Bad Things(85)

I shook my head that it was fine. She was probably right.

The hot pink haired chick sang three very similar songs before ending the set. I had the thought that I wasn’t enjoying myself. This had been a bad idea.

The lights dimmed again, and I felt sick to my stomach as we waited for the band to come on stage.

Tristan walked on last, though he wasn’t dramatic about it. He simply filed on after the others, taking his place at the front with utter confidence.

The spotlight hit him, and he grinned at the crowd. They cheered loudly, the women’s screams markedly louder. And that was before he even sang a note.

When a hard drumbeat started, the guitars bled in, and he actually began to sing, the crowd went wild.

Watching him like that on stage was like seeing the puzzle pieces all shifting into place. He was perfect up there, and it wasn’t any one thing that made him that way. It was everything about him; the proud posture of his broad shoulders, his confident smirk. He’d been my buddy, and then my lover, but watching him onstage made me see just how powerful he was, what a force of nature his very presence was. Part of me loved it, loved him like this, in his element, and part of me hated it. It was terrifying, because deep down I knew that you could never hold onto a man like this. He would become too big to live a normal life. It seemed inevitable.

His voice was deeply melodic, the song almost romantic, and the emotion in his voice matched the lyrics, which floored me. I’d never seen that side of him. The idea that he had that in him, but I’d never seen it, left a pretty deep wound in me, and it began to sink in that he really only saw me as a friend. He wanted me, yes, or at least he had before our falling out, but not like I needed him to, not like I wanted him. If I’d kidded myself for a moment that my feelings weren’t one sided, those hopes were dashed as he poured his soul into the song.

I’d fallen for him, but he just hadn’t fallen for me. Seeing him up there, getting clued in to all of the pieces of his puzzle, it hit me like a truck. We hadn’t just had a fight. He hadn’t just left because he was angry.

He wasn’t in love with me.

Growing up as I had, especially in my teenage years, had always made me feel a little lost. And I felt that now. Just lost. Who was I? Who was somebody like me even supposed to be? Nobody loved me. It didn’t feel like anyone ever had. So where did that leave me? Going in circles, I thought. Looking for the wrong things in the wrong people. That’s where I was. I wondered if somebody ever fell for me, like really fell, the way I did, if I would even know it. I only seemed to have guys that couldn’t give a damn on my radar.

Still, I couldn’t help but be happy for him, that he had something like this, something so big and special to show the world.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT





I’d gotten my strange wave of melancholy in hand by the second song in their set, which thankfully, wasn’t another love song.

“He’s like one huge * magnet up there,” Frankie almost shouted into my ear.

She was right, and I hated it.

“He’s one huge * magnet everywhere he goes,” I replied.

She laughed, and I smiled unhappily.

I told myself that it was good to get a healthy dose of reality. It was the first step to moving on, and I needed to get past this insanity.

The band was good. Really good. By the third song, I was dancing.

Frankie started it, shaking her hips at me, jumping around like a maniac. I had never been one to turn down any excuse to dance, and killer live music mixed with good company was the best excuse of all.

I knew that Rodney the camera guy was taping everything, and I found that I didn’t mind. In fact, I gave him a show, dancing playfully with Frankie to the heavy beat of the drum.

I loved a good rock song with some heavy drums. I closed my eyes and let the music take over, Tristan’s deep, sexy voice washing over me. How could you be so intimate with a person, and not know they could sing their heart out to a crowd of strangers?

I told myself resolutely that it didn’t matter.

They performed seven original songs, all different enough to be interesting, some edgy, some moody and emotional.

“There’s some record producer guys here tonight. James Cavendish called them in. He should be here, too. We need to find him afterward, see what he thinks. Wouldn’t it be amazing if they got a record deal?”

I nodded, my eyes wide. In my mind, there was no doubt that they would get one, they were that good.