Epilogue 1
Keira
Sixteen months later
Ihave a front row seat to history in the making, and from the looks of it, World War III might erupt anytime soon.
“You faulted on the bariolage,” Tomas his music partner.
“I did not,” Anders says.
This competitive banter has been going on for a while.
Even from down here, it’s clear Anders seems pissed off. At least, I think he is. You never know with these two. Tomas Lazovi? and Anders Benkovi? love to razz each other. The Cello2Cello guys play so well together because they have insane synergy… unless they’re arguing, like they are now.
“Anders, you totally did,” Tomas says. “This is rock, not baroque. Pick up the pace, mate. Maybe a little more headbanging as well.”
“Fuck off, Tomas,” Anders says.
“Just sayin’.” Tomas flashes his music partner a devilish grin. “We’re playing tomorrow night to a sold-out crowd and we have some of the best musicians on stage with us. You don’t want to come across like an amateur newbie.”
I lean into Levi, who’s sitting next to me.
“See what I have to endure when I work with these two?”
“I feel your pain,” Levi says. “Anders and Tomas have perfected the good cop, bad cop routine with a twist. In their case, it’s more like the uptight cellist, pompous cellist routine.”
I crack up.
“It’s not difficult to figure out who’s who,” I say.
Levi grins from ear to ear. “Tomas Lazovi? is the cocky and pompous cellist.”
I chuckle.
Levi Aldridge and I are sitting in the audience while some illustrious musicians warm up for Cello2Cello’s concert for two thousand adoring fans taking place tomorrow night. It’s happening right here at the Los Angeles Music Center.
Contrary to the musicians on stage, Levi is more of a behind-the-scenes kind of guy. The tall man with brown hair and mesmerizing aqua-blue eyes is part of Rhys’s entourage. He and his brother Linc are the genius magicians responsible for the set design for tomorrow’s concert.
Along with their talented drummer extraordinaire, Anders and Tomas, aka Cello2Cello, invited rock gods to perform with them: Beckett and his band––Random Misconception––which includes Holt, their cousin Jace Halsey, and drummer Hall of Famer Rod Wolfe.
Badass female guitarist Stasia van Gameren will also join the cellists and the rockers on stage in an unprecedented musical collaboration.
Judging from the rehearsal, tomorrow night will be wild.
Like Levi, Rhys is hanging out amongst friends.
I’m here because Tomas and Anders asked me to sing the closing song tomorrow night.
I’m honored beyond words. We’ve been practicing a lot and I’m totally ready, but it never hurts to fine tune our performance.
Not to mention, the concert marks the release of my new single, so we want to nail it.
“Keep talking shit, Tomas, and I’ll shove my bow right up your ass.” Anders’s repartee elicits a round of laughter.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Anders,” Tomas says. “So testy.”
Anders ignores Tomas and rolls his eyes.
“Isn’t it ironic that amongst us, you two are still single, yet, you sound like an old married couple,” Rhys says. He’s on stage with them. “You guys should learn from Beckett and me. We have a great working relationship. You’ll never catch us bickering like five-year-olds.”
“Fuck off!” Anders and Tomas shout in unison.
We all laugh.
Anders locks eyes onto Tomas. “Let’s take it from the top so I can make you eat your words.”
“Challenge accepted,” Tomas says.
They take Nirvana’s ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ from the top and crush it.
Anders and Tomas are classically trained cellists.
It was a struggle for them to get noticed.
The cello doesn’t scream cool… that’s until they came onto the scene.
They single-handedly brought back to life an instrument that was almost a relic.
Once they meshed the deep tenor of their classical instrument with edgy rock music, there was no stopping them.
Their electric cellos add to the whole dazzle effect. Today, they’re on top of the world.
When the musicians on stage reach the last note, I jump to my feet and clap like a crazy woman. “That was amazing.”
Anders and Tomas stand up and take a bow.
“Let’s take a break and then we’ll rehearse ‘Thunderstruck’,” Anders says, dropping his cello on his seat.
Everyone agrees.
“Hey, Rhys, why don’t you earn your dinner and sing us something,” Tomas says. “Oh yeah, you can’t sing. You can only rap.”
“Fuck off, Tomas,” Rhys says.
