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At this point, Zakk knew Dez was stalling. Whatever it was that had happened, their guitarist was clearly feeling shy about sharing.
“Halfway through the show they asked where their superfans were and all these hands went in the air. Then they asked who could slay like Adrian Lee, and most of the hands went back down again. I was third-row center and jumping up and down like a lunatic, waving my arms around. Then Adrian passed me his guitar, still plugged in, and said go for it. Like, in the mic, where everyone could hear. So I did and his eyes got wide, and people around me were freaking out. When I was done, he held his hand out, and I passed back the guitar. Man, I was flying high, so when he motioned for me to climb up there with them, I scrambled up on the stage.”
“No shit?” Winter said.
“Well, there was almost shit, in my pants, when I turned around and saw that ocean of people. There is Adrian Lee draping the guitar back over my shoulder and I’m literally melting in a puddle of sweat, heart pounding in my chest, dinner about to launch out of my stomach and cover half the second row. Then he leans in and asks if I knowFlames in Valhallaand I nodded, ‘cause my mouth was too dry for words. And he saidgood, then play your ass off kid,nodded to their drummer and I just played.”
Tavis let out a long, low whistle.
At sixteen, Zakk couldn’t imagine what he’d have done in the same situation. “Holy shit.”
“The way I hear it, he played his ass off,” James interjected. “Totally slayed up there and blew the crowd and the band away.”
“I just did my best.”
“Yeah, and your best earned you Adrian Lee’s guitar and a spot in the VIP section to watch the rest of the show,” James said.
“Yeah,” Dez admitted, ducking his head, but not before Zakk saw the slow blush spreading over his cheeks.
“Dude, what the fuck are you being shy about, damn!” Winter exclaimed, clapping Dez on the shoulder. “That’s fuckin’ sick. Too bad there isn’t a video out there, that would be fuckin’ amazing.”
“There, um, is,” Dez muttered.
“What, seriously?”
“My uncle shot the footage on his phone and saved it, but it’s not…Adrian Lee could have picked anyone.”
“But he didn’t, he chose you, and that guitar he gave you is proof of just how amazing you are,” Winter said. “You better start learning to see that, ‘cause if you don’t know your own worth, how the hell are you supposed to make anyone else see it?”
“What I’m curious about is how that story isn’t more well-known?” Tavis asked. “That’s fuckin’ huge, especially once you were in the business professionally.”
“It’s not like I made it public knowledge or took the guitar on the road with me when I played with Carrion or Saint’s Seduction,” Dez admitted. “The Road to Rocktoberfest trip was the first time I’d played it for performances.”
“Why?” Tavis asked.
Dez shrugged and bumped shoulders with Riley. “I told the story. You wanna roll now?”
“I suppose. But the next time we’re home, I want to see that video.”
“Hey, that’s not fair,” Winter protested, “I think we all want to see that video.”
“He is correct,” Damien said. “I’m most intrigued.”
“You and me, both,” Tripp said.
They weren’t the only ones who wanted to see it. Zakk was curious too, so while Dez was busy trying to get Riley to roll, Zakk was tapping away on his phone, sending a text to Dez’s uncle, begging him to send it so they could all see young Dez slaying onstage with one of the premier bands of their genre.
“It’s…” Dez stammered. “Look, we’ve all played with some amazing people.”
“But not one of us but you have played with a bonafide idol.” Winter pointed out. “Holy shit. You weren’t the only one who grew up trying to imitate him. I’d practice until my fingers bled.”
To his left, Tripp snorted and chuckled a little. “That’s an understatement, considering you’d put band-aids on them and keep on playing.”
“Don’t forget the New-Skin.” Winter remarked.
“I went through a lot of New-Skin myself,” Dez admitted. “Bandages too. And super-glue. Can’t forget that.”
“Yeah, I tried that, once, and accidentally got my fingers stuck to the strings.” Winter admitted.
