pockets as he braced the cold December air. Not even the colection of fans gathered to catch an early peek at the Jamieson brothers noticed the brooding young man walk from the arena.
His emotions strung tight, he didn’t know what to do.
Dammit! Everything about this situation was wrong. So he wandered the streets, not stopping, not pausing, losing track of the world around him. He didn’t care about the band, the pre-concert interviews or the demanding fans. In any other situation, he would put al these things before personal stuff, but not today. Libby had needed him and now she was lost in some shit hole.
He walked on.
Holow.
Empty.
Then he pictured Libby taken from her home, or at least her temporary home. They were supposed to be there for each other.
Correction, he was supposed to be there for her. He needed to pul her out of the terrible life forced upon her. But there was no place to go. Who would help him? How could he ever find her?
His throat choked up like a vice. He trudged on as the late afternoon sun set and winter darkness threw a cold heavy blanket over his world.
Where was she? Was she okay? A foster home sounded scary and dangerous. He’d heard about kids being mistreated in foster homes. Libby was his rock, but she was also a fragile soul.
She’d lost too much. More than anything he wanted to make her world right. He wanted to steal her away and hide her in their roling tin can of a home.
The wind picked up and tiny shards of sleet whipped at him as he pushed forward against the wind. The sharp sting of ice hit his face. His emotions deadened, his whole being numb.
He walked on.
Much later he shook off the haze and realized he didn’t know the time or where he was. He’d walked so long, locked in his thoughts. It was dark, the stores were closed for the night. He peered in a nearby window. It was wel after eight.
Shit. The warm up band would be finished and Jamieson would take the stage any minute. He stood on the cold empty sidewalk and battled with himself. He wanted to walk forever and never go back, but an inner voice stopped him. Dammit! His sense of responsibility won. He turned back in the direction of the arena.
He must be several miles away. He didn’t have his phone, but did have his walet. He picked up the pace and started to jog. After a few blocks he hailed a cab.
“Nokia Arena, please.” He climbed into the warm vehicle.
“How long wil it take?”
“Fifteen minutes or more in this traffic. There’s a big concert tonight,” the cabbie replied.
“Yeah, I know.” He reached back and puled out his walet.
“Make it as quick as you can.” Peter slipped several twenty dolar bils through the payment slot. “Stage door please.” He leaned his head back against the seat, staring blankly. His body began to shiver, but not from the cold.
Twenty minutes later Peter stepped out of the cab, through the stage door and back stage. The crammed area held dozens more people than normal, al in a panic. Al eyes turned to Peter.
“Where the hel have you been?” His father belowed. “Do you know what time it is? There are thousands of fans who paid a lot of money to see Jamieson tonight.”
“I’m here now,” Peter responded duly as he moved through the crowded space, ignoring al.
A loud chant of “Jamieson, Jamieson, Jamieson,” echoed from the fans out front.
“Thank God. You had me scared to death.” His mother rushed forward and hugged him tightly. “You’re freezing. Oh honey, where’ve you been?”
He shook off her embrace and walked past the crew and technicians as they yeled into radios and rushed around to start the show. He stepped onto the lift that would deliver him to his grand entrance, the muscles in his shoulders tight knots.
The music in the arena rose to epic levels as techies used hand signals to indicate the show was a go and the countdown started. A fog machine filed the stage in a mysterious haze as lights and lasers glowed.
“Are you ready to party?!” The announcer’s voice boomed over the mammoth speaker system. The crowd responded in a deafening roar.
“Geez, Pete, could you cut it any closer!” Garrett looked ready to blow.
Peter stared through him, unconcerned. He wanted this night over.
“You wearing that?” Adam asked, guitar in hand.
Peter looked down at the sleet soaked sweatshirt, puled it