“For once, I agree with Tomas,” Anders says. “But since I have more manners and tact, I would’ve phrased it differently. Rhys, it’s been a while. It would be great to hear you work the mic.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really,” Anders says, walking up to my boyfriend and handing him a microphone. “I’m sure I’m not the only one. Let’s ask the audience. Anyone else want to hear him rap?”
There’s a collective yeah and head nods.
I chant his stage name.
“Calm the hell down, woman,” Rhys says into the mic. “You’re too excited for your own good.”
I ignore him. “Hijinks! Hijinks! Hijinks!”
“Okay.” Rhys rolls his eyes. “The hottie wins.”
“What you’re willing to do for a nice pair of legs,” Beckett says, shaking his head.
“Watch your mouth, pretty boy,” Rhys says. “That’s my girl you’re talking about. And for your information, she doesn’t have a nice pair of legs, they’re stunning.” He winks at me.
I blow him a thousand kisses.
“I stand corrected, and you’re right, I should show her a lot more respect,” Beckett says. “After all, it’s not every day you’re in the presence of a multi-award winner. Your girl wiped the floor at the StreamTunes Music Awards, American Music Awards, and Grammy Awards.”
I blush from ear to ear.
I should be used to it by now, but I still have to pinch myself for my deluge of good fortune.
This past award season was ridiculous. I was so humbled by the public’s acceptance of the musical direction I took with my career. Holt and his team gave me wings. Ditto for my amazing boyfriend, my brother and my friends. Without them, I doubt I would’ve had the courage to go all the way.
Other than the encounter with Jedd Maitland in his tunnel vision pursuit of a lie, my life since I landed at LAX has been a dream.
I was floored when Jedd reached out through my publicist to apologize after the accident that left him in pretty bad shape. He felt responsible for what happened. In his view, had it not been for him, I wouldn’t have been at the wrong place, at the wrong time.
Margaret’s fifteen minutes of fame fizzled faster than a votive candle burning out.
She went under the radar after her publishing company dropped her.
Her tell-all book was never published. The string of interviews where she spewed venom at me became a liability and put a brutal end to her aspirations as an author.
I never heard from her again. I’m okay with that.
“You forgot something important on the list,” Holt says to his brother.
“Oh, yeah, what’s that?” Beckett is sporting a cocky grin.
“She’s one of Ritual of Rhyme’s rising stars,” Holt says with a tinge of pride.
I beam.
I’m so happy I went with my gut.
Holt is an artist first and foremost, and that has a huge impact on his business decisions.
He’s not a soulless corporate type who only cares about numbers, willing to produce unoriginal overused auto-tune pop trash just for the sake of downloads or sales.
His artists are real singers. And it’s not only about his ideas.
He’s receptive to yours. He transformed me from a bubblegum singer to a real one.
“I lucked out,” Rhys says.
My boyfriend and I stare at each other, huge grins stretching our lips. We’ve been together for a year and a half, and sparks still fly. Another blessing to add to a long list.
“Start rapping, Hartford, or get a fucking room,” Tomas says.
“Don’t get your boxer briefs tied up in a bunch, Lazovi?,” Rhys says before turning his attention to the audience of two. “I need another voice for the song I have in mind,” he says. “Levi, wanna do a duet?”
“I’m no Tupac Shakur, but I’m game,” Levi says. “What song were you thinking of?”
Although Levi only raps for fun, Rhys says he has some impressive skills.
“’Shake That’,” Rhys says.
Levi nods. “Old school?”
“It’s the only way to go,” Rhys says.
“I can manage some old school Eminem.” Levi’s confidence is audible.
“Good stuff,” Rhys says. “I need the music score without the lyrics.”
“I’m sure I can find it online and buy it with one click,” Beckett says. They share a complicit look. “When I do, I’ll plug my iPhone into the sound system.”
“Excellent,” Rhys says. “Looks like everything is coming into place. Now, if I could only find a sexy backup dancer at the last minute…”
I wave a frantic hand over my head as I jump up and down. “Pick me!”
Rhys shields his eyes with one hand and pretends to look around the concert hall, searching for the eager beaver.
His gaze lands on me. “You want to come up here and show me your dance moves?”
I shout back a resounding and enthusiastic, “Yes!”
He sighs into the microphone. “Since it’s slim pickings tonight, come on up, shorty.”
I cross my arms over my chest and shoot him an are you fucking kidding me look.
“Don’t be like that, shorty,” Rhys says. “Come up and impress me.”
