by Lauren Rowe
“Hey, sis,” C-Bomb says, striding toward her. But then, to my massive relief, he stops short of Violet and embraces the woman standing next to her... a woman I immediately recognize as Violet’s strawberry blonde friend from Reed’s party.
Every cell in my body shudders with relief. Oh, thank God. But wait. No. What’s happening now? C-Bomb is disengaging from the blonde and moving on to Violet with a wide, lusty smile.
“Holy shit, Vi!” C-Bomb booms. “You look good enough to eat. Come here.” He wraps Violet in a fervent hug that makes me want to lurch across the room and physically pry him off her. The hug C-Bomb is giving Violet is different than the one he just gave to the blonde. This hug for Violet isn’t about brotherly love. No, this one is dripping with stone-cold lust.
“Hey, Caleb,” Violet mumbles into his broad shoulder. “It’s been a while.”
“Way too long.”
C-Bomb nuzzles his nose into Violet’s hair and pointedly inhales, instantly making me want to rip his head off. That’s my hair to smell, motherfucker. I’m the one who’s been sniffing Violet’s pillowcase for the past eight months, for fuck’s sake, even though, by the end, I’m pretty sure I was just imagining any trace of her flowery scent.
With one last inhale of Violet’s hair, C-Bomb murmurs, “You smell so good, baby. As usual.”
My stomach clenches. Baby? As usual?
I stare like a sniper at the pair, clenching my jaw and fists in equal measure. This can’t be happening.
“God, you look good,” C-Bomb says, pulling back from their hug.
But he’s wrong about that. Violet doesn’t look good. She looks amazing. Her dark hair is longer now, and she’s dressed like a rocker’s wet dream in dark, skin-tight leather pants and a shimmering, purple tank top with a plunging neckline. Why’d she pick that sexy top tonight? To show me what I’ve been missing out on for the past eight months or to show C-Bomb what he’s been missing out on for however long? Did she come to see me tonight... or him?
“I was actually gonna call you after the tour,” C-Bomb says. “And now, here you are. It’s fate.”
For the first time since Violet walked through the door, she glances at me. When her stormy, blue-gray eyes connect to mine, they say, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.
I want you, I shoot back instantly. Reflexively. I’m letting instinct take over, even though I shouldn’t.
Quickly, Violet looks away, her cheeks flushed, as C-Bomb addresses Colin, Fish, and me.
“Guys,” C-Bomb says, “this right here is my little sister, Miranda. And this knockout is my ex, Violet.” He shoots Violet a wink. “The one that got away.”
Violet’s already crimson face turns into a five-alarm fire. She steals another brief glance at me, her chin lowered, and mutters, “Caleb. Please.”
C-Bomb chuckles and says, “Ladies, this is Fish, Colin, and Dax. But I’m sure you already know that. These three goats haven’t been keeping a low-profile these days.”
Miranda and Violet say a polite hello to us, and we three goats return the favor.
The RCR guys converge on the girls and conversation ensues.
I watch from twenty yards away, my body shuddering with a riot of physical reactions to Violet’s sheer proximity. My heart is exploding, my skin is on fire, my eyes feel magnetically pulled to her. And, most of all, my belly is alive with flapping wings and glowing lights that only this woman, and no other, ignites inside me. Holy fucking Christ. After all the times I’ve fantasized about Violet, all the songs I’ve written about her, all the times I’ve been drawn to women with dark bobs and bangs around the world... finally, when I’d already resolved to track her down in Rhode Island, the girl walks into my dressing room in L.A... and turns out to be C-Bomb’s “one that got away.”
It’s a catastrophe. A crisis of epic proportions. Because now that I’m seeing Violet again, there’s no doubt in my mind: I want her.
For months, out of sheer survival instinct, I’ve been telling myself Violet was nothing but the right girl on the right night. A symbol. A projection. The sexy girl who played fuck fairy and savior to me on the one night when I needed it most. I told myself I’d turned Violet into something supernatural in my mind, a unicorn she couldn’t possibly live up to in reality... But now, seeing her again, I know I didn’t exaggerate or misremember her at all. Standing here now, it’s clear to me I’ve been addicted to a drug this whole time. A drug called Violet.
