1. - – Misha
CHAPTER ONE
-
MISHA
The roadies work quickly, setting up the amplifiers and speakers, piling them on top of each other into massive walls of black plastic and rubber that will pump out the noise that the band calls music. Beautiful noise it is, though.
Six years ago, my lovely little world turned dark with the diagnosis of my cancer, and I fell into a depression that overtook every fiber of my being.
But then, just two years ago, while listening to the radio during one of my chemo infusion appointments, I heard the music that would change my life forever and pull me from that darkness.
The melodic voice of Cary and the screaming sounds of Lucian’s Fender grabbed ahold of my heart, drew me in, and made me obsessed.
Then, when they came to Victoria here in Australia, and I got to meet them backstage, a final wish granted by a crowd-funded ticket purchase, I felt like my life was complete.
Cary asking me if I wanted to spend the last of my days touring with them, being their PR woman, and joining their little family was beyond anything I’d ever imagined, and it took me less than one of my tachycardic heartbeats to accept.
My quiet life of wasting away waiting to die changed in an instant as I was whisked away on their private jet with nothing but the clothes on my back and the Kindle under my arm.
To say it’s been all fun and games would be a lie.
I’m still dying and still being eaten alive from the inside out by the cancer, but their friendship, the music, and the traveling all make it so much easier to bear.
Shaking my head clear of the thoughts and memories of the past couple of years, I watch as the guys work and the stage sets up in record time.
My hand instinctively comes up to adjust the scarf on my bald head, making sure that it remains covered and the bright lights that are about to come on over the stage don’t glare off it like a disco ball.
The image of it in my mind makes me giggle, and that catches the attention of one of the roadies, Paul, who flashes me a sexy little knowing grin.
“You know, you don’t need to wear that thing around us.” He calls out from alongside a stack of speakers as he kicks them into place with his sneakered foot. “We all know, and no one cares.”
“What, that my head is smoother that a cue ball?” “What, that my head is smoother than a cue ball?” I laugh nervously, patting the scarf again just to make sure it’s where it needs to be.
“A cute ball. How about that?” He asks back, and immediately my pale cheeks blush as pink as my anemia will allow them.
“Ooohhh, is someone flirting with my Mish?” Cary asks as he struts around the equipment towards the stage to check his mics himself, even though they’re always done perfectly by the crew.
I’m in heaven being in the presence of the two beautiful men, and it makes me feel a little flustered and faint, like it always does.
Cary is his sexy, devilish self, in his leather pants, combat boots, and ripped t-shirt that shows off impressive, tattooed muscles.
Paul, on the other hand, is dressed more conservatively in the signature band shirt, nice black jeans, and canvas sneakers.
His bald head, that he keeps shaved smooth, looks just like mine, and the complete opposite of the long, luscious blonde locks on the band’s lead singer.
His tattoos, though, are just as impressive on his six-foot-three, sculpted body.
“Easy there, killer.” Cary chuckles to me as he walks back our way. “You drool anymore, and you’ll slip in it and fall.”
“Shut up.” I grunt at him, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, then slapping at him as he dances just out of reach. “He doesn’t know.”
“What, that you have the hots for him? We all know, baby!”
“Cary! Jesus, keep it down.”
“Misha and Paul, sitting in a tree…” Cary sings loudly as he gives a flamboyant twirl and heads out onto the stage again, this time to do his pre-performance little meditation under the bright lights.
From over my shoulder, I can see Paul looking at me, his blue eyes bright with mischief and humor, as Cary continues to quietly sing his little tune about Paul and me “k-i-s-s-i-n-g in a tree.”
“Great, well, now he definitely knows.” I sigh to myself, secretly thanking Cary for doing what I don’t have the balls to.
I’ve grabbed life by the proverbial horns since my diagnosis, trying to live each moment like it’s my last, because, well, it just might be.
Relationships, though, that’s not something I wanted to venture into.
What am I supposed to do, make a man fall in love with me, only to leave him in a few short months to a year? ” No way.
But as I ogle the tall, tattooed roadie, and watch his muscles flex under the black shirt with the flaming skeleton on it, the idea doesn’t seem so bad.
“Are we ready to rock?” Lucian says loudly to the other band members, Marcus and Derrick, as they approach from the hallway to the green rooms backstage.
He’s sex incarnate with his chestnut brown hair that’s finger-tussled and his jeans that hug every inch of his strong legs.
But it’s his eyes that I’m staring at, and as he comes over and gives me a chaste kiss on the forehead, they almost seem to burn into me with their bright amber color that makes them look ablaze.
“Let’s rock and roll.” Marcus, the drummer with thick black tribal tattoos on his huge arms, says as he twirls a drumstick between his fingers and swats my ass in passing. “I wanna get this set done so Viv and I can get back to what we were doing.”
“You mean to tell me you weren’t done yet?” Derrick asks him, stopping next to me to give me a warm and comfortable hug before continuing on to where Cary stands in the middle of the stage, his arms extended like he’s been crucified on a cross. “Damn boy, how long can you fuck without finishing?”
“Forever, baby.” Marcus says, sticking out his tongue and flicking it like a horny reptile.
To see all four of the men, who have become my boys, strut out onto the stage under the bright lights is even better than a dream come true, and something that I never would have expected.
And now I get to experience it three out of seven days a week, eleven out of twelve months a year, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
“They love you more than anything, you know that, right?” Paul asks me, leaning over my shoulder, his lips precariously close to my ear, his breath wafting over my skin.
“I’ve been with them since their first show, barely out of Lucian’s father’s garage, and they’ve never taken to an outsider like they took to you. ”
“Yeah.” I sigh, tilting my head towards him, resting my covered skull on his shoulder. “I love them too, for giving me a life worth missing.”
“Don’t think that way. There’s always hope as long as you’re still breathing.”
I wish I had his optimism, and frankly, that’s one of the things that makes him so damn fine. He’s always looking on the bright side, even when everything is dark.
“You’re right.” I say, faking being okay, badly at that, but he accepts it and leaves me to stand on the sidelines watching my boys run through their first practice set while he goes back to perfecting their sound through the equipment.
The sound of Cary’s voice through the microphone sends chills through me, making goosebumps rise on my arms, and I rub them up and down, warming them up as he makes his way to the bridge of “Run”.
“Run baby…run from me…don’t look back…I’m coming for you, and if I catch you…” He wails, his body bending backwards, his hand tightly holding the mic, as the next three words escape his lips, making me shiver, “I fuck you…”
The band plays as amazingly as if the seats were full of their screaming fans, and I lose myself to the music, letting the beat of Marcus’s drum change my heartbeat, slowing it down to the rhythm he creates, that they all follow, including me.
“I do love you.” I whisper under my breath. “All of you.”
I should be walking away and going back to the tour bus to work on marketing ideas.
I can't leave them, though; I have never been able to walk away when they're creating the magic of their music. So instead of turning my back to them and doing my job, I stand there and watch every move of Lucian’s fingers up and down the frets of his guitar, every twitch of Cary’s lips, and every swing of Marcus’s arms as they prepare for the show that should begin in less than two hours.
Knowing that they would prefer me enjoying myself watching them instead of working puts a huge grin on my face, and my feet melt to the floor, cementing me in place until the last vibrato of Lucian’s guitar settles and the arena once again becomes quiet.
“The calm before the storm.” Paul chuckles, passing by me, resting his hand on my shoulder for a split second before he walks out to the stage to make any last adjustments the boys need.
“I fucking love my job.” I say to myself, finally leaving where I’ve been anchored to get some actual work done before the proverbial curtain goes up and the thousands of fans go wild.