by Flite, Nora
Everyone in the Fillmore was at peak levels. They'd been waiting for us, Four and a Half Headstones.
Well, we had arrived.
Each of us walked onto the stage, and each time, the screams grew wilder; demanding. They knew us by face and title. Lola wasn't free of that any longer.
Looking out over the ocean of blurry faces, I glimpsed signs toting her name. These were our fans, and they were ready to judge us.
A flicker of worry stalled my heart.
If Lola played poorly, they would not be kind.
She stood to the side, purple stratocaster at the ready. It was her armor; she would need it. Lola looked at me, a silent cry for strength. I wanted to give it to her, but all I could do was smile with a confidence I worked to summon.
I wanted us to please our fans. I didn't want to lose Lola to their love.
That was something I—just I—felt a claim to.
Wait, shit. Love? Am I seriously calling it—stop. Focus. I grabbed the microphone, throttled it like it was my wandering brain. This is not the time.
You have a show to put on.
“Hey there Denver.” I pushed the mic to my lips, all sugar and velvet in my tone. As I expected, the crowd exploded in a roar. It was unadulterated energy, a drug that ruled my veins.
I needed more.
“You know,” I said, walking across the wide stage. “This is our first time playing at the Fillmore.” More noise, I waited for them to calm. “But it isn't the first time I've been here.” A sound, curiosity and excitement, rolled over the sea.
It was exactly what I wanted.
Turning, I found Lola watching me. I'd never seen her eyes so big. “I came when I was a kid. And you know, back then? All I could think was that someday, maybe I'd make it here.” My stare wandered over the arena. “Maybe I'd get to play.” One, two, let them breathe. The strained patience was overwhelming, but this wasn't my first rodeo.
Timing was everything.
I shook my head. “Well. Here I am. Guess it's time to do what I wished to back then...” With a giant smile that flashed all my teeth, I winked. “Bring the fucking place to its knees.”
That was it. The crowd was done.
In the canvas of the stage—my stage—clean drum taps signaled the beginning. Colt primed the air for our art, silencing the audience to a rumble. My mouth tasted like adrenalin mixed with cotton candy; everything tingled.
This was my first love, music. Lola stood at the ready, stroking her strings. This. This will replace the void she's created. She smiled at me, fucking smiled...
And I knew it wasn't true.
Into the mic, I roared as only a man fallen to pieces could. I was held together by emotion; fragile and ghastly at the same time. Caught in my blast, the world would be destroyed. I'd revel and dance in the fucking ashes.
But, like glass, colliding with something stronger would be my annihilation.
Singing the words of Tuesday Left Behind, we showed the crowd who we were. Four and a Half Headstones had changed when we lost Johnny Muse. We sounded better than we had in months.
I should have kicked him out sooner.
If I had, would I have ever met Lola Cooper?
She punched her guitar, eliciting notes that turned me inside out. The people felt it, too; they became nothing but tooth-filled mouths that begged for more. They wouldn't lynch her. They knew it. They all fucking knew what I did.
Lola was god damn amazing.
Tonight, just hold on till tonight. I wouldn't lose her to them. I couldn't bare that.
Every song merged together for me. They made a map that took the audience through a world of smoke, charcoal and rust. They tasted our enthusiasm, reveled in every lyric like I'd written it just for them. By our last song, I was panting. Sweat turned my skin to bronze; shiny and new.
The back of my shirt was soaked through. The front, well. The eyes of every girl in the first row says it all. “Listen up,” I whispered into the mic. Still I boomed, calling them to order. “This our last song.” I let the cries of sadness die. “It's my favorite. Maybe yours, too.”
Porter and Colt summoned the first notes that heralded No More Stars.
Bathing in the cheers, I stalked across the stage. Lola met my eyes. She was glowing, lips puckered. Everything in her face, her aura, made me think of sex. I wanted to grab her, kiss her harder than I had in the elevator.
The gravity between us tugged. I saw it, how her joy stumbled. She wasn't angry. It wasn't the cold wall of rejection. With the heat of our momentum, the music sinking into both our souls...
