Fighting Weight

by Gillian Jones

  You are enough…

  58

  Alina

  The Montreal crowd is massive. My heart’s thumping to its own erratic beat, one I swear matches Rain’s or Siobhán’s complicated rhythms when they’re wailing on their drum sets. The Bell Centre is filled to capacity tonight, with 21,273 people occupying every seat. From the wings, I see the way the stage lights spill over the crowd, illuminating the faces of laughing and cheering men and women having a good time as they scream their heads off enjoying the bands, like they did when Happenstance played our set at the start of the concert.

  And now, with Ullapool finishing their final song, we’re getting even closer to that time, the time for Sicken Union to give the audience what they came for. Although tonight, they’ll be getting me instead of Zack Nolan.

  Fuck me. I gulp just thinking about it.

  I, Alina Cassidy, am about to take the stage with some of the biggest gods of rock around.

  “I’m going to puke,” I say, trying to retreat from the stage wing down the hall to the greenroom, back to safety. The nerves I’ve been fighting to keep at bay all night are now working overtime as the clock ticks down.

  “Oh no you don’t, Ali,” Roxie says, grabbing my hand and holding me in place. “You can do this. You want to do this. It’s going to be epic! You are epic!”

  “Ha! I’m not too sure about epic right now. I can’t even get my hands to stop shaking long enough to hold onto my pick. I keep dropping it.”

  “And that’s why you always go out on stage with a couple extra,” Roxie says, carefully sticking three fluorescent green ones under the edge of my Strat’s pickguard. “Don’t leave home without ’em.”

  I shake my head, laughing. After rehearsing all afternoon, the six of us had gone to visit Zach at the hospital, before heading to La Banquise to chow down on their famous “La Classique” poutine, the famous Québécois dish we’d promised Roxie and Paisley hours before. It felt good to get out for a while, and the laughter and mouthfuls of fresh-cut fries and melty-melty cheese curds drowning in rich brown gravy helped me wrap my head around the magnitude of what I had agreed to do. It was great, I felt settled—until Happenstance finished our set and had walked off stage. Then the reality hit me. I was going to have to go back out there, and this time I’d be playing without the safety net of my girls.

  “What if I fuck up?” I say.

  “What if you don’t?” Roxie counters.

  “Be serious. This isn’t some small stint. This is Sicken Union.”

  “Exactly. And you’re the next best thing to Zach on this tour, and they need you tonight. Slater needs you,” she stresses, a sly grin curving her lips, knowing she’s got me. How can I say no when she puts it like that? After everything that man has done for me? This is the very least I can do for him.

  “You don’t play fair.” I tuck a piece of my dark hair behind my ear, then start rubbing the inside of my wrist. I remember Slater’s words…

  “You are exquisite…”

  “I love you…”

  “I’m good, eh?” Roxie asks, smiling triumphantly and rocking on her heels. Suddenly I notice that the guys have shifted their way over to us. I’m standing beside Scott, Fife, Rain and Slater, who are getting ready to take the stage. I can smell the lingering scent of hairspray, and smile, seeing the guys with some heavy black liner making their eyes pop for when they’re out onstage. I feel short, surrounded by these tall men, who are all ready and amped to take the stage with me at their side, like we’re going into battle.

  “Break a leg, Ali. You got this, and I’ll be here watching.” Roxie pulls me into a hug before strapping my guitar around my neck and placing a purple pick in my hand, to go along with the others she gave me earlier.

  “I love you,” I say through clenched teeth, sure I’m going to pee myself.

  “I’ll be here,” she says, and it hits me once again how close I’ve become to each and every one of these girls in their own right. I love Paisley and we’ll always be close, but ever since that first photoshoot, and our admissions to each other, Roxie and I have become thick as thieves and I am grateful she’s here with me.

  “Us too,” Siobhán says, as she and Paisley come up beside Roxie and me. “We cannot wait to watch you slay out there,”

  “I’m so fucking proud of you, I could cry,” Paisley says, beaming with pride. Some pyrotechnics go off onstage and her eyes sparkle in the bright, flashing lights as she slams her hands over her ears at the sound of the explosions. Ullapool are killing it tonight.

