53. NOAH
Chapter fifty-three
Feedback cuts through the air as another band wraps up their set. That makes five down. Two left before we hit the stage.
My eyes finding Roxanne is as instinctive as breathing as I lean against a shadowed wall near the stage, arms crossed. I watch her through the crowd, where she’s still holding court by the front exit with Stephanie and Tyler. Her dark head falls back in a deep laugh, and the memories of what we once were start trying to break through the brick wall at my back.
She looks so much more beautiful than the last time I’d laid eyes on her. More deadly and dangerous. A riptide of a girl, too passionate and stubborn and alive for her own damn good. I'm just debris now, my lighthouse gone dark, another shipwreck rotting on the ocean floor while she rages above.
Our moment outside is still on my mind. I can’t shake the look in her wide eyes when she literally spilled at my feet. But Roxanne didn’t back down. She never does. She held her ground, more proud and vicious than any rockstar.
If there is a God, they sure as shit granted me that little moment to play with her. And I’m certain from the heat in those eyes that they followed me even as I walked away.
It’s been some long, bleak months since her smile held anything but emptiness aimed my way, contrary to the fucking devotion she sprouted in my chest. That devotion’s still there, and it’s ready to come out tonight. The vines are craving for the sun, but only from the ones I can get from her eyes.
I glance back over to see a dimple popping out as she shoves Tyler over something he said. My fingers twitch with the muscle memory of how perfectly her hand once fit against my palm. The same hand that used to be able to press into those damn dimples.
“Yo, Noah!” Cody jostles my shoulder, forcing me upright. “We’re up after this next set, man. Let’s grab the rest of the gear.” His radioactive-green mohawk still makes me roll my eyes with a grin every time I see it.
I nod, pushing my fingers through my already sweaty hair as I follow Cody down the hall and out the back door. My mind stays at that brick wall, stuck on black eyeliner and smooth pale skin hidden under ripped fishnets. This battle’s about more than some prize tonight.
Roxanne’s here, and she’ll be watching.
Listening .
My plan is to remind her of everything we were before we became so angry at our parents, at life and losing, that our dark sides took over. Everything that she still is to me, everything that she does to me. The song the guys and I have slaved over for weeks will lay my unfinished business at her Doc Martened feet and, If I’m really lucky, bring her back to me for good.
We haul the rest of the equipment out of Cody’s beat-to-shit van, its fuzzy black interior shedding on everything we touch. We pass gear down the line like a human conveyor belt, amps, pedals, a nest of tangled cords.
“We’ve gotta stop letting Levi pack the van,” I grumble, yanking on a particularly stubborn knot. “Pretty sure he does this shit on purpose.”
Cody snorts, his mohawk quivering. “It's payback for that time we Saran wrapped his skateboard to the ceiling.”
“That was your bright idea,” I retort, finally freeing the cord with a sharp tug. “I provided the saran wrap.”
“And the duct tape. And the ladder.”
I heft an amp into my arms, passing it off. “Point is, we’re even now. No more pranks, at least until after the show.”
“I gotta say, you’ve turned into a real hardass during practice. Showing up before the rest of us are even awake, already warmed up and bitching if we’re not tight as hell on every song.” Cody shakes his head, a grudging smile on his face. “Now no more pranks.”
I duck my head, scratching at the back of my neck. “Yeah, guess I have been kind of a tyrant these past few weeks.”
It’s true, though. Roxy’s rubbed off on me and turned me into her mini-me when it comes to rehearsals.
I can’t help it. Tonight has to be absolutely fucking flawless . This is my one shot.
My only shot. My last shot.
Jada sidles up to me with a teasing grin, his long black hair pulled back in its signature messy bun. “Look at our little Noah, all grown up! You know this song’s gonna be pure fire, right? Iron Fillings is back, baby!” He holds up his fist, which I meet with a solid bump.
After I picked the song we’re going to perform, Jada leaped at the chance to switch to keys when I asked, since the piano parts are crucial. With Eden sticking around on lead guitar even after Riley bounced, the whole crew’s been surprisingly supportive of my artistic vision. They’re cool with everything I wanted to be done with the song, and my other conditions.
I think they’re just stoked to see me stepping up and grabbing the reins for once.
Shit, even I’m a little surprised.
