by Shandi Boyes
After a final nip of his lip, my eyes roam over the face I’ve missed so much. His cut jaw is clean-shaven, and his dark locks are styled like the night we met, but they have a rock star edge to them. He won’t just woo the music executives tonight with his musical talents. He’s putting all his best attributes on the table—gorgeous face included.
Once he’s placed me back on my feet, he collects the books I dumped on the sidewalk. For a guy who swears he’s not romantic, he has a funny way of showing it. With my books huddled under one arm, he wraps the other around my shoulders before walking toward my dorm so I can collect my overnight bag.
Several hours later, Noah pulls his truck into Mavericks' parking lot. Because of the rush hour traffic, the drive took two hours longer than usual. It's been a long and exhausting trip, but it gave us plenty of time to talk about all the things we missed due to crappy phone service.
Noah disclosed the band has been practicing sun up to sundown in preparation for tonight’s gig. They persuaded Ollie into letting them perform four original songs, so they’ve got the perfect opportunity to showcase their talents to the execs coming to watch them play. Noah just needs to get his head into game mode. His nerves are getting the better of him. His shoulders droop when we walk into the bar hand in hand.
The importance of tonight smacks into me when I notice Slater and Marcus setting up their own instruments, convinced they perform better when they use their own equipment. They’re also nervous. Slater’s near fumble over his drumkit is proof of this.
I remember the first time I walked into Mavs. It felt so foreign. It wasn’t an establishment I’d generally hang out at. Now it feels like home. Mavs doesn’t have so many regulars because its old, rundown vibe. It’s the people inside who bring patrons back, people like Maggie, who is standing behind the bar, washing down the already clean countertop with her infamous red dishcloth. She only stops scrubbing when she notices Noah and me approaching her.
“Hi, baby girl.”
I wave a greeting before leaning over the bar to hug her. Although things are fine between us now, it took her a little while to warm up to me. Only once she realized looks were the only similarity Lola and I have did she give me a chance to prove my worth.
I don’t know what happened between Lola and Maggie. Maggie never brings it up, and any time I ask Noah, he just shrugs and smiles. If I had to guess, I’d say it has something to do with Maggie being a motherly figure to Jacob and the guys in the band. She loves them fiercely as if they're her children. Once she was convinced I wouldn’t hurt Noah, she welcomed me into her family with open arms. Perhaps Lola hasn’t earned her trust yet?
My deliberations stop when Noah asks, “Will you be alright if I help the guys set up?”
I realize how bad his nerves are getting to him when our eyes connect. They’ve lost their spark, and his smile is basically non-existent. Usually, excitement is pumping out of him in invisible waves. Fridays are his favorite nights of the week.
Hating the change in his personality, I fist his shirt then pull him toward me. “You’ve got this, baby.” I lock my eyes with his so he can see the truth in them. “It's in the bag.” I spin him to face the stage, and with a huge slap on his glorious ass, I shove him toward it. “Now go show them how much of a rock star you truly are.”
Chapter 19
Noah
The stupid ass nerves fluttering in my stomach vanish when Emily thrusts me toward the stage. I’ve never experienced this level of anxiety before. I guess things are different tonight. It’s not every day bigwigs from a record label travel to an unknown bar to hear a band play. I thought I was doing a good job hiding my worries, but Emily’s pep talk proves I should never give up singing for acting.
After winking my thanks to Emily, I climb onto the stage to help Slater and Marcus. They’re pulling down the old stage equipment so we can set up our own. It’s easy to use the instruments supplied, but since we have special guests coming tonight, we’re polishing the silverware and dusting off the porcelain. It’s time to put our best foot forward.
We have the stage dismantled by the time Nick rocks up. “About time, fuckface.”
Nick retaliates to Slater’s taunt by giving him the finger before crouching down to hook his guitar into his amp. “Sorry I’m late; I had some shit to sort out.”
