by Nicole Reed
The lights go up, blindingly bright, and my heart pounds inside my chest as if I’m sprinting after the dragon. Damn, I wish. My body feels frozen in place, and I instantly think to myself, “Am I going to be able to pull this off? How the fuck did I end up going on stage tonight? Oh yeah, one fucking reason. Her. Syn Landry.”
“How’s everybody tonight?” Todd asks, looking out over the people in the bar.
I squint my eyes through the blinding light to see several girls who are standing in the front yelling, including giant lips from the other night. I can’t help but remember that big ass mouth. She smiles up at me and says something to the ginger standing next to her.
“We’ve got something extra special for you guys tonight. I’d like to welcome Rhye Clark, lead singer of the Mavericks, to the stage to help us sing one of our favorite covers,” he says, turning to clap his hands towards me.
“Fuck it. Let’s do this,” I say to myself. Taking a deep breath, I step forward. I grab the microphone stand and look out over the bar. Once again, the room seems to be at capacity. I’m actually surprised at the calmness that spreads over me. This feels right. It feels like coming home.
“I just want to give a big motherfucking thank you to these guys for letting me sing with them tonight,” I say, nodding at each band member. The respect in each of their eyes reminds me of another time, a moment that I used to have with the guys in my band. Ever since Chris died, I’ve let myself forget why I started singing in the first place. It’s always been about the escape that music gave me but also about the respect and commitment amongst a group of musicians.
The first guitar chords of “Dig” are played, and I think about the lyrics. Once I hear a song for the first time and love it, I never, not once, forget the words. This song is tough to think about, but I can’t stop detailing each line in my mind while I sing it. I grasp the mic stand with both hands, close my eyes, and let the phrases speak to my soul.
By the time the chorus hits, I open my eyes, feeling completely in-tune with the music and the band. I can’t see most of the crowd because of the lights blinding me, but I hear their voices joining in unison with mine. I let the energy of the crowd fill all the emptiness inside, not worrying about how short-lived it will be.
Grabbing the mic off the stand, I move with the music, letting the lyrics tell the story. I step to the end of the stage, resting my foot against one of the speakers. Todd joins in singing on the bridge, our voices melding and blending. He plays his guitar, and for one moment, I feel my heart pound intensely, the feeling of belonging not with them but on this stage, reminds me what I need to fight for. It’s worth it, especially when everything else in my life has gone to shit.
The song ends too fast for me, the sound of the crowd echoing through the small bar. The guys in the band smile at each other, including me in their obvious camaraderie. My body is wired, feeling a complete natural high that overshadows anything man made. I’m light-headed, not only from the booze but the adrenaline rush streaking through my body. I try to hold onto this feeling, even if only for seconds, knowing it never lasts.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Todd says, smiling at me while offering his fist.
“Hell yeah, man,” I say, smiling back and pounding my hand to his.
I turn to the crowd and raise the mic to my mouth. “Damn, that’s the shit right there. Thanks to the kickass guys for letting me join in with them.” I place the microphone back on the stand and turn to walk off the stage so they can finish their set.
I hear Todd say something about me, and the crowd yells loudly. Stepping down, I’m bombarded with fans. Talking to everyone is impossible, and I’m glad when a couple of the bouncers walk over with the bartender, clearing a path. Big lips and her ginger friend stand to the side as I try to make my way out.
“Hey, Rhye,” Big lips yells. “You want to bring my friend and me home with you?” She turns her head and French kisses the shit out of the redhead beside her. Girl on girl action equals a definite hard on. I grab her arm, she grabs her friend’s hand, and they follow me.
I’m attracting way too much attention to stay which sucks because I’d like to see the guys’ set. The bouncers lead me to a side entry, and one asks if they need to call a car for me. Knowing I’m only a block away, I start tell him no when I hear the other bouncer mention there is a massive crowd out front. Evidently, word gets around fast, and people were coming to see me.
