Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
DECLAN
"Riot!"
"Riot!"
"Riot!"
The crowd chants like a mantra. My heart races in my chest, my palms sweaty, and my hands shake. In an attempt to calm my nerves, I shake my hands and jump in place, hoping the movement will get me hyped and prepared to go on stage.
It's been over a year since I've claimed the stage, standing in front of thousands of screaming fans and their cell phones as they record everything, ready to post any fuck-up on social media.
The last time I was on stage, I'd been so high that I forgot the lyrics. By the night's end, the video of me slurring and forgetting the words was trending on all social media platforms. Had I been sober, I could've played it off, but it was apparent I was under the influence.
That was over a year ago, and tonight, I'm determined to make my comeback. Determined to put on the best fucking show.
I've done many hard things in my life, fuck, my entire life has been hard, so I'm certain I can do this, too. At this point, I've got no choice. I'm not going to let Benny or my brothers down.
Adam, Damon, and Cole have been anxious to get back on stage, just like I have. We're all fucking ready for this. We need this. Need the music to remind us we're alive.
"Are you ready, man?" Adam asks, slapping a hand to my back. Looking at him over my shoulder, I nod, my eyes watching Damon and Cole as they approach us.
Huddling close, as we do before every show, Damon and Cole wrap their arms around mine and Adam's shoulders, and we do the same.
With a wide, confident grin, Damon speaks up, "Let's fucking do this shit! We were made for this."
"Let's make our comeback, baby!" Cole joins in, each of us doing our best to hype ourselves up before the show.
Feeling more confident than I had only moments ago, I chime in, "We're going to make that stage our bitch." Surrounded by my best friends, I take a moment to study each of them, noticing the worries swimming in each of their eyes. They have just as many fears as I do. Selfishly, I'd been so wrapped up in my own head that I hadn't stopped to realize that this may also be difficult for them. I'm not the only one performing again after a long hiatus.
Squeezing the shoulders of Adam and Cole, who are on either side of me, I give them all a look. "We've got this. For tonight, nothing else matters besides those screaming fans out there. They deserve the best show possible. Let's go out there and give them everything we've got." Our bodies come closer together, and the four of us embrace in a group hug that we have shared before every single show since the day we formed our band.
Rushed footsteps approach us, and we break away to turn our attention toward Benny along with Chelsea and Tyler, the sound manager and her assistant. She carries four mic packs, handing two to Tyler and keeping the other two for herself.
I take mine from her, hooking the audio pack into the back of my black jeans while my best friends do the same. We did a sound check earlier but took off our audio packs and earpieces afterward to get cleaned up for the concert and ready to go on stage.
Benny stands with his hands on his hips, looking over the four of us like a proud dad. When Cole steps close to him, he reaches a hand out and ruffles Cole's long, dirty blond hair. The only time Cole wears his hair down is when we're on stage. Any other time, he has his long locks in his signature man bun.
"I'm so proud of you, boys." Benny glances at me with glossy eyes that I'm sure I imagine. When I meet his gaze again, I notice they're clear but shining with pride. "You four are going to kill it. Go out there and give it everything you got. Tonight, you feel the music and remember why the fuck we're here. Nothing else matters once you step out onto that stage." We nod in unison.
"Five minutes!" someone in the distance calls, and we take that as our queue to hurry up. Damon pulls off his T-shirt, tucking part of it into his back pocket and allowing it to hang down.
He's your typical rock band drummer with a shirt hanging from his back pocket and drumsticks tucked into the other pocket. He and Cole have always been shirtless during our shows. I wear the same shit, too. All black. The only difference between Adam's attire and mine is that he wears a white T-shirt.
When we're like this, we look like four tattooed heathens ready to cause trouble. In a way, I guess that's true because once we get on that stage, we do fuck shit up.
"Show time, boys." Benny claps us each on the shoulder before leaving us to do whatever he does while we perform for two hours.
With our earpieces hanging around our necks, we share one final hug before following the stage crew and security out of the backstage area, making our way to the dark stage.
We stand to the side of the stage, the lights in the venue dimming to the point the only light radiating is a soft glow along the stage for us to be able to see.
I stick my earpieces in each ear, watching as Damon and Cole walk to the stage first to take their place. Damon removes the drumsticks from his pocket before sitting behind his drum set. Next, Adam joins them on stage, and he and Cole grab the guitar and bass from the stands.