When it takes him several attempts to connect his wireless guitar cable into the input hole, I peer at him in shock. His face is gaunt and white, like he’s seen a ghost. Nick is the baby of our group; he only turned twenty-one last month. Usually, he cruises through life, happy to see where things take him, but I’m beginning to suspect I’m not the only one being hammered with nerves tonight.
I try to ease his panic by slapping his shoulder, praying he’ll snap out of his odd mood before the executives arrive. When it doesn’t work, my eyes stray to Emily. With the band’s table reserved for the music execs, she's sitting at the bar, talking with Maggie. I hate that she’s not front and center as she has been the past six months, but she was the one who suggested seating the music execs in her spot. She’s adamant it’s the best seat in the house, so it’s the prime spot for us to woo them with our talents.
After advising Slater I’ll be back in a minute, I head to the bathroom to take a leak. On my way, I notice only one table remains empty. It’s the one Ollie put a special reserved sign on for the record label hotshots. It’s noticeably empty since every inch of Mavs is filled with dedicated Rise Up fans. Even a handful of newbies have arrived to watch us perform.
While doing my business, I tell myself time and time again that the execs are stuck in traffic, and that they’ll be in their chairs waiting for me once I’m done.
My optimism gets squashed when I catch sight of myself while washing my hands in the sink. Black circles are plaguing my eyes, and my pupils are massive. The drive back from Emily’s school was long, but that’s not the reason for my tired appearance. I haven’t been sleeping the past week. With the anniversary of my brothers’ deaths getting close, nightmares I’m ashamed to admit I have are haunting my dreams.
After splashing cold water on my face, I rake my fingers through the haircut Jacob made me get this morning. He said I had to look “fresh” for the music executives. “If you look like you have money, they’ll give you money.”
Like that makes any sense. If I had money, I wouldn’t be panicked about getting a record deal. I’d produce our own album. I just wish my panic about failing would fuck off. That’s what is frustrating me the most. Failing the boys, failing myself, but most of all, failing Emily. If Rise Up gets the big break we’ve been striving for, I’ll be able to give her the world. She says she only wants me, but I want her to have more than that.
If she hadn’t been offered a scholarship for college, she wouldn’t have attended, just like me. I hate that. Two people who work so hard shouldn’t have to struggle like we do. That’s why no matter how bad I need to vomit, I have to give tonight everything I’ve got.
With a newfound spring in my step, I exit the bathroom. It's time for our set to begin. As I walk through the mass of bodies mingling around the dance floor, I keep my eyes off the empty table. If we don’t get a record deal tonight, we’ll try again and again and again until we do get one.
When I step behind the mic, I crank my neck back to make sure the guys are ready to go. They’re all in their correct positions: Slater is behind me on his drums, Nick is on my right with his electric guitar, and Marcus is on my left with his bass guitar.
Realizing our set it about to start, the crowd surges toward the stage. It’s heavier tonight than usual. The first two rows are filled with scantily clad women who push and shove each other our whole set as they vie for the band’s attention. The dedicated Rise Up fans are packed like sardines on the dance floor, and Mavericks regulars and a handful of newcomers congregate at the back near the bar.
I like to stir the crowd up before each performance, and tonight is no different. “Are you guys
ready to raise the roof?!”
The crowd lets out a roaring chant, but it’s only half the cheer I’m aiming for. I sling my eyes to Nick, my disappointed sigh enough to silence the crowd. “Do they sound ready to you?”
Nick pulls a face while strutting over to snatch the microphone out of my hand. “Hell no! Those fuckers don’t sound ready!”
The crowd erupts into boisterous laughter. I laugh along with them, glad Nick has reverted to his usual self.
“How about we try that again? Are you guys ready to raise the roof?!”
A deaf man could hear the crowd's cheer, and it sets my heart racing. I do the same thing every Friday night, but they eat it up every single time. “Now you sound ready!”
I tap my boot on the wooden floor, counting out the beat for my bandmates. We begin our set with Hinder’s “Lips of an Angel.” It’s a classic from a few years back, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Emily’s lips when I heard it. After performing an acoustic version of it for Emily one afternoon—and greatly benefiting from my performance—it was added to our playlist. It’s been a glorious few months.
