If I Would Have Known (What If #1)
Prologue
Othelia
I will never get used to this feeling. The screams, the chants, the euphoria that sparks inside me listening to the crowd singing the music I’ve poured my heart into. The indescribable high after baring my all for these few hours. Standing with my back to the crowd, facing toward our mammoth Hopeless Mercy banner that decorates the back of our set, the crew turns on the house lights. Trace pulls out his phone to snap a selfie of us and tonight’s crowd as he does at the end of every show. Memories for the future. Something for us to look back on and reminisce about when we are too old to do anything else.
As we turn back to the audience, the house lights dim and the stage lights spark back to life, bathing us in the same glow that matches the warmth inside. I grab the hands of my band mates, raising them into the air in celebration.
Grabbing the microphone for the last time tonight, I yell out over the animated crowd, “Thank you London!” Cheers erupt as Jericho throws the remainder of his picks into the audience, and Trace, his drumsticks. We all step towards the edge of the stage, reaching out and touching the people who have given us everything.
Walking back towards the stage exit, I raise my hand in one final wave before disappearing behind the curtain. The crew bustles around us, getting ready to tear everything down and pack it all in the trucks before setting off to the next city. I pull out my earpieces and unplug my pack, handing it to Terry, one of the sound crew.
“Thanks, Terry!” I pat him on the back and continue my way back to the green room. I grab a bottle of water and chug it, sweat pouring down my face. The boys walk in after me.
“Man, the place was on fire tonight!” Lennon grabs a bag of Cheetos and throws himself onto the large sofa, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.
“Right, London never gets old,” I say. I push the sweat-dampened hair off my face and throw it up into a high pony, the ends tickle the bare skin on my lower back. “I’ll be sad when this tour is over. It’s been the best set we’ve ever played, the crowds have been insane!” I grab another water out of the mini-fridge and walk past Lennon, pushing his legs off the coffee table, and collapsing next to him on the sofa.
“Hey!” Lennon whines while chucking a Cheeto at my head. I duck and slap his arm, giggling.
A knock sounds at the door, followed by Dominic, our head of security, striding in. Standing at 6’5, the guy is intimidating. Cropped dark hair hints at his military background; but if that doesn’t make it clear, the way his presence dominates the room, or how he crosses his hands behind his back, standing at attention, certainly does.
“Guys.” He greets us with a head nod before diving into detail about the next hour’s worth of movements. “Meet and greet begins in half an hour, there are twenty-five attendees currently being given the backstage tour and we will come to get you when the crew is done showing them the equipment. Load out is 0100 hours, bus call is 0130, load in Paris tomorrow at 0730.”
“Just say half past seven, man,” Trace chirps from behind his electronic drum kit while he taps away to a beat only he knows. You’d think after two hours of nonstop drumming he would be wrecked like the rest of us, but nope; he’s always happily pounding away, his dreads bouncing to the beat.
Dominic smirks and sticks up two backward fingers in Trace’s direction. Chuckles erupt amongst the rhythmic beat.
“Thanks, Dom.” I smile at him and receive a head nod in return.
“Jericho,” Dom sighs. Jericho looks up from his phone, no doubt swiping through some hook-up app. “Your pick is with security outside your dressing room.”
Jericho bounces out of his seat and slides his phone into the pocket of his jeans, running his hands through his chestnut shoulder-length waves as he strides with purpose toward the door.
“Hey!” I yell. “Make sure you’re back in time for Meet and Greet. They want to meet the whole band, yeah?”
“Sure thing, I’ll make sure I’m quick.” He starts opening the door before glancing back at us. “But not too quick!” He grins, throwing us a wink.
I look back at Dom. “Keep an eye on him?” Another nod is my response before he leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.
The familiar sound of Kelis singing about milkshakes echoes across the green room: the personalized ringtone my brother thought was hilarious to surprise me with on my last trip home. A smile stretches across my face as I scan the room for my bag, spying it tucked under my dressing table.
“Say hi to Rian for me. It’s been ages since I’ve seen that guy,” Lennon says, waving a Cheeto around for emphasis. I laugh and pat him on the knee as I jump up, making my way toward my bag.
As I search through the mountain of “essentials” that fill it—the boys are constantly reminding me I have enough things in my bag to survive an apocalypse—the final bars end. Pushing aside my hairbrush and makeup bag, I finally find my phone. I swipe up, bringing up my recent calls. The phone lights up with a picture of my brother, his wife, and my beautiful baby niece; their smiles, bringing a grin to my face.
“Hey Ri, sorry I missed you! We just finished—”
“Til… I… I need you.”
Rian’s voice is laced with such devastation that I immediately straighten, my body going taught. “Ri… What’s happening? What’s wrong?”
A sob is his answer. Just one earth-shattering sob that cleaves my world in two.
“She… She… She’s gone.”