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When the song was over, I was sweaty and grinning, pulse slam-dancing against my skin. “That was fun. I mostly just came up here to prove a point to my friend Brian.” Everyone turned to look at him, maybe knowing whom I’d been sitting with and talking about earlier. Shit. Was that a mistake? I hadn’t meant to turn the attention on him. He waved bashfully but seemed okay. “I used to do this when I was younger, though. I haven’t played in years, but doing it with him has reignited my passion.”
They cheered again, and I went into a second song, even more enthusiastically than the first. Brian stood, his body language showing that he felt comfortable, which made my heart pump harder, made me want to make this as good as it could be just to make him proud, which was some crazy-ass shit.
When the song ended, I heard his cheers over everyone else’s, though they likely weren’t louder. I just zeroed in on him, listened for him because what he thought meant so much to me. “Aw, I think he liked it!” I said over the claps from the bar patrons.
“Go up there with him!” someone called out.
“Yeah! Do one more and play with him!” another called.
I panicked, heart thudding against my chest. I didn’t want to put Brian on the spot. This wasn’t his thing. I would love to play with him here, have him onstage with me, to see him let go and for everyone else to witness the magic that was Brian and the guitar, but his comfort was the most important thing.
“Nah, we don’t want to take someone else’s turn,” I said.
“Let’s hear you play! Your buddy went up there!” a woman shouted, followed by a chorus of people calling for Brian to join me.
Brian’s stare locked on me. Silently, I asked him, You wanna? hoping he could tell what I was saying. I wanted it, wanted it more than I should, but I wouldn’t ever push him. Still, he was an adult who could make his own decisions. The desire was there, looking back at me in his gaze. I’d bet his fingers twitched to glide along the strings. But what if he felt pressured and had a panic attack? I’d never forgive myself for that.
“He doesn’t have his guitar,” I said into the mic, trying to call the crowd off. I hadn’t anticipated they would ask him to join me onstage. All I’d wanted was to make sure he knew I’d come up here because he’d made me fall in love with music again. I stood. “I think I’m done for the night.” I headed for the stairs to go offstage, hoping I didn’t fuck this up, that I didn’t cause Brian some kind of harm.
“He can use mine!” replied a man not too far from Brian.
I opened my mouth, about to say, “Maybe next time,” when Brian took a step forward, then another. I paused, watching him, searching for signs that he didn’t want to play…but then, music calmed him, put him at ease, so maybe it made sense. A few people saw and shouted louder. A guy patted him on the back, then another and another as he stepped forward, still watching me. He was handed a guitar, which he took, giving a small nod to the man who’d offered it to him.
He was going to do it. He was really going to fucking do it. I couldn’t believe it.
Brian took the stairs, joining me onstage. He didn’t go toward the mic, instead pulling the guitar strap over his head and heading toward the back of the stage.
“We’re gonna decide what to play,” I told the crowd, giving them my back, and then spoke low, just for him. “We doing this?”
“Looks like it,” Brian said, his voice huskier than usual.
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he was sure, but I didn’t. He was up here. He’d made his choice. I was going to respect that. “What are we playing?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
“‘Alive’?” I asked.
“Pearl Jam?” We’d played a few of their songs but not that one. When I nodded, he added, “I love that song.”
Hearing that made me glad I’d chosen it, and I hoped that being onstage made Brian feel exactly as the title said.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Brian
It felt like the Fourth of July in my chest, fireworks shooting off and exploding into vivid color. I fed off the people in the bar, their excitement fueling my fingers as I played. I couldn’t pretend I was putting on a good show or anything. My gaze focused down, sometimes eyes closed as I played. I couldn’t look at them, and I stuck close to Charles on the piano, and…and maybe I was feeding off him too. Maybe it was him I was feeding off more.