Once that song is finished, we transition to “Under Your Scars” by Godsmack. As dampness increases in the air, the crowd sways in sync to the beat of the music. They’re loving tonight’s performance just like they do every week. There’s no better way to start your weekend than blowing off the cobwebs of a workweek with music.
Sweat rolls down my back when, in the corner of my eye, I see Jacob heading toward the front doors of Mavs. Cormack and two elegantly dressed people are standing just inside the bar. The only lady in the group appears to be in her mid-forties. She's wearing a black pants suit with a white silk top. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and her face is densely covered in makeup. The man on Cormack’s left is significantly older than him. His hair is silver, his face lined with wrinkles.
After introducing himself, Jacob guides them to their reserved table. Even though Mavericks is not a table service bar, Maggie sends a bartender over to take their drink orders. I wait for them to be served their beverages before signaling to the guys that at the end of this song we’ll perform the four songs Ollie agreed to let us play.
The first original song we perform is “Surrender Me.” It was penned the night I made love to Emily. It's about surrendering yourself to the possibility of being loved. Because of what had happened with my brothers, I refused to let anyone in. Whenever anyone got close, they left—so why put myself through that?
No matter how hard I fought, I couldn't get Emily out of my head. Within weeks of us becoming a couple, she shattered the walls I built to protect my heart, leaving me no choice but to love her back. “Surrender Me” reveals the struggles I went through the weeks I tried to pretend she didn’t exist.
The next song we perform is one I wrote after my brother killed himself. I know Chris was hurting, but the pain I faced being left to battle my demons alone was truly devastating. This song reflects the pain I felt.
When I open my eyes at the end of “Hollow,” I see Emily brush away the tears it always incites. Although I hate seeing her cry, if “Hollow” doesn’t move you to tears, I should hang up my mic.
Trying to lighten the mood, we move on to a fan favorite: “Player.” It's a light-hearted song that was supposed to call out all the players in the world, but it didn’t take our fans long to realize who it was penned for. Nick fucking loves it. He struts around the stage, more than happy to announce it was written for him.
As I break into the chorus about broken hearts and missing panties, my eyes stray past the people bobbing along to the funky tune. My heart kicks out an even more jazzy beat when I witness Emily fumble off her seat. She sways uncontrollably, clutching the bar with two hands to ensure she stays upright.
While she runs her hand down her face, I seek Jacob's gaze, hoping he’ll check on her. This isn’t like Em. She rarely drinks in public, and even then, she’d never consume enough to make her so woozy.
Because Jacob is schmoozing a cute blonde at the far end of the dance floor, I fail to get his attention. As I continue belting out the tune, I return my eyes to Emily. She's no longer at the bar. She’s pacing toward the restrooms, her steps slow and sluggish.
My grip on my mic tightens when she stumbles into a man around the age of my dad who is standing amongst the pool tables. He doesn’t appear to be paired with any of the college students playing, and he isn’t holding a cue stick. Our band attracts a wide range of fans, but his handknitted sweater makes him stick out like a sore thumb. With Slater’s drums taking up every bit of my hearing, I can’t hear a word Emily speaks to him, but the quick movement of her lips convinces me she’s apologizing for bumping into him. That’s just like her, even when she isn’t at fault, she’ll still take the blame.
I continue singing without missing a beat... until the middle-aged man Emily skirted by pulls her close to his body. He’s not righting her unsteady strides. His grip is too firm to be helpful. He’s holding her body like I do—like he’s hoping for the same level of closeness.
Lyrics I know as intimately as Emily’s body slip from my mind when she is dragged toward the back exit. She fights to free herself from the man clutching her, but the more she resists, the tighter he grips her.