Lola shivered with lust.
Fuck. Fucking hell.
Pouring that voracious need into my voice, I belted out the words to No More Stars. She followed me down, rampaging over her strings. Nothing could stop us; none of us.
Four and a Half Headstones was whole.
Once I had Lola...
I would be whole, too.
Chapter Six.
Lola
I'd never felt more alive.
Perspiration ran down my sternum, the backs of my knees were taut as elastic. I thought, if I tried, I could have jumped straight up and never come down.
This was what playing music was all about.
Laughing, crying, none of it mattered; none of it would have helped. I was a bundle of nerves ready to explode. Or, perhaps I had exploded. My ears were ringing, the powder keg of my mind leaving fragments that coated the one word in my skull.
Rockstar.
I was a fucking rockstar.
Standing backstage or in a crowd during shows, I thought I knew what it would be like to play in front of so many people. I thought I knew. I didn't have a clue.
Drezden pranced for them, he stormed and kicked and screamed. Veins stood out on his throat. The insides of his forearms became trails, rippling while he strangled the mic. In his element, he was more beautiful than ever.
I'd still been worried I'd fumble. Something had changed; the concentrated essence of his voice wasn't aimed at me. Standing back where I was, I was spared his attack.
The crowd took every hit.
The ending notes of No More Stars faded in my ears. No, not yet. I'm not done yet. On a whim, I tangled up my strings and extended the music. It was spontaneous, but the fans wailed for more. Next to me, Porter and Colt went silent. Abruptly, I was performing a guitar solo.
I met Drezden's gaze. Like that day, when I'd auditioned, I felt the pull from him. This was the man who turned me inside out. He felt his way into me with just his eyes. Drezden didn't need anything else to touch that place deep down.
Quaking in my vinyl boots, I let my guitar go; it hung from the strap.
Dead silence was swallowed by the black hole of the Fillmore. It was as if every single person there was making as much noise as they could.
They crowed for an encore, but someone was leading me off stage. Without thinking, I ripped my arm away. I didn't want to go anywhere! This was my home, my life, and every nerve begged to keep me standing in the worship of—
“Lola,” Sean said, teeth glinting. “Lola! Holy shit! You were amazing!”
I shoved him backwards with my hug. Together, we stumbled backstage, away from the blinding lights. “Sean! Sean, oh my god! Did you see? Did you see that!?”
We were jumping, a mess of shouts that kept building with excitement. What we said didn't matter. Only our feelings counted.
Gripping my shoulders, he gave me a shake that rattled my teeth. “How did you get so good?”
Feeling cocky, I let myself smirk. “I was always that good.”
Sean's forehead wrinkled. My gut said I'd messed up, until I noticed he was looking just past me. Turning, I stepped aside and found Drezden in arm's reach. “She is really good,” the singer said. Reaching out, he offered his hand to my brother. “Long time no see.”
“Well.” Sean linked his fingers, joined the handshake. “Not exactly. I've seen you a bunch.”
The ti
ghtness in Drez's smile unnerved me. “These tours get busy for me, sorry.”
I didn't have time to get anxious with the tension. A crowd was forming, Brenda leading Porter and Colt our way. “Great job tonight, guys,” she said. She beamed at me, then spotted my brother. “You especially, Lola. Sean! Hey, good opening act.”
“Thanks.” Thumbing his ear, he looked over us all. “Getting packed. Lola, me and the guys are going to be at a place down the street. I'll text you if you want to show for the afterparty, okay?”
“Sure. Sounds good.” I was smiling again. I couldn't keep my exuberance in control. It kept floating up, solid images of what I'd just done out there. “And thanks, Sean.”
He walked backwards, wiggling his fingers. “For what?”
For being there for me, for pushing me. “Just... everything.” He rolled his eyes before hurrying away.
Brenda grabbed her hips, hair bouncing. “Afterparties, about that. You guys better be ready to climb on the bus tomorrow.”
“I'll be fine,” Porter said, elbowing me firmly. “Can't speak for the newbie, though.”
I gave the bigger man a light shove, laughing. “And I told you, this isn't my first afterparty.”