  “I’m still worried the fans are going to be let down,” I shout.

  “Not a chance, Shadow,” Slater says, coming up tight behind me, “they’re going to love seeing us together up there. You know the songs. We got the chance to practice, and you’re gonna kill it. And, worst case, you wing it,” he laughs, running a gentle touch over the tattoo on my inner wrist, giving me comfort and silent support.

  “Sure. ‘Wing it’, he says…” I shrug, letting out a nervous laugh. “It’s your funeral when I freeze up there. Rox, you better get ready to step in just in case,” I say, only half-joking.

  “Squirt, enough of that crap already. You’re Alina Jayne Cassidy, and you can play this shit in your sleep. Now shut up and show your big brother what you got. Show us all.”

  I whip around, seeing Lucky and his girlfriend Teresa standing behind me, hands interlocked, smiling.

  “You’re here? Lucky! You guys are here! When? How?” I cry.

  “You think we’d miss this?” he says, coming up to hug me.

  “We decided to make a weekend of it,” Teresa says, “a little Montreal, a little romance, see this kick-ass show… We wanted to surprise you.” I hug her. I really am becoming so fond of this woman, and am grateful to her for becoming the ray of light my brother needs. “Can’t wait to see you shine girl.”

  “No pressure now, eh, guys? At all?” I spin around, joking while taking in the faces of all these people. My family. And I smile. Obviously the person who coined the phrase: “Blood is thicker than water” never stood in the same room with these people.

  “I’m ready. You guys about ready?” I ask, beaming and jutting my chin out at Rain, Scott, Fife, and Slater, who is simply standing with his arms crossed over his chest, muscles all distracting and shit, chuckling at my brand of crazy.

  “Let’s go kick some ass, Ali,” Fife says, wrapping me in his arms before walking me towards the stage, where Ullapool is now filing off to the sound of loud cheers. “We owe you,” he says, placing a sweet kiss on my temple.

  I know he might not quite get it, but I say it anyway, “If anything, I owe you guys. So for now, let’s call it even.”

  I smile, looking over my shoulder until my eyes connect with Slater, who mouths, “I fucking love you.”

  The house lights dim, and Sicken Union takes to the stage with me on lead guitar.

  You are enough…

  59

  Alina

  “Montréal!!!!! Thank you for being fucking awesome! Let’s give it up to the guys for always kicking ass…” Slater points to Rain, Scott, and Fife once we’re back out for the final encore. We’ve played for over an hour-and-a-half, and I feel incredible. “And we wouldn’t be here at all tonight without the help of this girl, Alina Cassidy, right over there on lead guitar,” Slater says, pointing to me. “Leave it to Zack to get hurt while playing at his dream job of being a roadie. Idiot…” he jokes, letting out a sexy-as-hell rumble that vibrates throughout the stadium. I swear it hits me right between the legs.

  Slater Jenkins is beautiful, but onstage he’s electric, magnetic, and so completely hot. He draws you in and holds you captive while performing, and after seeing him running around all night, it’s getting harder and harder to not just run over and jump his handsome, muscular ass. Watching him move onstage tonight has my girlie bits working overtime, the way his shirt is pulled across his broad chest, or the way those damn veins I can’t get enough of seein
g snake down so visibly from his biceps to his forearms as he grips the microphone tight when singing the higher notes of a song.

  “…But thank fuck we had a hidden gem to save our asses tonight. And, thankfully, she agreed to play with us. Let’s give it up again for my girl, Ali!” I hear Slater shout, and then I hear the crowd chanting my name, and it breaks me from my Slater-induced reverie.

  “My girl.”

  I can’t hide the smile which pulls at my lips over the fact that he just called me his girl in front of twenty-one thousand people. Plus the fact that I held my own up here playing with Sicken Union, one of the biggest names in the industry. Best part? I didn’t mess up. Not once. The crowd is surprisingly welcoming, which fuels my adrenaline. It pulses through my body, along with a sense of pride in myself that’s practically overflowing because I fucking did it! I’m still doing it, and it feels amazing. I make devil horns to the audience. I didn’t let them down.

