Chapter Eleven
Wells
The Battle of the Bands is everything I hoped it would be for Victory.
We grabbed burgers from a food truck and found a spot among the crowd in the grass.
Hundreds of people are milling about, singing, dancing, eating, playing air guitars, and beating invisible drums as another band rocks out onstage.
Thumping bass and screeching guitar riffs blast through massive speakers, electrifying the air and reverberating in my chest as we dance.
Seeing Victory this happy and relaxed is like watching a butterfly emerge from its cocoon.
Gone are her professional demeanor and sleek, styled waves, replaced with a new carefree energy and a wild mane that bounces over her shoulders as she moves to the beat.
It’s hard to imagine how she reins in all this energy on a daily basis to be the woman she wants the world to see.
What’s even more curious is why she wants to.
As the song comes to an end, the crowd explodes into applause and cheers, and Victory’s hands shoot up as she joins in, sending beer sloshing over the side of her plastic cup and drenching the front of my shirt.
She gasps. “Sorry!”
We both crack up as she swipes at my chest. I grab her hand, and her smile lights up the night as I pull her into a kiss. “I’m onto you Braden,” I say against those temptingly sweet lips. “If you want me to take my shirt off, all you have to do is ask.”
“You’re so arrogant.” She goes up on her toes and says, “And I like it,” then presses her lips to mine, shocking the hell out of me. Loving this carefree side of her, I wrap my arm around her and take the kiss deeper.
When our lips finally part, I keep her close and say, “That’s good, because I like you , too, sweet thing.”
“What’s not to like?” she teases as the band starts playing another song, and we sway to the music. “This is so fun! I feel like I’m back in college.”
“I bet you were a blast in college. I wish I knew you then.”
“You were probably still in high school when I graduated from college.” Her beautiful eyes narrow. “How old are you, anyway?”
“I’ll be thirty-two at the end of this year.”
“ Ohmygod . You were in high school!”
I grin and sing, “ You know I like my sweet thing a little bit older ,” to the tune of “Your Love” by The Outfield. She laughs, and I tug her into another kiss.
We dance and drink and have an amazing time for the rest of the concert. When the last song comes to an end, everyone in the park is on their feet cheering, clapping, and whistling. Winners are announced, and there’s a flurry of commotion as concertgoers gather their things.
“What did you think?” I ask as we toss our empty cups in a trash can. “Are any of the bands worth sticking around and talking to?”
“I thought they were all really good, and the second band has potential.”
“You liked the Naked Monkeys?”
“Yes . ” She laughs. “What a name.”
“I like it. You can’t help but smile when you hear it, and that’s got to be good for marketing, right?”
“It can be. Thanks for offering to stick around and for bringing me here. This was incredible, but I need to do some research on the band and its members before I talk to anyone. What did you think of the bands?”
“I thought they were all great, but I’m just here for the company. What do you say we get out of here and explore?” I take her hand, heading toward the path that winds through the park.
She glances at our joined hands.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just been a long time since I held anyone’s hand.”
“Five years?” I ask carefully.
She shakes her head. “More like thirty. Harvey wasn’t a hand holder. My dad was. Sometimes he still is.”
Once again, I like that what we have is different from what she had with Harvey. I lift our joined hands. “What do you think?”
Her smile reaches her eyes. “It’s kind of nice.”
“I’ll take that.” I squeeze her hand, and we walk along the path for a few minutes in comfortable silence. “I’m glad you had fun. Have you always been into music?”
“Pretty much. My dad plays guitar, and when I was young, he’d play classic rock, which is probably why I like it. He taught us all how to play when we were kids.”
“I bet that was fun. Do you guys still play?”
“I don’t think Clay and Flynn play anymore, but that’s not a bad thing. They were never very good.”
“Ouch.” I laugh.
“They weren’t . Clay didn’t have the patience for it. He always wanted to be running around playing ball, and Flynn wanted to be out exploring.”
“How about the rest of you?”
“Noah still plays, and he’s gotten better over the years. Not to brag or anything, but Seth and I have always been pretty good at it. We used to do these ridiculous concerts for our parents. I don’t know how they watched us without laughing.”
“I bet you were adorable, rocking out with pigtails, on a guitar that was bigger than you.”