“With us, it is.” The drummer hooked his arm with mine, while Porter pushed me forward. The two men had no trouble forcing me towards a back exit. “Come on! The car will take us down the street, the club is supposed to be awesome!”
Drezden was following, a bloodhound who had my scent. “Wait.” I dug my heels in, the floor screeching. “Wait, wait! Are we going to the same place Sean and the rest of his band will be?”
They let me go, none of them meeting my eyes. “He might show up,” Porter mumbled.
“Might?” Wrinkles crawled over the bridge of my nose. “They're partying elsewhere because they don't expect they'll be able to get into this club, aren't they?” I didn't wait for them to speak; their eyes were darting around, gliding off of me like I was made of oil. “If he or any of his band show up, they better be let inside.”
A hand clapped onto my head; Drezden. “Calm down. I'll let the security know they can get in. Sound fair, kid?”
Kid. My heart swelled at the name he'd stopped calling me so quickly. I told him not to, that's why. I said I wasn't a god damn kid. Pin-pricks crawled up my arms. Then he asked me... he asked me what I was doing to him. Every inch of me heated up, reliving the memory of being in the tub.
Clearing my throat, I was the first to push into the open air. The world was full of screaming, flashing lights, and men in black holding an army at bay.
“You guys said you wanted to show me a 'real' afterparty.” The look over my shoulder at the rest of the band was crafted from pure challenge. “Well? Then come on, show me what it means to be a member of Four and a Half Headstones.”
I was more than ready to find out.
****
Inside the club, there was no air. It was a place built from human heat and purple lights. No one cared; everyone was eager to suffocate if it meant they could be near the stars.
Near us.
Near me.
Thumping music pumped into my fibers. It made me dance, but the alcohol was what made me feel free. No one cared I was underage, they didn't dare turn me away. I'd told the guys I'd been to afterparties before. It galled me how right they'd been, though. This was nothing like the parties Barbed Fire ended up at.
Packed to capacity, the club was sweltering. Bodies without faces ground against me, turned me to hamburger with their rough motions. Tossing back my third—fourth?—rum and coke, I closed my eyes and rolled into the sea.
Thump. Thump. Thump. The rhythm rocked my heart.
It was fun, time being eaten away like this. My temples were expanding with pressure from the noise. Alcohol, I've had too much alcohol. Something bumped me; a hip or a thigh. I should stop, get some air. I need to breathe!
Foreign fingers hooked around my waist. I didn't know him, his face was amethyst in the glow of the lights. “Hey,” he croaked, dark bruises under his eyes. “I know you, you're Lola.”
“Yup.” With one hand trapped by my drink, I tried to use the other to pry myself free. The guy, whoever the fuck he was, wouldn't have it.
Yanking me close, his sour breath invaded my nose. “You were amazing up there.” His nose touched my forehead, sniffed my hair. “Come on, let's dance, babe.” Too fast, his fingers ran up my ribs like giant spiders.
No way, not letting this happen. The asshole had on a giant grin; a blast of ice and rum stole it away. I dropped the glass, the plastic 'clonk' not reaching me over the music.
In disbelief, he wiped his face. His eyes were furious. “You fucking bitch!”
There was a part of me that wanted him to try something. My brain was full of disgust for the other night, when the guards had thrown me down so easily.
I wasn't a victim, those days were in my past.
He didn't take a step; his eyes shot up, over my shoulder. In the funny lighting of the club, Drezden was a purple demon. I'd have called him an angel, but I didn't need saving. And face it, I thought, squinting at his tight jaw and liquid eyes. There's nothing angelic about him.
“There a problem?” He was looking at me, clearly talking to the guy soaked in my drink. The nameless shithead knew who my 'hero' was. If he'd recognized me, Drezden Halifax was a given.
The asshole scrubbed his cheek, barely talking over the music. “No problem. Forget it.” He faded into the crowd, another writhing body.
I had a funny thought about human wallpaper. I couldn't indulge in it, though; Drezden hadn't stopped staring at me. “I didn't start that,” I said, expecting him to be snippy. “And I could've handled it myself.”
