twenty minutes later, my anger had faded into something less volatile. Dropping the last of my third cigarette to the ground, I crushed it under my heel. I had no idea when the last time I'd smoked so much was.
The sidewalks leading up to the Fillmore were packed with wandering people. The show would be starting soon, the place was about to get swarmed. And all because of me, I mused silently.
Normally I'd be getting amped up right now—thinking about the energy of the crowd, the way my teeth would vibrate as the speakers roared with my voice. But I couldn't focus; my mind was elsewhere.
Pushing my cheek onto the window, my breath fogged up the glass. Idly, I pressed my finger there and dragged it to create a single letter:
L.
Lola Cooper.
I'd been miserable back in my hotel room. Knowing that Lola was right nearby, right in the opposite room, had been maddening. I'd paced in a circle, finally deciding to try and shake off my unspent energy by warming up my vocals for the shows.
And then I'd heard her guitar.
That sound had taken away my ability to sing; just for a second, but that was ages to me. Lola could have stayed silent. Instead, she'd joined me with her music, our song entwining into one with only a simple wall between us.
Always a wall of some kind.
I wanted to tear every fucking wall down with my bare hands.
Shaking off the memory, I stepped out of the parked car. The crowds outside of the blocked off lot screamed at the sight of me. Bending my head low, I followed the throng of gigantic men in Security shirts through the back of the building.
Drums thumped in the halls, a bass rocking the air with its low ripples—Porter and Colt were doing sound check. The trail of music guided me behind a dark curtain, bodies murmuring and stomping as they ran around to get everything ready backstage.
Then I saw her.
Lola was poking her guitar, not noticing my arrival. Her hair swept over part of her temple; I buzzed with my desire to close our distance and brush those strands behind her ear.
A hand came down on my shoulder. “Drezden! There you are!” Brenda huffed, blowing her bangs from her eyes. “You almost missed sound check.”
“Almost,” I agreed. My brief moment of invisibility was over, everyone had noticed me. There were several other bands prepping in the area, as well as some fans sporting special VIP passes. I flashed a lazy smile at all of them. “Sorry for the wait. I'm here, let's get this done.”
Lola shot me a quick look—was she relieved? —before she went back to tweaking at her guitar. Porter nodded knowingly, while Colt flipped a drum-stick and rolled his eyes. He was probably thinking that, even now, I was stealing the show.
The girls with their special passes giggled at me, doing their best to look both casual and interested. Scanning the group, I started towards my mic stand—then I stopped. Someone else was here that I should have expected, but in my distracted state, hadn't. He was standing off to the side, his intense eyes pulling me in among the sea of faces.
Sean Cooper.
He was hovering near some guys that I assumed were from Barbed Fire. I didn't know for sure, I didn't give a lot of thought to the other bands on the tour. As it was, I'd rarely seen any of them backstage before a show. In a set up like ours, with my band headlining, it was rare for anyone but us to get a chance to do sound check.
I guess they got a chance tonight because of how late I was.
Ignoring him, I scooped up my microphone. Glancing upwards, I spotted the guy who would help test the speakers and make sure that I—that we—sounded perfect. He dipped his chin, wordlessly understanding that I was ready.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Lola watching me again. There were so many things I wanted to say to her. A thousand words that would never explain the conflict inside of me.
So I said nothing.
And neither did she.
****
The Fillmore was a mosaic of faces and bodies. They shoved and shouted and begged for the show to go on. Barbed Fire had finished their first song, they were opening for us and they were killing it.
I watched from backstage as Sean Cooper scratched his guitar. He tore it to pieces, like it was an enemy he wanted to