She laughs. “Painting your own pictures now?”
“Absolutely. I want to see you play.”
“I don’t play much anymore.”
“Don’t you enjoy it?”
“Yes, very much, but life got busy, I guess,” she says as we walk beneath an umbrella of trees.
“Sounds like you’ve slipped into the trap of living to work instead of working to live.
” I can’t resist stopping right there on the path and drawing her into my arms. Moonlight filters through the branches, glittering in her eyes.
“You need to make time to play, and I’d love to be there when you do. ”
She smiles and shakes her head, like I’ve said something silly.
“I’m serious. When I was a kid, Olivier said, ‘Make a life you don’t need a vacation from.
’ I didn’t understand what he meant back then, but as I got older, I realized that was why he was so happy all the time.
He built a life around the things he enjoyed doing and the people he loved.
I know you love your work, and maybe you built a life you didn’t need a vacation from with Harvey. ”
Her expression turns contemplative.
“I also know you’re still trying to figure out what life looks like without him, and there’s no rush.
” I caress her cheek, letting her process that.
“All I’m saying is that I’m hearing how much you miss some of the things you’ve given up, and I like exploring them with you.
It doesn’t have to mean anything big or scary.
I told you I want to be that friend you can rely on and share things with, and I meant it.
You can call me and say you want to play jacks in the middle of the sidewalk in Manhattan, and I’ll show up with a box of them and one of those little rubber balls my sisters used to play with. ”
She laughs a little.
“If that’s not your thing, and you want to fly to the South of France and hit the nude beaches, I’m your guy.”
“Nude beaches?” She arches a brow.
“I like hanging out with you, Victory. Doing things you miss, and discovering new things you like makes it even more fun.”
She grabs my shirt with both hands and bangs her forehead against my chest. “Why do you do this to me?”
“Do what?”
She tips her face up, confusion riddling her brow. “Make me like you so much when I’m trying not to.”
“It’s a curse. Just go with it.” I press my lips to hers, and she smiles against them. I take her hand again and start walking, hoping to keep her from overthinking. “So you wanted to be a rock star when you were little, and Victorious was your rock-star name, wasn’t it?”
“ No , and I didn’t want to be a rock star.”
“I think you did,” I tease. “Did you go to many concerts as a kid and pretend you were the one onstage?”
“No. But my parents did take us all to see Bon Jovi’s Crush tour when I was a teenager because I was so in love with them.”
“A’right, Mom and Dad. That’s awesome. What did you want to be when you grew up?”
“I don’t think I had any idea of what I wanted to be. I spent most of my time wrangling my younger brothers, trying to keep them in line and organized. I guess I always thought I’d be someone who did something like that.”
“A bossy people wrangler?”
“Exactly,” she says proudly. “And I’m damn good at it.”
As we come out from under the umbrella of trees, I spot a playground. “Check it out.” Tugging her with me, I jog in that direction.
“Why are we running?” She laughs, hurrying to keep up.
“You have to run when you see a playground. It’s a rule.” I grab the chains of one of the swings and hold them. “Your seat, m’lady.”
“Seriously?”
“You know you want to. Now get that fine ass of yours on this swing.”
“Always the charmer.” She sits on it and swings a few inches forward and back as I get comfortable on the one beside her, matching her slow pace. “This is kind of fun. I haven’t been on a swing in years.”
Everything is fun with you. “Does it bring back memories?”
“Not really. We never had these kinds of swings.” Holding one of the chains, she angles herself toward me.
Her hair falls over one shoulder, and she drags the bottom of her flat-soled black boot as she swings backward and lifts it so it skims the ground as she swings forward.
“Our home base is in Ridgeport, Mass, but we grew up traveling overseas for months at a time for my dad’s job.
We lived in remote villages in tents and huts and modest homes that were more like shacks.
Our swings were mostly vines or homemade contraptions. ”
“Now I have to know what your father does for a living.”
“He and my mom are wildlife biologists, but my mom works as a wildlife photographer. She gave up her job as a biologist after Seth was born to have more time for us, so we could continue traveling with my dad. They weren’t about to slow down just because they had kids.”
“Sounds like they took Olivier’s advice and made a life they didn’t need a vacation from.”