“The drink stain on his shirt says you did.” Cocking his head like a hawk, a smile tugged at one side of his lips. “If I get too close, will you do the same thing to me?”
Tobacco and salt filled my nose, replacing the sourness of the stranger. “You'd need to get me a drink, first.” Drezden threw back his head, laughing. If he thought I was being funny, it was fine. I honestly didn't know what I would do if he got too close.
His green eyes became black smoke. “And if I don't give you a drink at all?”
“You think I've had too much already.” It was a flat statement. I was half-way to drunk, but not there yet. Things were fuzzy and fun and my head could have floated away. But I wasn't smashed, I held my own feet. I knew when some creep was getting too interested.
Probably.
Drezden isn't a creep. I ran my eyes over his torso in that tight fitted ribbed top, a clean replacement after our show. It's possible I'm the creep.
The singer was quiet. We stood there in the middle of a war, fists and knees punching all around us. Magically we were untouched. Always, he and I managed to escape in a bubble no one dared to break. What did others sense around us? What kept them at bay?
His fingers glided up my outside wrist before I thought to stop him. By then, it was too late. “It's not that. You can drink as much as you want. It's just hard to dance with a glass in your hand.”
Heat twinkled like stars in his face; I wanted to gaze forever and vanish into his galaxy. It was so easy to just fall into him. If I tumbled headfirst, I'd float forever and never return. “You want to dance with me when every girl here is clawing her eyes out to get your attention?”
“Why would that matter?” He tugged me, guiding me closer to his chest. “I want to spend more time with you.”
More? The music rolled in my belly, coaxing me to give in. “We spent the last two days on a bus together, then played a show tonight. How can there even be more time to spend?”
“Whatever time there is, I'll find it.” Drezden's hands dug into me. It was a beautiful pain, begging me to crush myself against him. “Guess I'll just spend less time breathing.”
My fear warned me not to get closer; if we touched our bodies, we'd both burn up. But would it be the worst way to go? I looked
for my tongue, tried to make it wet my dry mouth. Nothing was in my control anymore. All my pieces wanted to obey the ache Drezden was creating. “Suffocating over me sounds ridiculous.” When did my hips start rocking to the beat? “Normal people just cut out activities they can afford to stop.”
He made a path up to my shoulders, tracing the outside edge of my sleeves. “Advise me.”
Boldly, I reached behind him. His nostrils flared wide. The spike of pleasure I got from surprising him was... thrilling. Especially when I closed my grip on his back pocket; the pack of cigarettes crinkled. It was scant millimeters from a straight up ass-grab.
Drezden's expression darkened. “This,” I said softly. We were close enough that the music didn't blur me out. “How about you try smoking less? Earlier today, all the time you wasted when you stormed off to—”
“I know.” His palm closed over my fingers, trapping me against his pocket. “It's just something I do when I'm stressed.”
He'd told me he didn't get scared over shows. My gut prickled, knowing there was only one other thing that could make sense. “Then why not just quit?”
Thumbs squeezed, I worried he'd leave his fingerprints. “Withdrawal is soul sucking.” In his pause, there was something unsaid. Watching me with a dangerously dark hunger, he bent down. His whisper clenched around my lungs. “When did you become my drug?”
There were so many words I wanted to say.
Too bad he'd stolen them all.
I keep trying to tell him no. My mouth says one thing, while the rest of me revels in betrayal. I needed to do so many things. None of them could be good for me.
Get closer to him. Sean was the one to tell me that. My brother had always been a voice of reason. There was no way he could have meant I should grow this close to Drezden Halifax.
At this rate, I'd crumble and give in.
I think I already have.
Together we started to weave. I didn't struggle; when he released my hand, I kept it on his ass. There was a pulsing in me, in us. It went beyond the rapid music.
We didn't dance like strangers. I expected more mistakes, more fumbles. Drezden held my lower back, coaxing me to roll my hips. Before I'd been seeking air. Now, I swelled with extra. I was a balloon, waiting for Drezden to pop me.