Chapter 18
brODIE
SHOWTIME
Istood in the wings, watching Nate and his band amping up the hometown crowd and filling the theater with a shitload of energy.
He’d confided in me about the contract from Bandit, and I couldn’t be happier for him and the rest of the band.
For them and for us.
Having Killmine on tour next year would be an exciting ride and, hopefully, a successful one. These guys loved to party, for sure, but they also knew their shit.
I listened to Nate’s impressive vocal range as he and Otis played off each other, sharing the mic for a while. When Nate finished up the song, he and the rest of the band took a well-deserved bow—several of them.
Greg Haddley was a pain in the ass, but he knew talent and drive when he saw it. Signing this band was a very smart move.
And so was this concert.
So far, everything tonight had gone off without a problem. The power was working, the sound was amazing, the fans were screaming, and the energy was unleashing.
I paced back and forth in the wings, walking off my pre-concert nerves.
And they were high.
But mostly, I was filled with heady anticipation. Performing was in my blood, and there was nothing that could equal it.
Well, maybe a few things. Sex was right up there.
Speaking of sex, I turned to find the object of my desire standing behind me, watching me.
Before, Van was always guarded.
But now he gave me a once over like he fucking owned me, and it made my adrenaline spike even higher.
“Thank you, guys!” I heard Nate yell out to the crowd. “Fuck, what a warm welcome. But I expected no less from my hometown. Les bon temps roulez ce soir!”
I motioned for Van to come closer.
“What did Nate just say?”
“The good times are rolling tonight,” Van replied as he stared into my eyes.
If I could get Van alone, they certainly would.
The crowd erupted in more cheers and whistles.
Van and I stood behind the curtains in our own little world, locked in some kind of trance with each other, unable to tear our gazes away.
Instead of giving me a pat on the shoulder like he usually did before I went out, he slid one hand around my waist and pulled me in close.
If our crew noticed, no one said anything. I sure as fuck wasn’t going to complain. I’d been waiting for this kind of moment with Van for what felt like an eternity.
He leaned down, and when his breath hit my ear, I full-on shivered.
“Every time I see you get ready to take the stage, it’s like the first time. Never seen anything like it. You blew my mind back then and every day since, and you sure as fuck do the same now. Only, it’s not just my mind that’s fucked. It’s everything.”
“Jesus Christ, Van, are you trying to give me a hard-on before I go out there in front of three thousand people?” I growled.
His low, husky laugh made my heart clench.
“I’m gonna go grab my guitar, well, your guitar. I’ll see you on stage in an hour.”
Van gave my waist one last squeeze before he walked away.
Good thing, too, and thank fuck for the distraction of Nate on stage, or I’d give the audience a very different kind of show.
“Now that we’ve got you amped up and ready to fuck…
I mean, ready to fucking rock,” Nate chuckled, “I am proud as hell to introduce your headliners for the night. They just wrapped up their sold-out European tour two weeks ago and decided on one last show to close out their year. And on Halloween, no less. Lucky, lucky us, oui?”
I peered my head around the curtain. Another round of applause had Nate nodding.
I turned back and saw Holls, Ronin, and Faise headed towards me.
“That’s right, folks, you should be excited.
Not only will they be performing their hits tonight, but all the funds from this show are going to Harvest King, a local food-focused charity that helps families in need.
So, let’s give a warm New Orleans Halloween welcome to the band that merges punk with rock and soul, the one… the only…Wayward Lane!”
The roar in the packed theater was muffled by my earpiece, but I felt the vibration through my entire body. I rolled my shoulders, looked at my band mates, and nodded.
No matter how many times I performed, I was still in awe.
I stepped out onto the stage and waved to the crowd as the heat of the lights hit me. I walked over to thank Nate, giving him and the rest of the guys a hug.
Then, I grabbed hold of the mic and did what I did best.
“Bon soir!” I yelled out in my limited French, wishing everyone a good night. “Thank you, Nate, and holy shit, what a fucking set by Killmine! Give them another round of applause, folks!”
The crowd erupted again, and I smiled as the band waved one last time and left the stage. As my guys got their instruments ready, I continued with the intros.
