’t just have three guys. You’ve got an entire stadium backing you up.”

  He tentatively takes hold of his guitar. “What if I mess up?”

  “I’ll be there to help you. We all will. We’ve got your back, okay?” Slowly, he lifts the strap of the guitar over his shoulder, glancing at his parents.

  “Okay.”

  Dawson appears at the stairs with Tucker. “Knock ’em dead, kid.”

  “I’ll try,” Parker replies, letting out a laugh when Sean picks him up and carries him to the lift under the stage that we’ll both rise up from.

  “We’re live in thirty, Kennedy,” the disembodied voice of the producer drifts through my earpiece, and I join Parker on the platform.

  “Remember, it’s just like we practiced, okay? It will be dark when we rise up, and then the spotlight will come on. I’ll count you in.” I adjust the cord from his guitar that leads to an amp, and he gives me a quick nod.

  “Hey, Park?” I give his hand a squeeze, hearing the crowd roar to life as the Foo Fighters’ satellite feed comes to an end.

  “Yeah?”

  “Remember to breathe and enjoy it. You got this.”

  He grins over at me as the producer counts back from five, the crowd chanting his name over and over. Slowly the platform rises, and he looks up at me in anticipation before focusing his gaze on his fingers.

  “Three, two, one, hit it.”

  The familiar intro riff of “Sweet Home Alabama” that I could play in my sleep echoes through the stadium, and it’s all Parker, playing like a pro as a hush falls over the crowd. The spotlights illuminate his tiny figure, clad in a Rock the Dream shirt, a Redfall bandana secured on his head, and I feel a rush of pride.

  I anticipate where he’s going to miss a few chords and join him, the rest of the band kicking in as Matt’s voice fills the stadium. Parker’s smile when he glances up at me after the intro is all I need to see. It’s everything—every hope, every dream, every wish that I could have had for him answered with that smile.

  And then, he does something I never would have predicted. As the band and I take over, he unplugs from the amp, sliding the guitar behind his back, and he prowls the length the stage as if he’s done it a thousand times before, urging the crowd to sing along with us.

  Matt and Cam move up to play on either side of him, following his lead as he takes control of the stadium and every single person in it. He urges one side to sing to the chorus, and then races to the other side of the stage to get them to try to sing it louder.

  Glancing to the side of the stage, I see his parents waving their arms in the air, cheering him on, singing along with the crowd. On and on it goes, the crowd indulging him, feeding off his boundless energy, captivated by this little boy who somehow has beat the odds and inspired us all.

  Sean brings us to a marathon conclusion before joining us at the end of the stage. He passes Parker his drumsticks, and he wastes no time, sending them sailing through the air. Taking his hand, I throw Parker’s arm up high as we all bow, the frantic demands of an encore already starting before we’ve even made it off the stage.

  Parker is literally bouncing as he races off to the open arms of Joyce, crushing himself against her. “Did you see? Did you, Mom?”

  “You were amazing,” she manages, taking a stealthy wipe of tears as they stream down her cheeks.

  I catch sight of Dawson leading Landon up to join us in the darkness of the stage. Good thing he’s donating fifty grand, or I’d be tempted to pound the shit out of him. Even in the mayhem of the night, the extra time he’s spent with Abby hasn’t escaped me. Fucker better watch himself.

  “You were brilliant,” Landon says enthusiastically, holding his hand up for a high five. Parker reaches up to slap it, beaming back at his parents and Claire.

  “I messed up a bit, but—” Parker starts.

  “I didn’t hear a thing wrong with that,” Landon corrects him.

  “You were awesome, Park. You owned that stage,” David assures him.

  Parker laughs, keeping a tight hold of his dad’s hand. “I did, didn’t I?”

  “Damn right, you did!” Sean’s voice booms as the roadies arrange the baby grand piano in the center of the stage under the cover of darkness. Landon and I have only had a few brief conversations about our performance, but if there’s anything I know about him, it’s that he’s always a professional about his work.

  “All ready then?” Landon asks adjusting his guitar, the chants growing louder from the impatient crowd. “I saw the video Abigail and her team did. It’s really quite something.”

  “You’re ahead of me, then. I haven’t seen it yet.”

  “Well, you’ll like it . . .” He pauses, issuing me a s
light smirk. “Maybe not the part where you’re running under the sprinkler naked, but otherwise, you’ll like it.”

  He strides to the darkened stage, taking his place beside the piano, leaving me scowling after him.

