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IAIN
Istood in my spot on the stage and waited for the countdown.
Unlike the rest of the guys, who looked relaxed and ready to rock, I was a seething mass of nerves. Was it the fact I had some weirdo sending me creepy messages, or that Dawson and I all but outed ourselves to the band? Probably both. I mean, let’s face it, the guys already knew what was up with Daws and me, but knowing and seeing it happen in real-time were two different things.
But my personal life would have to wait. The show, as you know, must go on.
I checked my earpiece one last time and nodded at Brodie.
To distract myself, I replayed that kiss with Dawson in the dressing room. I was still shaken up, and fuck me, for a guy who’d done a shitload of kissing, that was saying something.
I glanced over and spotted Dawson in his usual place. But the look he was giving me was not about protection. It was pure sex. Instead of yelling at him, I shook my head. He mouthed, “What?” all innocent-like, and I rolled my eyes. Like he didn’t know he was eye-fucking me. But the last thing I wanted was for his boss to take notice. Then Dawson would be gone, and just the thought of losing him made me break out in a cold sweat.
And we hadn’t started performing yet.
The lights dimmed, and I turned my attention to the audience as the curtains raised.
I strummed the first chords of “Never Look Back” and felt the surge of energy from the crowd as they screamed our names and started singing the opening verse.
Man, I fucking needed this tonight. That was the power of music and live performance. It fed something inside of me and brought me out of my head.
I lived purely in the moment, and there was nothing better.
I sauntered up and down the stage, calling out to the crowd while Brodie sang about leaving home and forging a new path. As usual, our frontman was a fan favorite, and I could hear his name chanted over the din.
Without question, and knowing that Dawson was watching me, I put a little extra oomph in my strut tonight.
Thirty minutes in and four songs later, my fingertips burned, and sweat poured down my body.
“Thank you! Merci!” Brodie yelled out as we paused between songs. He leaned on the mic stand and waved at the crowd. “It’s so great to be back in Paris. We love this beautiful, magical city.”
Fans screamed so loud in response that it startled even Brodie.
“Whoa, we have rabid fans tonight,” he stated with a smirk. “Just the kind I like. So how about a big round of applause, please, for my band brothers, Holloway, Faise, and Ronin!”
We all took a bow and waved.
“Now, besides me, who here wants to hear Holls sing tonight?”
The fan screamed and clapped, and I shook my head.
“Come on over, Holls! I promise I won’t bite,” Brodie teased me. “Not too hard.”
I stalked up to him and leaned into the mic. “I thought you didn’t like to share.”
“My husband, no fucking way. But a song? Anytime.”
Hoots and hollers rang out around us.
“Let’s sing ‘Broken Doors,’” I suggested.
It was one of our slower songs. Not quite a ballad, but like Sideline, a song that Van had written for Brodie.
Faise started in on the drumbeat first, and the rest of us joined in.
I wasn’t the best vocalist, but I had my moments. As long as there were no high notes to hit, I was good.
Brodie and I had been taking the stage together for years, but this incredible feeling of creating music together never got old. No matter how many concerts or tours, every time felt like the first.
