55. The Final Curtain
55
The Final Curtain
Issa
One month later
It's been a fucked-up month.
The sudden loss of Darius and Antoinette immediately threw everyone into a tailspin.
As one of the newer family members, my interactions with the beloved couple had been minimal. But that doesn't mean I'm not finding the shock cutting and painful. And the worst part is watching Declan suffer one of the greatest losses he is ever likely to live through.
I've been in constant communication with Carolina and Jessica. They, too, have been jockeying between their own grief and the grief of the men they love. Matt and Tony have known Darius for most of their lives, and the bond of the found family oftentimes is stronger than blood.
Each of them has handled it in their own way. Tony tends to resort to violence. He's been making his merry rounds, hunting down those he feels will cause trouble in the future.
Matt is a bit more subtle, though certainly not lacking in vindictiveness.
And then there's Declan.
As with any strong emotion, Declan always takes the same path.
He works himself to death.
We had just entered the last leg of our American tour when Declan was first called back. He ended up canceling a large portion of dates and then tacking them back onto the end. He only gave himself a few days before throwing himself back into the process. This time, leaning heavily on music to give him the strength to keep moving forward.
And that's how we end up here—at the very last tour date on a tour that can only be described as insane.
Initially, this was supposed to be one of our smaller venues, but after canceling two dates in this city, he decided to make it one over-the-top finale in the stadium.
One can't imagine what it's like to hear the roar of a hundred thousand people until you're actually faced with it.
He'd already announced that he would make a big announcement at the show, and he also warned everyone that his sassy-pants wife would be in attendance and joining him on stage at his leisure. His words, not mine.
And then there's the new song that he has been working on for the better part of a month. The song that fought back tooth and nail until he finally reached down into the very guts of himself and ripped it out. It was painful to watch but also fascinating.
And even at sound check, he was saying it wasn't ready, but when I told him he didn't have to sing it, he scoffed at me. Because yes, he did, and yes, he would.
He started the show as he always does, working the crowd up into a frenzy, holding them in the palm of his hands.
And then intermittently, he would call me out, basically having us do a reenactment of our previous live performances. Starting with Stevie Nicks and eventually ending with a new rendition of our rock-opera rap battle. We've done that on a few occasions, always changing the lyrics to suit our current moods and relationship. It's a crowd favorite and quite entertaining for us as well.
Now, the show is over, and he’s backstage, preparing for his encore. I’m not entirely sure what he plans on doing, though I know if he's going to sing his new song, this will be the time.
I walk over to him, giving him a nudge with my elbow. “You okay?”
His eyes meet mine, and he sighs loudly as he shrugs. “I'm fine. No problem.”
I snort and shake my head at him. “You really going to do this?”
He nods, yanking his sweat-soaked shirt off and quickly replacing it with a fresh one. He picks up his acoustic guitar, strapping it on. Then he looks at me again and asks, “You going to be okay for this?”
I nod, holding up the microphone in my hand. “I got you. No fucking idea what I'm going to say, considering you've given me no heads-up like usual, but I'll manage.”
He grins at me, and for the first time in a while, his grin meets his eyes as he steps in close to me, bending down to steal a quick kiss that I don't have time to return. Then he walks around me, heading out onto the stage without further comment.
He's lucky I already know what's going to happen as far as him calling me out there, likely with some kind of joke that only he finds funny.
I move to the edge of the stage, peeking through the curtain so I can see him, but no one will be able to see me in the darkness.
The crowd has been going bonkers, but as soon as he seats himself in the middle of the stage with the spotlight shining on him, everyone goes silent.
He adjusts his microphone in front of him until it's exactly where he wants it, strums a few chords to ensure the sound is ideal, and then pulls his microphone closer, clearing his throat before saying, "Well, hasn't this been a night?"
The audience immediately screams their approval. The bright smile he shows them is genuine, though sadness still twinges his features.
He waits for the noise to die down. When they're all once again silent, he continues, “I know I said I had some news, and I guess this is a good time to say it. No one's going to be very happy about it, but let me assure you, it's not forever.”
There are a few negative shouts in the audience, some laughter and random shouts, and he sighs and shakes his head. “Now, let's not pretend it's a big surprise. But I'm not getting any younger, and I've dedicated practically my entire life to my career, and as much as it pains me to do so, I've accepted that I need a break.”
There's some clapping and hooting, but for the most part, the tone of the crowd remains excited. He pauses for a few moments longer than he probably anticipated, his jaw clenching as he works to keep himself collected. “My wife and I have plans. We want to expand her entertainment management business. We want to ensure everyone has a safe space as they work to begin or even maintain their career. This expansion will take considerable time, and given how hard we've been working, this seems to be the best time for us to shift our focus.”
My eyes burn, a wall of emotion churning in my chest at his first official statement of our immediate future. He glances over at me, a small smile on his lips, and he winks. Then, he turns back to the crowd with a sheepish expression. “And then there's the fact that other than our short honeymoon, we haven't had time to truly sit back and enjoy being married. As time has gone by, and each of us has put considerable time and effort into maintaining our own careers, we've had to spend more and more time apart. Frankly, we don't want to be apart at all—ever.”