  “You’re the Steel Revenger!” Parker’s voice practically squeals, and I turn back to see him staring at Trey Ransom, the actor who plays the comic-book hero.

  “I should have brought the suit, right?” Ransom shakes his head. “I knew I was forgetting something.” Without missing a beat, he turns and holds his hand out to me. “Big fan,” he says, shaking my hand before adjusting the vintage black Redfall concert-tee he’s wearing. “Saw you back in 2010. It was . . .” He holds his fists up to his temples and opens them up. “Mind blowing.”

  “Glad you liked it.”

  Nicole appears from the hallway, looking beyond exasperated. “You need to get out there, now. Introduction time.” She pushes Ransom to the stairs, and he glances back over his shoulder at me.

  “She always like this?”

  “No. Sometimes she’s worse.”

  The raw, electric energy fuels my adrenaline as I follow him out to the stage and sit at the piano, bathed in the darkness of the stage. The frenzied crowd senses we are reaching the end of the night. Tonight has been everything I hoped for, particularly for Parker, but also for my family.

  I never would have imagined that the simple act of meeting Abby and Parker would change everything. Parker will never really know what he’s done, how he’s given us all hope.

  Landon and I start in on the first few notes of his song, and the stadium erupts once more, as the giant screens flash with the video that Abby and the team spent the better part of the morning on. I’m blind to it all, the details a blur. I’m lost again in the place that has never failed me, leaving it all on the stage, to give the crowd what they came here to experience.

  The first round of fireworks burst in the darkened sky overhead as we end the song, and Landon waves a reluctant good-bye to the crowd, making his way off the stage. While the throng focuses on the spectacular light show above, the black curtain draws across the stage, and I collect my guitar from a waiting roadie.

  “I was just telling Parker here that he must be up past his bedtime,” Cameron teases, earning him a mega-watt grin from Parker. “See? You’re a rock star already.”

  “We’ll be done soon, bud,” I offer, when he holds up his palm for a high-five. “Just one more song, and then we’ll bring you out for a final bow, okay?”

  His big blue eyes seem to light up. “Cool! And these fireworks are awesome,” he adds, turning his face up to watch the display.

  Bathed in the blue haze of the spotlight that practically blinds me, the sky bursts with a final epic display of red and gold. It only takes a few seconds for the crowd to acknowledge me as I move back to the front of the stage.

  “You didn’t think we were done, did you?” More ear-shattering chants answer me, and I can’t help but laugh as I adjust the mic stand.

  “If you’ve ever been to a Redfall concert, you know we never really say good-bye, just that we’ll be seeing you again real soon.” Slowly, I start strumming what to most would sound like random notes, but is actually a stripped back version of “Born to Run”.

  “I wanted to take just a minute to thank all the volunteers behind scenes, who have worked for weeks to put this together. Dawson and Nicole, our roadies and crew, Tucker and his burly band of security.” That earns me a wave of laughter, and a few catcalls. “Yeah, yeah. I know you all think they’re hot.” More shrieks from the crying gaggle of girls up front. “A big thank you to the team at the What’s Your Dream foundation for giving us all the opportunity to meet Parker and his family.” I let my gaze wander to section I know Abby is in.

  “To the nurses, the doctors, and the hospital staff who work every single day, dedicating their lives to these kids, a thank-you will never be enough. To the fine women and men of the San Francisco police and fire departments who have allowed us to break noise bylaws, thanks for putting up with us . . .

  “For the artists who took the time to be with us tonight and for Parker, the kids here tonight and the ones who can’t be here, and for everyone watching and supporting us tonight, keep on rocking . . . This is “Born to Run”.”

  Wasting no time, I start in on the acoustic first verse of the song I learned to play in my parent’s living room. For the next few glorious moments, I’m hit with memories. I can see Robin sitting with her legs tucked underneath her on the shag carpet, telling me to play it again. Adam and his gang of skinny teenaged friends crowded in the garage in the middle of an icy Minnesota winter, hearing me play for the first time. All the years and miles logged with the band, playing in dingy bars, the hours of practice, of blood, sweat and tears flash by, and I hear the raw emotion break in my voice.

  I play for Parker, all the kids like him, and the ones who will never experience a night like this. I play for Robin, and somewhere I hope she’s looking down, and that she’s proud of me. And, I play for Abby who’s the reason I’m even still standing here, and the reason I know that I will be for a very long time to come.

