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Chapter Thirty-Four
Levi
Labor Day Weekend
The lights are hot as I step up to the mic, my guitar hanging against my chest like an extension of my body. We’ve been playing at Lucky’s tonight, our first gig since the fire. Considering I fell through the floor and landed in a concrete basement, I had no major injuries except a few lacerations and smoke inhalation.
Tuck hadn’t quite been so lucky. When we fell, he landed hard on his right leg, busting it clean below the knee. Surgery was able to repair the damage, but my man is gonna be down for a while. Six to eight weeks until the cast can come off, but he’s here tonight, sitting at a picnic table, nursing a beer.
“Everyone having a good time tonight?” I ask the crowd of locals gathered at one of our favorite joints. I offer them a smile, ignoring the group of screaming girls in the front, practically throwing their panties on stage.
Glancing around, it takes my eyes a few moments to adjust to the lights and find my girl. Abby is in back, drinking happily with her sisters. It’s one of their crazy sister nights, and all six of them are in attendance tonight. Dean and Ryan are both parked at the bar, cans of pop in front of them, while they keep a close eye on the girls.
“You don’t mind if I sing a song or two for you, do ya?” I ask, smiling at the response I get, but my eyes never leaving the emerald ones at the back of the bar.
I strum the opening chords of my new favorite song, the one that will forever be associated with my best friend. I belt out the words to “Angel Eyes,” singing it for only one woman.
Abby sings along to the Jeff Healey song, and even though I can’t hear her voice, I pretend that I can. I’m hypnotized, watching her beautiful mouth move along with mine. I sing the song for her, to her, only her.
When I sing the last note, I point, as I always do. She smiles back broadly, her body swaying a little on her feet. I’m not sure if she’s had too much to drink or if she’s been standing on those crazy high-heeled sandals for too long. They do amazing things for her legs, so I’m definitely not complaining, but I can’t wait to get them off her later.
Along with the rest of her clothes.
“I’m givin’ my man Gage a break and gonna sing one more song. That okay?” I’m assuming from the ear-splitting screams from the audience, they don’t mind.
“Abby, can you come up here, angel?” I call into the mic. Paying no attention to the nasty faces the girls up front make, I watch my girl slowly make her way to the front of the room. “Up here,” I tell her, reaching for her hand.
With her warmth within my hand, I guide her onto the stage and over to the chair Gage delivered. “Have a seat,” I tell her. She looks at me sheepishly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I whisper before kissing her lips.
“I’ve got a surprise for you all tonight. My girl, Miss Abigail Summer, is going to join me in a song,” I tell the audience, her sisters hooting and hollering the loudest, all the way from the back.
“What?” she asks, her eyes filled with fear.
“Yes. You can do this,” I tell her, reaching for my favorite guitar; the one I leave at home and never take to a show.
Strapping the guitar around her body, I give her a smile before taking the seat directly across from her. We’re facing each other, not the audience. Gage positions the mics so that they’re off to the side of where we sit, not directly in front of her face. I know that’s one of the main causes for her freakouts.
“Just keep your eyes on me, angel. We got this.”
“But…I don’t even know what song we’re playing.”
“Yes, you do.”
I start to strum the opening cords to Enrique Iglesias’s “Hero.” Her eyes light with recognition immediately, and I watch as her shaking hands take their positions on my guitar. Abby closes her eyes, the music washing over her, as she starts to play the song we’ve never played together, but both know the same.
Our eyes remain locked as I sing the opening lines to the song. I pause as we near the start of the refrain, and smile warmly when I see her mouth open. I’m transfixed on her as she starts to sing.
Her sweet voice washes over me, and I realize in this moment how damn lucky I am to have her in my life. I really could have fucked this whole thing up, and now I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to ensure I never break her trust again.
When the song is done, you couldn’t scrape the smile off her face with a putty knife. She’s grinning ear to ear, her sisters cheering wildly from the front row where they now stand. Setting my guitar down, I reach for hers and remove it from her body. Then I take her in my arms.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“For what?”
“For making me do that. It was a rush.”
“It was the song.”
“It’s a great song,” she agrees.
“My kinda song,” I say and claim her lips with my own. The lights, the stage, the crowd, the crazy half-drunk sisters screaming in the front row, all fade away until there’s nothing–no one–but Abby and me.
That’s the only way I want it.
Just us.
