39. The Show Must Go On
THIRTY-NINE
THE SHOW MUST GO ON
L ily
The tension in the van feels heavy as we head to the next show. Jax sits quietly, withdrawn, his usual brooding intensity replaced by a deep, palpable sadness. His presence feels like a vortex, sucking all the joy out of the room. The rest of the band tries to keep things light, but Jax refuses to join in, snapping at anyone that gets too close with a joke or comment. It’s like walking on eggshells around him.
“Everyone ready?” Marcus asks, trying to inject some enthusiasm into the group.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Dylan replies, twirling his drumsticks with a forced grin.
Enzo just grunts, his dark eyes unreadable.
Jax doesn’t say anything, his gaze fixed on the window, lost in his thoughts. I know he’s blaming himself for everything, and the weight of that guilt is crushing him, but there is nothing any of us can do to get him out of his head. At this point, he needs to fix his own attitude.
We walk into the venue as a unit and the backstage area buzzes with its normal charge of activity. Crew members rush around, setting up equipment and making final adjustments. The noise and chaos offer a strange kind of comfort, a familiar backdrop to the anxiety swirling inside me.
Jax enters the dressing room, beelining for a quiet corner, and slumps down. I hesitate for a moment before sitting next to him. He looks up at me, his stormy eyes filled with guilt, and another unreadable emotion that I can’t comprehend.
“Hey,” I say softly. “You okay?”
He sighs deeply, running a hand through his dark hair. “No, Lily, I’m not. If I hadn’t fucked up last year, we wouldn’t be in this position with the label. It’s all my fault.”
I take his hand, squeezing it gently. “It’s not all your fault, Jax. Everyone makes mistakes, some just take a little longer to fix than others. The band will get through this.”
He shakes his head, his expression tortured. “You don’t understand. I almost ruined everything. The band, our career… everything. Now it’s coming back around and it will ruin everything. There is nothing I can do to stop it.”
Before I can respond, Enzo’s voice cuts through the air. “Oh, come on, Jax. Stop wallowing in self-pity. We all fucked up at some point. Get over it.”
“Enzo,” I snap, glaring at him. “That’s not helping.”
He shrugs, a smirk playing on his lips. “Just saying it like it is.”
Dylan, his happy heart always trying to make everything into a joke, adds, “Yeah, Jax. If we wanted to hear about someone’s life falling apart, we’d watch reality TV.”
Instead of making the situation better, the joke falls flat, and an awkward silence settles over us. I glance at Jax, who looks even more miserable than before.
Marcus steps in, his voice firm. “Enough. We need to focus on the show. Let’s go through the pre-show ritual.”
Everyone nods, grateful for the distraction. The band gathers in a circle, and I stand off to the side, a fly on the wall for their pre-show routine. Marcus pauses, waiting for Jax to step in, but he just stands there. Part of the circle, which is a start, yet his shoulders are slumped, his head down turned, like he’s already defeated.
Marcus shakes his head in irritation but doesn’t comment. He leads the band through the familiar routine, his voice steady and grounding. He ignores Jax’s lack of participation and hustles the band out of the dressing room once they finish.
I trail behind the group towards the stage, the roar of the crowd growing louder with every step. Jax’s steps slow, and I place a hand on his back, giving a tiny push to keep him moving. He straightens his shoulders and steps on stage while I take my place at the side, watching the band get into position.
The lights flare, and the audience erupts in cheers. The first notes of the opening song fill the air, and the energy in the room shifts. The crowd is extra wild tonight, their excitement practically vibrating through the walls. It’s like they can feel the band’s struggle and are determined to lift them up.
Jax’s voice soars over the crowd, surprisingly powerful, considering his downtrodden attitude all day. He pours his heart into every note, and I wonder if the crowd can hear the difference today. His presence on stage is mesmerizing. His dark hair clings to his forehead, damp with sweat, as he belts out the lyrics with raw intensity. Jax turns to face me, and his usually guarded eyes are open, revealing the depths of his emotion. It’s like he’s laying his soul bare for me, and for the crowd. They respond with an overwhelming wave of support, and I, well, I’m not sure how to respond.