He waggles his brows, his expression playful, and the crowd cheers, hooting and stomping their feet in reaction. I shake my head, entirely accustomed to his antics, but still, my cheeks burn.
He lets them have their bit of fun and then raises a hand, urging them to calm down. They do almost instantly, and he stares out at them, that tinge of sadness back in his eyes. “As you all know, from the sudden cancellations in my tour schedule, we suffered a great loss to our family. I've been fortunate so far in my life, where though I had known loss, I had never truly known grief. That visceral, soul-altering feeling of anguish. It's easy to sit on the outskirts of such untenable emotion if it isn't actually touching you. But when it comes for you, when someone you truly love is ripped away from you, you find yourself yanked down into an absolute sea of pain. And no matter how much you fight it, regardless of how much you pretend, deny, and put on a front of strength and perseverance, it will get you.”
The typical screaming, clapping, and stomping has dulled, his words now echoing sniffles and words of encouragement. He sighs again, shaking his head before continuing, “The only plus, well, I don't really want to call it a pro, but for lack of better words…” He pauses, laughing at himself, and everyone laughs with him. “Listen, y'all know that I'm an over-the-top melodramatic pain in the ass. So, for me, this great loss added fuel to the fire. With great sorrow comes greater creativity, and though I have no idea if this new song is going to be complete shit or not, I feel inclined to sing it anyway.”
The crowd roars their approval, knowing, if nothing else, Declan Hughes throwing a brand-new acoustic song at them is something for the ages. He raises his hands again, and the crowd quickly quiets. “First, I need you to once again welcome my wife to the stage.”
The crowd immediately starts chanting my name, and I roll my eyes, though I'm happy for the short reprieve from sadness. He looks over at me, and I step through the curtain, turning my mic on and saying into it, “Really?”
He smiles, rising from his seat and meeting me halfway across the stage. He takes my hand, leading me to where one of his stage crew has put another stool out, assisting me to get comfortable before sitting back on his own stool. He adjusts his guitar and microphone again and then looks over at me, the despair in his eyes reflecting the sad smile on his face.
“Fair warning, my wife hasn't actually heard this song.” He smirks and shrugs, and the crowd at first gasps and then joins him in his humorous moment. “And it's not just because I like to put her on the spot. In this case, I need her knack for improvisation to fill in the gaps, where either I fuck up or I just need a moment.”
I frown, glaring at him. “Well, thanks a fucking lot.”
His smile is affectionate, and again, he winks. “You know you love me.”
I make a face, bringing my hand up and wiggling it back and forth as I reply, “50/50, sliding scale.” I give everyone a few moments to laugh at our little joke, but then I ask, “So just to be clear, you're going to sing your parts, but then if you look like you're fucking up or just need a moment to collect yourself, you want me to jump in and just throw out whatever I feel like?”
“Yes,” he replies seriously. “That's exactly what I'm saying.”
I raise my eyebrows, grimacing theatrically as I mutter, “Well, this won't be awkward at all.”
“What do you all think?” he asks the audience. “Do you think she can handle it?”
The crowd's response is a whole new decibel level. I'm sure quite a few people here have seen our previous concerts, whether live or on streaming, as they're always a crowd favorite. And though this one certainly has a less excitable tone, they likely all think it'll be amazing.
I'm not quite convinced, but if nothing else, it will be something someone writes about tomorrow—good or bad.
Declan shifts on his stool, adjusting his microphone one last time before sitting back, his hands going to his guitar. He looks over at me questioningly, and when I nod, he turns back to the crowd, waiting for complete silence.
Then, his voice rings out in a rough musical whisper. “You dirty, rotten, no-good motherfuckerrrrrr.”
I frown. But then he pulls back from the microphone and laughs, almost like he's laughing at his own inside joke.
He clears his throat again, looking out of the crowd as he says, “You know the drill, folks. Just bear with me. I'll get my shit together eventually.”
The audience has their laugh and then quiets down, waiting in anticipation for Declan to get his shit together.
His expression turns serious, that sadness morphing and shifting until it's tinged in anger, love, and despair. As if this kaleidoscope of emotions is coalescing inside of his brain in order for him to properly articulate in such a manner that even the most untouched might feel it.
You didn’t get my permission You didn’t stop to think about The rest of us, lost here now without you One minute, the world spins And in the very next instant, it stops Because you’re just…gone
I want to pretend it didn’t happen That maybe your existence was a Figment of my imagination That faking this new life is feasible A moment of peace attainable Where I forget you, even for a moment, But then, the pain dulls And the visceral fear of Never having known you Rips my guts out Because who am I without you?
All these complicated emotions Fire and ice in my veins When at the end of the day Everything I have to say Comes down to The simplest of sentiments I miss you Come back
He stops abruptly, his head turning, eyes shut. I don’t hesitate or wait for him to cue me. I pick up my mic and go with it.
Permission, it’s amusing, really This mere idea of control, lunacy
I pause for a moment, allowing Declan’s band to kick in some rhythm. Then I close my eyes, picturing Declan in his studio, kicking and fighting to find the words to truly convey his own brokenness.
