Love Resolution

From her position behind a backstage column, Avery peeked out at the audience. Her stomach turned a summersault. The KeyArena was flooded with a sea of screaming people, all standing on their feet and waving their hands in the air. A large mass of fans pressed forward against the saw horse barricades directly in front of the stage. Somber faced men, wearing bright yellow security t-shirts, arms crossed over their brawny chests held them back with their steely stares. Across the venue, periodic flashes from cell phone cameras twinkled on and off like Christmas lights on flasher mode.

Avery took a deep breath and then jogged out to center stage as they’d practiced in Vancouver. She waved a hand in the air and backpedaled to her assigned spot facing Marcus, who crossed the stage behind her. She started laying down the opening chords to “Anthem.” Recognizing the former number one hit, the maximum capacity crowd of sixteen thousand cheered even louder.

Holy Crap. The Grammy nomination audience had been sedate in comparison. The energy was unfreakingbelievable. It was a heady feeling to be on the receiving end. One she could easily get addicted to.

Avery adjusted her ear piece and looked to Marcus to begin the lyrics.

He. Missed. His. Cue.

Marcus’ lids closed, briefly hiding his sky blue eyes from view. Almost imperceptibly, he inclined his head toward her. She replayed the introduction, exhaling with relief when he came in where he should have before.

Her knees shook. She’d never seen him miss an intro.

Dwight’s worried gaze met hers. He appeared just as shaken as she did. And since Brutal Strength invariably followed the lead of their front man, the band’s performance took a nose dive, a fast replicating flub up virus infecting each member.

The next song called for Marcus to play rhythm guitar. He moved to the back of the stage to get his Les Paul from its stand. On the way back to the front, he tripped on a power cord and knocked the center mic stand over. It fell with a crash, ear piercing feedback spreading out across the arena. Band members and fans instinctively covered their ears.

“Shit!” Marcus exclaimed.

A roadie in a black BS tour shirt rushed out, righted the stand, and put the mic back in. Looking offstage, Avery noticed Sam frantically waving her hands while speaking into her headset. The roadie put his walkie- talkie back in his pocket, pulled a roll of black tape out of his back pocket, and immediately began to secure the loose cord.

As the guy worked, Marcus sauntered up to the mic and made a joke about being too old to see the cord, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Avery could tell he was furious, and she wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable tirade that was sure to follow after the band exited the stage.

Misfortune struck Dwight next in the form of a short in his bass during “Brothers.” Thinking quickly, Avery improvised, duplicating Dwight’s key elements using an effects pedal. She had to alternate back and forth in order to play his and her part of the song, but it actually came out sounding pretty cool. The crowd went nuts for it. Sweat dripping down her spine, Avery turned toward Marcus as he joined her at the chorus.

Oh Brother why’re you always bossing me?

Think you know what’s best for me

Brothers love, brothers fight

Brothers take years to get it right

After switching bass instruments, Dwight returned, gave her an encouraging smile, and they were able to finish the song together.

The next couple of songs went off without a hitch. The band seemed to have finally found its groove. Dwight’s bass was pumping, JR’s staccato beat thrummed on the snares, and Marcus’ voice was smooth and soulful. Avery felt good. She started to relax and enjoy herself. Strutting forward to the front edge of the stage, she lifted her guitar behind her head, the cool silk of her cutaway sleeves fluttering across her bared arms. Time for a little stage theatrics. She picked out the complicated riff blindly, a la Stevie Ray.

“A-ver-y.” The crowd started chanting her name in three syllables.

Then, too soon, it was time for her to sing lead. Roadies brought two wooden stools to center stage. Marcus slid a guitar strap over his shoulder and clipped on an acoustic. Avery took a mic and sat down. Sitting across from her, Marcus started picking out the intro to “Mother’s Gift.” Avery bent her head, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began singing:

Ages since I saw your face

My tears fill the empty space

She looked into Marcus’ blue eyes and everything around her receded. She thought about her mom, her dad, and the dream she’d had just that morning. Emotion seeped into every word she sang. When she finished the last verse, Marcus popped off his stool, pushed his guitar over his shoulder, and came up behind her. He wrapped his long arms completely around her body and squeezed her tight. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

“You owned it, Ace,” he whispered, his warm breath in her ear sending chills down her spine despite the intense heat of the spotlight. Then he stepped backward, giving her a moment all alone to accept the appreciation of the crowd.

Through blurry eyes, she squinted into the bright lights, the applause ringing in her ears. Sorrow pierced her heart. She wished her mom could have been here to share this moment.

Marcus took his place beside her, and reached for her hand. He kissed it before lifting it up in the air. “Ladies and Gentlemen, Avery Jones,” he said into his mic. The crowd roared, and they took a bow hand in hand.

Avery swiped away her tears while giving him a tremulous smile.

“Ok, Seattle,” Marcus began. “We’re gonna close with another tune off the new album. It’s called ‘Siren’s Call.’ We hope you like it.” He glanced over his shoulder, giving JR the cue to start.

By the time the band exited the stage after performing “Love Evolution” as their encore, Avery was stoked. She bounded off to the side stage and into Trevor.

He slapped her on the back. “Way to go,” he praised. “I knew you were gonna be a big star the first time I ever saw you.” He pulled her aside. “I have someone who wants to meet you.”

A man with close cropped grey haired in a well cut suit stepped forward. He held out his hand. “Charles Morris, Zenith Productions.” He smiled a warm smile. “That was quite an impressive performance on your part. I’d like you to have my card.”

She studied the business card with the lightning bolt for the Z in Zenith.

“If things don’t work out with Black Cat, I want you to give me a call. That’s my personal number.”

“Thank you, I…” She trailed off as the sound of Marcus’ raised, angry voice scalded her ears.

“I appreciate that you’re sorry, but that was a real serious, amateurish mistake. A dangerous one.” Standing in front of Sam, his arms crossed over his chest, Marcus’ eyes blazed blue fire. “You’d better get your crap together before the next show!”

“Back the hell off!” JR warned, moving to stand protectively in front of Sam.

Avery excused herself from Trevor and Charles and hurried over, sure her help would be needed to defuse the escalating situation.

“Stay out of it, Stepchild!” Marcus shouted, shoving JR in the chest. “I know she’s your girl, but that doesn’t exempt her from the fallout when she screws up.”

JR’s eyes narrowed to icy green slits as he took a menacing step closer to Marcus. “Sam knows she messed up, but you can’t yell at her, man.” He blew out a breath. “We all know the real reason you’re so mad is because we sucked out there tonight.” He shot a quick glance at her. “Except for Avery.”

Everyone was silent for a moment, allowing heightened emotions to settle.

“I’m sorry, Sam.” The tightly coiled muscles in Marcus’ biceps relaxed as he unfolded his arms. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“Apology accepted,” the petite beauty said after a visible swallow. She took a brave step forward. “I’m responsible for stage set up, and I take full responsibility for the incident. I’ll make sure that it never happens again.”

Marcus nodded and turned away.

“Marcus!” Avery called, rushing to catch up with him.

He swiveled around. “Avery.” He ran his long fingers through his dark shoulder length hair. “I need some air. Give me a little f*cking space, alright?”

“Sure,” she replied in a hurt whisper.