Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
T he tour has begun, and it’s busy as we hit the road to the first city and get situated at the venue.
The Dead Ringers are not what I was expecting at all.
They are super nice, clearly very private, and down to earth.
Oh, don’t get me wrong, they hang with us when we reach the first venue in the green room, talking about everything and anything, thanking us for taking a chance on them, but they are just . . . unexpected.
They go to get ready while we head for a sound check. We have a day to get used to this venue, but we want to be totally prepared.
The rest of the day is a blur. There is so much that needs to be done, and the stadium is so imposing that I feel a little out of place.
I never thought we would ever play in a place like this.
I know the fans are coming for the Dead Ringers, but even if just one person likes us, that’s enough for me.
It’s everything we have worked for, yet it feels vaguely empty.
As I sit cross-legged in the middle of the T-shaped stage, with rows upon rows of empty seats in front of me, the pit a moving machine of parts and preparing teams, I feel . . . alone, like I have lost something on the way here. I know what it is—him.
Us.
Was it worth it? Was there ever really an us to lose?
I don’t know, but it makes me feel tired and down.
I promised myself I would give up on Ryker and my feelings for him, I promised I could keep our band together and pretend it never happened, but one look at his face when he sings and it gets harder.
Love is a fucking dick. It lives to destroy you over and over again.
I know what the fans and our label want. Hell, I even know what Dead Ringers want on stage tonight, and for the first time ever, I don’t know if I can do it.
Every touch just reminds me of what I’ll never have, but as they say, the show must go on.
This is about more than me. This is about Strike, Dash, and even Ryker.
This is their dream. I can’t let them down when we are so close.
Standing, I run my eyes over the stadium one more time and head back to get ready for the performance of our lives.
Bouncing on my toes, I peek out at the full stadium. The audience members are dancing and singing along with the music that pumps through the speakers as they wait for the gig to start. There isn’t one empty seat. A sea of people wait for us and the Dead Ringers.
Nerves fill me, and I wonder if I can be as good as they need me to be.
Ry notices, and he grins at us, realizing Strike and Dash are pale and worried too.
“Hey, what’s with the long faces? Look out there.
” We follow his pointing hand. “This is for us. Fuck anyone else. Fuck anything else. We did it. We are finally doing everything we always spoke about, and now you’re going to chicken out? I don’t fucking think so. Who are we?”
We groan, and he waits with his hands on his hips. “I said, who are we?”
“Sanctuary,” we reply in soft voices.
“Not good enough,” Ryker snaps and cups his ear. “Who are we?”
“Sanctuary!” we yell.
“That’s fucking right!” He grins as he looks us over.
“Now let’s go out there and show them that, show them we were made for this and their trust in us was not misplaced.
Tonight, we take our seats among the gods of rock, and we do it together.
Hands in, motherfuckers.” He places his hand out in a familiar ritual.
Dash and Strike grin before adding theirs, and then all eyes turn to me.
Taking a deep breath, I set my hand over theirs.
“Together,” I murmur.
I’m still confused about a lot of things, but one thing is for sure—I was made to be on stage, and so were they.
“Together,” they repeat as our hands bounce, and we throw them back. “Now let’s fucking rock!”
The lights dim as we are counted in, and Ryker and I share one last look.
We both know what we need to do when we go out there.
Even in the dark shadow of the stage, he looks beautiful.
He’s wearing an open black leather jacket with purple stars down the arms, exposing his incredible chest underneath, and skintight leather pants tucked into boots.
His hair is messy, and his makeup is Gothic.
He looks fucking amazing, and he knows it.
We all match in some way. Strike has stars over his ass, and Dash has them on his face. Mine are over my nipples, under a sheer shirt tucked into baggy black jeans with chains up the one side, our names dangling from each.
We look like a team, like a band, and I hope we feel like it too.
I hope it brings us back together, like it brought us together in the first place.
Music is the reason we do it.
We are pointed on, then we hurry under the stage and wait.
We hear screams as the video Po showed us is played, displaying snippets of us and our past, then the lights cut, a beat starts, and when the lights turn back on, the platform we stand on begins to rise to the stage and higher still, until we are above it.
I swing my guitar around as the voice in my ear counts in, then I shred my fingers across it, letting it echo through the stadium as they cheer and scream for us.
I can’t see much past the lights, and that helps my nervous energy dissipate.
