Chapter Twenty
Scarlett
“Let me be, set me free”
Set after set, note after note…
Deep exhale.
Hold your breath.
Look away. Look away.
I never got over it, you know. It never got easier.
How can you watch the essence of raw talent and flinch?
It was fable to me, the way that a singular individual could possess so much, too much, and touch the world with all that he had.
His vocals, his music – the way he could capture a room the second he stepped on stage, as if the planet itself stopped spinning and all that remained were your heart and his.
Among the thousands in the crowd, it felt intimate, hearing Ryden sing. Personal.
“It’s the catalyst that brought me, to the place I’m meant to be –
The catalyst that allowed me to see!”
My heart sang with him.
Truth be told, I never liked music.
It was Ryden who taught me the beauty of sound.
The concept was as foreign as love, and even then, I was still trying to navigate the roadmap on how to understand it.
It was never music in my house, just… noise.
“This is how you drown it out!” Flack. “This bottle. This bottle, Violet!”
“Cut the noise, my show is on!” Sinead. She wasn’t watching anything. Unless you count the TV in her head.
Noise was never meant to be beautiful, it was never meant to be anything but a warning.
Where sound emanated, danger followed.
It was a breeding ground for my… whatever they were.
My parents hated noise.
And they made the most.
But rock stars like my Ryden, as Bono said –
Rock stars are good at making noise.
***
Ryden performed his usual set:
Vagabond, Catalyst, Snowfall, Fight It (a personal favourite of mine), Ignorance, Pots and Plants (hate this one… hit too close to home), Harley, Protect me, Rain and Sun, and The Wind Can’t Help you.
His closer was always the title of his tour – See you at Sundown. The team advised he start out with it, but Ryden did what he wanted (as I encouraged him to), and he was better off for it.
You’re the talent, I always told him, you hold the power to your voice. No one else.
It’s easy to say that to a rock star.
It’s harder to believe it otherwise.
“Thank you, thank you! I love you New York! My home! My people! My fuc –”
Ryden was cut off by Mallory. “NO SWEARING ON STAGE!”
Morty glanced behind me, chuckling. I smirked. What a dumbass.
“It’s soundcheck!” He called back, sweat plastering his forehead. “Just running it like I normally would!”
“Well maybe jog, don’t run!” Tav said, but he too had a smile on his face. “Alrighty folks, let’s wrap it up for the event tonight –”
“Wait,” Ryden spoke into his mic, holding up a hand. “I’ve got one more.”
Tav and Mallory looked down at their set lists, ruffling papers. I leaned back in confusion, scrolling through my text convos with Ryden. He didn’t say anything about a new song? I mean, he mentioned that he was working on something with the guys at brunch but…
When I looked up, the rest of the band looked out of place, dropping their instruments to talk to Ryden.
Huh?
“We never – he never told us anything,” Mallory fretted because that’s what Mallory does, “Did you know about this?” She turned to me, eyes wide.
I paused while looking at her, hair as frantic as her concern. Before I could say anything, the lights dropped to a dim grey, painting the concert hall in shadows.
Ryden took the centre stage, just Ryden, and for a moment he was all I could see.
Hair ragged over his eyes, fingers strumming his guitar like I’d seen him do a million times before, only he was alone.
Entirely alone.
…
“He needs to run this by us! What if it attracts bad press? What’s going to come out of his mouth, Tav? What if…”
Mallory’s worries trailed off as Ryden began to sing.
No.
Began to confess.
This wasn’t a set for the crowd. This song wasn’t meant for the audience.
This was a personal promise he made to himself, to me, all those years ago –
This was his diary.
And when he glanced up from the guitar, eagle eyes honing in on mine, I knew –
I fucking knew.
This song was a tribute to us.