Colin has crossed the room and cluelessly joined the conversation with RCR and the girls—because, of course, he never laid eyes on Violet at the party and has no idea about the bomb that just now dropped on me. But Fish knows what’s up. He’s hanging back in the corner with me, watching the group from afar and shaking his head.
Fish whispers, “That’s the ‘Fireflies’ girl, right?”
“The one and only.”
“Please, tell me you’re not feeling fireflies again.”
“I am. A whole flock of ’em.”
“Well, tell ’em to go away.”
“I don’t think it works like that.”
Fish pauses. “This isn’t gonna end well, Daxy.”
I say nothing. Because I agree: if it turns out Violet wants me—which remains to be seen—then, yeah, this isn’t gonna end well.
Fish says, “Well, at least you know now why she wouldn’t give you her number the morning after the party. She wasn’t rejecting you. She was protecting you from The Caveman’s wrath.”
He’s right. Oh my God. Yes. Intense relief washes over me. Violet did feel fireflies every bit as much as I did. She was simply protecting me. “Yeah, and she was also probably protecting herself,” I whisper to Fish. “She told me her first love went away for his job, cheated on her, and broke her heart. Now I know the guy’s ‘job’ was a world tour. Obviously, she didn’t want to put herself through that again.”
“Her first love?” Fish whispers. “Aw, Daxy. This is bad. You’ve gotta stay away from this one.”
I press my lips together and stare at Violet. I can’t fathom staying away from Violet, any more than I can imagine not breathing or eating.
Lyrics.
Hallelujah.
For the first time in months, they’re flooding me. My heart thrumming with excitement, I pull out my phone and take furious notes:
You caught me violet-handed, baby
And now I’m drowning in blue
No yellow fever burnin’ up my skin
This sickness has a violet hue
“We’d better join the group,” Fish says, forcing me to look up. “If we don’t, it’s gonna be weird.” Without waiting for my reply, Fish grabs my arm and pulls me over to the group.
As we approach, Violet is saying, “. . . indie movie set in the seventies, so the costumes are especially fun. I’m just a lowly assistant on the design team. We’re in pre-production now, so I’m only needed for occasional meetings. But in a month, I’ll be pretty busy on-set.”
“You’re a freelancer?” Dean asks.
Violet’s eyes flicker to me and then return to Dean. “Yeah. I did an internship my last semester at school, and that led to this job. Hopefully, this job will lead to the next one, and so on. That’s how it works in the industry.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get hired again,” C-Bomb says. “They’ll know talent when they see it.” He winks at Violet, making me want to throttle him, and then says, “So, hey, ladies, we’re having a little wrap party in Dean’s suite after the show. Come celebrate the end of the tour with us.”
“Of course!” Miranda chirps.
But Violet balks. “Oh, I’m going to the children’s hospital bright and early tomorrow morning to deliver some superhero costumes. I think I’ll head home right after the concert to get some sleep.”
C-Bomb scoffs. “You can sleep when you’re dead. We all wanna hear more about what you’ve been up to. Isn’t that right, guys?”
The RCR guys dutifully confirm that, ye
p, they’re all dying hear whatever Violet’s been up to lately.
C-Bomb turns to Colin, Fish, and me. “You three goats are coming to the wrap-party, right?”
Without hesitation, Colin confirms that, yes, indeed, the three of us wouldn’t miss it. And, fuck my life, I don’t contradict him, even though I know my family is going to kill me when I don’t show up at their hotel right after the show.
Violet doesn’t look at me. She smiles at Colin. “Well, okay. I guess if you three goats are going to the party, I’ll go for a little while.”
I feel Fish stiffening next to me, freaking out about the way this thing is going. But I say nothing. What’s there to say? I want her.