“That, I can do.” I offer a coquettish smile.
“Make sure to follow her up here, Levi,” Rhys says.
“I will,” Levi says.
I balance on my high heels and run to the side door with Levi in tow. Holt is holding the door leading up to the stage and waves us over.
“I got the music,” Beckett says as I step onto the stage. “We’re all set on my end.”
Levi scrolls through his phone while he’s walking.
“You’re ready, Levi?”
He lifts his phone. “Found the lyrics. I’m ready.”
“Drop the beat, Christensen,” Rhys says.
“You got it,” Beckett says.
The old school rap song blasts through the speakers.
Rhys may be impeccably dressed head to toe in expensive all black designer wear he wouldn’t have been able to afford back then, but his rhyme is as smooth as it was when his career exploded into the stratosphere.
His flow is tight.
His hip-hop dance moves are badass.
And he owns the stage like he did in his old music videos.
God, he’s so freaking hot.
Rhys lifts a hand. “Hold up.”
Beckett stops the music.
Why did he do that? “What’s going on?”
Rhys approaches me, places two fingers under my chin, and tips my head back so our eyes meet.
“I didn’t invite you on stage for you to stare at me, shorty,” he says. “You promised to impress me. I’m waiting.”
I jot a hip and hook a closed fist at my waist. “Did you call me out in front of your friends?”
“I did,” he says. “What are you going to do about it?”
He did not just challenge me. “Game. On.”
“Finally, you’re going to do justice to the sexy ass shorts you’re wearing,” he says with a grin.
We’re done talking here, buddy.
I point to Beckett. “DJ, drop the beat.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He takes it from the top.
The beat blares out and everyone starts swaying to the music’s thumping beat.
Rhys and Levi bring it on.
I step into the role and start dancing like my life depends on it. This is so crazy-good it doesn’t take me long to lose myself in the song. When the bridge hits, I do as I’m told and I shake my ass, dropping low.
The guys whistle and holler.
I pull my best Lucky Break moves to my audience’s delight.
The lyrics aren’t the most empowering for women, but the beat is incredible.
I glance at Rhys from over my shoulder.
He holds the mic real close to his mouth, his eyes eating me alive.
Oh, yeah, baby.
I congratulate myself on my wardrobe choice.
It’s a cross between runway couture chic and rocker girl badassness.
I selected a pair of sexy shorts and a sheer blouse to complement a stylish sequin tuxedo blazer.
All black. The super high designer heels with a strap at the ankle add a vampy element to the sex kitten look.
My makeup is subdued because it’s all about the outfit.
I’m still sporting short blonde hair. The overall look is super feminine and the outfit transitions perfectly for later.
We’re all going for dinner at the Quintus Hotel after the rehearsal. We have a private dining room to celebrate tomorrow’s concert and my single with Cello2Cello, which drops at midnight.
When the lyrics allude to me being his slut for the night, I say, “Hell, yeah.”
He grins, his glacier-blue eyes flashing with malice.
The guys on stage are bobbing their heads to the beat, mouthing the lyrics. Beckett takes it one step further by performing some killer dance moves.
I call Stasia over so she can be my dance partner. She shakes her head—and a finger—in protest. The girl can dance, I guess she’s not in the mood.
I laugh.
Levi is effortlessly keeping up with Rhys’s rhymes. It’s been years since my man stepped on stage as a performer, but Hijinks can still bring down the house. Once a rapper, always a rapper.
The bridge hits.
It’s time for me to shake my thang again.
I do.
Rhys comes and stands behind me, and we dance together, feeding off each other’s electrifying energy. We’re so in sync, you’d think we practiced this routine.
I turn to face him, and we go for it.
God, the man can dance.
As the song fades, I take it down several notches, expecting it to end, but another song loops in.
It’s a slow R&B vibe.
To my absolute amazement Rhys begins to sing.
He can sing?
Just because you can rap doesn’t mean you can sing. Rhys always says that.
I’m stunned.
He has a great singing voice.
Why has he been hiding this from me?
The lyrics are poignant.
And then to my utter disbelief, Rhys drops to one knee.
My hands fly to my mouth, shock coursing through me. Four words from the bridge of the song cause my heart to stop, Will you marry me?
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
I’m dumbstruck.
Then, my brother Noah––who still lives in New Zealand––steps on stage.