I tear my gaze away, scanning the rest of the stage. Marcus is in his element, his fingers moving with precision and passion. His blond hair catches the light, giving him an almost ethereal glow as he plays with fierce determination. Dylan is a whirlwind of energy behind the drums, his muscular arms moving with a relentless rhythm as he drives the beat higher with each pound of his drumstick. Enzo, with his dark hair and brooding presence, anchors the performance with his deep, resonant bass lines. His usual smirk is gone, replaced with a look of fierce concentration.
As the set continues, I see glimpses of the band I know and love. The connection between them, the way they feed off each other’s energy, is still there. They’re basically a family. They spend so much time together on and off the road, and no amount of adversity can change that.
The crowd sings along to every word, their voices blending with Jax’s in powerful harmony. He points the mic out to them at a few different points, letting the audience carry the words while he takes a step back and they eat it up, screaming the chorus to every song. But like everything else, the show eventually must end. Jax announces their final song, and the crowd groans collectively.
After the final notes ring out, the guys leave the stage, their faces flushed with exertion and relief as they head to my spot in the wings. They exchange fist bumps and grins, their adrenaline still running high. Enzo wraps an arm around my waist, tugging me tight against his sweaty body.
“You pulled it off,” I murmur, grinning at them.
“Yeah,” Marcus adds, his tone serious. “We need to stay prepared, but we can do this. We have fifteen more shows.”
“Fifteen? That’s nothing.” Dylan grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes the way it usually does.
Enzo shrugs, his callous smirk firmly in place. “Sounds like you’re starting to lose your touch, Marcus. Fifteen is hardly anything.”
“Let’s grab our stuff and get out of here,” I suggest. A wave of gratitude for having the bus back washes over me, as I think of snuggling up on the couch and just letting go of today and all the stress that we’ve had recently.
Dylan nods, taking off towards the dressing room and the rest of us follow. Enzo keeps his arm wrapped around my waist, matching my pace as we stroll through the backstage. A general sense of exhaustion hovers over the band, but so does a feeling of hope. They needed the performance tonight to get back on track.
Suddenly, a piercing shriek echoes from the direction of the stage. My heart jumps into my throat as everyone freezes, listening. The shriek is followed by shouts and the unmistakable sound of panic from the crew. It’s different from the usual chaos backstage.
“What the fuck?” Enzo mutters, his eyes wide as he turns toward the noise.
“Let’s go!” Marcus shouts, already moving toward the stage.
We follow, adrenaline spiking again. Dodging equipment and crew members, we push through the backstage area, the noise growing louder as we approach the chaos. I question whether moving towards the noise is the best idea or not, but I’m pulled along behind Enzo, my protests lost in the surrounding commotion.
When we finally emerge from the wings, we’re met with pure pandemonium. The crowd has erupted into chaos. Fans chant, a cacophony of sounds that might be calling for an encore, or maybe just continuing to sing the band’s songs long after they’ve left the stage. Their voices blending into a deafening roar. Those closest to the front shove against the barrier, their faces desperate and wild with excitement. Security guards struggle to hold them back, their efforts barely containing the aggressive surge.
Some of the female fans scream and cry, arms outstretched toward the stage as they notice the guys return. The energy in the room is frenzied, dangerous—like a powder keg waiting to explode. Strobe lights from the stage flash erratically, casting frantic shadows over the mass of bodies.
“What the fuck?” Enzo mutters, eyes wide with disbelief.
“We have to fix this,” I say, barely audible over the roar. Panic swells inside me, but I push it down. We need to do something before someone gets hurt.
As the guys step further onto the stage, the crowd notices and surges forward even harder. The pressure against the barriers increases, and I can see the strain on the security guards' faces. They’re losing control. Sweat glistens on their brows as they push back against the tide of bodies, and it’s clear they’re fighting a losing battle.
More security personnel rush out from backstage, their expressions grim. A burly man with a walkie-talkie approaches us, looking frantic. “You’re making things worse,” he says urgently. “We need to get you off the stage now.”