“Man, I’m staying at SR studios, and I walked here earlier.” The guy nods and says his car is parked on the side. Me and my kinky sidekicks slip through the door and follow him so he can give us a ride. I slide into the passenger seat while the other two slide in the back. I’m still running off the fumes from the stage high and a buzz from the alcohol. Music comes over his car radio, and I keep time with drumming on my knee. It only takes minutes to arrive at my apartment.
“Thanks, man,” I say, sliding out of the car and waiting for my bedmates to hurry the hell up. What the fuck up is with all the giggling?
I reach for the redhead and pull her under one arm, doing the same with blonde big lips. Draping both arms around them, we walk into the building and wait for the elevator.
“I’m your biggest fan,” the ginger replies breathlessly, looking up at me with big, brown, knowing eyes.
“Oh, you’re going to be an even bigger fan when you see what you get to play with tonight,” I reply cockily.
Again, a round of giggles irk the hell out of me, but I keep my mouth shut. Any straight man with a pulse, married or not, never turns down a threesome. It’s not the bust a ball blue that it once was back in the day, but I never turn down pussy times two, especially with freaks. That’s a guaranteed fucking good time. Literally.
“Reach in my pocket and grab my key,” I tell big lips, feeling her hand slide deep in my jeans and stroke my cock before retrieving the key. No complaints here, especially from my dick.
She opens the door and starts to slip the key into her own pocket. I remove my arm from her shoulders and reach for the key. “That’s not yours,” I say, winking at her. She’s not the first to try, and I’m sure she’s not the last. It doesn’t piss me off; it’s to be expected of the whores I fuck.
“It’s amazing. I didn’t even have to text you tonight,” Josh says, coming around the corner from the kitchen. Stopping, he sees that I’m not alone. “Figures.”
Ignoring him, I swagger past him, first kissing ginger on her overly red lips then turning to blondie’s much plumper ones. Fuck him and his curfew while I fuck these two. Opening the door, I lead them in and close it behind me.
They both walk over to sit on the bed, one unbuttoning her shirt while the other pulls her t-shirt up and over her head. Ginger leans over blondie, running her hands up and over her taut stomach, spreading her hands over laced cover tits. I watch her slip her fingers beneath the flimsy material, playing with those hard nipples underneath.
Knowing show and tell isn’t as fun as fucking doing, I remove my own shirt and join the fray.
I slip on my tennis shoes, tightly tying my shoelaces. I’m hoping a good run will clear my head. After another sleepless night of him invading my thoughts, I’m done, or so I tell myself. Every single time I convince myself that he’s an asshole to the bone, I start thinking about what causes someone to act like he does, and my bleeding heart makes excuses for him. Nothing, not even common sense, can change how much I want Rhye.
Shaking my head, I stand up, adjusting my running shorts and tee. I don’t grab my arm band because I want and need the silence to clear my head today. Reaching for my key to the apartment, I slide it into the small zipper pocket on my shoe.
I open my door and start to step out when the door across from mine opens. Looking up, I watch two girls in wrinkled clothing and mused hair stagger outside. The redhead and blonde both yawn from obvious lack of sleep. A great looking blonde guys walks out after them, standing in the doorway.
“Sorry ladies, bu
t it’s time to go. I want to personally thank you for the symphony of moans that kept me up all last night. Job well done,” he says, watching them walk down the hallway and enter the elevator.
What an asshole. Really? His good looks seem to disappear behind his disrespectful tone and words. I take a step backward, not wanting to have any interaction with the jackass. The sound must attract attention, because he turns to look at me. He glances from my stare of disdain back towards the now empty hallway and begins to speak.
“Wait. No. They weren’t with me,” he explains, holding up his hands.
“None of my business,” I reply, rolling my eyes in disbelief.
“No, really. They’re with my roommate, who evidently hates my guts enough to keep me up all night. I took immense pleasure in waking him and his guests up early this morning. Needless to say, some had worn out their welcome.”