  “Now…” Slater says, as the crowd starts to simmer. They quiet down so they can hear him. “I’d like to sing one last special song. One I want to dedicate to a very special woman. It’s not on the set list we gave her, well, because it was supposed to be a surprise. So I had to improvise tonight, again thanks to Zack.” He chuckles and shakes his head, and the audience laughs. “I’m going to need your help with this one, guys. It’s the first time I’ve ever sung it, so bear with me, but it means a whole lot to my girl, and to me. So, if you have a phone help me set the mood, ’cause god knows I might fuck this up. Get ’em out and shine your light my way, and let’s hope she sees how incredible we think she is. Help me show her she’s my light.”

  Slater turns to me, covers the mic, and says, “This one’s for you, Shadow.”

  “What the hell?” I gasp to myself. The lights dim for a few beats before one lone blue spotlight shines down from directly above Slater, illuminating him where he’s perched on a stool, strapping on a guitar handed to him by a black-garbed roadie.

  Hands shaking, I drop my pick as tears start to form, followed by the biggest grin to ever cross my lips, as Slater starts thumbing the familiar chords to the song “Swim,” by Jack’s Mannequin.

  “…swim…”

  I stand stock-still, trembling as Slater’s voice so poignantly puts his own stamp on my personal anthem, singing the lyrics about brighter days, even when the sun isn’t shining. His voice is husky and sexy.

  The crowd starts to join in on the chorus, and I feel like I’m floating. Never has anyone made me feel as special as Slater has in this moment. I will never forget this performance for as long as I live. And I vow here and now to always swim towards him for as long as he wades the waters with me.

  By the time the last chord is strummed, and the final line sung—and in front of all these people!—I find I am launching myself into Slater’s arms, almost knocking him off his stool, earning us a round of “awws”, laughs, and applause from the crowd.

  “Hi, baby,” Slater says, steadying us, and shifting his guitar onto his back while laughing. Again, it echoes through the microphone.

  “I’m going to need you to put that mic down. I’d hate to break it,” I say, steeling my nerves so my voice doesn’t falter.

  “Oh yeah?” he asks, cocking his head, confused at the request. Seeing the glint of amusement in his eyes, I lean in close to his ear.

  “Definitely,” I reply, before facing him and slamming my mouth over his, making the crowd go wild. They hoot, catcall, and holler as we kiss and again when he wraps his arms around me, the roar taking over as the lights fade to black around us.

  “Yours is my new favourite version of that song. I’ll never forget this night. Thank you for giving me that.”

  “And you’re just my favourite,” he calls to me over the cheering crowd, taking my hand and walking us offstage.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I suggest, giving him what I hope is a knowing look.

  “Yeah?”

  “God, yes. It’s about time you put out,” I shout over the applause.

  He swats my butt as we exit stage left, ignoring everyone on the outside of our bubble.

  60

  Slater

  I’ve never wanted anything more than I want Alina right fucking now.

  Her beautiful face when she looked up at me, silently telling me with those lust-lidded eyes after the show that it was time to go, nearly did me in. I’ve been waiting forever to properly get my hands all over her.

  Now, back in our room, I’m struggling for control, knowing it’s crucial to let her set the pace on this. I have to let her lead this dance.

  Once we landed in Montreal yesterday, I made an executive decision—we were going to share a room. No way was she not staying with me. It was the sweetest form of self-torture I’d ever experienced. Lying with her nestled in my arms last night, trying really hard to be a good boy, almost killed me. I wanted her, badly, and now here I am—less than twenty-four hours later—about to get my wish.

  Alina Cassidy is standing in front of me, her shoulders squared—a breathtaking smile graces her face, despite the small tremble I catch—as she instinctually rubs her wrist. It’s a good look for her, confidence with a hint of nervousness. It’s sexy as hell, and has me gripping my cock through my jeans as it twitches. Her long hair is curled around her face, and she’s wearing a vintage black Ramones T-shirt, paired with tight, distressed blue jeans, and red Chucks. She’s my version of perfection.