Enzo grabs my hand, his grip firm and reassuring. “Come on,” he says, voice tight with tension. “Let’s go.”
We’re ushered off the stage, but in the mad rush to get to the van, the rest of the band gets separated. The roar of the crowd is deafening, and the press of bodies around us is suffocating. Panic rises again as I lose sight of Jax and Marcus in the sea of people. The security team forms a tight circle around us, forcing their way through the venue, barreling down anyone in their path. The backstage corridors blur with movement and noise. Crew members shout at each other, trying to manage the chaos. The walls seem to vibrate with the residual energy of the crowd, and the air is thick with the smell of sweat and panic.
When we finally make it to the van, I look around frantically. Dylan and Enzo stand behind me, while my eyes scan the faces of every person milling about. I stand on my tiptoes and crane my neck to see around the mass of security around us. Marcus and Jax are nowhere to be seen. My heart races as I scan the area a second time, praying for any sign of them.
“Where are Marcus and Jax?” I ask, my voice shaky with fear. My legs feel like they are going to give out from underneath me. The reaction of the security guards is amplifying my panic and it’s becoming harder to breathe.
One of the security guards steps forward. “There’s a second vehicle. We need to get you out of here now. They’ll be right behind us.”
Reluctantly, I nod, and I climb into the van, my mind whirling with worry and my breaths coming in short pants. Enzo follows right behind me, his hand still gripping mine tightly. Dylan and some of the crew pile in next, tension filling the air like a thick fog.
As the van speeds away from the venue, the weight of what just happened sinks in. The intensity of the crowd, the desperate screams, the chaos—it’s a stark reminder of how fragile everything is. The city lights outside blur past, streaking across the windows in dizzying flashes that do nothing to calm my racing heart.
Dylan tries to fill the silence, his voice strained. “Well, that was one hell of a show, huh?”
Enzo shoots him a sharp look. “Not the time, Dylan.”
Dylan sighs and leans back, drumming his fingers nervously on his thigh. “Just trying to keep things from getting too heavy, man.”
The van hits a bump, jolting us all, and I nearly shriek. Enzo’s tight grip on my hand is the only thing keeping me grounded as I take several deep inhales to calm my racing heart.
I lean my head against the cold window, trying to steady the storm of emotions inside me. The hum of the tires against the road becomes a background noise, blending with the muffled sounds of the city as I fight to keep it together.
“Are you okay?” Enzo asks softly, his hand giving mine a gentle squeeze.
I nod, though I’m far from okay. The fear and anxiety are almost too much to handle, but I know I have to stay strong. Jax and Marcus are going to be okay.
The silence in the van is oppressive, but I don’t have anything to say to break it. Instead, I stare intently out the window, waiting to reach the secured lot holding the bus. I watch the passing neon signs and streetlights cast eerie glows on the dark buildings.
The van’s headlights cut through the night, illuminating the road ahead, but the anxiety inside me only deepens with every passing minute. I try to focus on the positive and decide I’m endlessly grateful that today was not a day we parked the bus behind the venue.
We finally get to the road outside the lot, and worry gnaws at me. I can’t stop thinking about Marcus and Jax. The thought of them being lost—or worse—consumes me. The van ride feels endless, each stoplight and traffic delay dragging out my fear.
The security guard in the front seat turns around, his expression serious. “We’ll be there soon. Just hang tight.”
I nod again, trying to keep my nerves in check. Enzo stares out the window, jaw clenched, while Dylan’s fingers drum faster against his leg, a nervous rhythm that betrays his usual calm demeanor. “You think they’re okay?” He asks, breaking the heavy silence.
“They have to be,” Enzo replies, but there’s an edge of doubt in his voice. “Those guys know how to handle themselves.”
“Yeah,” I add, trying to infuse my words with hope. “They’ll be fine.”
When we finally pull up to the bus, a sigh of relief escapes me. We tumble out of the van, and my eyes immediately scan the area, desperate for any sign of Marcus and Jax.