“Oh,” I mutter, blushing at the mental image of what he just implied. This is awkward with a capital “A.”
“Hey, you’re Syn Landry. Right?” he asks, stepping forward and closing the door behind him.
“Yes,” I reply without thinking. Great, Syn. You still don’t know if he’s some creepo.
“I’m Josh. I worked with a country music band last year, and those guys really liked you. I guess you can say they introduced me to your music.”
Not that liking my music doesn’t make him a weirdo, but I remember that I am staying in Sundial’s private apartment building, which means he’s more than likely a musician or connected with the music business. He doesn’t remind me of anyone in particular in country music, but he sure does look like Matthew McConaughey.
“Are you a musician?” I ask, turning to close my door behind me.
“No. I’m a Life Coach Therapist,” he says, walking beside me to the elevator.
“What the heck is a Life Coach Therapist?” I ask, amazed by his admission.
“Well, I’m like a mentor. I partner with clients who are trying to mainstream into everyday life after living through a personal struggle. I use thought-provoking techniques that help them surmount their own internal demons and help stimulate the creative process that inspires them to maximize their professional and personal possibilities.”
Once the elevator doors open, we both step forward, and I press for the bottom floor. “Wow. Interesting,” I say, turning my head towards him. “I’ve never heard of such. So your client now is a musician?”
He turns his face towards me and shrugs, “Employer confidentiality.”
I nod, totally understanding his position and respecting him for not saying anything.
“You going for a run?” he asks, smiling at me and changing the subject.
“Yeah, I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Hopefully not from the chorus of beauties from across the hall,” he says, nudging my shoulder with his.
I laugh. “No. Thank God.”
“So, you want some company?” he asks, smiling when I nod my head.
We walk out of the building and hit the pavement running. Starting out at a slow jog, I hear him clear his throat, and I look over at him.
“Can you talk and run?” he asks, smiling again at my nod. “Tell me about you. Where are you from?”
I find it easy to tell him all about me. We run for over forty minutes, and the entire time, I speak of my mother dying and growing up with a father who couldn’t let her go. He replies throughout my story, encouraging me to continue on. I talk about coming to Nashville, and then I mention meeting Tag. Of course, I don’t say his name, just refer to him as some “guy”.
Stopping in the park, we walk to slow our heart rates.
“So, you finally get signed, have your first big hit, and meet the guy of your dreams. You both go on separate tours but try to make it work. What then?” he says, stretching his arms above his head.
Walking side by side, I turn to look at him, wondering if I should be telling everything to this stranger. In this life, you can’t trust anyone. If you do, it ends up sold to the highest bidder, but everything is turned upside down in my life right now, and I have no one to talk to. I decide to take a chance.
“He said that he loved me. That I was his soul mate, and he could wait until I was ready to take our relationship to the next level. We tried to make it work. Well, I tried to make it work. Have you ever been on tour?” I ask him, kicking the cement with my tennis shoe.
“Actually, I have. It’s world of its own, with rules that make sense only to you music nomads.”
“Yeah. I figured that out pretty quick. I didn’t understand the women, how available they are for the men. Not that I’m making any excuses for him, but he and I were, still are, really young. At first, we would surprise each other at different stops. He would send flowers and gifts, but nothing compared to holding him. I got caught up in him being my first love. I was deaf to the warnings, blind to the images right in front of me online and in the magazines.” I pause, trying to find the words to say. “When I finally had the courage to ask about them, he looked at me and said, ‘Syn, you don’t understand what it’s like for a guy on the road. You and I are meant to be, but this is how it is right now.’ After a few choice words, we were no more.” I bitterly laugh, saying, “He does these interviews and says I’m the one. He writes song after song about me, making our private life very public. If only I could go back in time… Never…”
“You can’t choose who you love,” he says, looking at me sympathetically.
“Tell me about it.” I reply, not thinking about Tag but Rhye. I wipe away the tears that fall down my cheeks.