“I speak for everyone in the band when I say we are beyond happy to be back in New Orleans and to celebrate Halloween with you guys. What do you think of our costumes?”
Screams and shouts echoed around me.
“Personally, I think Ronin looks way better with a face full of Halloween makeup; what do you think?” I chuckled as he gave me the middle finger.
“I love you, Ronin!” someone in the audience screamed.
“I love you too!” he yelled back.
I looked around and saw that everyone was ready to go.
“All right then, folks, are you ready?” I asked.
The replying screams bounced off the walls and reverberated through my bones.
“I didn’t hear you!” I yelled into the mic. “I said, are you fucking ready?”
The next wave of cheers and screams erupted like a soundwave tsunami, and I swore the entire stage moved.
“That’s more like it! Let’s start with ‘Ragged Edge.’”
Holls strummed the opening guitar chord, Ronin joined in on his bass, and Faise rounded it out with a slamming drumbeat.
Then, there was no more time for nerves.
I belted out the opening chorus, embracing the energy of the crowd, feeding off it, feeling the ebb and flow that surged in my veins.
I glanced to my left and spotted Van in the wings, holding my baby, barely visible in the shadows. But I felt him like he was right there beside me.
It hit me just then that I took for granted he’d always be there. My rock, my inspiration. Seeing and feeling his presence always gave me that extra oomph on stage, but tonight?
I made love to that mic.
And someday soon, I’d be doing the same to Van.
After we’d performed the songs from our first two albums, including “Filthy Pain” and “Nine Gone Wrong,” we took a short break.
When we returned, I grabbed my acoustic guitar and sat on one of the stools Ace had set up for us.
I ran a hand through my sweat-drenched curls and took a deep, cleansing breath before I spoke into the mic.
“We’ve got a new song for you tonight. And when I mean new, I mean no one, except for you, has heard this before. It’s a heartfelt piece I hope you love as much as we do.”
Whoops and hollers rang out.
“But first, I want to introduce you to the person who wrote this song. He’s the man who made tonight’s event possible.
This is someone very special—” my throat nearly closed over, but I swallowed past the lump.
“He’s very special to me and the guys. For me personally, he’s my muse and the most incredible man I’ve ever met.
Please give a warm welcome to Ivan Cross. ”
The rumble of applause rolled through the venue as Van walked onstage with my guitar in hand.
In his usual denim outfit and cowboy boots, no Halloween costume in sight, he was the best damn thing I’d ever seen. He smiled at me and then waved to the audience.
I was so excited to perform with him I nearly slipped off the damn stool and fell on my ass.
Van took the seat beside me, and our knees brushed against each other.
One touch, and I was vibrating. It was all I could do not to reach over.
The lights dimmed, the orange glow setting off the dark stage.
“Someone better be recording this,” I commented into the mic.
There was laughter from the crowd, whistles, and claps, many of them already holding up their phones.
I looked over to see Ace with his phone in one hand, giving me a thumbs-up with the other.
“This song is different from our other stuff, but when you hear it, you’ll know why I had to make it mine.” I looked at Van and all but fell into his indigo eyes. “This is called ‘Sideline.’”
Three, two, one.
We strummed our guitars, playing out the first notes.
I sang the chorus, and then we played off each other.
Back and forth, and then harmonizing together.
And the way Van looked at me as he sang, I swear our souls connected on a level I’d never felt with anyone.
Like he was right there inside me, and I was living his song.
Together, we merged and unleashed something greater than ourselves—a moment in time that would live on after us.
The song was us.
I’d performed with lots of musicians over my career—some of the most popular in the world.
None of them could compare to him.
Was this the best performance of my life? From the audience’s point of view, maybe yes, maybe no.
But I poured every bit of myself into it. And the emotions behind the music?
Everything but me and Van faded away.
No fucking joke; my eyes welled up as I sang the last chorus.
My makeup was probably a ruined mess by the time the song was done, but I didn’t give a fuck.
I gave it my all. And all I had was his.
If Van didn’t know by now that I was all in with him, that I was, in fact, in love with him, he’d never know.
The audience sure as fuck did.