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Chewing on my lip, I can’t help but ask, “Think we could corner him and threaten him into writing us something?”
Liam sucks down half his Coke, leaving me hanging with a quickening pulse as I wait for his reaction. “Not sure that’s how it works.”
Frowning, I straighten up on my seat. I get that Malek and Griff want to stay firmly planted in their metal roots, but I’m a no labels kind of guy, and constantly channeling my inner demons on stage is starting to wear me out at thirty-one years of age. Not that I’d admit that to the guys when we’re at the peak of success.
But I’d love to try out something slower, with more of an edged impact, like this guy on stage. And that has absolutely nothing to do with the looming expiration date on Liam’s participation in Atonement. Nope. None at all.
Selma wanders back over with a pint of dark beer and slides it across the table. Wrapping a hand around the cold glass, I suck down a long gulp, then tip my head to the stage as she waits for my approval on the beer. “Who’s the musician?”
“Local guy. Plays here every now and then to make a few pounds. I told him he ought to send a sample to a record label or something. His talent is wasted here.”
“It sure fucking is,” I murmur, eyes sliding to the stage again. When I realize how my words might be taken, my head snaps back to Selma. “Not that your bar sucks or anything—”
She waves a hand at me. “I get it, rockstar. Don’t shit your pants.”
For good measure, I drop a handful of coins into the tip jar. Somehow, my pockets are always overflowing with them when we tour overseas. Selma gives me a brilliant smile.
The musician’s final song rips my throbbing heart out of its cage and stomps on it, touching on what I interpret to be a story about witnessing the death of a loved one.
This is my undefeated test
Why won’t you take your wings so we can both rest?
And if you never learned how to fly
If you fail to reach those sunlight clouds
I promise to carry you up the sky
Leave all your mortal burdens behind
As I deliver you home for good
He ends on a lingering low note, his head bowed. The urge to move to him and ask if he’s okay nearly has me off my stool. Spotlights over the stage click off, and after a few staggered claps, he seems to come back down to this plane of existence from heaven.
When he stands, tall and lean, his gaze sweeps out, meeting mine from across the bar. My heart pounds all the way up in my throat. I’m not really sure why I do it, but I let my eyes peruse up his body, knowing he’s fully aware.
Needing something to chill the inferno burning in my chest, I take a long draw from my beer. Why is my pulse hammering like I just ran from a surprise mountain lion on a hike through the woods? This is what a true artist does, right? Manipulates the crowd like a master of puppets. Twists their insides, hellbent on leaving them in pieces when the show is over. Leaving them with something to talk about.
Fuck,I want… What do I want? To join in his summonings of pain? To accompany him on a journey through hell and back so I can find wings, too?
My fingers twitch, aching to run along the fret of a guitar. I had this same feeling when we witnessed Griff and Malek playing at some grungy Austin venue years ago, right before we formed Atonement and rose to the top.
This guy could be at the top.
I shouldn’t want in on that. I shouldn’t be thinking about anything outside of Atonement. It’s selfish, especially knowing we’re going to lose Liam to the next stage of his life. The old man thinks he’s ready to settle down and buy a recording studio somewhere in Dallas, along with a permanent residence. I can’t leave Griff and Malek hanging.
Swiftly, the guy moves off stage. I play it cool, though wild energy is practically vibrating beneath my skin. Lingering at the bar, I’m confident he’ll check in with Selma to collect tips before he heads out. Maybe he’ll sit down for a drink or two and we can chat.
I keep eyes on him as he cuts through the tables with his guitar in tow. Jesus, he’s even taller off stage, rising well above the patrons on high stools. Do I look smaller when I’m on stage? I mean, I’m not built like a freight train—that’s Liam—but I do have definition from a bit of light gym time with Liam and hours of high-energy performing.
Panic grips me when he doesn’t stop at the bar.Shit, he’s going to bail.My hands grip the counter as I rise, prepared to give chase. The gnawing hunger to understand the formula of the power he’s crafted needs to be tamed.
When my interest is peaked, I go after something whole-heartedly. Picked up my first guitar in fourth grade. I won the school talent show that same year. Offered up cigarettes and jokes for hours when I first ran into Griff and Malek blasting beats at that venue. We were best buds and bandmates before the night was over. Quit high school senior year to focus on music. Released our first album the next summer and played a sold out show soon after before landing an opening gig for a larger band on tour.
And when my last relationship bombed years ago, after discovering my girl with another dude’s dick shoved halfway down her throat, I threw everything into Atonement. Every aspect of my life, sunrise to bleeding sunset.
Thankfully, Selma calls the musician over to the bar. “Z!”