“Trust me, I understand,” he says, smiling at me.
The park is empty this early in the morning. I roll my stiff neck and let the gentle breeze cool my skin. I can’t believe how much I just told Josh. He really has to be a therapist because it’s so easy to talk to him. A question burns in the back of my mind, and I’ve already shared this much, so what the heck?
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” he replies.
“Do you think you can change someone? If you love them enough, do you think you can change who they are?”
He stops walking and turns to look at me. Taking a deep breath, he says, “Something I’ve learned, Syn. You can’t change people. They have to want to change themselves, and even then, it’s an everyday fight. That’s why I step in and try to guide them to make better decisions regarding their life. In all honesty, if you love someone, then you have to accept who they are inside. Their demons become yours. I say this because if you are questioning whether or not you can change someone you love, then maybe you love the idea of them, and not who they truly are.”
“He’s in so much pain, and I don’t know what to do,” I say as sadness overwhelms me. Raising my hand, I feel the wetness against my cheeks. Looking into Josh’s kind eyes, I plead, “I see him underneath it all. He acts like he doesn’t care, but he does. I know, deep inside of me, that he does, but I don’t know what to do when he seems to not care what happens. He has had issues with drugs, and I don’t know if he is still using or not. And I don’t think he cares about me, and it doesn’t seem to make a difference to my heart. I don’t know what to do?” I shrug my shoulders, smiling through my tears.
When I finish, Josh steps forward and envelops me in a big bear hug. I can’t control the sobs that come one after another as I bury my face into his shoulder. My entire body shudders from the force of my crying. I wasn’t this upset when I found out about Tag’s betrayal.
“Shh,” he says, comforting me with soft pats of his hand to my back. “That’s a tough row to hoe. It’s going to be hard because he’s already failed you in the trust department. Did he have these problems the first time you were together?”
I pull back from his embrace, momentarily confused by his words. Wait…he thinks I’m talking about Tag. “No, this is someone entirely different,” I tell him, shaking my head.
“Oh. Okay. How long
have you know this other person?” he asks, sincerely looking at me.
“Less than a week. Days?” I say, seeing the shocked expression in his eyes.
He takes a minute before responding. Stepping back, he places both of his hands on his hips and nods. “Syn, please don’t take offense, but how old are you?”
Crossing my arms, I shrug and reply, “Nineteen.”
“Nineteen,” he repeats. “Are you sure it’s love and not lust? Please hear me out,” he says, reaching to touch my shoulder. “Sometimes we meet people and have this instant connection. I’m sure, in some cases, it can turn into love, but that’s after getting to know someone so intimately that you’re willing to take on their internal struggles as your own. Listen, you are very talented, young woman with boundless opportunities at your fingertips. So many people lose themselves and forego their future in hopes of changing someone who has no desire to alter their life. Don’t get caught up in following someone you love straight to your ruin. I see it all the time, and I would hate for that to be you.”
I understand what he is saying. How can I possibly think I even know Rhye? He even said the same thing yesterday; however, my soul screams from its very depths that I do.
Turning away from Josh, I begin walking again, hearing him catch up to me. “I can’t explain it. I wish I could. These emotions that I have for him are so incredibly overwhelming. So real and confusing most of the time. Look, I know I’m young, but I can’t control what I’m feeling. Then, I meet you, and here I am spilling my guts to a stranger. What a week,” I say, laughing at myself.
“First off, I’m very good at my job as a listener, so don’t feel guilty about that. Second, you can trust me. I know that doesn’t mean much in the business you are in, but I have no interest in repeating anything you’ve said to me today. I’d rather have you as a friend,” he says as we walk along the sidewalk.
Glancing up at him, we smile at each other. I feel a kinship with him. “I’m not sure how your life coaching works, but if you’re not busy tonight, I would love it if you came to hear me sing. It’s only a song, but maybe afterwards I can buy you a Coke and you can tell me your life story. I would love to have you as a friend.”