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“And to top it off, running toward love rather than away is the right thing for you.”
I give her a wobbly smile.
“Andale, mija.”
My mother takes my arm and guides me toward the suitcase. She places my hand on the handle.
“She is ready,” she tells Mickey.
Mickey raises his graying brows. “Is that right?”
Leo takes my hand. He is so strong. Stronger than me. Maybe I have done something right.
I take a deep breath. “Yes. I’m ready.”
Chapter 19
Rex
The past couple of shows have been better since telling the band about what happened in Ocotillo Valley. Not incredible, but much better than passable.
We are in the homestretch of our set. Two more songs, then we’re out and back on for an encore. I might be feeling inspired enough to do two songs tonight. After all, this is Madison Square Garden where all the greats have played, from Zeppelin to Fleetwood Mac. I’m not here to fuck around.
I’m here to fuck it up.
We’re in the middle of one of our ballbusters, “Thought You’d Start to Care”, which has one of our jam sections and, boy, are we flying tonight. My fingers are flying across the neck of my guitar and I’m sweating like hell, hair dripping, t-shirt sticking to my back.
I lift my eyes to check on Holden. He’s on his feet at the keyboard, totally lost in the sauce. I smile to myself.
Swinging around, using my guitar to propel me, I check on Blaise, giving him a quick nod. He can feel it, I know. He’s got a solo on him, ready to rage and give these people a show. Over our sheer volume, I can’t hear him shout, but I know every time he opens his mouth and bares his teeth, he’s crying out in musical ecstasy.
I continue in my rotation until I’m facing Apollo. Bassists are the unsung heroes of bands. Here he is chugging along, giving us an incredible foundation the rest of us can stand on to lose our shit. He’s always standing tall, shoulders back, appraising us all with a smug smile.
I take a few steps in his direction. We mirror each other with our guitars and he locks into my rhythm and melody until we’re close to handing it off to Blaise.
It’s all working and I’m feeling high for the first time in a while. Being on stage is the greatest high there is. Not just the fans screaming for you, although that’s pretty good. It’s being at the top of your game, creating music so momentous because the spirit compels you to create.
I return to center stage, picking away the simple pattern, and press my lips against the mic. “You feeling good out there?” I ask in my lowest, sexiest voice.
The screams are palpable, a wall of sound in and of itself.
I smile and hear some swoons from the pit. “I don’t think I heard you. You feeling fucking…”
The audience starts screaming before I can finish my sentence.
Something orange flashes in the corner of my eye. I squint into the wings. It takes a moment for my vision to adjust and…
No. It can’t be.
My mind is playing tricks on me.
There’s no way Isabella is here.
Holding Leo on her hip, no less.
I shake it off, tense my jaw and return to the mic. “I don’t think you’re ready for what comes next,” I tell the crowd, lubricating them for Blaise’s ripping on the drums.
I don’t think I’m ready either.
