23
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It was standing room only, and a thrill of anticipation ran through the crowd, the buzz of thousands of voices a little louder than normal, nervous twitches and fidgeting more pronounced.
Those who got in line early that afternoon stood in front of the stage, casting occasional glances at the road crew who were swarming over the shadowed structure in a businesslike fashion.
Here and there inflated beach balls which had been smuggled in past security bounced over the heads of the capacity crowd, like agitated bees flitting from bloom to bloom.
Despite the ban on smoking in the arena, smoke was already thick around the high ceiling, and every now and then a fleeting whiff of marijuana wafted through, its harsh, almost sweet fragrance tickling the noses of those it passed.
The fans who elected not to buy General Admission tickets roamed the bleacher sections, in no particular hurry to claim their seats.
They were there to rock and roll, and once Illicit took the stage no one would be sitting down anyway.
For now, they were content to wander from group to group, listening to the recorded music that poured from the towering stacks of amps on the stage, and avoiding the security detail hired to police the concert.
Before they left the backstage area, Sara warned Rhett they'd be seated in the audience and not in the special VIP area that was roped off to the side of the stage.
"I hate sitting there," Sara said with a twist of her mouth.
"Besides family and a few friends, it's always full of celebrities and models and people all trying to act jaded and above it all.
The energy level there is below zero, and besides, you can't see shit.
We're going to go out with the people who really want to see Illicit and not just be seen seeing Illicit, if you know what I mean. "
Now seated in the first row of Section 21 to the left of the stage, Rhett attempted to emulate Sara's behavior but wasn't having much luck.
The redhead was slumped in her seat with her feet propped on the rail in front of her, and she appeared to be fast asleep.
There was no way Rhett was going to close her eyes and miss anything, but she did her best to sit still and not fidget.
She rubbed her fingers over the soft cotton of her shirt, under which rested her laminated pass. Before entering the main arena after Unsweet Tart, the opening band, finished its set, Sara pulled her to a stop and told her to tuck the pass out of sight.
"Don't let anyone out there know you have it, or that you're associated with the band in any way, shape or form," Sara warned.
"Otherwise, you'll be surrounded in no time by people claiming to be your best friend and trying to get backstage, or someone'll jerk that thing off your neck and be gone with it before you can move. "
Rhett was sure that anyone attempting to swipe her pass would be left with a bloody stump where their arm used to be, but she tucked it under her shirt anyway.
Next to her, Sara shifted in her seat and sighed.
"Are you really asleep?" Rhett asked.
"No, just catnapping." Sara opened her eyes a slit and smiled. "It's just that Ro—" She covered her mouth and pretended to cough. "My husband and I have such different schedules, and when I'm able to catch up with him, I never do get used to the late nights before I have to go back home."
"Have long have y'all been married?" While Rhett had been a rabid Illicit fan since her teens, the majority of her obsession had been centered on Rhys. She knew who the other members were, of course, but never bothered with any information other than their names and the instruments they played.
Sara smiled. "Twenty-eight years, can you believe it? We both grew up in Melroy, Alabama, this teeny-tiny little place that's barely on the map, so we've known each other our whole lives. We didn't get married until we were in college, though."
"So, you've been there since the very beginning." Rhett glanced at the stage to make sure Sara knew what she meant.
"Sure have." She rolled her neck and sat up a bit straighter. "It's been a wild ride, but I love it." Before Rhett could reply, Sara lifted her head like an animal scenting the wind. "Here we go."
Confused, Rhett looked toward the stage.
The road crew was gone, and she saw nothing except David's drum kit, towering stacks of amplifiers, and an enormous backdrop depicting the same photo that was on her pass, minus the writing.
Except for the stage, all the lights were still on. She turned to Sara for clarification.
"What do you mean?"
"This song. It's the one they play just before they go on."
Rhett listened a moment. The song was vaguely familiar, but what did it have to do with Illicit?
"This isn't one of their songs, is it?"