Per usual, I'm the last one to take my place on stage, and I do so after taking a few deep breaths, needing to calm my nerves.
As I stand behind the microphone, the lights go up, a spotlight filling the stage and illuminating my bandmates. The crowd goes wild at the sight of us.
I look out over the sold-out floor at the screaming crowds and take in the scenery.
Stage and camera lights are in my face, screaming faces huddled together and blurring as I frantically search the faces, desperate to find Andy, the only face I need to see.
My eyes snap up to the VIP section on the balcony above the general admission floor. Dark eyes stare back at me, a shy smile on her beautiful face.
Thank fuck. She came.
The sight of Andy dressed in a Riot T-shirt and ripped black jeans has my dick twitching in my jeans. She's bunched up the shirt and tied it behind her back, revealing the slightest sliver of silky brown skin above her jeans. A tease of flesh that has me wanting to run my tongue along her belly button.
Removing the wireless microphone from the stand, I hold it as I stand center stage, eyes never leaving Andy's dark pools as I become alive, feeding off her energy and strength. "Las Vegas, what the fuck is up!" I roar into the microphone, the crowd erupting into screams.
"In case you're living under a fucking rock and don't know why you're here, I'm Declan Valentine!" More cheers erupt.
"We've got the badass Damon Jackson over here on drums." Damon throws his sticks into the air and, after catching them, expertly twirls them in his fingers.
"Cole Conrad on bass." Cole steps forward, strumming a single note on his instrument, smirks at the crowd, and slowly runs his fingers through his long hair. This guy.
Same routine, every show.
"On guitar, we have Adam Jones." Adam puckers his lips, presses a hand to them, and then mimes throwing kisses into the air.
More cheers erupt, and I swear I see a couple women jump to catch the air kisses Adam threw.
"We are Riot, and we are here to play some fucking music! Make some noise, House of Carnage!" I remove one of my earpieces to hear the full extent of cheers from the crowd.
The screams and chants of our fans are all I need. It's enough of a high for me to get through tonight. I can fucking do this.
"We're going to start the night off with the very first song we wrote together when we were eighteen-year-old shitheads daydreaming about playing music for a living. If you know the lyrics, I want you screaming them as loud as I'm going to make my girl scream tonight." My eyes connect with Andy just in time to see her matte red lips part and a blush color her cheeks. She glares at me, and I give her a playful wink.
Putting the earpieces back in, I prepare myself, listening to the beat as Damon begins hitting his drums, Cole following in on the bass.
Holding the microphone in both hands, I bring it to my mouth, close my eyes, and sing the words to “Rockstar,” a song we wrote jokingly that led us to meeting Benny. The song is responsible for putting us on the map, and we begin every show with it as a reminder to always remember where we came from.
The words pour out of me, and before I know it, we're four songs into our setlist, and I feel more alive than ever.
I jump around the stage, interacting with the crowd between songs, thriving on the comfort I feel about being back in my element.
As we begin our final song of the night, I drop to my knees, eyes closed, and sing the words into the microphone. The words to our newest song that I wrote with bloody knuckles in a hotel room in a strange little town, which seems like forever ago, when it was only weeks ago.
Tell me, baby, do you hate me?
Would you believe me if I said I was sorry?
That I never meant to hurt you.
Told you my love will be our downfall.
You shouldn't have tried to save me.
Baby, we're only going down, down, down.
You can't save me.
Save yourself.
Let me be free.
The final note rings out into the crowd, and my eyes instantly find Andy's. As expected, she stares back at me with confusion evident on her face and no doubt a million questions racing in her mind.
As the crowd erupts into a final round of cheers, it takes her a moment before she joins in, but she finally does.
Andy cups her hands around her mouth and screams, eyes never leaving mine. Standing to my feet, I smack my fist against my heart, a gesture only for her.
The stage lights dim, and then we're exiting.
Adam, Cole, and Damon are fueled by adrenaline and already making plans to go out tonight to celebrate, but my mind remains on the brown-eyed beauty in the VIP section.
Standing there, I realized that I'd replaced one addiction with the other. One that'll kill me just the same.
Only this one, I don’t mind dying for.