Chapter 58 Elijah
FIFTY-EIGHT
ELIJAH
I’m on cloud fucking nine.
There’s a bounce in my step that has never been there before. I feel like a jittery boy right after kissing the girl he’s been pining after for years—wait, that was me too. Oops.
Yesterday made all of us feel high. A high that no drugs could bring because this was happiness. Something was in the air because, bang after bang, all the missing pieces were put together.
Sadness was a constant in our lives, but now that glee has moved in, we aren’t sure how to process the euphoria.
Is that why I feel like I’m floating rather than just walking to my dressing room?
“Slow down. I’m losing you,” Mom pants from behind me.
I halt and resume walking when she links her arm through mine. A nervous smile crinkles the corners of her mouth.
“Are you nervous for tonight?”
“I always get nervous when I watch my kids live,” she admits too quickly, afraid I might kick her out of the arena. “It’s in the job criteria for being a mom.”
It’s not every day our mom is able to make it to one of our shows. So, the pressure for tonight is amped up.
When fans started pouring into the arena, we could hear their chants from our dressing rooms. The energy is going to be insane tonight. My fingertips are tingling, and my heart is racing like a race horse.
“I can’t believe my babies have been traveling the world for almost a year.” Mom kisses my forearm that she’s holding on to. “This is the last night. Are you sad?”
Yes, and no.
This past year, I’ve felt like I was living in a dream.
From parting ways with our old record label to creating and releasing our dream album and putting on a fantastic tour all over the world.
However, when I ponder why this tour felt as amazing as it did, it wasn’t the music, or nights in the tour bus, or all the countries we visited.
It was the people I was with.
And the person who gave me a second chance.
If I were to do this tour without them, there wouldn’t be any sorrow running through my body when performing the closing song tonight.
Thinking of my own bed, car, and house would be an inviting thought.
Yet a twinge of something like disappointment crosses through my heart and lands right in the middle of the organ.
I found myself during this tour.
I got my voice back.
Yet the most important thing that this tour brought me was her.
She not only showed me passion through her love, but also that love for performing was still somewhere within me. Maybe growing older makes you see things differently. And that’s okay.
Taking in the busy hustle that happens before every show, I smile at a passing crew member. “Never thought I would hear myself say I’m going to miss a tour … but, yeah, I am.”
“That’s what happens when you’re treated well.”
I balk at her. I stammer with my mouth open, gibberish coming out, but I snap it shut when she gives me a knowing look.
If only she could have used her mom magic to see what our future held ten years ago, it would have saved us so much heartache.
Striding to the dressing room, I spot the iconic gold star on the closed door. I stop when I find all the girls huddled in a corner, crying.
“Ladies, I left for just five minutes. No need to cry for me.”
Nervously laughing, I give the boys a what the fuck did you do look as the girls are busy wiping away their tears.
“Boys,” Mom says in a stern, scary voice, “what did you guys do?”
“Nothing!” Leonidas exclaims, lounging on the couch, betrayed at the assumption. “One second, they were giggling; the next, they were bent over a phone, crying.”
The group’s mother hen makes her way to the girls and runs a hand down the back of each of their heads, comforting.
“How can you not cry when you read these messages, Mama?” Amelia shoves the phone up at her face.
Mom’s shoulders start shaking a second later, and all us guys groan in sync.
“Care to share with us? It’d make it a lot easier to know what we’re working with,” Levi asks before taking a giant bite out of a Granny Smith apple.
Trinity takes one for the team and reads out loud, voice thick with emotion, “You deserved protection, not control.”
“I should’ve noticed the way your smiles stopped reaching your eyes.” Amelia wipes her nose, sighing with her whole chest.
Lily stares at me from across the room, trying to see if I’m okay before reading, “I didn’t see they were breaking you. I’m sorry for not looking closer.”
When I look at the guys, not a drop of water appears to be in their eyes, so why the heck am I the only guy here trying to hold back a sniffle?
I nod casually, attempting to appear anything but flustered, but Lily sees through me.
She always does.
“It’s okay to feel sad,” she whispers in my ear from behind as I take a seat in the director’s chair in front of the vanity marked with my name. “You wouldn’t be human if you felt nothing.”