None of them have an inkling why I chose this particular song, or what it really means deep down. It’s not their business, even if they are performing it and Eden keeps shooting me these annoyingly perceptive looks like she has a guess who all of this is about.
I need to make a reminder to thank her later for not trying to directly pry any Roxanne related intel out of me. That girl’s got a knack for reading between the lines, I’ll give her that.
After I chuck the last tangled mess of cords down to Ian, Cody slams the van doors shut with a clang. “That’s it, compadres! Let’s head back inside and blow the goddamn roof off this place!” He leaps onto Jada’s back, howling up at the moon with his hands cupped around his mouth.
I laugh as I slump against the van, wound so fucking tight that I need a second to myself. The acid in my gut has been swirling like a flush with all this pent-up energy, this heightened sense that anything can happen once those stage lights hit—all things I’ve missed so much.
Usually, I’d be pounding a beer or smoking to take the edge off before a gig. Except tonight, I want to feel everything with clarity, no numbing filter. I want my senses sharp, and my throat primed and ready to tear into that mic.
Sometimes it’s hard to be confident and vulnerable up on that stage while stone cold sober. There are too many chances to freak yourself out, to fuck up a song, or for the tough guy mask to fall. For Roxy though, I need to lay it all out on the line tonight.
Broken bits and all.
Out of the corner of my eye, a rock comes skittering my way, but I’m too distracted watching a couple of drunk dudes start slap fighting in the alleyway to pay it much mind.
At least, until a voice jars me out of my thoughts.
“Nojo!”
I jerk my head to the left to see Daniel heading my way, his bass guitar in his hand. He’s decked out in rocker chic getup, and I fold my lips against my teeth to hold back the laugh building it’s way up. His black hair isn’t hidden by a hat for once, and the sides are smoothed back behind his ears. Hell, he even traded in his Vans for a pair of black boots.
Okay, I have to grin now. He must have gotten some kind of “dress to impress” memo from Roxanne. She always did have a thing for visual coordination.
“Hey, cutie.” I reach out to bump his offered fist. “You look smashing.”
“Edgy yet refined were Stephanie’s exact words.” He leans against the van beside me, shaking his head with a smile. “Not sure I’m pulling it off, but at least I found some boots with a little lift. Maybe I won’t look like such a pipsqueak up there.” Daniel tips his head back against the van, exhaling an exaggerated sigh. “The things I do for that woman, I swear.”
“You’re definitely going to get lucky tonight,” I rib, wagging my eyebrows. “I bet she’s dying to jump your bones the second she sees you all gussied up like a regular Bon Jovi.”
A shout rings out and we both turn to watch the same drunk people tussling in the alley, slapping and throwing fists followed by wheezing laughter.
I bump Daniel’s shoulder with mine. “You nervous?”
He blows out a breath, fiddling with the strap of his bass. “Nervous? Nah, man, I’m straight up terrified. I’m playing in front of the whole town—what if the crowd turns on me? What if I make a fool of myself? What if I choke? What if I forget the changes, or my amp blows, or—” He rakes his hands through his hair, his eyes wide and wild. “And I’m about to get up there and try to keep up with Roxy? What the hell was I thinking?”
I squeeze his shoulder, ducking my head to meet his eyes. “Listen, you’re going to kill it. I’ve heard you play before and you’ll be tighter than a nun’s asshole up there.”
Daniel busts out laughing and shoves at me. “That’s one of the nastiest things I’ve ever heard, but you know what? I appreciate that.”
“Good. Now think of that image when you’re on stage and you’ll be fine.”
Another shout carries over from the alleyway’s direction, a loud, slurred, “She’s not even that hot!” and both Daniel and I start laughing.
“Man, this scene never changes,” I sigh, smiling over at him. “Seriously though, you’re gonna have fun. Roxy wouldn’t have asked you to play with her if she didn’t believe in you.”
He nods, taking a deep breath. “Man, you don’t know how much I needed to hear that right now. I don’t want to let her down.”
“Trust me, I get it, but it’s not gonna happen.” My gaze drifts back toward the sticker covered door, toward the girl who’s been disrupting my every waking thought for months. “I know you’re pissing your pants, but I’ll be out there too, cheering you on.”
“You always have my back, no doubt.” Daniel smacks at my shoulder as he glances down the alley, clearly trying to see what’s got me held back from going inside. “But it’s not only my approval on the line tonight. You really think this grand plan of yours is gonna work?”