Caleb pulls out his phone. “I’ll text you the suite number and the code for the private elevator. Do you still have the same phone number, baby?”
“No, I got a new one a couple months ago...” Violet’s eyes flicker to me. “When I moved to L.A.”
My heart lurches. Violet lives in L.A.?
Violet returns to C-Bomb. “And please don’t call me baby, Caleb. I haven’t been your baby in a very long time.”
The RCR guys hoot at the burn. Even Caleb looks highly amused by Violet’s sassiness. And me? I’m feeling like jumping for joy. Violet lives in L.A. and she doesn’t want Caleb to call her baby! I look down and smile like a goof. Violet wants me. Every bit as much as I want her.
Miranda says to her brother, “Just text me the info, Caleb. Violet will be with me.”
C-Bomb smirks. “I’d much rather text it to Violet.”
“Yeah, well, life is full of disappointments, Caleb,” Violet says, making everyone, including C-Bomb, laugh again. Violet addresses Colin, Fish, and me. “It was great meeting you guys. Have a great show.”
Miranda echoes Violet’s sentiments, and as she does, she looks directly at me and shoots me a quick, nonverbal apology, the same way Violet did a few moments ago.
I nod my acknowledgment. I don’t know how this torturous situation came about tonight—my long-awaited reunion with Violet transpiring with Caleb standing mere feet away—but however it happened, it’s clear to me neither of these girls envisioned it playing out quite this way.
The girls start to leave the dressing room to head to their seats, but C-Bomb calls out to them, pausing them in the doorway.
“Come backstage after the goats’ set,” C-Bomb says. “But come to our dressing room across the hallway, not this one. We’ll hang out for a bit before our set. Have a beer.”
“Sure thing,” Miranda says.
C-Bomb looks at Violet, his features surprisingly earnest. “There’s something I really want to talk to you about tonight, Vi. In private. So, be sure to come.”
Violet’s cheeks flush. Her chest heaves sharply. She nods stiffly, making C-Bomb smile with relief, but the second he looks away, Violet’s eyes flicker straight to me to issue yet another quick apology.
Same as before, I reply to Violet’s nonverbal communication with one of my own: I want you. I know I shouldn’t tell her that. I should tell her shit like, We shouldn’t. We can’t. This is a nonstarter. But, apparently, some things are out of my control. No matter what my brain tells me to do, my heart and body are telling me to get this girl.
Violet looks away from my blazing eyes to say her final goodbyes to the RCR guys and then she and Miranda follow one of the tour assistants out of the room.
The minute the girls are gone, I pull out my phone, my heart pounding:
No gray area, not tickled pink
No black sheep or blue ribbons, too
Yeah, everything is violet now
Everything is you
I want to roll around in a field of flowers,
All of ‘em painted a light purple hue
I wanna kiss the sorry out of your eyes
Lick it off your slit and thighs
You’ve caught me Violet-handed, baby
And now I got them...
Whether I want them or not
I got the thing that’s gonna be
My undoing, a catastrophe
I got them white-hot...
Heart beating, skin tingling
Oh, Violet, baby,
The one who got away from me
I got them Violet blues
“It’s showtime, goats,” our stage manager, Greta, says, appearing in the doorframe.
I stuff my phone back in my pocket and commence the usual pre-show rituals with Colin and Fish. We huddle up, make our usual goat sounds, and then follow all of it up with our usual chant—“one, two, three, goats!”
Thanks to my “clean and sober” promise to Colby, we skip our usual three-way tequila shots tonight, and instead head straight to fist-bumps and high-fives. And then, with typical pre-show adrenaline coursing through our veins, we stride toward the door to follow our waiting stage manager.
“Never gets old,” Colin says, his voice juiced with excitement.
“This is the forty-five minutes I fucking live for,” I say, my heart pounding.
“Best job in the world,” Fish adds.
Just before we reach the doorway, C-Bomb calls to us, and when we turn around, we find him smiling like a shark.