With my pulse pounding into my temples, I throw my microphone stand out of the way then dive off the stage. My mad dash across the beaten wooden floors alerts Jacob to my worry. He also barges through the mosh pit of sweaty bodies, but his strides have nothing on mine. A freight train of devastation is crashing into me, my mind void of any thoughts beyond getting Emily away from her attacker before smashing his fucking teeth in.
I seize Emily’s wrist to yank her away from the man who has dragged her halfway out the back entrance. Once she's out of harm’s way, I punch her attacker in the face. I hear his nose crack, but nothing slows my onslaught. I pound my fists into his unprotected face on repeat, my anger unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Nick yells for me to stop, but I can’t. Now that all the anger and rage I’ve built up the past six years is being unleashed, I don’t have a chance in hell of reeling it back in.
After another three jabs to the man’s face, Nick grabs me by my shoulders to yank me back, panicked I’m seconds from killing him. I probably am, but I can’t stop. He was hurting Emily right under my fucking nose, so who’s to say what he would have done once he got her alone. The thought makes me furious, flooding my blood with a second bout of anger.
When my knuckles collide with the man’s left rib, blood splatters my cheek. His lungs wheeze as they fight for air, but my beatdown doesn’t stop. He was taking Emily away from me, just like everyone I’ve ever loved was cruelly taken from me.
That's unforgivable.
He must pay for his stupidity.
I continue beating him without remorse, only stopping when Nick screams that Emily needs me. I stop swinging my fists, my eyes darting up to where I left Emily standing, except she’s no longer upright. She's lying on the floor with her lolled head in Jacob’s lap.
No!
I crawl across the wooden floor on my hands and knees. My heart thrashes as I carefully remove her from Jacob’s lap to cradle her in mine. “Em, baby, open your eyes.” I remove the strands of her hair stuck to her temples before tracking my finger down her stark white cheek. Whatever made her woozy also drained all the color from her face. “Come on, Beautiful.”
Her chest rises and falls as she takes shallow breaths, but her eyes remain shut. I take comfort in the fact she’s breathing, but I'm beyond panicked she won’t wake up.
I raise my eyes to Jacob, who’s standing above me with his cell attached to his ear. “What’s wrong with her?”
He cups his phone with his hand. “I think he slipped a roofie in her drink.”
My eyes snap to the man holding together his broken nose and sunken cheeks with his trembling hands. He should count his lucky stars I have Emily cradled in my arms, or I’d fi
nish what I started. What sick fuck roofies girls half their age? And what was he planning to do with Emily when he got her in the alleyway...
Oh my god... if he touched her like that... if he’d... I’d fucking kill him.
The chances of me going on a rampage are squashed when Emily whispers my name. Her eyes are still closed but are rapidly moving under her eyelids as if she’s dreaming.
“It’s okay, baby, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” I assure her as sirens filter into the bar.
Chapter 20
Noah
"Her admission is a precaution; with her high heart rate and shallow breaths, she should be monitored by professionals."
I understand what the paramedic is saying; I also agree with it, but it doesn’t make it any easier handing Emily over to him. Deep down inside, I know he can look after her better than me, but it takes everything I have not to argue with him.
The blond medic I’d guess to be mid-twenties nudges his head to his ambulance just outside Mavericks’ doors. “You can ride with us. She won’t be out of your sight for even a second.”
That seals the deal for me. I learned a hard lesson tonight about leaving Emily alone. I won’t do it again.
When I nod, the EMTs carefully remove Emily from my lap to place her onto their gurney. It’s lucky they arrested the man who drugged her because having her torn away from me for the second time tonight instills me with a mammoth amount of rage. This is why I fought so hard to stay away from her when we first met. Being involved with me in any way always ends disastrously. But I can’t give her up now. I love her too much.
As I follow Emily to the ambulance parked outside, my eyes stray to the police officers working the scene. From what I’ve gathered, Emily was given a near-lethal dose of GHB. It's a liquid form of ecstasy. Because she’s so tiny, it didn’t take much for her to overdose. The EMTs stabilized her stats rather quickly, but they want to admit her to the hospital to ensure her heart rate and breathing stay within safe levels.