I inhale a tight breath, scrubbing a hand down my face. God, I fucking hope so.
“I have no fucking clue. But right now, all you need to focus on is you going out there and doing your thing.”
Even knowing she’s behind that door, I can imagine her laugh drifting into the air, so bright and infectious. She’s in there right now, chewing on her necklace as the lineup makes its way down, with her hair tossed over her shoulder and her fingers fiddling with her bracelets. The best part is, she can’t do a damn thing to stop me from watching her when she takes the stage.
“Fair enough, but I’m rooting for you crazy kids.” Daniel nudges me with his elbow. “Don’t forget about your boy once you’re all loved up again, alright?”
“I won’t,” I assure him. “Face it, D-bone, you’re always gonna be my number one fan. We’ll still be skating in the retirement home together.”
We both crack up, the tense knot in my gut loosening a bit. It feels good to have Daniel in my corner, to know that at least one person gets what’s really on the line for me tonight.
I’m gonna miss this fucker when he leaves in two weeks.
“Hell yeah.” He grins, laying a hand on my back. “You got the goods?”
“Right here.” I dig into my pocket and hold my hand up in the air, showing him the folded up piece of paper. “Thanks for agreeing to do this, by the way. Means a lot.”
There is no ultimate plan unless Daniel is involved.
“Hey, no sweat. You know I love being part of your crazy schemes.” He flashes me a smile, slapping his palm against mine and tucking the paper in his jeans. “Now go get your girl back, and I’ll take all the credit for being the ultimate wingman.”
The crackle of the announcer’s mic cuts through when someone shoves out the door for a smoke break, signaling that it’s time for the next band to take the stage.
My band.
“Thanks for the pep talk.” He shoots me a big, dopey grin, flipping his lucky pick between his fingers. “No matter how it goes tonight, I’m gonna come find you for a drink later. We’ll celebrate or pour one out together. It’s going to be one of the best nights either way. Or maybe one of the worst. Still, though, I’m gonna drink. So if you can’t find me, I probably passed out in somebody’s front yard. Keep your eyes peeled for my ass, yeah?”
“Always.” We rip through our secret handshake, the one we invented back when we were 16 and thought we were the coolest shits since sliced bread. It ends with us slapping each other’s elbows, because why the hell not? “Now get going. I don’t wanna see your ugly face again until the show is over.”
“You know I hate it when you call me ugly,” Daniel sniffs, but his eyes are bright with wild laughter. He yanks me into a crushing hug, pounding me on the back. “Love you, man. Go break a heart.”
“Love you too.” I squeeze him back hard, those sick nerves vanishing like water off a duck’s back.
This is what I always missed about being in a band—playing live. It was everything right about life. A good dose of adrenaline directly in the heart, the excitement to see people losing their shit right along with you, and feeling completely alive again.
We break apart, and I give my best friend a pat on the head as he squares up. “Give ’em fucking hell, man. Eye of the tiger.”
“You know it,” he hollers back over his shoulder, flashing me one last Daniel sized grin. “No matter what pops off tonight, you are still my pond brother for life!”
With a peace sign thrown my way, Daniel shoots off past the slap fight still happening and disappears through the stage door. Through the backstage walls, I hear the crowd’s screams and cheers rising and rising.
Showtime, motherfuckers.
I take a deep breath as I grip the handle of the back door, my body turning into a giant ball of vibrating scribbles and I’m not even on the damn stage yet. The door creaks open and I walk down the hallway beyond where I spot Eden with her cherry red Gibson slung across her back, Ian bouncing on the balls of his feet while his drumsticks twirl wildly at his sides, and Jada and Cody horsing around with Cody’s bass held out like some sword.
Deafening applause and wolf-whistles erupt the second someone walks up the stage and approaches the mic. Ian waves me over to the stairs leading up to the stage and I force a swallow past the desert that’s taken up residence in my mouth.
Fuck, I’m a wreck. And maybe achingly vulnerable, guts spilling everywhere, with a hundred pairs of eyes about to watch me do what I’m about to do.
“This is fucking it! Let’s go show 'em what we got!” Ian shouts, pounding a fist against the wall.
My mouth goes even drier. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.
Well, fuck. Here we go.
