30. A Thousand Unspoken Words
30
A THOUSAND UNSPOKEN WORDS
FELIX
Come to Me By The Goo Goo Dolls
I hold the door open for Maggie as she ducks into the car, and then throw our bags in the back seat before sliding behind the wheel. I’m unable to shake the feeling that so much has changed in the span of twenty-four hours as I steer us onto the road. Reaching over, I offer my hand, a lifeline in the quiet, and she takes it without hesitation, her fingers intertwining with mine like vines. We drive back to the venue, the heavy energy between us palpable, a tangible force that seems to thicken the air.
I was on the precipice of confessing my love to Maggie last night. So fucking close, yet hesitant to voice the words that could irrevocably alter our relationship. I’m not sure how she would react if it’s too soon—too fast. My grip tightens around her hand, my thumb tracing the contours of hers, as a random radio station fills the space with music, a bittersweet serenade to the unspoken.
Pulling into the parking lot, Maggie and I linger in the car, neither of us eager to break the delicate bubble we’ve created. I lean over the console, my hand cupping her cheek, the softness of her skin a stark contrast to the roughness of my own. She grins at me, a coy, knowing smile that promises a thousand unspoken words, and we’re on the verge of closing the distance when our moment is shattered by my glorified babysitter.
The sudden bang on the hood startles me, my heart lurching in my chest. “Felix! Where in the fuck have you been? Soundcheck started ten minutes ago!”
Reluctantly, we extricate ourselves from the car, meeting at the front of the hood. I sling my bag over my shoulder. I’m never late, always meticulously punctual, but tonight, time seemed to slip through my fingers.
“And you!” Dusty points in Maggie’s direction.
Maggie looks back at him, annoyed.
Dusty holds out his hand, and I drop the keys into his waiting palm. “I thought you had permission to take the car,” I whisper to Maggie, and she shrugs, a sheepish grin on her lips. This fucking girl.
“Remind me never to take a nap around you,” Dusty grumbles, stalking off. I’m sure I catch a muttered, “I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” and despite the circumstances, a chuckle escapes me.
Turning back to Maggie, I’m met with her beaming smile, a sight that never fails to stir something within me. I lean down, pressing a light kiss to her lips. “I’ll see you later,” I tell her, and she winks, a silent vow hanging in the air as we part ways.
I dump my bag on the bus, my movements hurried as I continue toward the amphitheater. The sun’s dying light kisses my skin, a fleeting warmth that’s chased away by the cool evening breeze as I slide a pair of sunglasses over my eyes.
“Well, look who decided to show up to soundcheck,” Dex greets me, his tone teasing, but I’m in too good a mood to take the bait.
I clasp Dex’s shoulder, a wide grin spreading across my face. “Ah, not even you can dampen my mood,” I declare, and he looks at me with a mix of confusion and amusement.
“Where’s the real Felix?” he makes a show of looking around the stage.
“Make fun, but we’re gonna have one hell of a show tonight,” I say, grabbing my guitar from the sound tech.
“Alright then,” Dex says in a dramatic tone as he looks me up and down.
We run through a quick soundcheck and as I hand my guitar back to the tech, my thoughts drift to Maggie, the desire to spend time with her a persistent ache. But Dusty’s there to remind me of my obligations, his arms crossed over his chest as he motions to the back of the stage.
“You’re not off the hook yet. There’s a VIP meet and greet,” he informs me, and my heart sinks, even as I understand the importance of connecting with the fans.
“Hey,” he stops me from leaving. “The fans pay your salary, don’t forget that.”
“It’s not that,” I say, trying to articulate the jumble of emotions within me.
Dusty raises an eyebrow for me to elaborate.
“I’m happy to do a meet and greet. Hell, I never thought things would happen this fast. It’s just…” I struggle with the words because I don’t want to make it sound like I’m putting Maggie first. All I’ve ever wanted was to be a musician and I’m living my dream right now. I’m on my way to getting everything I wanted, but I never expected to meet Maggie. She came out of nowhere and knocked me on my ass.
“A certain blonde with a camera always in front of her face?” Dusty asks, finishing my sentence for me, and I nod because there’s no denying it.
Dusty smiles. A real genuine smile, like he knows exactly what I’m feeling right now.
“Yeah,” I confirm.
Dusty smacks me in the head, as gentle as a bearded giant can be, and nudges me toward the backstage area. “Snap out of it. You have work to do,” he says, and I rub my head.
I approach the eager fans with a smile that feels both weightless and full, knowing that this is why I do what I do.
“Will you sign this for me?” asks a girl at the front, her hands trembling as they offer me a shirt and a sharpie.
“What’s your name?” I ask, uncapping the pen.
“Skylar,” she says, her voice luminous with excitement. For the briefest moment, I wonder if it’s the Ivy duet—not me—that has her so breathless, but then she says, “Can you sign it with a quote from ‘Out of Reach?’”
My pen falters. No one’s ever asked that before. “Yeah, sure,” I say, recovering quickly.
She blushes as she speaks. “I know it’s silly, but that song made me feel like… like someone knew what I was going through.” And before I can respond, she’s spilling her story like an upturned glass, every word tumbling out. “I had this Off-Broadway audition—you probably don’t want to hear this.”
