24. Ford
Ford
“Fuck,” Ford growled as he stormed out the front of the house.
What the fuck was wrong with him? As soon as Scotty and Joel laid their hands on Sie, he felt rage. A rage deep inside that told him no one, but him, was allowed to touch her. All they were doing was hugging her, he knew that, but instinct made him want her all for himself.
Fuck, he needed her back. He couldn’t live the rest of his life without her.
Ford marched up and down, running his hands through his already tousled hair, trying to let his agitation settle before he rejoined them, until he heard music and his mind stilled.
He needed music like he needed to breathe, and he turned, heading straight for the shed.
When a lead guitar kicked in, he stopped walking.
Was that Sie?
It had to be. It was hardly going to be Donnie.
Ford made himself move again, rushing to the open door of the wooden shed.
Donnie stood leaning against the doorframe, nodding his head in time to the beat.
“It’s a shame everything happened the way it did.” Donnie didn’t have to explain what he was talking about.
“Things would have been very different if we had kept Sie and didn't have Ryan touring with us,” Ford agreed quietly, not wanting Sie to realise he was there watching her.
“If she gave you the choice all those years ago, you would have gone with her?”
Ford stared at Sie, watched her move as she played, swinging her shoulder to force the long hair back and out of her way.
Something clicked into place. “Without hesitation.”
Donnie didn’t say anything else, only nodded his understanding.
Ford, without his conscious input, found his feet moving forward, taking him to the microphone. When they reached the chorus, he started to sing.
Sie’s eyes flew up from the guitar and locked with his. It was almost a shock to see the smile on her face. He couldn’t remember ever having seen her smile when she was on stage.
They played until the end of Thunder Nights, his eyes never leaving hers, and when they finished, he called out the name of another song from their first album, and Scotty counted them in on the drums, Sie fitting flawlessly into the band like she always had.
There was no showboating, unlike Ryan, who was always all over the stage in his attempt to have the spotlight on him. Trying to sing into the microphone with Ford, playing on his knees in the front, so the crowd could scream and touch him.
Ford started in surprise when she stepped up next to him and harmonised with his vocals. She barely sang when they toured, despite having a voice that many singers would kill for. But now, sixteen years on, she sounded so confident.
The hairs rose on his arms, maybe at the way their voices meshed together, maybe at the proximity of his wife. She moved away from him and let him continue on solo.
His eyes moved to Donnie, and the sneaky bastard had his phone in his hand, filming them. He shook his head at their manager, who gave him a thumbs-up.
They played for what felt like hours, and the entire time, Ford didn’t take his eyes off Sie.
She was his, and he wasn’t going to lose her again.
He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and swung his gaze away from Sie. The photographer had arrived and was now taking photos of them.
Shit, he hoped Ryan didn’t see any of this.
He knew what a vindictive bastard the other man was, and Ryan had so much dirt on him.
It used to be all sex, drugs and rock’n’roll while they were on tour, and Ryan had the photo evidence to prove it.
None of it would wreck his career; he was a musician, and the pictures only confirmed the rumours that had circulated about him over the years, rumours that he had honestly confirmed in interviews once he finally cleaned himself up in rehab.
But the photos might wreck his chance with Sie. It was one thing for her to hear about all the stuff he did in their years apart; she didn’t need to see in technicolour some of the excesses he’d indulged in.
Those thoughts fell out of his head as he saw Sie glare down the camera lens in a pose that was identical to the one she used to do all those years ago.
Fuck, she was magnificent.
They played to the end of the song, and Ford shouted another, but Sie yelled back.
“I can’t. I need a break. I’ve not played this long in years.” Her cheeks were flushed, and she was sweating.
To his surprise, she reached up and pulled the wig she wore right off her head. Ruffling her hands through her flattened blonde curls.
“That’s better.” She sighed in happiness and stepped forward, hanging the wig on the microphone, laughing as she did. “I’ll put it back on for the photos. I think it’s baked my brain. I need a break from it.”
“Fuck me. You’re a blonde?” Scotty yelled from behind the drums. “How the fuck did we not know that?”
“I had an excellent relationship with black hair dye and straightening irons,” Sie replied dryly.
“That’s wild. I had no idea. Why the wig?” Scotty leapt out of his seat, heading to Sie for a closer look.
“I work in a hospital. I live a quiet life. I can’t have everyone asking me if I’m Sie from Midnight Thunder. It’s easier for me if they’re looking for long black hair, not a curly blonde.” Sie ran her hand through her sweaty curls again.