Sara shook her head. "No, it's 'Still Running' by Chevelle. Just hold your horses. You'll see in just a—"
Right in the middle of Sara's sentence, they were plunged into darkness as the house lights went out, and seventeen thousand people promptly lost their minds.
Rhett and Sara jumped to their feet with everyone else and added their voices to the cheers and screams reverberating around the arena and almost drowning out the music.
Two pinpricks of light appeared at the back of the stage, and Rhett realized they were the headlights on the Lamborghini.
They grew brighter and larger, making it appear as if the car was speeding toward the front of the stage.
Just as they were almost too bright to look at directly, the song cut off, overlaid with the sound of screeching brakes and crumpling metal.
Then the distinctive, smoky voice of Rhys James sang the two title words of the Chevelle song into the silence.
His voice was still echoing through the speakers when twin columns of flame erupted into the air on either side at the back of the stage. The powerful stage lights blazed on, illuminating Illicit who roared into their own "Exceeding the Speed Limit."
Adrenaline shot through Rhett's body and left her heart pounding and her skin tingling.
"Ohmygod," she yelled, even though she couldn't hear her own voice over the bombast of music.
"Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!" She realized she was jumping up and down like an idiot, and stopped, her hands clapped over her mouth in mortification.
Sara's arm came around Rhett's shoulders. "You go right ahead and let that fangirl out, sweetie," she yelled into Rhett's ear. "That gorgeous man right there is yours, so just cut loose and enjoy it."
Laughing, Rhett realized Sara was right. This was no time to hold back. She raised her arms above her head and let out a long and protracted "Woooo!" the universal rock 'n roll sound for extreme approval.
Yes, that man on the stage was hers, but he was Rhys times ten.
Her hungry gaze swept him from head to toe, taking in every detail.
His skintight black leather pants were so low-slung that there were a good three inches between the waistband and the hem of his white T-shirt.
Or what was left of his T-shirt. It looked like he'd taken a pair of scissors to it, removing the collar and sleeves, and slicing open the side seams almost to the bottom.
Rhett pressed her lips tight at the sight of his flat stomach, and the teasing peeks of his firm obliques through the slits in his shirt.
But it wasn't the clothes that made her unable to take her eyes from him.
He was just so there, and for the first time she understood the phrase "larger than life.
" Everything she found so familiar seemed to be amplified by a thousand.
His smile more charming, doubly naughty, the swagger as he strode across the stage more pronounced, his hair appearing lusher with rays of actual sunlight among the flowing strands.
And the way he teased the crowd with just the movements of his body had them smashing themselves against the security barricade, desperate to get closer to him.
The band kept the energy level high and played cuts from the new album interspersed with old favorites. About forty-five minutes in, though, there was a definite shift in the feel of the show, almost like they were going to take a break although no one left the stage.
Sara leaned forward in anticipation. "This must be what Ross was talking about. I can't wait to hear this."
Before Rhett could reply, Rhys shook his hair back and smiled at the crowd.
"Ready for something a bit different, then?"
Rhett couldn't help but grin. She noticed that his British accent, softened by his years in the States, had been back in full force since the concert began. She didn't know if he was doing it on purpose, or if the lights and the atmosphere just brought it out of him.
After the roar of affirmation from the crowd died down a little, he nodded. "Right. So, like most musicians, all of us got our start in what are usually called Garage Bands."
"Dude." Drew spoke into his own mic. "It's pronounced ga-RAHGE, not GERE-uj."
"Yeah? Suck my dick," Rhys responded. Immediately every female at T.D. Garden screamed her willingness to accommodate him. Grinning, he pushed his hair back. "Really?" After more screaming assent, he shrugged and beckoned with one hand. "Come on, then."
"Shit, security is gonna kill him," Sara said, her voice full of laughter. But Rhett hardly heard her, because while Rhys might have been grinning out at the crowd, his beckoning hand was aimed at the section in which she sat. Come on, then indeed. She couldn't wait to take him up on that offer.
While the security detail lined up in front of the stage was busy pushing back those girls who decided Rhys was serious, he continued talking, ignoring the commotion below him.