20. Wren
We’d had to change busses two separate times, once in Brainard and again in St. Cloud, but we were finally standing in line at the arena, tickets in hand, waiting to see the greatest band of all time, Black Kite.
“It’s fucking freezing,” Sabrina said, arms crossed over her chest as her teeth chattered.
February in Minnesota was no joke.
“We should have worn pants,” I agreed, my own words sounding stilted as my breath clouded in front of my face. “My fishnets are not winter compatible.”
“But we look hot as fuck,” she reasoned, and I had to agree.
We’d gone all out for the show, with our rock chick outfits completely on point. Sabrina wore a pair of pleather booty shorts, her long, toned legs on display in the biting cold. She’d paired it with a black t-shirt with a picture of a hand flipping the bird and a whole host of silver chains dangling around her neck. Her makeup was dark and sultry, and she looked like every bad boy’s wet dream.
I’d done my best, but with my wardrobe being much smaller than hers, my choices were limited. Somehow, I’d managed to assemble a great outfit consisting of the aforementioned fishnet stockings as well as a pleated plaid skirt and a set of suspenders over a Black Kite t-shirt that I’d modified with several well-placed tears in the sides and back. Sabrina and I had spent last night adding some chunky red streaks to my blonde hair, and I’d scrounged up a few of the leather bracelets I liked to make and a badass choker that I felt really tied the whole thing together.
All in all, I thought we looked great, and I couldn’t have been more excited.
Once we finally made it to the door and inside the venue—after being checked over thoroughly by security—Bri and I wandered around, scoping out the merch tables while she relentlessly flirted with all the hot guys we passed. I couldn’t believe the crowds; there were twice as many people in the arena as there were in the entire town of Grand Rapids, and the whole thing was a bit overwhelming.
“I wanna get a drink before we hike up to our seats,” Bri said, holding my hand as we wove through the ever-growing crowd of concert goers. “Once I get there, I do not intend to haul my ass back down unless I have to.”
Making our way to one of the concession stands, we joined the back of a stupidly long line, using the wait time to people watch and trying not to let our small-town show too much.
“Hey, you girls here together?” came a voice from behind us, and we turned to see a tall, muscular man looking down at us with an assessing eye.
“Yes,” Sabrina responded immediately. “And our huge, buff, and dangerous boyfriends will be right back, so you better leave us the hell alone.”
I blinked in shock at the quickness of her lie, but the guy just arched an eyebrow.
“Sure,” he said, looking around. “In the meantime, if you are interested, I have some pit passes for you.” He paused, then went on. “Not your boyfriends, though.”
“Holy shit,” Bri breathed, her hand reaching for the lanyards the guy was holding out. “Are these real?”
“They are,” he said. “And you’ve got ten seconds to decide if you want them before I move on to the next hot chicks I see. I ain’t got all night.”
“Fuck, yes, we want them,” Bri said with a squeal, taking them both and looping one over her neck before passing the other to me. “This is unbelievable!”
“What do these mean?” I asked, feeling like an idiot.
The guy rolled his eyes, but smiled lightly.
“They mean you get to go to the VIP pit on the floor. You get standing room only access up front.”
“Like, we’d be close to the stage?” I thought I was going to pass out. “No way!”
“Yes, way,” he replied mockingly, and I shot him a glare. I was excited; sue me. “You’ll be so close, the guys just might sweat on you.”
“This rules. Thanks, random grouchy guy, whose name I don’t know,” Sabrina said with a small salute, causing the guy to shake his head at her before he turned and walked away.
He’d only made it a few steps before he paused and turned back.
“The name’s Charlie. If you stick around the pit after the show, I might have something else for you, too.” He winked at her and vanished into the crowd.
“Oh, my god, Bri!” I said breathlessly as I slipped the lanyard over my head, admiring the badge proudly declaring us VIPs. Abandoning the drink line, we started making our way through the concourse, looking for the floor access. “I can’t fucking believe this!”
“The stars are aligning for us, babe,” she replied, wrapping her arm around my neck and pulling me close. “This is gonna be the greatest night of our lives.”
Once we made it to the pit entrance, we flashed our badges, nervously waiting to see if Charlie had been lying to us. But the security team manning the gate simply nodded and pulled back the chain, letting us through and into the bustling crowd. Looking around, I could see exactly what the guy had meant about looking for hot chicks. More than half the crowd was made up of ridiculously gorgeous girls in varying states of undress. As I stood there, taking in the worldly beauty and confidence of the other women, I self-consciously tugged at my skirt, wondering what the hell I’d been thinking, dressing like a slutty schoolgirl when I was anything but.
Sabrina caught me staring and elbowed me, shaking her head.
“Not tonight, woman,” she said knowingly. “Tonight, you are not going to feel anything but amazing. It was your birthday last week and we are here to celebrate. I will not have you disappearing into your head when your boy is about to be right fucking there!” Lifting her hand, she pointed to the stage that was literal feet from where we stood.
I swallowed, my throat suddenly excessively dry.
I was about to be in the same room as Hawk Jameson, and I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that information. My poor brain was still trying to process the fact that we’d even gotten our hands on our original nosebleed tickets. But now, here we were, down in the pit, close enough to freaking smell the band, and I was afraid I might actually lose my mind.
But the time to worry about that was past, because the lights of the arena started to dim and the crowd went wild, the roar deafening as twenty thousand screaming fans all joined in chorus, expressing their shared ecstasy over being at a Black Kite concert. I could feel their emotions, the noise of the crowd a physical thing as the sound vibrated along my skin, sending goosebumps up my arms and making my fingertips tingle.
Being there, in that arena, at that moment, was pure magic, and I reached for Sabrina’s hand, squeezing tight as the opening act took the stage. We danced and sang, jumping around like lunatics and reveling in the atmosphere that only a rock concert could provide. By the time the first act had cleared the stage, we were sweaty and thirsty and laughing our asses off. Fortunately, the party pit also had it’s own bar, and we were able to score two bottles of water without having to leave and face the crowds again.
“This is it, babe,” Sabrina said, whisper-shouting in my ear as the lights dimmed again, that living hum making its way through the arena and sliding over my skin like a whisper. A chant of Black Kite went up from the crowd, the whole place shaking as people clapped and stomped and shouted for the show to start.
The stage was dark when the first notes of the guitar rang out, the crowd instantly recognizing the song as Inter-dimensional, one of the band’s biggest hits off their first album. I couldn’t see Alex because the entire stage was still shrouded in darkness, but I could imagine him, legs apart, head down as he worked his fingers over the fretboard, the notes flowing effortlessly from his hands.
Shortly after, Gavin joined in, the heavy beat of his drums melding seamlessly with Alex’s guitar, and I could feel the smile that had taken over my face.
I was here. This was real.
Then it was Lewis, his bass complimenting the other two instruments and adding depth to the sound, and as the introduction portion of the song finished the lights came up and, suddenly, he was there.
The man I’d been writing to for years. The person I had shared my hopes and feelings with in a way that had sometimes seemed more like a journal entry than a conversation, one I’d needed more than I’d ever admit.
His lyrics had spoken to me on a level that was soul deep, and for the first time in my life, I laid eyes on my hero, a man who I worshiped with a passion that would be embarrassing if he ever knew the true depths of it.
Hawk Jameson.