“Alright folks, coming to the stage next we’ve got Iron Fillings!” the MC bellows, and the crowd erupts as my bandmates run up onto the small stage, scrambling to get their gear plugged in and pedals chained up.
I stay down at the end of the staircase until they’re all locked and loaded, watching Eden pull her guitar out from under her arm, adjusting it to the front of her chest underneath the brightness of the stage lights. Each waiting second makes my heart skip up these steps, scared of what happens when I get up there, scared that Roxanne will take one look at my face and storm out of this building.
What if I ruin her whole night and she won’t even give me a chance to explain?
But even though I’m cracking myself wide open for love and risking earning more calluses over my feelings, I’m no goddamn chickenshit.
When Jada jerks his chin at me, telling me to get my ass up here, I roll my shoulders back and carry myself up the stairs, joining them all as I take my rightful place at the central mic stand. I’m too fucking scared to turn around, so I briefly meet the glowing eyes of each member, before finally facing the shadowy eyes of the crowd.
Goddamn, I feel stripped naked and spread-eagle up here.
I turn my chin over my shoulder, catching Ian’s crazy eyes where he’s all poised like a coiled snake behind his kit. I edge up to the mic, and on my quick wink, he clacks his sticks together four times.
I have a plan. I’m not sure these words of wisdom from Roxanne were meant to hit me so deep back then, but her message has stuck with me ever since.
Well, that’s easy. Just tell them. Just say the words.
Any words will do.
Just speak from that tangle of feelings inside.
That’s all she’ll want from you.
I’ve never good with words, so I’m going to let someone else tell her for me.
On perfect cue, we launch into our rendition of Angel by Aerosmith, Eden’s fingers plucking out that intro as Ian’s bass drum thumps out. Pure, uncut euphoria rushes through my fucking veins as I grip the microphone with both hands and my voice starts to growl out the opening line. The band molds seamlessly to my voice like we’ve practiced every single Saturday.
This is it. My love letter in the language Roxanne and I know best.
Silently, I will her dark stare to find mine from across the moving pit of bodies. To get those eyes to cut through the dark and turn on her light for me, to guide me to shore as I pour out my fucking heart under the stage light, admitting through lyrics what my damn foolish pride never allowed me to say to her face all those months ago. What three simple words this song is begging for her to still hear.
The crowd is already a wave of energy, moving in time with us. I pause, eyes shut and my smile manic as I throw my head back to take a breath. My fingers trace slowly down the mic stand, pretending it’s her body, before flying back up to grip either side. I press my lips against the metal, voice raw with the salt spray of emotion as I get into the chorus.
I force my eyes open, terrified to look but even more scared not to.
When I do, that’s when I find her.
My angel’s dark lined eyes meet mine from the back center of the crowd. The noise and lights and other faces blur out until only she exists. I see the comprehension flood her features as every cell in my body strains to make her understand—eyes wide and dumbstruck, lips parted slightly, that cute little furrow between her brows that appears when she’s feeling too much.
She knows damn well what I’m doing.
Keeping my eyes on her, I let the music take me, the emotion flowing through me and out to her like an invisible string connecting us together. My body starts moving on its own as I roam the lip of the stage, urgency and desire bleeding into every fucking inflection like I slit a vein, not looking away from my 'we’re-just-friends-friend.' I’m singing to Roxanne and Roxanne alone, and I know my message is received as loud and clear as a foghorn cutting through the mist.
My fucking angel, as dangerous and beautiful as a gathering storm on the horizon. She blew into my damn world as easy as a hurricane, turning everything upside down with her penny flips and lightning smiles. Roxanne was a clap of thunder shaking me awake, and I’m not about to let her slip away this easily.
I’m ripped bare under the burning spotlight glare, memories flowing through my mind: times spent together on the back of my bike in the rain, her breathless laughter ringing out clearer than any song as she held out her hands to catch the drops. The way she grabbed my hand and forced me to do the same, her dark hair flying behind her, face upturned with unrestrained joy to drink in the downpour.
While the rest of the world ran for cover, we ran for open skies.
The crowd is a crashing tide at my feet, but Roxanne hasn’t moved. My smile turns wistful around the words as I watch that soft shade stain her cheeks, the one I know only I can bring out of her fair skin. It’s as easy as if the lights hitting her are my fingers tracing down her neck.
