Chapter Two
KNOX
TEN MINUTES later, the space has begun to fill with dozens of people, all dressed for the occasion. I’ve never actually played as part of a wedding band before, and I find myself looking at the crowd more closely than your average bar attendee.
I lean away from the microphone as a thought hits me.
“First dance song?” I ask, looking at Zeke and Via.
“Got it covered, cuz,” Zeke responds. “It’s called Love at First Sight.”
I nod, my mild panic ebbing as I turn back to the crowd.
Now that the large group has broken up, I can clearly see the woman who seems to be the one in charge.
She’s got a no-nonsense look about her, glasses pushed up to the bridge of her nose.
As I look at her, I quickly realize that the only thing average about her is her height.
The woman has curves for days, and she’s dressed like she is well aware of that fact; her black dress hugs her round ass and hips, cutting off at the midpoint of her thick thighs.
The gold of her necklace and earrings catches the light.
Her hair is pulled up into an elegant updo, the braids ombre-purple.
Damn, she’s sexy.
The people continue to shift around but are beginning to leave a space in the center of the dance floor.
At the same time, she looks up at the stage towards us and meets my gaze.
Her expression is expectant, but all I can do is stare back at her, completely unmoored.
All at once, I feel like I’m waiting for something, yet I’m unsure what that is.
She moves towards the stage purposefully, eyes locked on mine.
“D major,” Zeke says, coming up next to me, and I realize I am still staring at her like a jackass.
“We’re ready for the first dance,” she says. Her voice easily cuts through all the ambient noise, strong and velvety, textured like a string instrument.
“I’ll count off,” Zeke says. “Knox, you harmonize?”
I shake my head, trying to clear the explosion of thoughts in my mind, most of them filthy ideas about what I’d like to do to this complete stranger.
Her eyes are light brown, nearly golden.
Up close, I see that her skin is a rich shade of sepia, and I suddenly need to know if it is as soft and smooth as I think.
“Knox,” Zeke says loudly, and I realize he must have been saying my name for a while. I force my gaze away from her back to him. His expression is one part annoyed, two parts concerned.
“Sorry?”
“Do you know the melody?”
“No, sorry. I’ll harmonize.” I respond quickly, placing my fingers along the fretboard of my guitar, “B major.”
“D major,” she and Zeke say.
I nod, and then, like a dumbass, promptly play a B major chord.
Christ above. I’m out here looking like a complete amateur.
My brain feels more frazzled than normal, and nerves begin to take over my fingers for a moment. But taking a steadying breath, I step back and switch positions with Zeke so he stands in the center of the trio. Being out of the center of attention gives me a chance to get the nerves under control.
Stepping right up to the mic, Zeke smiles widely.
“Hello and welcome, all you smiling faces. It gives us great pleasure to be able to introduce to all of you for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Cage!”
He doesn’t count aloud, but his body shows me the rhythm to follow.
As we begin to play, the bride and groom arrive on the dance floor.
Even without Via telling me, I can tell that these two women are sisters.
They have the same skin tone and similar facial features.
Although the bride is far smaller in stature, they both have the same posture.
Open. Straight-backed. Partway through the dance, the 20 men around the perimeter begin lighting smokeless sparklers.
It’s a beautiful production, the last few sparklers lighting as the song swells through the final verse.
I imagine the photos and videos they get from this will be stunning.
All the attendees clap wildly as the happy newlyweds finish with the final classic dip.
“Nicely done,” I nod approvingly to Zeke.
With him usually on bass, I sometimes forget he has such a powerful and resonant solo voice. He and I switch positions once more, and I lean into the microphone, ready to truly begin tonight.
“Good evening, everyone. I want to welcome you all once more here tonight for this celebration. We are Knox Knight and the Nightshades.”
As I speak, more people turn towards us and float towards the space in front of the stage.
I count off, and the three of us begin playing our standard set of cover songs.
The music begins to focus my mind, that untethered feeling subsiding as we play through two oldies and a newer hit.
The crowd seems to love each one, the movement constant on the dance floor.
As the third song ends and the clapping dies down, I lean into the microphone to speak again.
“Thank you, everyone. And thank you for allowing us to share this very special day with you. Again, we are Knox Knight and the Nightshades. I’m Knox. To my left on lead guitar is Octavia, and to my right, Zeke is on bass.”
“Wait,” a male voice reaches me, “Did you say Knox Knight and the Nightshades?”
Looking for the speaker in the crowd, I realize it’s the groom. Tall, long blond hair, an enormous smile splashed across his face.
“I did.”
“Shit, Will’s going to be pissed he missed you.” He begins to approach the stage, and the crowd quickly parts for him. “One of my best friends, Will Krammer, he’s a huge fan.”
Nodding, I say, “It’s always nice meeting a fan.”
“He’s not here, unfortunately.” The man continues, “Raven pulled this all together so fast he wasn’t able to get off work.”
“We’re local, so he could always come to a show in the next few weeks,” Via says, pulling the groom’s focus from me.
His face lights up further. “Awesome!”
He begins to pat his chest and legs where his pockets are, clearly looking for his phone.
“You and Knox can exchange numbers,” Via says, her eyes telling me to act. “We can let you know when our next few shows are.”
Our eyes argue for about ten seconds before I reluctantly pull out my own phone and hand it to him. He finishes typing quickly and hands it back to me. At once he’s distracted by another guest and turns away from me.
“I don’t like giving out my personal information to fans,” I say to her, making sure the mic doesn’t pick up my lowered voice.
“First, he never said he was a fan. His friend is a fan. Secondly, do you know who that guy is? That’s RJ Cage. He plays for the NHL. That’s a connection you’re going to want.”
I shrug.
“Never heard of him.”
“Well, he’s heard of you. That’s the important part here.”
I open my mouth to argue, but think better of it.
There is no point in re-litigating the need for good fan relationships here.
She and I have gone back and forth about our need to build a vibrant social media platform that extends into real life.
I love and appreciate our supporters, but I’ve never been a fan of showing the more intimate parts of my life.
If it’s not happening on the stage or in the studio, I just don’t care for people outside my circle to know what’s happening in my day-to-day.
But I sigh internally and move past that feeling of discomfort for now.
I came out here to help the band while Cash is out, and starting an argument in front of the party is not the way to do that.
So instead, I turn back to the crowd in front of me and focus on the fact that I’m getting to play music with my favorite people.
That’s worth any little annoyance I might be feeling in the moment.
I start scanning the crowd once more, looking for that wedding planner.