Adrenaline and excitement flood me as the last note plays out, and Ryker takes hold of the mic.
I feel the anticipation in the air as he presses his mouth to it and sings the first sentence of our most viral song.
The crowd screams in response, deafening in its volume, and when the notes fade, Ryker grins as the lights flood us, putting us on display for them.
“Hello, rockers and rebels. We are Sanctuary, and tonight, we are going to take you to hell and back,” he drawls before he steps back and I step forward, ripping my guitar solo we practiced.
Flames burst out across the stage as Ryker starts to sing. Strike and Dash hurry to their places, and we begin our set.
The platform lowers, and we step off. Ryker dances down the T section as I follow, playing as I go, winking and leaning into the fans as they scream. At the very top, as Ry belts out the high note, we press our backs together, and he leans over me until the last note.
The cheers and chants are insane as Ryker grins.
“Alright, that was pretty good, but I think we can do better, don’t you?
As you might have heard, we are Sanctuary, and we are honored to support the incredible Dead Ringers on tour.
How excited are you?” He holds the mic out as we nod and grin at their shouts.
“Ah, I see we’re just getting warmed up.
I said, how excited are you?” He holds it out again, and they scream louder.
“Better, that’s what we like. I’m Ryker, and I’ll be singing for your ears tonight.
At the back we have Strike.” Strike shreds on the drums. “The ever sexy Dash.” He plays a few notes, and Ryker laughs.
“Alright, and the god you have been waiting for . . . Fox!”
The crowd screams as I play, and when I finish, Ryker is waving his hand.
“Alright, alright, I see you have your favorites. You can look but you can’t touch.
He’s mine,” he warns, and the look he gives me makes me swallow, our gazes lingering before he turns to the crowd. “Now, how about another song?”
The beat kicks in, and I walk back as I strum the first low strings.
When I reach the top of the stage, I glance at the screens above and to the side of us to see the cameras panning over the crowd.
There are signs with our band name on them.
I see one with mine, which makes me grin, and there are even signs with both my and Ryker’s names together.
When Ryker starts singing, they sing along.
It astounds me, and I nearly miss my next switch up.
We move from that song into the next with only a second for me to switch guitars.
The piano kicks in as I play on the next one, Ryker walking to us as he sings. His eyes are on me, and the lyrics hammer home, trapping me in his gaze.
Sex was our game, love was our winnings, so why the hell do I feel like I’m losing?
Looking into your eyes, I know it’s our beginning.
Why can’t you follow me down into hell?
When he reaches me, he rubs against me, draping himself on my back as I play my guitar solo, and when he starts to sing again, he moves in front of me, dragging his hand down my chest and lower as he crouches.
His eyes stay on me as his hand slides back up, and then he winks and dances away, leaving me shaking my head.
The crowd eats it up, though, and despite my feelings, I play into it, knowing it’s what they want. As he screams the next bit, I drop my guitar since I’m not needed, and I reach around him and grab his cock through his pants, dragging him back against me.
He stumbles over the words but leans into me, looking at me as the crowd screams. I lean in, ensuring my voice is low so only he can hear. “Focus on them,” I murmur before I release him and swing my guitar back around as I play.
I finish that song on my knees, and Dash drapes himself over me, and then Ryker quickly joins in before Strike does the same, making a puppy pile.
“Alright, alright, we have one more song before it’s time for Dead Ringers!” Ryker shouts. “Let’s finish this right, yeah? It’s time to go to hell, nonbelievers!”
The crowd screams, surprising us. It’s one of our older songs, but as Ryker sings, they join in. The stadium seems to shake as they bounce and dance, their voices reaching ours, and when we get to the chorus, Ryker drops the mic and we just listen to them shout our lyrics back to us.
As Ryker holds the mic to the crowd, I can’t help but stare. They scream our lyrics, my lyrics, back at us, and tears form in my eyes. Hearing them sing my heartbreak and songs is more than I could have ever imagined.
Turning away to hide my reaction, I startle when Ryker appears before me and wipes my face.
“This is for you,” he whispers. “All of this is for you. It’s all you ever wanted.”
I meet his searching gaze, words trapped on my tongue.
I want to be yours. That’s all I want.
I don’t say it, but I nod, and he kisses my cheek. “We did it.”
We did, but as he moves away, taking his warmth with him, I wonder if we will still be here in a year, or five or ten, or if it will break us all apart.