“I do,” I say, my curiosity ignited, warmth lacing my tone. “I’m invested now.”
Her laugh is small and nervous. “Well, I saw your show in Ohio, and I couldn’t understand why you guys weren’t all over the radio. The next day, I had this audition, and your lyrics just… stuck. ‘When something feels out of reach, you just have to reach out and take it,’ right? I didn’t book the part, but still , that moment felt different. Like I could try again, even after falling.”
Her words burrow into me, filling spaces I didn’t know were empty. I hand the shirt back to her, now carrying not just ink, but the weight of connection. “That’s amazing,” I say, summoning a smile, though my chest feels tight—too full to expand.
This is what keeps me going. Not the noise or the lights, but this : proof that the world lets your words take root in someone else’s heart. And no one mentioned my famous father. Still, the fact that I haven’t cut an album casts a shadow over the moment.
“Can I get a picture?” someone calls out, jarring me from my thoughts. I lean in, the flash briefly blinding me before Dusty slaps my arm.
“Time to get out there, kid,” he nudges, already steering me toward the VIP area.
The electric hum of anticipation thickens as we approach the stage. I swear I could map the air by its weight here, every particle teeming with energy.
“Never gets old, huh?” Dusty says, way too nice to be normal.
“Nope,” I reply with a lopsided grin as a tech presses my guitar into my hands. The rest of the band gathers around like storm clouds drifting into formation, ready to unleash thunder.
“Is there anything on my back?” I ask Gunner, half-joking but unable to squash the unease needling me.
“Why, you want me to check out your ass?” he teases, but his smirk vanishes at the sight of Dusty materializing behind me, his voice low and dripping with satisfaction.
“You don’t give me enough credit, kid,” Dusty murmurs, gripping my shoulder tightly. “A sign on the back is little-league stuff. Me? I aim bigger.” He smiles, his white teeth gleaming amidst his beard.
Before I can comprehend what that means, he pushes me forward—no, launches me—into the screaming embrace of the stage. The lights rush forward like a breaking wave, the tsunami roar of the crowd enveloping me. I spin, grabbing fistfuls of Gunner’s shirt.
“Whose brilliant idea was it to prank Dusty?” I holler over the crash of applause.
Through his barely-suppressed panic, Gunner’s grin wavers. “Don’t remember, but… pretty sure I just peed my pants.”
My chest tightens as I glance across the sea of faces, and right where she always seems to be, is Maggie—her presence steady against the chaos, a lighthouse in the storm.
* * *
Sweat beads on my forehead, the salty tang teasing the corner of my lips as I pour my soul into the microphone, my voice resonating with the collective energy of the audience. The air is electric, thick with the scent of anticipation and the heat of the lights and bodies pressing closer to the stage. Arms undulate like a sea of stars under the pulsing stage lights, moving in sync with the slow, haunting melody of “Out of Reach.” The song’s a ballad, one that seems to pluck at the heartstrings of every person gathered here tonight.
As we near the bridge, I wrestle my guitar in submission, fingers dancing across the strings with a mix of reverence and dominance. The crowd erupts as I release the instrument, letting it dangle from its strap at my side while I saunter over to Gunner, leaning in with an arm draped over his shoulder. The ominous notes that slip from my lips are a stark contrast to the elation bubbling within me. This moment, raw and exhilarating, is a high like no other.
This just might be the most fun I’ve had on stage. I shake the damp hair from my face, and I use the hem of my shirt to wipe my brow. With a renewed grip on my guitar, I strike the strings with ferocity, setting the stage for Bash’s impending guitar solo.
From the corner of my eye, I catch Maggie’s silhouette against the stage’s edge, her camera a mere extension of her being. Even through the lens, her smile is a beacon, cutting through the chaos and drawing my gaze. I can’t resist; I shoot her a playful finger wave and a slow wink, my voice never faltering from the song’s melody. The blush that creeps across her cheeks is visible even amidst the kaleidoscope of lights, and my own smile betrays the somber tone of the lyrics.
The desire to taste her lips is overwhelming, a magnetic pull I can no longer ignore. As Bash’s fingers fly over the frets, I sprint across the stage, my heart pounding in time with the music. He quirks an eyebrow as I dash past, his solo soaring to new heights as I make my way to Maggie.
She lowers the camera, her eyes wide with surprise, just as I sweep her into my arms. Our laughter mingles as I spin her around, capturing her mouth in a kiss that’s anything but brief. Her camera, momentarily forgotten, rests against her shoulder as her arm encircles me, deepening our connection.
Maggie’s hand flattens against my chest, her touch searing through the fabric of my shirt. “Don’t you have a song to finish?” she teases.
I finally realize Bash has extended his solo. “Shit,” I breathe out, pressing another kiss to her lips as she dissolves into giggles.
Reluctantly, I release her and bound back to the microphone. The final verse spills from my lips, a torrent of emotion that should be directed at the crowd but is instead focused on Maggie. Her presence is a siren song, one that I can’t ignore, even as the last notes of the guitar fade into the applause that fills the venue.