“I think it goes without saying,” C-Bomb says, “but I feel like I should say it, anyway. Everything I said about my sister—about her being off-limits? That goes triple for my ex.” His gaze rests squarely on me. “Violet’s hot as fuck, I know. But make no mistake about it, gentlemen: that girl is mine.”
Chapter 24
Violet
Dax is supernatural on that stage. A shimmering god. He’s physically glowing up there, and not because of the stage lights bathing him in supernatural light—but because he’s raw and pure and honest in his performance, so primal and sexy and gorgeous and true, so called to do what he’s doing, it’s like the man swallowed a floodlight, set to high.
I thought coming here tonight to see Dax would give me the closure I’ve so desperately needed—a chance to finally, after all this time, move on from this painful, stagnating ache. This physical craving I can’t stop feeling. But, instead, seeing him again in that dressing room, even with Caleb unexpectedly standing there and referring to me as “the one that got away,”—holy hell!—and, now, seeing him on that stage—the only thing I’m feeling is physical desperation for him. Like I’ve crawled across miles of cracked, scorched desert and, finally, blessedly, reached an oasis. I’m an alcoholic who’s been clean and sober for eight months and now, in a fit of desperation and recklessness, has dipped her finger into a glass of tequila and smeared the golden liquid across her lips.
When Dax finishes his song, everyone in the arena, including Miranda and me, erupts in enthusiastic applause. Dax thanks the crowd, takes a drink from his water bottle, and says, “When we three goats started this tour, nobody knew who we were. And now, look at you guys, holding up signs and singing along to every word.” He salutes the audience with his water bottle. “We love you so much!”
The place erupts and Dax touches his chest, telling everyone he’s feeling the love.
“I wanna give a special shout-out to my family. The Morgans. I love you guys the most!”
The crowd goes wild.
“Since it’s our last show of the tour... Wow, I can’t believe I just said that.” He chuckles. “We want to do something extra special for you guys. Do you want to be the first people in the world to hear one of our new songs?”
The arena goes crazy.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Dax says. “We haven’t rehearsed this one yet. We only just decided to play it for you tonight. But fuck it. Sometimes in life, you gotta do something stupid, just so you don’t have regrets later.” He looks at his bandmates, briefly, collecting nods, and then, with a sexy little smile aimed at his audience, Dax peels off a guitar riff, leans into his microphone, and begins to sing:
Fireflies
You got me feelin’ ’em
Never before or since
All
my life
Been chasing butterflies
And in
Just one night
One perfect night...
Girl, you made butterflies
Your bitch
I look at Miranda. She mouths, Oh my God.
After the verse, Dax launches into a catchy, singalong chorus filled with lots of “ooohs” and easy rhymes about fireflies—at which point, Miranda grabs my arm and starts shrieking. But I’m not having it. I swat at her and tell her to pipe down so I can hear every word of the coming verse:
Don’t know if you’re feeling it
These wings and lights
Or if everything’s all in my head
But there’s one thing I know
One singular truth:
I need you
I need you
Girl, I need you so bad
Back in my life,
In my bed.
The song barrels into another singalong chorus, and, finally, reaches a passionate, soul-stirring crescendo, at which point the drummer and bass player drop out of the song, leaving Dax all alone on his guitar, his stunning face awash in blue.
His chest heaving and his eyes sparkling, Dax leans into his microphone and delivers his final lyrics intimately, like he’s singing them to directly me. Like we’re naked in bed together after sex and, now, Dax is singing me a private, heartfelt lullaby:
Fireflies
Fireflies
You got me feelin’ ’em
With you
And nobody else
You’re a flower
A road
A destination
Would give my soul to the devil
My soul to the devil
To feel
Those
Fireflies
In my belly
Again
Dax stops strumming and drops his head. And the entire arena—everyone except for me, because I can’t move—bursts into thunderous applause.
As I teeter in place, shocked and awed, Miranda grabs my arm. “A flower! A road! Oh my God, Violet! He’s telling you he doesn’t care about Caleb! He’s saying he wants you, regardless!”