I grab her arms, which are around my neck, and my lips mark a kiss on one of her palms.
“I’m not sad,” I confirm, looking at her in the mirror. “I’m content, and if there were any tears, they would be happy ones.”
“And relieved ones.”
“And relieved ones,” I echo back.
The stadium lights dim, and for a second, there is only darkness.
Then three spotlights cut through the darkness, and the crowd explodes.
The roar is unlike anything I have ever heard. Hands reach toward the stage, lights from phones twinkle like stars, and chants of our band name pulse like thunder.
From the first note, the crowd moves as one with us, jumping, crying, shouting lyrics that sound more like prayers. Holding signs that I try to read.
You saved me.
This is more than music; it’s my home.
It’s not until the final set that I step forward, and everything slows down. The lights soften, and the huge screen behind us flashes old home videos—the three of us waddling in diapers with plastic guitars, us dancing on our old couch, us performing for our parents in our garage.
Gripping the mic, I’m suddenly overwhelmed, looking out at the sea of people chanting.
“This tour has always been more than just a show for us.” I gesture to my siblings, finding them just as emotional while taking in all the love the fans are pouring into us.
“It was our way of taking back what we loved, what our dream was when we first started posting on YouTube.”
Leonidas says, “Even though we fought battles that you didn’t see, being onstage and seeing a crowd this incredible”—the crowd roars—“reminded us why we kept on going.”
“Thank you for sticking with us.” Amelia laughs, holding back a sob. She grips the microphone like a lifeline. “We are so excited to start our new journey with you all.”
The crowd erupts again. A chant starts. “We love you! We love you!”
The last song comes on, the one we always close off with.
The wristbands light up, pulsing in time with the somber beat.
Arms rising to heaven and bodies swaying, the whole crowd sings with us, until we don’t know where we start and they end.
And when the confetti falls like rain from the ceiling—purple, pink, and green shimmering stars—my heart explodes in my chest.
My siblings and I stand together at the edge of the stage, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, eyes glassy.
We bow, creating a wave of cheers that pounds into my chest.
When I step offstage, with my guitar still slung over my shoulder, sweat clings to my skin. Adrenaline kicks in like a drug. The crew hoots and hollers. Some wipe tears, and others clap me on the back as I pass.
But I don’t care about any of it.
I’m looking for her.
And there she is. What a sight. She stands just past the curtain in a black maxi dress that shows she’s a goddess.
Her hands are clasped to her chest, like she’s trying to hold herself together, but the closer I get, the more I see the tears streaming down her face.
I hand my guitar to the next person in passing, and she opens her arms the moment before I crash into her.
I bury my face into her warm neck, and my breath is shaky against her skin.
“I’m so proud of you,” she whispers, voice cracking. “You did it.”
I hold her tighter, and her fingers weave into my damp hair at the back of my neck. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Lily Papas.”
“Yes, you could have,” she says softly, pulling back to look me in the eyes. “Because the little boy in you who loved to perform was still in there after all. He just needed someone to tell him he was going to be all right.”
My eyes brim with tears, the ones that I refused to let fall onstage. Not in front of the fans, the tabloids, and all the cameras.
But I don’t ever have to hide when I’m with her.
Cupping her damp cheeks, I claim her lips. Not because I think it’s needed for the moment, but because I need her.
My anchor, the butterfly flying through my dead flower garden all along.
Cheers from my siblings break us apart; they’re shouting, laughing, holding on to the high of the night.
I hear rapid footsteps, and the people that have been there for every mile of Hollywood appear, wearing bittersweet smiles. My band. My siblings.
They’re red-faced and just as breathless as I am. No words come to our minds at first, just heavy breathing, disbelief, and a couple pieces of stray confetti on the ground from the bottoms of our shoes.
Stepping forward, I hold a hand out.
One by one, my siblings place their hands over mine. No hesitation, just hands, tattooed with invisible ink of all our prayers, hopes, and dreams.
Three sets of eyes meet.
“One, two, three, Times Three!” we shout, our voices sounding like a war cry through the concrete hallway.
Throwing our hands in the air, we laugh and pull one another into a messy, sweaty group hug.