I don’t like it.
I turn toward her, wobbling on my leopard-print high heels that do wonders for my legs and booty but nothing for my balance. “Stop telling me what to do.” My finger digs into my chest. “I am a grown woman.” I stomp my foot.
“Eve’s just worried about you. We both are,” Raven says.
I glare at the girls. “I don’t need your worry. I can take care of my—”
My ankle twists, and Eve catches my fall.
“All right, all right. Get off your feet there, grown woman.” Eve sets me back on a stool.
Shoot, maybe I’m drunker than I thought. I grab the water and drink a few sips but make sure to give Eve a dirty look so she knows she didn’t win. I do what I want to do, when I want to do it. Not because someone says I should, or tells me—ugh. Whatever.
“Stop smiling. You didn’t win,” I say, finishing the last of the glass.
“I know, tough girl.” Eve’s still smiling.
I take another shot to prove I’m the boss of me but worry that Eve might be right. If I don’t stop, I’m in for a night of toilet worshiping and tile sleeping.
“Put your hands together, Las Vegas.” The MC’s voice comes through the speakers, turning everyone’s attention toward the stage. “Please welcome Ataxia.” The shouts of the crowd mix with the sound of a single electric guitar.
We have perfect seats, close enough to see the stage but off to the side to avoid the mosh pit. The sound of electric guitar strums continues in the dark, each chord growing louder and louder as it rings through the room. The energy is contagious, and the three of us cheer and scream like die-hard groupies.
“What’s up, Battle of the Bands?” Rex’s deep, raspy voice booms through the speakers, and although we still can’t see the band, we know it’s coming from the stage. “Thanks for coming out to support the local music scene.” The guitarist continues to strum a complex and melodic tune. Chills race across my skin, and anticipation has my heart pounding. “We’ve got a special treat for you tonight.” The crowd screams louder. “Nice to hear you’re excited.” Rex chuckles. The crowd gets even louder. “Before we play our set, we’ve got a special guest who has something to say.”
Eve and Raven look at me, their expressions mirroring my confusion. Special guest?
The guitar solo switches to the opening of a song I’ve heard a million times and know by heart. My cheeks stretch into a wide grin, and I bounce in my seat. “Oh my gosh. Bon Jovi! I fucking love this song.” I’m stoked and excited to sing along. I throw my hands in the air and scream, giving in to my inner fan-girl.
The lights on stage are still dark when Rex starts to sing. I blurt the words I’ve sung a million times, doing a decent backup to—wait a minute.
That doesn’t sound like Rex.
The lyrics that roll from the speakers are sung in a gravelly voice that soothes my soul and sets my blood on fire. Seven words into the first line, and the stage lights blast on in a bright, blinding light.
It takes a second for my eyes to adjust and—holy shit!
Blake’s standing frontman. A wave of dizziness washes over me, and I grip the table to keep upright. I try to blink to clear what has to be a drunken hallucination, but my eyelids don’t cooperate. It’s really him. His guitar hangs low from its shoulder strap while his fingers dance over the strings. And that voice, all grit and silk, pours through the mic and pierces my heart.
Bon Jovi’s “I’ll Be There for You” has never sounded so good.
My heart shoots into my throat, and I try to swallow back the cluster of emotions choking me. Blake belts out the lyrics like a rock-god in all his glory, igniting the crowd in applause. His arms command the instrument with all the grace of a classically trained musician and all the sexy magnetism of a heavy metal extraordinaire.
Pride swells in my chest, easing my racing heart. He did it. Being on stage in front of all these people is his public declaration. He’s burying his past and exposing his gift. The one thing he has left. Sadness knocks on the door of my pride, but I tell it to fuck off. I lose myself in the music.
The song swirls in the air, Rex’s back-up vocals the perfect accompaniment as he sidles up next to Blake. My mind recites the lyrics that the audience sings out loud. And then, as if calling to him with my thoughts, his eyes find me in the crowd. My hand moves on its own and clutches at my throat. Don’t cry, don’t cry.
His body shifts slightly until he’s facing me head on. With his eyes boring into mine, he sings two simple lines, two dozen words written over twenty years ago that speak directly to my heart.