I see Smith quietly reappear back on stage to Jake’s left.
“This song we’re playing next is one Jonny and I wrote in the early days. It was the one Jonny was most proud of … his favourite, and I know how much it meant to him when we released it and you guys loved it too, when you took a chance on us … it’s one I’m sure you’ll all be familiar with, so I want you stretch your lungs out and sing this one with me – for Jonny.”
Jake swings his guitar around to the front, bows his head looking down at his guitar as he strums a few chords, then Denny kicks the beat in and Jake lifts his head and starts to sing one of their early biggest hits, ‘Hush, Baby’.
I get goose bumps all over my skin. Listening as the crowd goes wild. And I stand here, transfixed singing along with the words, watching Jake. I can see how hard it is for him to get through this song, and I know he’s thinking of Jonny the whole time.
I wish I had been there for him when Jonny died. I wasn’t then, but I want to be every day from now on.
Jake and I will always be friends. No matter what. I’m never losing him again.
I’m at the after show party which is being held at this upmarket club called the Spy Bar. It’s packed to the rafters with showbiz like people from Sweden, and everyone who works on the tour.
I’m glad I dressed nice for tonight as most of the women here are glamorous and classy. I went for something a little different though, well I always wear different, but I bought this matching navy blue pinstripe v-neck fitted waistcoat and straight leg cropped trousers just before I left for the tour. It was love at first sight and I just had to have them. I’ve teamed it with my skyscraper patent black heels. I know most of the woman here are in dresses, but I like to be a little different, and technically I am working, so it’s like I’m wearing work clothes.
I’m at the bar with a couple of the roadies Pete and Gary who I was chatting to earlier, drinking a margarita.
I haven’t seen Jake since the show. He had some interviews to do straight after, so when he exited stage he was swept off by Stuart.
I was going to hang around and wait for him but Pete came over and said they were heading straight for the party, and did I want to catch a ride with them; normally the roadies have to stay on and pack up after the show, but Jake, being the good boss he is, lets them pack up in the morning so they can enjoy the party with everyone else. So of course I accepted, better than hanging around the stadium like a spare part.
“So how long have you worked for Jake?” I ask Pete. Gary is busily chatting to one of the other roadies, Jared I think his name is.
Pete’s a cute guy, short dark hair, about six foot, quite muscular, must be from all the heavy lifting he does on tour.
“Five years on and off,” he replies in his strong American accent, leaning back against the bar, resting his elbows on it.
A lot of bands have crews for abroad when they tour, but Jake has a set group of guys he trusts that tour everywhere with him.
“You must have seen a lot of the world.”
“A few places,” he grins. “It’s a good gig working for these guys … so how did you land up here?” he asks.
“Oh, I er …” I’m just about to reply, when I see Pete’s eyes flick up, and I instantly feel Jake’s presence behind me.
Turning, I almost come face to face with him, he’s that close.
“Hey,” I say beaming.
“Hey, beautiful.” He kisses my cheek, and rests his hand on my waist and stares across at Pete.
I feel a little heady under his touch.
“You want a drink, Jake?” Pete asks.
“Beer,” he replies. His tone is stony.
Pete turns to the bar to order Jake’s drink for him.
Sliding out of Jake’s arm, I retrieve my margarita from the bar, feeling a little annoyed by his big brother attitude again.
“You shouldn’t leave your drink unattended like that,” he comments. “Anyone could slip something in it.”
I glance down at my drink, then back up at him. “You saying your staff are untrustworthy?” I grin over my glass at him, as I take a sip.
He shakes his head, slowly at me, eyes gripping mine.
“You forget your shirt tonight?” He gestures at my bare arms, and waistcoat.
“Funny.” I roll my eyes at him. Then pouting, I say, “You don’t like my outfit?”
He moistens his lips with his tongue. “No, I do, it’s really nice.” His eyes flicker to my boobs, then back to my face; I don’t miss that. “I just happen to know every other guy in this place is gonna think so too, and I’m gonna spend most of tonight kicking their asses.”
Sighing, I shake my head. “You can quit with the big brother act, Jake. We’re not kids anymore. I can take care of myself.”
He presses his lips together, grinning. “Big brother act?”