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I just knew that singing with, and to, my Van, was gonna be the most memorable performance of my life. Would the fans love it? I had no way of knowing. Would it be the most meaningful to me? Fuck, yeah.
We’d have to try the song together at least once before we hit the stage. But first, me and the guys tested out a few songs just to be sure the glitches were gone.
Ace stepped away, and I tried the mic again.
“Thank fuck!” I blurted out, and the clear sound echoed in the theater. “Let’s do ‘Filthy Pain.’”
Ronin opened the number with his distinctive bass line.
When the rest of us joined in, the sound was awesome.
Despite the mishaps, this place was made for music lovers, and I couldn’t deny I loved how the sound carried.
Twenty minutes later, guitar still in hand, I went in search of Van.
I found him downstairs in my dressing room, strumming away and singing in that low, husky voice of his that had goosebumps popping up all over my skin.
I wanted to stand and stare at him and soak in the moment, but too soon, he spotted me.
Then he smiled. Not his professional one but a genuine grin, dimple and all. My pulse kicked up, and my heart beat a wild rhythm.
I was so far gone for this man it was out of control.
“You ready to practice?” I asked as I shut the door behind me.
The door clanged with a resounding thud.
I grabbed a nearby stool and sat down across from him.
“I’ll sing; you rest your voice,” Van replied as he began to strum the song's opening notes.
Instead of replying, I nodded and joined in on my guitar.
Professional me flew out the window when I flubbed up a few times, my hands shaking. I was too entranced with the man across from me to concentrate.
It was a heady realization for someone who’d spent the past four years sliding out on stage in front of tens of thousands of people like it was as normal as breathing.
I didn’t know how the fuck I was gonna perform this duet tonight in front of an audience. Watching Van play my baby and sing lyrics that meant so much to him was wreaking havoc with my already tenuous control.
He hit the third verse, but we were interrupted by a knock on the door.
“It’s Ace. Your makeup and hair people have arrived.”
Van paused his playing. “Come on in!”
The doorknob rattled but the door stayed shut.
“Did you lock the door?” Ace yelled out.
“No,” Van replied and got up, turning the handle. The door didn’t budge.
He tried again, pulling hard.
Finally, on the third try, it opened.
The loud groan of the hinges was like something out of a horror movie soundtrack.
“Sorry about that.” Van stepped aside and motioned for them to come in. “I guess we need lubricant.”