  “It’s taking me everything I have not to rush this, Ali. To not just pick you up and toss you on the bed,” I admit, as we stand face to face in the middle of the mostly dark hotel room, illuminated only by a few streams of moonlight coming in through the window.

  “I want this, Slater. I want you to touch me. All of me,” she says, her voice shaky with desire.

  “I want that, too. So fucking much,” I tell her, toeing off my boots.

  “Come here, Slater,” Ali commands, and I bridge the gap in a nanosecond.

  “You’re so fucking beautiful, Alina,” I say, sweeping her hair off her shoulders and tilting her face up so our eyes meet. I lean in, taking her lips with mine. She opens her mouth willingly, allowing my tongue to slip in. Our tongues meet, moving around one another in circles—a game of chase—and it’s making me rock hard. Ali releases a small moan when I move my hand to her neck, gripping her soft skin gently. Holding her in place as we devour each other, I finally pull my mouth away to tug her bottom lip gently between my teeth. My breathing is shallow; that kiss incited my desire even more, and thankfully, it matches her own. Her cheeks are flushed, her chest rising and falling as our eyes latch, and I know she wants this as badly as I do. “I fucking ache for you.”

  “I want to touch you, Slate. All of you.” Her hands move down along my sides. Sweet sounds and sexy groans of appreciation escape her mouth as she pauses in her explorations here and there, lingering to rub and feel me as she makes her way up under my shirt. Flattening her palms, she shifts her touch slowly, over each dip and dive of muscle. It makes me chuckle, knowing she likes what she feels.

  “You’re so damn sexy, and warm,” she mutters, before reaching for the hem of my shirt and lifting it off. “I need this gone. My eyes and your body have a long overdue date with each other,” she says. I let her yank the blue shirt up and over my head before she tosses it aside somewhere behind her. “Yeah,” she says, and licks her lips, “that’s so much better.”

  Leaning up on her tiptoes, she starts running her tongue along my shoulder, then down along my pecs, rubbing her wet lips over one and then the other, before taking each of my nipples in between her teeth, giving them little tugs, each bite making my dick jerk as if there was a direct connection. It feels so fucking good having her mouth on me.

  “Your body is perfect, Slater,” she says, running her fingers down along my chest and stomach before dropping to her knees in front of me.

  “I want you in my mouth,” Alina says, looking up at me, her hands positioned on my h
ips, waiting. It takes me a moment to find my voice. My cock strains against my jeans even more; it weeps at her words, more than fucking ready to have this beautiful woman’s mouth wrapped around it.

  “Ali. You sure, baby? No pressure. I want this to be about you.” I smooth my hand along the back of her head. Even though it would literally kill me, I’m being serious. She doesn’t need to do this.

  “Then give me what I want. Take it out, Slater. Stroke it, get it ready for me. Show me how hard I make you.”

  Fuck me. This girl makes me come undone.

  “Such a filthy girl. Didn’t expect this, Shadow.” I rub my thumb along the side of her face tenderly. “You amaze me.”

  “It’s you,” she says, and leans into my touch. “You give me confidence, make me feel beautiful, like I can take what I want from you and know it’s okay.”

  “Are you kidding? It’s fucking more than,” I tell her. I’m popping the button of my jeans and yanking down my fly when Ali takes over, pushing my boxers and pants to the floor. I step out, cock in hand. I stroke it once, twice, and before I can do it again, Ali swats my hand away, replacing it with her tongue. She runs it up along one side, then the other. “Jesus Christ.” My hips move forward at her touch. “Yeah, baby, that’s it. Suck it, fuck, yes. God,” I whisper, as she takes the tip of my cock into her hot wet mouth.

  She swirls her tongue all around the tip and slit before ever so slowly working to slide it in, taking inch after inch of my length down into her throat. She starts moving all of me in and out, quickening her pace, adding a fist around my shaft to help when needed, and it’s the most intense feeling I’ve ever had. A lick of heat burns up my spine as she hollows her cheeks and sucks and fucks me with her mouth, staring up at me the whole fucking time. And I think I might actually pass out from the pleasure when she reaches under and starts playing with my balls.