I never gave that much of a shit about the color red before Roxanne. Now it’s all I see. It’s in the way her cheeks flush when I catch her staring, in the color of her lips when she bites them nervously, in the fire of her eyes when she’s pissed at me. It’s become my favorite fucking color in the world.
Seeing her shift restlessly, still processing what's happening, sends a visceral thrill through me. Especially when she tilts her chin down, those expressive eyebrows of hers tugging upward in disbelief. Her eyes cling to me as I walk the length of the stage, guiding the mic stand with me. One hand grips the top, fingers sliding up, down, and around the shaft, while the other holds the microphone close to my lips.
From my spot on the stage, the first bead of sweat tracks down my sternum, and my vocals fly out even stronger than before with so much goddamn emotion. My eyes scan over the crowd spread before me like a blurry mural of faces, until they land on Phillips down at the front shaking a flower at me to take.
I hate him, but it doesn’t show when the heavy rhythm of the bass hits my bones and the vibrations rearrange my smile as I reach out to take the daisy. I stick the stem between my teeth, toss my head back, shake out my hair that’s sticky with sweat, and suck in a deep breath as I set the stand aside, and rip the microphone free when Eden’s fingers start tearing through the solo.
I vault off the front edge of the stage. The crowd instantly swallows me in grasping hands and moshing bodies. Grimy palms slap against my back, fingers plucking at my vest as I cut a path through the pit, toward where I’d last glimpsed my daisy in the dark.
Finally, the bodies part. And there she fucking stands, planted like a goddess in denim cutoffs over fishnets, boots braced wide, arms crossed over her chest. The floodlights in here turn her defiant eyes into the pines that ring our town.
As I drift closer through the smoke and noise, I see beyond Bellpond’s borders in those eyes—all the places she dreams of going, all the things she plans to become, every goddamn beautiful thing she’s meant to be.
Without breaking our connection, I pluck the flower from my teeth and raise the mic to my lips, my voice washing over the lyrics like rain on windows meant only for her.
It’s always for her.
Bass lines and her friends standing next to her fade away until the two of us are left standing. The same as Bell and Pond.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from those two, it’s that love is always worth fighting for.
I step nearer until only a drop of water could separate us, and I know down to my bones that I’d wade through hell and back for this girl. Her lips part as I tuck the flower between her crossed arms, the white petals so vivid against her black top, and I don’t stop singing for her. My lungs are on fire, sweat stinging my eyes, but I don’t dare look away.
Everything around me is a meaningless void compared to the electricity cracking between our bodies that has the ability to power the whole fucking town. We were always two positive and negative charges destined to collide in a storm of passion and brief pain. Nothing can touch us here.
Except the grasping hands that latch around my shoulders and drag me back into the crowd. I retreat slowly— reluctantly —our eye contact stretching taut for a lyric longer.
Right before the crowd can swallow me up, I shoot Roxanne a wink, a promise that we’ll be picking up where we left off. And damn fucking soon.
The audience buoys me up, and I ride their shoulders while a hundred hands bring me back toward the stage to finish our set. I throw back my head, howling the lyrics even as I fight to keep my balance on top of the waves of hands, until a giant tattooed arm boosts me back onto the stage.
I land hard on the balls of my feet, shoving sweaty curls from my eyes as I grab the mic stand to steady myself. Grinning, I do a dramatic spin to reconnect with my muse across the sea of pumping fists.
At the right lyrical cue, I sink to my knees, raw longing carved into every line of my face. One hand slides down the length of the stand while the other grips my chrome beacon as I pour every fucking last drop of my need for her through the microphone.
The crowd screams like it’s the end of days, but for me, there is only Roxanne and the way her eyes are shining now—not with tears, but something else. Something that looks a hell of a lot like The Cat Skull’s bathroom stall all over again. The kind of wild thing we had from the start.
The final notes ring out in a bittersweet cry. I hold my position, trembling head to fucking toe and breathing hard, refusing to break yet. I want those mossy eyes on me for as long as I can have them. I need her to understand this performance, this song... It’s all for her.
It’s my confession that I will always see her light up my cold fucking existence like no one else ever could. She has to know that we’re two beaten down and busted up souls that belong together.
We are a match that was created in the same hot flames of heartache, desperation, and really fucking good music. And if she is deaf to those signals, well…
I have another plan up my sleeve.
Phase one complete.