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“I know, I know. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.” Blowing out a breath, he must turn his face away from his phone, because whatever he says next is too quiet and muffled to be discernible.
Working my jaw, I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. What do I even say to make this better? I’m well aware I’m the cause of this distance—this…rift, or whatever you want to call it.
I’m the one running scared, and I know it.
But I know I’m also in my right to do this.
If he knew the reasons behind this…
The truth…
“Oh! Sorry, ’scuse me,” a voice rushes out after having bumped into me, snapping me back to the present.
Shaking away the memories, I drop my gaze away from the green O’Leary’s Pub sign, and step off to the side to allow a couple girls to pass me.
The door opens, and from inside I hear a familiar song drawing to a close.
I frown. Is that…is that them?
The song playing I recognize as “Bottom of a Bottle” by Smile Empty Soul.
But the voice singing it…
You knew they were playing tonight.
Yeah…
But I didn’t expect them to sound this good.
Correction: I didn’t expect him to sound this good.
When is the last time I heard him sing?
And I realize, it’s been years.
I stride for the door, catching it just before it can close on me. A crowd of people bottleneck the narrow entry, and I find myself growing impatient, arching and craning my neck to try and see deeper inside.
I knew it was packed—hence why I ended up standing frozen outside, as I debated whether or not I could do this—but it’s one thing to get a peek of it from outside, and another to be in the thick of it.
The sound of feedback screeches across the room. And then there’s a distinct tapping of the mic.
“Alright, so before we take our break, we’re gonna slow it down a bit.”
At the sound of his deep, raspy voice flooding the room, it’s as if someone shoves me under water, and I’m momentarily swept back by the current of bodies filling the space. There’s cheering and cat-calling, but it’s as if it’s all coming from very far away.
It’s not until the familiar guitar intro of “Your Guardian Angel” by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus being strummed floods the room, simultaneously quieting the room and kickstarting my lungs to work again, that I’m able to move. Nerves be damned.
All but shoving my way through the bodies, I push up on the toes of my Chucks as I try to see over the sea of heads and thrown up arms blocking my view of where the stage must be.
I’d only ever seen this place empty, and in the dead of afternoon. But I vaguely remembering an elevated platform against the back wall.
Heart thrashing against my ribs, I mutter, “Come on, come on.”
It suddenly feels imperative that I see him. See this.
The song choice strikes me as…odd, but also not. He loved this song. Izzy did too…
But despite the heavy feeling sinking in my chest as to why he likely picked this one to end their set…
