Leaving Amarillo(79)
“Come with me. We’ll do this last song like we normally do. Everything else we can figure out later.” His warm hand slips into mine, lacing our fingers together, and I’m tempted. But I saw what almost happened between them and I heard what Mandy said loud and clear and I know I have to take a step back. For now at least.
“I’ve already figured it out. Go. I’m fine. I promise.” Lifting onto the tips of my toes, I place the whisper of a kiss on his cheek. “Knock ’em dead, drummer boy.”
“After the show, we’re going to talk. And then we’re going to talk to your brother and our new manager.” Disdain hardens his voice on the last word.
“Gavin, I—”
“No, Bluebird. Don’t. Don’t talk yourself out of what you want. Right now I couldn’t give a shit about what Mandy Lantram or anyone else says. You always think of everyone else. I want you to decide what you want during this show. If you want to be in the band or not, I want you to decide for you, only for you and not for anyone else. Understood?”
I nod, knowing full well what I want. The band is everything, and without it, I feel lost.
The metal door clangs open again, startling me. “You coming or what?” My brother’s voice is razor sharp as his eyes zero in on Gavin’s hand in mine.
“Coming.” Gavin nods and once my brother is back inside, he pulls me in close. “After the encore, wait for me. Okay?”
I nod again, but when he lets go of my hand and his fingertips graze my palm, pulling away from mine, I know I’m letting him go in more ways than one.
Chapter 27
THE STAGE LIGHTS ARE STILL DOWN WHEN I FIND AN EMPTY SEAT on the edge of a front aisle. I don’t even know what song Dallas finally chose so I have no idea what to expect. The woman next to me is smiling at something on her phone when the gentle sound of Gavin’s cymbal sends shivers across my skin. Dallas plays a few chords and I recognize the song immediately. It’s called “The End” and it’s fitting since they’re the last act to play.
The lights come up and I see them on the stage, the two men I love more than anyone else in the world—with the exception of Papa. In this moment, I am that girl again. The one sitting on the ledge wishing she’d jumped instead of chickening out. But at least this way I will know if I’m holding the band back from making it big.
Over the past year we’ve speculated a lot about possible issues. Our love of the classics, our refusal to conform or play pop music, even our look has come under Dallas’s scrutiny when it came time to discuss possible changes. But it was never even suggested that Oz and I could be the cause. We seem like the obvious answer now.
Emotion swells like soaked cotton balls in my throat and my vision blurs behind moisture as I watch Dallas play the guitar solo. His voice is different from the original lead singer’s and he goes with it, making it his own instead of trying to emulate someone he could never be.
I’m filled with pride and love to the point of tearing right in half when I see how the audience’s demeanor has changed. Nearly every single member is sitting upright, focusing their rapt attention on the stage, captivated by the energy and the uniqueness of Dallas and Gavin.
And as happy as I am for them, not being a part of it feels like having an appendage ripped brutally from my body. The hollow ache in my chest is so acute, I half expect to see a gaping bloody wound where my heart should be.
My gaze lands on Gavin, and the sight of him playing his heart out, completely focused and in the moment, leaves me gasping for breath. Now that I’ve allowed myself to look at him, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from him for all the money in the world. My heart pounds out a rhythm identical to the one he’s playing. It doesn’t even seem possible, but somehow, getting to really watch him like this, I am falling even more in love with him. Surrounded by a room full of strangers, I am lost in the memory of him making love to me, my senses re-creating our night together in gloriously vivid details.
He is alive out there, behind his drum kit, the man behind the beat. He’s the heart of the band, beating steadily, needing this to survive. I silently shame myself for daring to do anything that could take this away from him.
Dallas sings the last few lyrics a cappella and I feel them all the way down to my soul. I see us, as kids, the three of us so lost and yet somehow not alone because we held each other together—the bonds we formed became our home, our safe place.
When they finish, there is applause, but I’m not a part of it. My hands are otherwise occupied, one over my mouth to keep me from screaming wildly for them and the other over my heart because it’s so completely broken.
I reach in my bag to grab my phone so that I can snap a quick picture of them onstage, something I normally can’t do since I’m up there with them. Ignoring my notifications, but noticing that there are several I need to check later, I take a picture of them as Dallas tells the crowd good night. I’m about to head backstage to tell them how amazing they were, when a hand lands unexpectedly on my lower back.
“That was great, but it would’ve been better had you been up there with them.” The voice in my ear belongs to the owner of the hand. It’s male and low and far more intimate than the moment warrants.
I turn to see Brian Eades giving me a sympathetic smile.
“Yeah, um, I wasn’t feeling well. Decided to sit this one out.” I try to step out of his reach but he walks with me toward the stage.