  I pause to the ear-piercing screams before the curtain pulls away and the crowd ignites, Sean exploding at the drums to take the band through the rest of the classic song, giving it our own fuel-injected twist. We play like it’s the last time we’ll ever get the chance to, and we do exactly what Brodie always told us to, we light it up.

  “You sure you won’t take me up on my offer? I can get you guys a suite at a hotel,” I try to persuade once more as Claire quietly shuts Parker’s hospital room door, leaving Abby and me alone with his parents.

  The hospital is in stark contrast to the events of the day; eerily quiet and empty when we finally arrived back shortly after midnight. The after party was a bit of a whirlwind, but still scaled back compared to what we’re used to. It gave me time to talk to Ralph while Abby saw to making sure Parker met everyone he wanted to. A few signed autographs and photos for Ralph’s granddaughter and I had what I needed from him as well—some well-deserved time off for Abby. I try to stifle a grin at my last minute getaway plan. I hope to hell that she’ll like this surprise.

  “I want to wake up with him tomorrow,” Joyce answers with a tired smile before she engulfs me in a tight hug. “Thank you so much . . . I don’t know what else to say.” Her voice is muffled against my shirt, and I give her a gentle squeeze.

  “Hey, no crying, and you don’t have to thank me or say anything.” She pulls back, wiping the tears from her face. “Promise me you’ll call if you need anything. Day or night. I don’t care when it is, or what you need. Just call, okay?”

  She nods quickly before pulling Abby against her. “I’ll call him in the morning and see how he’s doing.” My voice is quiet in the muted light of the room, catching a glimpse of David. I can see the telltale signs of a chin quiver I’ve grown accustomed to seeing over the past few hours.

  David claps my shoulder with a firm squeeze. “Thank you, Kennedy. He’ll never forget today, and neither will we.”

  Fighting to hold in my own rioting emotions, I take a final glance at Parker, his tiny body safely tucked under the crisp white hospital sheet, peacefully sleeping away. His Redfall bandana is strategically placed on the table beside his bed, along with one of the many pictures our own team of photographers took today. This one, of Parker and me playing Sweet Home Alabama side by side with the crowd going wild at the edge of the stage.

  “I won’t forget either.”

  “You were amazing today,” Abby whispers as she tucks in beside me on the leather seat in the back of the limo. I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in. We’re finally alone, having sent Tucker off to track down the rest of the band and whatever random entourage they’ve picked up along the way.

  “Right back at you, baby.” She answers with a giggle, glancing up at me from her prime location on my chest. “You know, I can be even more ama
zing.”

  “Is that right?” Her palm slides up my thigh, tightening in all the right places. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Little tease. Let me show you.” I slide both of my hands to her hips, lifting her up to straddle my lap, my palms sliding to squeeze her perfect ass.

  “Here?” Her eyes widen as she glances back at the privacy screen, quickly turning back to me. “Now?”

  “Mhmm. Two of my favorite words. Here . . .” My lips trail a circuit along the column of her neck, my tongue teasing at her warm skin. “Now.”

  Her fingers sink into my hair, tugging like she can’t get enough. She’s taking what she wants, and I love every single delicious second of it. Deliberately, she grinds against my lap, right where I need her most, and I struggle to release the button on her jeans.

  “Think you can be quiet?” There’s a roughness to my voice brought on by four solid hours of singing, and the sheer desire that burns hot through my veins.

  She takes a sharp breath, leaning back with a quick nod before launching her lips back to mine. It’s a pure, raw craving between us that shows no signs of letting up. She meets every stroke of my tongue, every desperate touch, fumbling with the metal buckle on my belt as I lift my hips so she can finally tug my jeans down.

  “So good,” she mumbles, her hand closing around my hardened length, my head dropping back to the seat with a needy groan. Outside the tinted windows, the lights of the city blur past as we wind our way through the streets, and she sets a firm and equally agonizing pace.

  It’s always intense, but tonight, the addicting energy that sparks between us seems more powerful. My hands are everywhere, stroking her thighs, tugging at the end of her sexy braid before she drops to the carpeted floor between my legs, closing her perfect mouth around the head of my throbbing cock.

  “Jesus fuck.” I gently brush the pads of my fingers along her jaw before palming the back of her neck, urging her forward. Judging from the moan that vibrates around my length, she doesn’t seem to mind. Lifting her big, hazel eyes to mine causes another wave of desire to roll through me.