You’re here, then you’re not A heart so unstable that I think we forgot Forever is a dream, a myth A romantic’s notion of misfits And heaven forbid, you find yourself Not suited to the tenacity it takes To get through it On days when the pain’s too great And you have to stop fighting Stop pretending, stop faking The it’s okay, I’m fine bullshit Where you’re forced to dig deep To let go, to embrace that searing agony Your fear will drive you over a cliff Into oblivion, so you say enough’s enough And you give yourself permission To scream into the void… I miss you Come back
I barely manage to choke out the last word, emotion rushing over me like a suffocating blanket attempting to snuff out creativity.
Declan grabs my stool, yanking me closer to him so our legs are touching. His hand moves to mine, and he squeezes, pulling my hand over and placing it on his thigh. I scoot as close as I can get with the guitar in the way, but then his lead guitarist, Connor, appears on his other side, his hand extended.
Declan smiles gratefully, removing his guitar and handing it over without hesitation, decades of trust illuminated in that one exchange.
Connor sits on the stool that has magically appeared on the other side of Declan, then sits quietly, waiting for the cue to continue.
Declan takes a shuddering breath and then nods. Connor picks up the melody, knowing exactly how to play it as Declan collects himself.
Then Declan opens his mouth and sings,
We went a decade without a word years gone by sitting on the sidelines of our own individual reality, too stubborn to take the first step Reconciliation, a foreign concept Not realizing the clock is ticking A veritable time bomb, just waiting to Explode our initial expectations of All the years we thought we had plans for
Now, all time is lost to us, Time to refocus and rebuild A future in stone now turned to glass And the knowledge that just like you Time and space and the fucking Landscape of our future… It’s all…gone
Gone, never to be made up No amount of pretending will resurrect the impossibility That I will ever get on with it That there will come a time Where I wake up and don’t think About what is missing
All these fucked-up emotions Fire and ice in my veins When at the end of the day Everything I have to say Comes down to The simplest of sentiments… I miss you Come back
Declan’s final words come out a broken whisper, and then Connor immediately stops playing, his band picking up a tempo without even needing to be cued. I swallow the lump in my throat, wanting nothing more than to curl up around Declan and soak up every second of his pain, but knowing that will never be possible.
So, I do what we do best. I lift my mic and let the words out.
Time, what a messed-up notion As if it gives a fuck about you Or me or how much we depend on Such things as hope and infinity How we lie to ourselves habitually Leading our lives with the arrogant notion That it won’t run out That we won’t be left standing here With our ass in our hands As we wax on poetically about love Lost, while wallowing in deep misery
Some people will say we reap what we sow That we’re weak-willed, willfully Incapable of moving on from the bad thing That didn’t even happen to us As we still live and breathe
But fuck that and fuck them The unsolicited judgment of those Fortunate enough to never have Had loss touch them or Even worse, those who feel they beat it, they fought grief and despair And came out the victor, as if any amount Of time will erase the impact they still have On your everyday existence Past, present and future
And so, you continue to dig deep To let go, to embrace that searing agony You fear will force you into a purgatory Of despair, so you say enough’s enough, And you take my fucking hand As you scream into the dark… I miss you Come back
Declan stares at me, all the love and light shining in his eyes, and the tears I’ve been holding back for the entire night immediately overflow. I don’t bother trying to hide them or wipe them away, I allow them to coast down my cheeks, a cleansing balm meant to ease the soul one teardrop at a time.
He leans over, grasping my cheeks between his hands and pressing his lips to mine, not bothering with subtle or finesse. He opens his mouth, his tongue swiping against my lips, demanding entrance. I give in freely, meeting his lips, teeth, and tongue urgently, needing to convey the sheer depth of my emotion where words will now fail me.
And then, just as quickly as he was there, he’s gone.
Straightening on his stool, his hand gripping mine tightly, he leans into his mic, his voice soaring over the stadium, pure and guttural.
All these fucked-up emotions Fire and ice in my veins When at the end of the day Everything I have to say Comes down to The simplest of sentiments…
I miss you Come back
I miss you Come back
Come back
The music fades away, quickly replaced by the buzzing of a crowd overwhelmed by emotion.
He stands, pulling the microphone from the stand as he steps to the edge of the stage, right in front of where Matt, Jessica, Tony, and Carolina have been watching the show.
He reaches down to each of them, speaking quietly to them before stepping back. He looks out over the audience, taking it all in one last time, the smile on his face sad yet also content.
He raises a hand to the crowd, and they settle, allowing him to speak. “I’m truly blessed to have had this career, to have all of you and so many more supporting me, regardless of my antics or how I may handle life in general. I will never forget all that you’ve given me.”
Choking up, he lowers the mic, his eyes looking to the heavens as he takes a deep breath. Then he continues, “I won’t say this isn’t goodbye because, well, we all know we have no fucking idea what will happen in the future. Be kind, take care of those you love, and never forget that time truly waits for no one. So, grab it by the balls and make it your bitch. I love you.”
With those parting words, Declan turns away from the chanting crowd, setting the mic on the stool as he walks by.
Snagging my hand, he leads me off the stage.
And he doesn’t look back.